The Perfect Match

  “What else could I do?”

  TRUST ROWENA TO NAME the mother cat before they’d left the vet’s office, Cash thought as he turned down Rowena’s street and glanced at the tousled, soot-stained woman in the seat beside him. Once the storm of emergency care was over, she’d named all the traumatized animals, as if that simple gift would make them seem more important to the vet techs who’d be caring for them, make the kittens cling to life more tenaciously themselves.

  The gesture had touched Cash, watching Rowena pen each name onto the cardboard sign on the cage where the little family had been put together. The vet had considered splitting up the babies from the mother to give the newly christened Cinderella a rest, but Rowena wouldn’t hear of it. She didn’t want Cinder to wake up and be terrified her babies were gone.

  Cash was damned glad Rowena had stepped in when she did. He doubted he could have taken it, watching the babies being pulled away. He knew just how the cat felt.

  The guys down at the Sheriff’s office would think he’d gone crazy. It was just a cat. A stray at that. Probably had a dozen kinds of worms, carrying all sorts of diseases and dropping another litter every five minutes. And yet, as Cash had pitched in, working side by side with Rowena and Dr. Wilcox to get everyone stabilized as soon as possible, he’d been haunted by the primal courage of Cinderella racing into the flames. Haunted by his own personal nightmares now two and a half years old.

  Triage…it was part of a deputy’s job to handle things until the EMTs arrived on an accident scene. Trying to stop dangerous bleeding. Get victims out of cars before they caught fire. Keep the injured from moving until medics got there with the neck braces or back boards so often necessary before they could whisk the victims off to the emergency room.

  How many times had Cash watched the ambulance’s flashing red lights disappearing toward Whitewater General Hospital? Only once had he climbed into his car and followed them. Raced after the EMTs into rooms filled with the biting smell of antiseptic. Witnessed the rush of medical staff starting drips, cutting away clothes, washing off blood so they could see the wounds beneath.

  He pulled to a stop in front of Rowena’s place, his hands gripping the wheel to keep them from shaking. His head swam with images he’d tried to block from his mind, leaving him dizzy. Sick to his stomach. Wondering how in the hell he was going to make it home.

  Home where the rooms still reminded him of the days after Lisa’s wreck, and horror all the paint in the world could never blot from his mind.

  He waited for Rowena to climb out of the vehicle, but she only sat there, watching him. “Now that we’ve got Cinder and family tended to, it’s time to take a look at you, Deputy Lawless.”

  Cash knew what she was doing—using his official title to put distance between them, make him feel more at ease after the raw places he’d revealed to her.

  “I’m fine,” he insisted.

  “Actually, you’ve got some pretty nasty-looking scorch marks on the back of your shirt. I want to see what’s underneath them.”

  “I’m used to taking care of myself.”

  “I know. But this time you’ll just have to resign yourself to letting me check you over. Burns are a great entry point for infection, in case you weren’t listening when Dr. Wilcox gave us Cinderella’s prognosis. You might be able to dress the burns on your knuckles, but your back is way out of your reach.”

  “It doesn’t hurt.” Not compared to the gaping wound in his chest.

  “That doesn’t mean you aren’t burned there. Adrenaline dulls your pain sensitivity. Upstairs. I mean it, Cash. Better surrender now, and save what’s left of your pride.”

  What was left? Not much, Cash thought. Not when he was coward enough to feel grateful to her for giving him a slight reprieve from being in his house, alone.

  He switched off the engine. Grabbing the laundry basket full of all-but-ruined clothes, he followed her to the door. She took the basket from him and stashed it behind a bush outside, to keep from bringing the stench from smoke and seared fur into the apartment.

  She might as well have not bothered, considering that every layer of clothing he wore was saturated with the very same smells.

  He climbed the stairs after her, his eyes feeling parched and itchy. Once in the kitchen, she turned on the overhead light then wheeled to face him.

  “All right, let’s see what we’ve got here.” She reached for the buttons that marched down the front of his uniform shirt. Cash knew he should do it himself, and yet, his own hands felt too large, too awkward, too heavy with mistakes they’d made at an accident scene long ago.

  Her knuckles brushed the hollow of his throat, then lower, down to the middle of his chest, his stomach, hesitating where his equipment belt cinched his waist, the wide leather strap weighted down with his gun, his nightstick, his flashlight, whatever he might need on a call. She carefully laid it all aside, then pulled out his shirttails and eased the scorched cloth off him.

  Cash winced when she came to his injured elbow, the dried blood gluing the shirt to the wound. Regret shaped her mouth as she pulled the fabric loose then dropped the garment to the floor. Grabbing a clean kitchen towel, she dabbed at the newly opened cut until the wound quit seeping. Her gaze shifted. He saw her moisten her lips as she peered at his naked chest.

  Grabbing up a washcloth and filling another bowl with water, she returned and began cleansing the cut, dabbing away the dirt and blood. She ran a fingertip over his tattoo, obviously trying to distract him.

  “U.S.M.C.—I wondered what this said. That day I charged into your house I barely got a glimpse.”

  “My buddies and I got them on our last liberty before we left for Kuwait.”

  “You were in Desert Storm?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How…was it?”

  He grimaced. “It was hot as hell.”

  “Tonight can’t have been much better for you,” she said, turning his burning arm in her cool hands. “You’re a mess. It would take an hour to clean all the soot and such off you this way. I can’t see what part’s dirt, what part’s burn. Do you think you could take a shower? That would clean away the worst of the grime so I could see what I’m doing.”

  He couldn’t argue with that. She took him to her bathroom, started water running then gathered an armload of sky-blue towels from the closet. Cash tried to take them from her, fumbled, knocking something from the rim of her sink—a rubber-ducky-shaped soap dish that bounced when it hit the floor.

  Cash stared down at his hands as if they weren’t attached. They’d been tired from all the painting he’d been doing. Now, after the fire, they felt practically useless.

  “Sorry,” he said. “It’s like my hands aren’t working right.”

  “No problem.” Rowena grabbed the smirking duck and dumped it into the sink. “Pretty much everything around here gets knocked off at some point. If I had anything breakable around here the critters would all think their names were ‘no’ or ‘stop that!’”

  He fumbled with the fastenings of his pants, knowing he was supposed to be heading for the shower. His knuckle split, bled.

  “Let me help.” She said it so simply. Cash clenched his jaw as she unbuttoned his fly, unzipped it, her fingers brushing him through the front of his briefs.

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth and Cash knew he should take over. How difficult could it be to hook his thumbs in the waistband and shove the ash-stained pants down his legs? But he couldn’t make himself move.

  She folded her jean-clad legs under her and untied his boots. And Cash let her. Let her work the stiff leather off his feet and divest him of first one sock, then the other. She hooked her fingers in his pants pockets and then drew them down his legs. His change and keys jangled as his pants hit the floor. He kicked his bare feet free of the material and he was standing in Rowena’s bathroom wearing nothing but navy blue briefs. Wisps of her hair feathered against his thigh, her hands still touching him, her finger tracing a three-inch
scar near his left knee.

  She didn’t even ask how he’d gotten it, but the story beat its way into his mouth.

  He walked to the window, with its blurred glass to keep people from looking in.

  “Do you have any idea how sharp metal can be when a car gets twisted in an accident?” he asked quietly. “The sheets crumple like tinfoil, but so much sharper. Even before the firefighters use the jaws of life to tear the passenger compartment open. Charlie was right when she described it. Like—like teeth, these horrible, metal teeth I had to fight my way through to reach her.”

  Cash felt a crushing weight on his chest, as if he couldn’t breathe. But not because of the smoke that had seared his lungs hours before. Instead, it was a different stench, the sickly sweet, metallic smell of blood.

  “The people at the department called you to the scene the minute they knew your family was involved?” Rowena asked.

  “No. I was first responder. All I knew was that a car had been hit by a semi. They don’t have to tell you that there are going to be serious injuries in a case like that. You know. I didn’t realize that my kids were in that car until I drove over the hill and saw…”

  He wrestled open the stubborn old window, trying to draw oxygen into his lungs as he peered out into the darkness.

  He heard the rustling sounds of Rowena getting to her feet, felt her slip her arms around his waist. She laid her cheek against his back, her silky hair feathering against his waist, her warm arms around him.

  “The car had rolled, landed on its roof down in the middle of the highway. I still don’t know how any of them survived it. When I got to them, the kids were screaming. I could see Lisa’s arm was broken, her sleeve soaked with leaking gasoline. She was wild with panic, begging me to get them out.”

  She’d been terrified for the girls, Cash remembered. Strange, that was the closest to his wife he had ever felt.

  “I knew…knew I should leave them where they were, just…wait for the EMTs. There could have been spinal injuries. God knew what. But the engine was smoking. Gasoline had spilled everywhere. One spark and the whole car would have blown up. Charlie was closest. I grabbed her, handed her out to some Good Samaritan who’d stopped to help. The semi driver cut Lisa out of her seat belt while I went in for Mac. She took the worst of it. Her legs…her little legs were trapped.”

  Rowena held him even tighter, and he could feel the warm wetness of tears on his skin.

  “I reached in where they were caught, tried to work Mac free, but I couldn’t get her out. The car’s engine was smoking. I thought…thought she was going to burn to death if I didn’t get her out of there. I braced myself against the car, grabbed her tight and…I pulled.”

  Bile rose in Cash’s throat. “I did that to Mac. Made all those scars and breaks so bad when I pulled her out.”

  “Cash, her legs were broken from the wreck. You’re not responsible.”

  “Four more minutes. That’s all it took before the firefighters got there. With the tools they needed to stabilize Mac’s legs and get her out the right way.”

  “You thought the car was going to explode.”

  “But it didn’t. You know what keeps me up at night, Rowena? What if I’m the reason my little girl never walks again?”

  “MacKenzie is going to walk again, Cash. You saw her pull up on Destroyer yourself. But the real reason she’s going to get back on her feet is because of you. Every day you will your strength into that little girl. Every day you believe so hard that Mac has to believe herself.”

  “And that will change what? It won’t wash me clean of everything I’ve done wrong. When I ran into the fire after that cat, all I could think of was that cat is a better mother than the one I gave my children. And what kind of father am I? I hate their mother. I hate her.”

  “Almost as much as you hate yourself?”

  Cash started as Rowena’s blunt words sliced deep, rang true. How long had she known?

  “Maybe if you could forgive, you could start over. All that hate isn’t doing those babies of yours any good, Cash. It can only hurt them.”

  “Sometimes I feel like all that poison is the only emotion that’s keeping me standing. I see you and…I try to remember what it was like to be…clean. Whole.”

  Rowena turned him to face her. “All you have to do to heal is let in some light. Take care…not only of your daughters, but of yourself. You can’t ignore wounds and you can’t hide them. You have to be willing to let someone else see them, touch them.”

  Irritation nudged him. “What the hell do you call what I’m doing now?”

  She stood on tiptoe and kissed him, her mouth soft, tender on his. “I call it a start.”

  She turned toward the shower, opened the door, guided him in. Water streamed down over him when she turned the nozzle on. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, let the spray drum against his face, beat his bare shoulders, water soaking through his briefs. He heard the shower door click shut then heard the hollow knock of something against the shower’s interior wall.

  Rowena had come with him, followed him through the fire of memories into the water she’d offered to cool him.

  “Bend down so I can reach your hair,” she said. Cash opened his eyes and memorized the look of her, her face dewy with droplets, her clothes getting wet. Then he did as she asked, surprised at the sudden freedom of letting someone take care of him just a little. She washed his hair, her fingers feeling like heaven massaging his scalp. Then she rubbed soap between her hands, the scent of oranges battering back the thick, choking odor of sweat and smoke.

  Lather foamed between her slender fingers and she set the soap aside, began rubbing her slick palms against his left hand. Between his fingers, up his arm, kneading the tight, aching muscles. She lingered over the cut on his elbow, and he welcomed the sting of soap on raw skin. It made him feel as if she really were searing it away somehow, the grime he’d felt gone forever.

  She worked up to his shoulder, then onto his soot-smeared chest. Slow, deliberate circles she drew on his skin, so careful to cleanse away every bit of sweat or dirt, as if she’d take forever if he needed her to.

  Forever with Rowena and the hot, soothing water, her hands gathering what was broken inside him until even he could feel her piecing him back together again. There was no place on his body she didn’t touch. No place in the darkness of his soul she couldn’t reach.

  He’d expected her to recoil from all that ugliness he’d revealed, but she never did. She didn’t love him in spite of all his flaws. She loved him because of them. Because she knew how he’d survived each day. Because she’d seen him at his worst and at his best and she knew what kind of man he wanted to be, even if he never could achieve it.

  He could feel in the very marrow of his bones how much magic she deserved. All the impossible wonder in those love songs he heard sometimes. But she wanted him. He hardened against the clinging wet cotton of his briefs, knew she had to guess how close he was to the breaking point.

  But she hadn’t kissed him. Not once. Hadn’t even shed her clothes. She just stood in the shower with him, patiently washing away stains no one else could see. Her T-shirt clung to her breasts, her aureoles visible through the almost transparent cloth, her feet bare as she knelt down to wash his legs. He knew she had to notice his erection, but there was no seduction in her touch, no temptress trying to break through his control.

  Her words in the squad came back to him, her promise she wouldn’t jump his bones unless he asked her to. Her efforts to respect the boundaries he’d drawn humbled him. Her emotional courage awed him. And he knew Rowena would always do what she promised, say what she meant, be exactly who she was, no matter how much darkness battered her.

  She carried her own light.

  He whispered her name hoarsely, admitting something he’d never imagined saying to anyone again, let alone to a woman.

  “I need you.”

  Not want—in spite of the way his body clamored for release. N
ot desire—because that was too fleeting. She filled up the hole in his chest. She thawed the hard in his heart. She spurred in him the courage to try…

  Her gaze caught his, warm as spring sun, starting a greening inside Cash that drove back winter gray. He could feel life unfurling inside him, opening up to possibilities that should have terrified him. Did terrify him.

  She stood up, catching the hem of her wet shirt as she rose, pulling it over her head, dropping it to the shower floor.

  What the hell could he say? She was beautiful? That didn’t begin to describe what he saw in the perfection of her breasts, the tips of her nipples already pearled and eager for his mouth.

  She fumbled with her jeans, and he helped her take the sodden denim off. Then he gathered her to him, felt her naked thighs against his, her breasts bare against his chest, his hard-on burning through the layer of cotton, eager to push past the last barrier between them.