Bad Boy's Bride Page 14

  Once he made it over to the farm, he saw Remy’s father struggling to board up a gaping hole at the side of the barn. Jumping out of his car, Sawyer ran over to help, surprising the hell out of Braxton River.

  “What are you doing here?” Braxton demanded to know.

  “Here,” Sawyer said, grabbing the wood plank the older man grappled with. “I’ll hold, you nail.”

  Braxton gave him a skeptical look but completed the work quickly enough. When he was done, he waved Sawyer into the barn.

  “You brought Remy back?” Braxton asked.

  “What? No.”

  “She’s not with you?” her father asked.

  “Uh, no. She’s not even speaking to me.”

  “She could be anywhere,” Braxton said, beginning to sound alarmed.

  “Let me call her phone,” Sawyer suggested. He dialed, got voicemail.

  This is Remy, leave a message at the beep!

  “Nothing.”

  “Hell,” Braxton said. “She might be trying to shore up the tractor shed.”

  Sawyer’s mind flashed to earlier in the week, her affection for the pump house and his insistence that it would be gone with the next storm. That storm was now here, and Sawyer was willing to bet that Remy was at the pump house.

  “I know where she is,” he said, shaking his head. “Can you get Micah and meet me down at the pump house?”

  “Sure, but the road will hardly be driveable right now,” Braxton said.

  “I drove in some pretty terrifying conditions as a SEAL. I can handle it here.”

  “All right. We’ll be right after you.”

  Sawyer was already moving, flinging himself into his car and shutting out the pouring rain. He had to drive more carefully as he headed downhill toward the river, his tires spinning in places, the car slipping and sliding in others.

  By the time he got as close as he could to the pump house, Cur Creek was so swollen that it had overflowed its banks. Lightning crashed, rain poured down. And yet, Sawyer willingly climbed out of his car, wading through mud toward the pump house.

  Sure enough, when he came around the side, he saw Remy clinging to the porch as she tried to wedge a bolstering piece of lumber against the porch.

  “Remy, what the fuck!” he called.

  She nearly dropped the board, turning to him. Her eyes were wide, her blonde hair plastered down against her skull.

  “Sawyer?” she asked, as if he might be some invading alien.

  “Get in the damned car, Remy,” he snarled.

  “I have to—” she started, but before she could finish, a piece of the deck beneath her feet gave away. The whole pump house lurched toward the river, Remy clinging to the porch for dear life.

  “No no no!” he shouted, racing toward her as the whole structure groaned, then slowly folded in on itself.

  Left with no other choice, Remy jumped… right into the rushing floodwaters.

  The moment that she went under, her blonde head vanishing into the muddy brown water, Sawyer’s whole world fell out from under him.

  “REMY!” he screamed, kicking off his shoes.

  He flung himself toward where she’d vanished, without sparing a second thought for anything but catching her. He went in, sinking deep in the icy water, his own head submerging a time or two.

  After a moment, he kicked to the surface and sucked in a breath, the water snatching and churning at him. His hand hit something warm, but he lost it.

  “Remy!” he gurgled, seeing a flash of her rain jacket.

  Up ahead, a tree bent over the creek. The water was pouring around it, and the tree wouldn’t last long…

  But he saw Remy grab onto it, even as the roots started to pull from the soil. Thinking quickly, he thrashed his way toward her, grabbing for purchase on another sickly little tree.

  “Remy, I’m right here!” he said, only a few feet behind her.

  Her head turned, her face so pale she was nearly blue. Her eyes lit up when she saw him.

  “Don’t move, okay?” he said. “I’m going to come to you.”

  Using the tree, he swung himself around in the current until he was aligned with her, then held his breath and let go. To his infinite luck, he crashed right into Remy, taking her and the tree along with him.

  Between their bodies and the tree, though, they were heavy enough to be pushed to the bank again, this time a low sandy bank. They both crawled out of the water, shivering and shaking.

  “Don’t stop moving,” he urged, helping her to her feet. “We have to go uphill and find shelter.”

  Remy just nodded, taking the hand he offered and clinging to him for all she was worth. They trudged up to the washed-out gravel road and followed it up for over a mile.

  Headlights flashed and bounced, and suddenly Walker appeared in his Escalade.

  Thank God, Sawyer thought.

  “Mr. River sent me!” Walker called. “Get in!”

  Helping Remy in first, Sawyer climbed in and held onto her as Walker deftly reversed and slogged through the mud, creeping back toward the main house.

  When they pulled up outside the bunkhouse, Walker glanced at them. “I’ll catch you two later.”

  “Sawyer…” Remy said.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No talking right now.”

  He opened the truck door and got out, ignoring Remy’s outraged noises as he scooped her up and carried her toward his apartment.

  “Sawyer, put me down!” she said, her voice muffled by being upside down and pressed against his shoulder.

  “Shut up, Remy,” he said.

  Once he got her inside, he quickly stripped off his outer layers of clothing and then started stripping off hers.

  “Sawyer!” she squeaked as he tugged off her jeans.

  “Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” he said. “Take off your bra and panties, or I will.”

  Her eyes went big, but she bit her lip and obeyed, if slowly.

  “Get under the comforter,” he ordered, pointing. “I’m going to turn the heat up.”

  He paused, grabbing his cell phone and tossing it to her. “Call your father, tell him you’re safe and that you’re staying here tonight.”

  “Sawyer…”

  He shot her look, silencing her protest.

  Still in his wet boxers and t-shirt, he went to change the thermostat. When he came back, she was shivering under the comforter.

  Yanking his t-shirt up over his head, he shoved his boxers down, basking for a second in the pure shock on Remy’s face.

  “What, you forgot?” he asked, wishing his anger would let him truly enjoy the moment.

  “I— I—” she stuttered, tearing her eyes away.

  “Now move over,” he growled.

  He climbed into the bed beside her, freezing his ass off. And yeah, maybe he was already hard for her, but he was also fucking pissed and beyond cold. Nothing was getting resolved until her lips stopped being blue, that was sure enough.

  “Sawyer!” she protested again as he moved to lie beside her, pulling her back against his body and tucking the comforter around them.

  “Don’t make me tell you again, Remy,” he said, squeezing her hip bone. “We’re having quiet time.”

  She shivered in his arms, her eyes closing. It took a few minutes for the chill to recede, for her to stop trembling as he held her close. Once she warmed a little, though, she seemed to have a new problem.

  “Can you not stay still?” he asked, nearly groaning as she shifted the delicious warmth of her ass against his already aching cock.

  “I, uh…” she said.

  He raised his head a little, saw how red her face was getting.

  “Are you getting turned on right now?” he asked point-blank.

  “Well… I mean…” she muttered, biting her lip. “It’s been a while, for me.”

  “How long is a while?” he asked, his anger seeming to slip away from him as he skimmed a hand up her bare hip.

  “Well…” s
he said, sucking in a breath when his lips brushed her shoulder. “A long time.”

  “How long, Remy?” he asked, bringing his hand around to tease her ribs, the underside of her breast.

  “Four years,” she whispered.

  He froze for a second. “You waited for me?”

  “No!” she said, beginning to try to wiggle out of his arms.

  “Oh, you’re not getting away from me now, Remy,” he said, the carnal threat in his words plain.

  She turned, gasping when he kissed her, pulling her atop his body. It all went too fast, hips rocking and tongues clashing. Remy’s heated sex pressed against his cock, making him mad with hunger. He hardly got to explore her lush breasts and skim his hands down her hips before she was hot as lava.

  “Do you have a condom?” she whispered, nibbling at his ear.

  When he pulled one out from behind his pillow, she actually laughed. Three seconds later he had her on her back, knees parted, and he was sinking deep into the best pussy he’d ever had in his life.

  “Fuuuuuuck,” he groaned. “You’re so wet for me, Remy.”

  Remy writhed under him, her nails scoring his back, her hips rocking in rhythm with his.

  “Yes,” she chanted, encouraging him. “Yes, yes!”

  “god damn,” he said. “You’re going to kill me one of these days, Remy.”

  She laughed as he rolled them over again, putting her on top. Remy straddled and rode him like a pro, her long hair falling around her like a halo, her tits bouncing in Sawyer’s face. He laid back and enjoyed the ride, more concerned that she should take what she needed — after all, he hadn’t exactly waited around for her.

  And Remy was good, so fucking good, it was all he could do to relax and let her have her fill, gripping her hips and thrusting in time with her movements. She was wound tight as a spring, her eyes closing as she moved over him, mouth open in ecstasy.

  It was enchantment, pure and simple.

  “Sawyer, I…” she moaned, flicking her hips. “I’m going to…”

  She came calling his name, the sight of her doing wicked things to Sawyer’s brain. The second that she let go, he grabbed her hips and loosened the reins, fucking so her fast and hard that she just clung to him, let him do the work.

  He turned her over one final time, pushing one of her knees up so that he could go deeper and tighter, making them both cry out with the sheer sensation of it.

  “Fuck, Remy!” he crooned, succumbing to his furious hunger.

  He went over the edge, arching into her with long strokes, his whole world going dark for a few moments. There was only Remy, her incredible body and beautiful mind, nothing between them but pleasure and happiness.

  Sawyer collapsed beside her, pulling her close, struggling to catch a breath. They just lay there for a while, quiet.

  “Thank you,” Remy said at length.

  Sawyer turned his head to look at her, the most energy he could muster after the whirlwind day.

  “For what?” he asked.

  “Um, for saving my life?” Remy asked, her brow pulling down in consternation.

  He sighed, pulling her close to kiss her lips.

  “I don’t think you need to thank me.”

  She made a face, clearly disagreeing, but fell silent again for a moment. Sawyer felt his eyelids growing heavy, let sleep tug at his consciousness. Just in this moment, Remy at his side safe and sound, he felt blissfully relaxed.

  “You were my first love, you know?”

  Sawyer opened his eyes a crack. “Mmm?”

  “Nothing. Just… go back to sleep.”

  Remy snuggled down into his arms. Sawyer wasn’t about to pick up the thread of the conversation, either. It could all wait until tomorrow, as far as he was concerned.

  Listening to the soft sound of Remy’s breathing, he let go and drifted off.

  17

  Sawyer opened his eyes when the earliest morning light began to filter in. He rolled over, squinting at the empty space beside him. Something wasn’t right.

  Remy. Where’s Remy?

  He sat up. On the pillow next to his was a neatly folded square of paper.

  He groaned even as he reached out to pick it up. Opening it, he found a simple note in Remy’s elegant cursive.

  * * *

  Thanks for everything.

  * * *

  That was it.

  “Thanks for everything?” he said, reading it a few times to make sure he wasn’t crazy.

  Then, “Fuck!”

  He crumpled the note and tossed it aside, throwing back the covers and standing up. He supposed it was no use even looking for her; she was clearly long gone.

  Just like their last time together, she’d made her priorities clear.

  Only this time, he wouldn’t waste his time pining for her and writing her letters like some lovesick little bitch.

  Nope.

  This time, Sawyer was going to listen to the thousand different ways she’d told him to leave her alone. He was going to give her that distance, pursue other hobbies. Other women, even.

  Letting out one final angry growl, he stomped to the shower, determined not to let this happen to him again.

  18

  Remy didn’t hear from Sawyer. Not the next day. Or the one after that.

  Not that whole week, actually.

  In fact, when she saw him at the church social on Sunday, he barely spared her a glance. He also made a point of talking to Emma Lake, a gorgeous redhead who’d moved to Catahoula about a year before.

  Damn him, she thought, but of course she couldn’t say anything.

  She’d done this, after all. Walked out on him, left a thank you note.

  This was her big plan, her big stupid plan.

  The social crawled by, and Remy didn’t think she’d ever felt so glad to go home afterward. Except when she got home, Shiloh was fussy, running a fever.

  She went into Mommy Mode, as she liked to call it. Ran him a cool bath, gave him some baby aspirin. Monitored the fever, waited for it to break as they always did.

  The fever persisted. So she changed into sweats and spent most of the night walking him around the house, bouncing him on her hip, trying to get him to eat a popsicle.

  When the sun rose, Shiloh was still awake and crying, completely miserable.

  “Honey, I think that’s a rash on the back of his neck,” her mother said, pulling down the back of Shiloh’s sweat-dampened t-shirt.

  “Crap,” she said.

  Turning her son around, she checked. Yep, right there, spreading down across his back.

  So into the bath again, new clothes. Fever still present. Climbing, in fact.

  Stressed and exhausted, she handed Shiloh over to her mother for a bit, tried to get some sleep, drawing the curtains in her bedroom as best she could against the morning light. As soon as she closed her eyes, though, her father woke her.

  “Your mother told me to come get you. Shiloh’s vomiting. And… well… he doesn’t look good, sweetheart.”

  “Okay,” she said, her voice rough. “We should go to the doctor.”

  “Don’t panic, but your mother already called Dr. Hickston. He wants us to go to Children’s Hospital.”

  “What?” she said, sitting up, head spinning.

  “Calm down, honey. He just said that there’s an outbreak of viral meningitis in town, and he wants Shiloh to go get checked out.”

  “Let me get dressed,” she said, shooing her father out of the room.

  An hour’s car ride later, Shiloh was passed out in her arms as she paced in the waiting room of the ER, distraught and desperately trying to hold it together.

  “At least he’s sleeping,” her father said.

  “He’s so hot, though,” Remy said. “He’s burning up, Daddy.”

  Her mother and father just held hands and held their peace, and Remy continued her nervous pacing.

  It took almost another hour to see the doctor, and when they did, the news wasn’t what t
hey wanted to hear. To Remy’s surprise, Emma Lake was their doctor.

  “Remy, nice to meet you, I’m Dr. Lake.”

  Remy inclined her head, too worried about Shiloh to care a whit about the pretty redhead. Dr. Lake stood on one side of the tiny hospital bed, Remy on the other, holding Shiloh’s hand as he slept.

  “So we’re doing some cultures to see if it’s meningitis,” Dr. Lake said. “I’m willing to say it isn’t, though.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Remy’s mother said, fanning herself.

  “Well what could it be?” Remy asked, shaking her head. “This isn’t normal, right?”

  “You’re right, it’s not,” Dr. Lake said. “We’re doing a broad spectrum of tests. We’d actually like to draw some bloodwork on you too, if that’s okay. There could a genetic condition making itself known.”

  “Genetic?” Remy asked, feeling tears welling in her eyes.

  “We just want to rule some things out. This could be any number of things, so let’s just wait to see what we find out, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Are there any conditions I should be aware of?” she asked. “Mother, father, either set of grandparents? Diabetes, Cushing’s, anything like that?”

  “N-no,” Remy said, the first tear spilling. “Well, I don’t know…”

  “Okay, no problem,” Dr. Lake said, giving Remy a calm smile. “We’ll just do a full workup and go from there. In the meantime, we’re going to control this fever, treat it very aggressively. He’s in good hands here, okay?”

  “Sure,” Remy said, feeling her face crumple as Dr. Lake left the little room.

  “It’s okay,” her mother said, giving her a hug.

  Remy cried then, really cried. She cried as they moved Shiloh upstairs to a room for observation. She cried when the results came back inconclusive, test after test. She cried when Dr. Lake hesitantly said they needed to keep him overnight, do a few longer-running tests and monitor him.

  Finally, around seven that night, Remy broke down and called Sawyer.

  It was the last thing in the world she wanted, but what if there was a piece of information she didn’t have? What if something happened to Shiloh, something she could have prevented?