Page 29 of July 27

Her heart pounded. Embarrassment heated her face. She was tired and annoyed that he kept pushing her away whenever he believed she looked at him the wrong way. Rejection stung.

She left the table, leaving her plate behind, and went to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. If she had to mind where she looked and what she thought around him, then he could do the damn dishes and clean up from dinner by himself.

She turned on the bathtub faucet and stripped off her clothes. As soon as several inches of water were in the tub, she sat down and hugged her knees, letting the warmth soothe her as the tub filled. The shakes consumed her. She rested her cheek on her knees, letting the water run until it threatened to spill over the top, and then she shut off the faucet.

How would other women handle themselves in the same kind of situation she found herself in?

It seemed foolish to spill her guts to Ruger when he did not communicate his feelings. She couldn't love him, could she?

As soon as she questioned her feelings, she vehemently accepted that it was love. Her father had never taken care of her the way Ruger had. Her brother never considered her feelings the way Ruger had.

He'd protected, cared for, and fed her. He was her safe place. Even now, he let her live with him.

That had to mean something.

The silence in the bathroom only made her hyperaware of what was happening in other parts of the house. Where was Ruger? Had he left? Was he watching television? Had he gone to sleep?

Chapter Fifteen

Ruger dried the last plate and put it in the cabinet. Outside, the sun had set. After leaving the table almost an hour ago, Rachel was still in the bathroom.

She had to understand he was only a man. He could only take so much teasing.

He would've ridden away to clear his head, but with daylight waning, he would've left her alone in the cottage after dark, which caused her anxiety.

He shouldn't care about her. She needed to learn how to live on her own. But he couldn't leave her alone. Not yet. Not when she still dreamed of the beatings.

That was his problem.

Since when had he worried about what anyone else thought of him? The only person he cared about was Katrina.

Maybe he'd lost his damn mind. Jagger was responsible for Katrina now. Katrina had started her own family. She no longer needed him.

He threw the towel on the counter. Rachel was young enough to be his kid. But he'd put a bullet in anyone's head who accused him of substituting Rachel for Katrina. He wasn't looking for a daughter to raise.

How he felt about Rachel wasn't fatherly. She needed someone to help her, and he understood what she'd been through.

He looked around the cottage, straining to hear what was going on behind the bathroom door. It was nice to have Rachel around—most of the time. She made the days go faster and gave him something else to think about than how he'd fucked up his life and now had nothing to show for all the years he spent in prison.

He walked to the bathroom door and listened. There was no noise coming from inside the room. It wasn't the first time she'd disappeared inside and locked him out since moving into the cottage. She always came out smelling like soap and with wet hair.

Assuming she'd come out smelling good again, he thought of doing something different tonight. Maybe it'd make up for how he'd scared her earlier at the table when she wouldn't stop staring at him as if she was on the verge of having an orgasm.

She needed to learn he was a man with sexual needs. He wanted to protect her, not hurt her.

He returned to the kitchen and pulled one of the pouches with popcorn inside it out of the cabinet. He'd never seen such a thing since getting out of prison. Rachel had him buy a box of microwave popcorn at the store. He asked one of the cashiers where to find such a thing, believing he sounded like an idiot.

It was another thing he'd missed out on while in prison

He followed the directions on the bag, knowing he had to stand in the kitchen and stop the microwave after the popping stopped the way Rachel would every time she made popcorn

After a couple of minutes, a distinct buttery aroma filled the cottage. Despite eating his fill of pancakes, the smell tempted him to eat again. Rachel had barely touched her food before leaving, so she had to be hungry.

He pushed the button on the microwave, stopping it early. Taking out the inflated bag, he left it on the counter and walked to the one bedroom in the cottage. There was only a sheet and comforter for the bed, but he had a sleeping bag that he used if he had to go on a ride and spend the night out.

Grabbing the bag, he carried it to the kitchen. He looked out the window and tilted his head, trying to see the sky when the bathroom door opened.

Rachel hurried out, wearing one of his t-shirts, which fell to her knees. He gave her a few seconds to get into the bedroom and then walked to the doorway. Not looking inside, he called her name.

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