Damn, her dreams must have sucked as much as mine did.
Or she’d heard him shout as he’d jerked awake.
Rowan went to the living room and opened the drinks cabinet. “Well, crap.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Looks like we’re out of Jack Daniels.” He was going to kick Gael’s ass in the morning for not putting it on the grocery haul list. “You want gin or vodka?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Umm, not unless I want a raging hangover tomorrow.”
“Let’s not do that then.” He cocked his head to one side, trying to figure out if inviting her into his inner domain was the right move or not. “Not in the house, anyway.” He jerked his chin toward the window over the sink. “I have a stash of something decent in my office, if you’re game.”
“Yes, yes, I am. Lead the way.”
There’s only one glass in the office.
Rowan grabbed a tumbler from the cupboard and placed it on the table so he’d remember to bring it with him. “Lemme just goput on jeans.” Because if it was a struggle to keep his semi-hard dick from becoming a raging hard-on when he was sober, with a few drinks in him, there was no chance he’d be able to stop it from happening.
“I’ll do the same.”
It took less than five minutes for them to come back to the kitchen, collect the glass from the table, and make it out the door. They walked side by side to the barn. The door groaned as he shoved it open, the hinges protesting with a high, metallic whine.
Damn, that’s like sending an alarm out to everyone on the property.
He flipped on a single light before he closed the door again and led the way through the tack room to his office. He clicked on the desk lamp, its yellow glow pooling unevenly over the scattered ledgers and the half-empty bottle of Knob Creek with its label peeling slightly at one corner. The light caught the dust motes dancing in the air, tiny golden specks suspended in the stillness.
Momma would kick my ass for leaving this place like a pigsty. I really should clean up in here.
Enya perched on the edge of the worn leather couch against the far wall, her fingers found the split seam along the armrest, and she traced the jagged line where the stitching had given way years ago.
Hah, I knew she’d do that.
The leather was cracked with age, the cushion beneath her sagging slightly under her weight. She didn’t sink into it, though. Just balanced there, poised, like she was ready to bolt at anysecond, or like she was afraid if she relaxed, even for a moment, the memories would catch up to her.
Rowan didn’t ask if she wanted a drink. He already knew the answer. He poured two fingers of Knob Creek into each glass and carried the glasses over to the couch.
“Do men keep a secret stash of Knob Creek like I keep a secret stash of Cadbury’s chocolate?” She took the tumbler, her knuckles brushing his as she wrapped her fingers around the glass, and she swirled the liquid, watching the way it clung to the glass.
Rowan sank into the couch next to her, the old springs protesting under his weight with a tired groan. “It’s not really a secret stash when it’s on my desk for all to see… is it?” The first sip burned all the way down and settled in his chest, chasing away the last remnants of sleep.
“Hmm, I see.” Enya still hadn’t touched her drink. Her thumb pressed against the rim of the glass, her nail pale against the amber. “Yours were pretty bad tonight, too, then,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Your dreams.”
Whoa, left field me there, why don’t you?
His fingers tightened around his glass, and he set it down harder than he meant to, so he didn’t crush it as his hands fisted tightly. “Not dreams,” he corrected, the words coming out harsher than he intended. His jaw clenched, the muscle feathering along his cheekbone. “Memories.”
Enya didn’t offer empty comfort, but she nodded sagely. “Yeah,” she murmured, the syllable barely more than a breath. “That’s the word for ‘em.” She raised her glass to her mouth, but just as it touched her lips, a thunderclap shattered the night in a violentcrack that split the air like a gunshot. The glass jerked in her hand, a few drops sloshing over the rim onto her fingers. Her breath hitched, and her body went rigid as the sound echoed through the barn, the building amplifying it, making it sound louder and closer.
Rowan refused to flinch. He’d heard that sound many times, both in storms and in firefights, and he refused to allow it to bother him… mostly he succeeded. But he saw the way her knuckles whitened around the tumbler, and the way her shoulders tensed like she was bracing for impact. The wind outside picked up, rattling the loose tin panels on the roof, the sound a high, metallic whine that set his teeth on edge. Rain lashed against the windows, the drops fat and heavy, promising a major downpour was about to be right over their heads.
He studied her out of the corner of his eye and caught how her chest rose and fell too fast. He noted how her free hand pressed flat against the couch cushion, and how her fingers dug into the worn leather. The next roll of thunder was deeper, longer, the kind that vibrated in your bones. She flinched again, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
Rowan set his glass down without a word, and the couch creaked as he shifted to lay his arm across the back of the couch behind her head.
If she wants to hide in me, she can make the first move.
For a second, she didn’t move at all. Then, with a quiet, shuddering exhale, she slid across the couch until her shoulder brushed his, and she leaned into him.
