Texas Rebels: Egan

“We’re not in Vegas.”

Her lips curved into an enchanting smile. “That would be nice to share with you.”

“Rachel, please stop seeing me as someone you’d like to have a relationship with.”

“Why?”

He had to tell her. It was the only way to stop the fantasy in her head. “I was twenty years old and enjoying college life, like all kids that age. It was the end of the school year and summer beckoned. Celebration parties were going on everywhere. I attended one with my friend and got drunk, way too drunk. He hooked up with someone and I didn’t have a ride home, so these two guys said they would drop me off at my dorm. The next thing I knew I was in a hospital bed under arrest.”

She sat up, her eyes enormous. “What happened?”

“Seemed the two idiots decided to rob a liquor store. They were high on crack and killed the man inside. I was passed out drunk in the backseat. I didn’t really know these guys and had no idea of their plans.”

“But you didn’t do anything.”

“No, I didn’t. Even after the toxicology report came back and showed I didn’t have any crack in my system, only booze, the judge didn’t buy it. My friends at the party testified that I had just gotten a ride home from them. The judge thought I needed to be taught a lesson about how to choose my friends and how to have more control over what I drink. And to be more responsible. He could have given me probation and community service, but he sentenced me to a year in prison.”

“How awful. Oh, Egan, I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” Before he could stop her she slipped off the bed and onto his lap. He tensed. She’d blindsided him with her reaction and he didn’t want to react. He wanted her to...

Her arms went around his neck and she rested her forehead against the side of his. “That must have been terrible for a young man.”

He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her and the fragrance that lingered in her hair. All feminine. All intoxicating. All he wanted at that moment.

Then from the deepest, darkest part of his soul the words came, words he’d never said to anyone, not his brothers, not his mother, not anyone.

“It was hell on earth. When they drove us into the prison and those big gates closed behind the van, I knew I was in the worst possible place. Everything was taken from me. I was stripped of my clothes, my pride, my life. Then they ushered me down long halls with cell after cinder-block cell. I was pushed into one, and as the steel door clanged shut, I was frightened beyond anything I’ve ever felt in my life. There was no way out. I was trapped like an animal, with other animals who had no qualms about inflicting pain. They called me pretty boy. I made a friend, Jericho, and he saved me many times. But daily I lived in fear for my life. I can’t tell you how that changes a man. I—”

“Shh.” She kissed his cheek. “Don’t relive it. You don’t have to. You’re free now.” Her mouth trailed to the corner of his and he turned his head to meet her lips. He groaned at the sweetness of her and deepened the kiss. His arms tightened around her and the earth stood still as, for the first time, he let someone else share the pain of that time. Allowed someone to console him. She tasted of spaghetti and liquor, and it was the best taste he’d ever had. He wanted more and more and more...

His hand trailed beneath the T-shirt to caress the softness of her breast. Somewhere in the rational part of his mind, he knew this was wrong. He had to stop it. Now!

“Rach...”

“How long did you have to stay there?”

He withdrew his hand from her breast. He had to gain control. “My mother hired another attorney and he collected more evidence, damning evidence. The crime had happened in Waco, Texas, and the judge was a visiting one. My lawyer at the time had advised me to let the judge decide my sentence instead of going through a jury trial. My family and I agreed. Being familiar with my family and Horseshoe, the judge should have recused himself. He chose not to. My new lawyer brought this out in an appeal and the original sentence was overturned. I was finally exonerated, the charges were dropped and I was released after three months. But three months scarred me for life.”

“Egan...”

“I’m telling you this so you’ll understand where I’m coming from when I say you and I will never have any kind of relationship. I will get you back to your family, but that’s it.”

She went still in his arms. “I don’t understand. I don’t think any less of you for what happened, and you shouldn’t, either.”

“We’ve known each other for about twenty-four hours now. We should never have met, but sometimes fate is cruel.”

“I know you’re going somewhere with this, but for the life of me I have no idea what it is.”

Egan removed his arm from around her waist and studied the blood under his fingernails. “The judge who sent me to prison to make a point, to teach me a lesson, was Hardison Hollister, your father.”

Chapter Four (#ulink_a7b301f0-cae2-5a0a-af35-25b7736377ad)

Rachel slipped from his lap, shaking her head. “No, that’s not true. My father was known for his honest and fair decisions. He wouldn’t do something like that.”

Egan stood—tall, rigid and defiant. “He was also known for his stiff and unrelenting decisions dictated by his high moral code. The only thing I was guilty of was underage drinking. But he said I’d made choices and I had to be accountable for them. And since my family had a history of violence, he couldn’t just let it go. I needed to learn a lesson, and the only way to do that was to think about my actions in prison. There was nothing fair about his words or his judgment.” Egan swung away and strolled outside in the dwindling light, as if saying the words took every ounce of energy he had.

Rachel sat on the bed, speechless. Her father had been a judge for many years and she’d never thought much about his occupation. But his decisions affected lives...like Egan’s. Growing up, she’d seen little of her father. He was always busy, in court or out of town at political events, or sitting in as a visiting judge. Her mother had always been the mainstay in Rachel’s life. She drew a deep breath and curled up on the bed.

Coming home was turning into a nightmare. How much guilt could she load onto her poor old soul? Egan’s pain was something she could feel, but he didn’t want her sympathy or her comforting words. What could she say to him?

Even after everything he’d told her, those feelings she had for him hadn’t changed. A lot more questions about her father lingered, though.

From the bed, she could see Egan sitting on the stoop, staring into the darkness and battling the demons inside him. The moonlight shone a path between them. As if he sensed her stare, he got up and walked back into the house.

“I have to put alcohol on your wounds,” he said, his voice a rough edge of reality. No matter how much he wanted to ignore her, he couldn’t. Her safety and welfare were important to him and that said more about him than any sentence he could have been given.

He went to the cabinet and pulled out something. A split second later there was light in the cabin.

“Oh.” She was startled by the brightness.

“It’s a kerosene lantern,” he said. “It belonged to my grandparents and I use it for light sometimes.” He placed it on the floor, grabbed the whiskey bottle, sat beside her and began to dab at the scratches on her arms and neck.

“Where did you get that piece of cloth?”

“I cut it off of your top.”

“I didn’t see you do that.”

“Just sit quietly.” He soaked the scratches on her hands, arms and neck. It didn’t sting as badly this time. With the flickering lamp and the darkness crowding in, the setting and the moment could have been romantic. But there was nothing romantic about their situation.

His hand lingered on her neck and moved gently to her cheek. His touch was soft, almost a caress. She imagined he made love the same way—gently, with total concentration and attention to detail. Without thinking, she leaned her face into his hand.

He cleared his throat. “You’ll have to remove the T-shirt so I can soak the scratches on your chest.”

The shirt came off with one easy movement. He dabbed at the scratches, his hand lingering over the fullness of her breast.

A ragged breath caught in her throat. “Touch me.”

“I am touching you.” His voice came out hoarse.

“No.” She reached up and removed his hat. “I mean like you want to touch me.”

He stood abruptly. “That’s done. Now get some rest.”

Pretending she hadn’t spoken wasn’t going to stop her. “Egan...”

“Don’t say anything else. We’ve said enough.”

“There’s a chemistry between us that has nothing to do with my father. It has to do with us.”