Lord, he was huge, and she was alone in a remote cabin without panties or a bra, her brain whispered helpfully.
They ate by candlelight, shoulder to shoulder on the small couch facing the stove. The cushions dipped toward the middle, forcing her thigh firmly against his. Rush’s leg was hard-muscled and twice as long against her own much softer, smaller body. She held herself stiff then gave up fighting gravity and let his warmth seep into her. Awareness tingled in every nerve, making heat zing straight through her thighs to between her legs. When she glanced up, his eyes were already on her face. Then lower.
To her mouth.
Oh.She licked her lips without thinking then cleared her throat, trying to ignore the sudden flush crawling up her neck as she turned back to her soup.
The fire crackled merrily, the spoons scraping against bowls the only sounds while Lily pretended the room had not gotten a whole lot smaller.
When the last spoonful of soup was gone, Callahan took their bowls, set them on the floor, and sat back slowly, leveling her with a look. Up close, his eyes were steely gray, lit with silver flecks that caught the firelight. The weight of that cool stare made her want to squirm.
“Tell me what happened today.” His voice was low and calm but laced with an unmistakable command that made her jump to attention. She frowned. She needed to get ahold of that reflex.
“I’d rather not talk about it, Sheriff.” No way was she confessing Tucker’s infidelity. She hadn’t even told Evie yet about the photo. It was too raw and humiliating. “I just… needed to get away.” She braced herself, waiting for him to push, for the inevitable questions.
He held her gaze for a long moment while she tried not to crumble like a sandcastle at high tide.
“Fair enough.” He gave her a short nod. “Call me Rush,” he ordered instead.
She sighed in relief, grateful he hadn’t pushed. Knowing his unfortunate effect on her, she probably would have told him everything, and she wasn’t ready to face that right now, even to herself.
Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t awkward. Strangely, she felt peaceful and more than a little tired now that the adrenaline had mostly worn off.
“So, what about you?” she asked, sinking deeper into the soft couch. Their bodies touched from shoulder to hip now, but instead of pulling away, she settled into it. Maybe it shouldn’t feel this easy with a man she hardly knew, but after everything they had been through today, the intimacy felt almost natural. “What brought you up here? Vacation?”
He stared at the fire. “No. It’s not a vacation.”
The light from the flames carved sharp shadows across his face, and something in the tightening of his jaw made her stop smiling. “Then what?” she asked gently.
No answer. He didn’t move at all, still a warm, solid body pressed against her, but she sensed his withdrawal anyway. Her heart pulled tight in her chest, remembering.
She knew the story. Everyone in Northfield did. The night he pulled Chloe Whitmore from the canal was a town legend by now. The newspapers had gone crazy with the story, painting him as a local hero. “Northfield’s Own Guardian Angel,” one headline had read. Another had called him the“Sheriff with a Hero’s Heart.”
The media had eaten him up—the decorated Marine-turned-small-town-sheriff, risking his life when he wasn’t even on duty to save a drowning child. The little girl’s mother had slid on black ice and driven straight into the Erie Canal, and while Rush had managed to pull the five-year-old from the icy water, tragically, he hadn’t been able to save the mother.
The town had celebrated him. They’d held a fundraiser for the little girl, who now lived with her grandparents in Northfield, and toasted him at the local pub. Lily and her family had all attended, but the sheriff had barely made an appearance. He’d looked visibly uncomfortable with the handshaking and people clapping him on the back, thanking him for what he’d done, and he’d left early.
Lily had been at the Northfield town meeting when he was nominated for a local award, and she’d seen his face—hard and blank—a little like it was now. His expression gave nothing away, but she could see the weight of that night in the clench of his bruised knuckles and the tic in his jaw.
“Needed to get away,” he said at last, curtly.
A simple answer, but his tone made it clear he wasn’t going to offer any more details. She nodded, taking the hint. She almost reached out—almost—but stopped herself. He wouldn’t welcome it. Neither one of them was willing to dig too deep. Fair enough.
“I get that,” she said softly. “I guess you could say the same about why I’m here.”
His shoulders shifted again, and he nodded. “There’s a new toothbrush in the bathroom,” Rush said, getting up. “Anything else you need should be in the cabinet.”
“Thanks.”
Lily pushed herself off the couch. The warmth of the fire had made her limbs heavy, and exhaustion clung to her. In the bathroom, she found the toothbrush still in its packaging, along with toothpaste and a comb. As she brushed her teeth, her eyescaught on her white silk panties still in a soggy pile on the floor with her dress. She took a minute to wash them with the bar soap and hung them over the towel rack to dry before padding back out to the couch.
Rush crouched by the stove, adding another log and watching the flames catch. The warm glow flickered over the walls, making the room feel smaller and more intimate. He absently rubbed the scar she’d seen on his thigh, his frown deepening until she made a noise, and he stood up quickly.
She lay down, curled up on the couch and yawned hugely as her eyes grew heavy. Even with her eyes closed, she knew when he had stepped closer. The tiny hairs on the nape of her neck stood at attention, and she felt the heat of him as he draped a quilt over her.
“Here’s another blanket.” His hands hesitated for half a second at her shoulders, like he might tuck it around her. But then he pulled back.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
