The Danforths: Toby, Lea and Adam: Cowboy Crescendo / Steamy Savannah Nights / The Enemy's Daughter. Sheri WhiteFeather

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СКАЧАТЬ Heather was exhausted from rebuilding the crumbling wall that defined their relationship into employer and employee. No matter how high or sturdy she constructed that barrier during the day, by nightfall it lay in pieces at her feet.

      Heaven knew she was no saint. After her disastrous fling with Josef, she had given up even considering herself a “good girl.” It was no aversion to sex that kept her from following up on the powerful chemistry pulling her ever closer to Toby. It was fear, pure and simple.

      She worried that going to bed with Toby would destroy their relationship altogether. Her experience with Josef had certainly proved that. Heather had little desire to be used and discarded again—especially since she so desperately needed this job. She needed the position not only to provide a sense of security but also a sense of self-worth. If she were totally honest with herself, she knew there was more to it than that. She had come to value her friendship with the man who had hired her to look after his son’s physical and emotional well-being. Aside from the fact that the lingering memory of Toby’s lips upon hers was a constant reminder to Heather that she was in fact a desirable woman, every day he was proving himself a funny, kind and surprisingly insightful friend. When she drew away, he did not push himself upon her like Josef had, either emotionally or physically. Instead Toby stepped back and gave her room to make up her own mind on any given matter without outside pressure. This all but ensured that she move closer to him on her own volition.

      Tired as Heather was at the end of every day, sleep eluded her. When she finally did manage to drift off, more often than not her dreams were haunted by Miss Carlise. In the dreams, Heather was Miss Carlisle wearing a dress of black alpaca, and she would finger the golden locket around her throat. Inside was a picture of a man she did not recognize. Instinctively, she understood that this man occupied a special place in the governess’s heart. A heart that demanded that truths be revealed in the lives of this man’s descendants, generations cursed by the sins of a father.

      That night, Heather’s dream changed. Horse hooves beat an eerie cadence upon the black drum of night. It drowned out the sound of her own fists pounding upon the carriage door and her pleas for the driver to slow down. Somehow she knew that a dangerous curve lay ahead. A curve destined to end her life over and over again for eternity—unless the past could somehow be rectified by the present.

      By an unsuspecting and perhaps even sacrificial soul.

      A blur of images and the echo of her own screams woke Heather. She sat up, bathed in sweat. Disoriented, she looked about in confusion to discover herself safe and sound in a bed torn apart by her own thrashing. That a cry for help was still reverberating in her ears caused her to doubt her own sanity. It took her a moment to realize the sound was not in her head but rather emanating from Dylan’s room. Fear grabbed her heart with stone-cold hands.

      Springing from bed, Heather rushed to the boy’s bedside. The poor thing was in the grips of a nightmare that appeared to rival her own. Dylan woke with a start to see her silhouetted in his darkened doorway. He called out in terror.

      “Mommy!”

      Heather was at his side in an instant, holding him against her and soothing him with calming words.

      “It’s all right, Dylan. I’m here. I’m here.”

      Punctuated with sobs, a voice rusty from lack of use implored, “Don’t leave me.”

      Those words ripped Heather’s chest. Dylan wrapped his arms about her neck, clinging to her with a desperation that belied his tender years.

      “I won’t, honey. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

      “Don’t say that unless you really mean it.”

      The voice that issued that directive came not from the darling boy in her arms but from someplace behind Heather. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she swung her head around to see Toby standing in the very spot in the doorway that she had just vacated. Wearing nothing but a pair of simple white briefs, he was a vision of sculpted perfection. Heather had spent hours imagining his body’s contours, but her imagination had been sorely lacking. Such a body deserved to be carved out of marble and immortalized for posterity.

      Laden with genuine concern, Toby’s voice was a caress in the night.

      It was Heather’s ruination.

      Her own voice was surprisingly steady in response.

      “I do mean it.”

      Ten

      In a simple white nightgown, Heather looked like an angel at his son’s bedside. Moonlight streaming through the window outlined the curves of Heather’s body, revealing the shape and size of a perfect pair of breasts. The dark areolas of her nipples blushed deep pink beneath the thin cotton material. Toby grew hard with wanting her. He had never seen a sexier piece of lingerie than the modest nightclothes Heather wore. Nor a more desirable woman than the one whose eyes widened when she felt his eyes upon her. The enchanted melody she was singing, to help Dylan find his way back to peaceful dreams, died on her lips.

      “There, there,” Toby crooned, stepping into the room to offer a frightened child the solace of his presence. “It’s all right. Daddy’s here. You just had another bad dream, that’s all.”

      As this was Dylan’s first nightmare since Heather moved in, Toby was greatly disturbed. Despite his best efforts to be all things to the boy, Dylan obviously still missed his mother. Dylan opened his eyes, reluctantly let go of Heather’s neck and allowed his daddy to coax him back under his covers. Toby’s hand grazed Heather’s as he smoothed back a lock of hair plastered by fear to his son’s forehead.

      Together they comforted the child with gentle words and touches. The lullaby that Heather continued to hum soothed the child. Toby’s nerves were pulled taut by parental worry—and a growing awareness of Heather’s effect on his son. He couldn’t help but feel jealous of the position that his son took nestled in her lap.

      Under such tender ministrations, Dylan fell easily back to sleep. Heather tugged the sheet under his chin as Toby tiptoed over to the door. He held it open for her and, when she took her leave, closed it with soft finality before bending to scoop her up into his arms.

      Heather put up no protest as Toby turned in the direction of his bedroom. Nothing had ever felt more right in her whole life.

      Lacing her fingers around his neck, Heather held on tight. His flesh was warm to the touch. She buried her head into the crook of his shoulder.

      The scent of Toby’s shower gel mingled with the clean smell of linen from the bed he’d just left and the faint but heady aroma of his own body’s musk. Intrigued, she kissed the strong column of his neck and licked the trace of salt left upon her lips. A feral growl rumbled from somewhere deep in his throat. The sound caused Heather to tremble as they crossed the threshold of his bedroom where he proceeded to lay her upon the very bed that she made for him every day. The covers were in a state of disarray from being thrown back in haste, but they were still warm from the heat of his body.

      Heather spread her hair upon the same pillow that she secretly pressed against her heart before smoothing it out each morning. It smelled just as she remembered—like essence of man untamed.

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