3

A month later …

From the shade of the hastily erected triage tent, Darla viewed the carnage left in the tornado’s wake with despair. It could’ve been worse , she kept telling herself. The hardest hit was Cedar Lodge, the retirement village, and surrounding streets. So far, there were no reported fatalities, the towns’ residents having sought shelter in time. But several people were still missing, and rescue teams worked through the destroyed homes looking for survivors.

“Darla.”

Her stomach somersaulted at the familiar voice calling her name. She had seen him among the swarm of folk who arrived to help with rescue operations earlier but managed to put him out of her mind while dealing with the many injuries. She steeled herself for the onslaught of emotions before turning to face him.

He looked much like he had the first time she’d seen him — dressed in dusty clothes, a cowboy hat shading his traitorous face.

Bobby Bell a.k.a. Robert Bellerose a.k.a. Wretched Lying Scumbag.

She forced her gaze away from those mesmerizing pale eyes, berating her heart for the increase in her pulse.

He held a young child in his arms, the girl’s visibly upset mother right beside him. “This is Mia. She cut her leg on a piece of wood.”

Ah, that voice. That slight, but delicious accent infiltrating his Texas twang. It still affected her in a visceral manner. When she first met him, she (along with the rest of the town’s duped folk) assumed he’d spent some time in England. And he had done nothing to correct their thinking.

But no, Sir Robert, undercover in Texas on a secret mission, hailed from the archipelago of islands called Andraste, located in the middle of the freaking Atlantic Ocean.

“Darla.”

Darla shook off her resentment and focused on the girl in his arms. “Hello, Mia,” she said, grabbing a fresh pair of gloves from the nearby container. She nodded her head toward a gurney, and Bobby laid the child down with infinite care before stepping back, giving Mia’s mom room to step closer. “How did you hurt your leg, honey?” she asked, unwrapping the bloodstained towel, revealing jagged cuts on both sides of her shins. Poor kid.

“I’s look for Buttons,” Mia sobbed.

“Her leg slipped between two pieces of torn siding,” the mom said. “I told Mia not to walk on the rubble looking for a darn knitted toy.”

At least Buttons wasn’t a pet. “Did you find Buttons, Mia?” Out of the corner of her eye, Darla noticed Bobby walk away. Then berated herself for even noticing. Mia deserved her full attention.

“Nooo! I fink the ’nado took him.”

“Hmm. Tornadoes are real nasty, aren’t they?”

“Uh-huh. It smashed our house.”

“I know. That is very sad. Honey, can you be a very brave girl for me while I clean your leg?”

Big brown watery eyes gave her a serious look. “I fink so,” Mia whispered. “Mr. Bobby said you’ll fix my leg lickety-split. He said you’re the bestest ever.”

Bestest ever? Taken aback, it took Darla a moment to speak again. “Well, then, best I get right to it.”

*

It was later that afternoon when Darla saw Bobby again. He caught her off guard once more, even though she had been actively searching for him, if only to steer clear of him.

“How is Mia?” he asked.

Bestest ever. Mia’s words blasted into her mind. But not enough to love, Darla tagged on. “She’ll be fine. No stitches required.”

“Good.”

She wanted him gone. Out of her space. As far away as needed to stop her stomach fluttering and her heart pounding.

Yet he stood there, watching her watch him, the brim of his hat casting shadows across the cut angles and sharp lines of his too handsome face.

She stepped back, intent on turning. Running.

His hand closed around her forearm.

She hadn’t felt his touch in years. Her skin burned beneath his grip.

A dark, urgent, unwanted hunger tore through her.

A hunger for more of his touch.

More of him .

He stepped closer. A hint of citrus mixed with the smell of sweat and dust emanated from him. “Do you know where they went?”

“Huh?” She battled out from under the haze of desire and stared at him, confused. “What?”

He dropped his arm. She felt the loss keenly.

“Mia and her mum,” he articulated. “Do you know where they are?”

She thought hard. “Um … they were looking for … uh, their friends who arrived to fetch them.”

Shit, Darla Miller. Get a grip.

“Do you know who?”

Mentally shaking off the fog courtesy of Bobby Bell, she narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

He held out a very dirty knitted toy. It was a faded pink, with long floppy ears, dangly legs and arms, and three large white buttons on the torso. “I found Buttons. Well, I think it’s Buttons. It was sticking out from under a broken drawer not far from where Mia injured herself.”

Incredulous, she looked from the toy to the man. “You went looking for her toy?”

“Figured it would help her accept” — his gaze took in the devastation around them — “this.”

Darla blinked several times, the unbidden tears a blasted nuisance. She scraped her throat and said, “The sheriff’s department is keeping a log of the affected folks and their whereabouts. Ask them.”

And she needed to get away. Right now. “I need to go,” she muttered and spun about, walking away as fast as she could without it looking like she was running.

Which is what she really wanted to do.

Run and hide.

A few women were handing out water bottles at the edge of the street and she made her way to them, putting purpose in her stride. Just in case he got the erroneous idea she was running from him. She could still feel his gaze on her.

“I need a vet,” a woman called out from the side.

It took Darla a beat to place the tall and slender but very grubby brunette.

It was Princess Marielle.

From Andraste.

Bobby’s homeland.

She had heard scuttlebutt during the afternoon about the princess (the royal’s visit to Bulwark had been anticipated for weeks!) helping with the rescue operations.

And the woman clutched a tiny ball of fluff in her arms.

Here was the perfect excuse to put distance between her and Bobby.

Her car was close, her best friend a vet.

She intercepted Princess Marielle. “I’m Darla. Come.”

*

Bobby watched Darla walk away, her curvy arse swaying enticingly as she gained speed, with deep regret. It always hurt to see her. She hated him. And rightly so. He had started a relationship with her, knowing full well it could lead to nothing, but she had bewitched him.

Darla with the onyx eyes, ebony curls, and glowing dark skin.

And passionate nature.

Their lovemaking had been in a league of its own. Her soft skin, velvety smooth under his rough hand as he explored her luscious curves. The taste of her, his mouth and tongue seeking, finding her hidden delights. Her cries as she fell over the precipice, out of control, her body shuddering in delight.

Carnal. Combustible. Utterly unforgettable.

He’d not had a better lover before. Nor since. Not that there had been many since. Because no woman measured up to the sheer perfection of Darla Miller.

As beautiful inside as she was on the outside, he had fallen so hard and fast that he’d lost sight of common sense. And when he finally pulled the plug, it had been with brutal detachment.

The only way he could let her go.

Make her despise him.

He kicked at a piece of wood lying in his path, dislodging a cloud of dust and other debris. His gaze traveled over the destruction left behind by the tornado. Homes turned into splinters. Trees uprooted, stripped bare. Powerlines down. Vehicles wrecked.

Total devastation.

A perfect metaphor for his life.

Yet she had moved on from him, piecing together her broken heart.

She had found another man to warm her bed.

And he was glad for her.

Darla deserved to be happy; to build that family she spoke of years ago. And Sullivan Lawson was a good man. A man who’d cherish the beauty he held in his arms. He’d look after her, protect her. Love her. Marry her. Fill her belly with babies. Grow old with her.

Pain seared through him.

“Fuck,” Bobby swore, swung away, and marched with purpose to the tent the sheriff’s department had set up.

Reuniting Mia with her beloved Buttons was within his power.

Fixing his past mistakes … a totally different story.

*

Several days later …

Bobby hefted another bale of hay and rested it on his shoulder, viewing the remaining pile with disgust. It was grunt work, something he could relegate to others, but his stable hands were in town helping with cleanup after the tornado. He had sent them there, preferring the isolation of the ranch. That way he wouldn’t bump into Darla again, because, fucking bollocks, since their interaction, she had been front and center of his mind during every daylight moment. And at night …

Well, nights were worse.

Alone in his bed, a bed she had slept in, he dreamed of her, waking with his dick in hand, hard, throbbing, desperate for her.

So, he needed the extra work, the exertion, so when he stumbled home, fell into bed exhausted, he’d (maybe) not dream—

“I crossed paths with Darla today,” a woman said.

At the sound of her name, Bobby’s heart somersaulted in his chest.

He tossed the hay and moved closer to the open barn doors. Staying within the deep shadows, his concealed position afforded him a clear view of the unfolding action outside.

Princess Marielle stood toe-to-toe with Sullivan, yelling at him. “Was I a handy diversion? A quick fuck before you bumped hips with Darla long enough to give her the baby—”

Baby?

It was a punch to his solar plexus.

Darla was … pregnant?

The rest of the princess’s tirade faded as he fought to stay calm, to breathe while bouncing around those three words in his mind.

Darla was pregnant.

His Darla was pregnant.

She’s not yours, you arse.

The idea of Darla pregnant with another man’s child made his gut churn.

He needed to be the man planting his seed in her.

Huh? There was her name again, and Bobby turned his attention back to the argument.

“I’ve cleared the air with her,” Sullivan said. The man uttered a few more angry words to the princess before swinging up on his horse and storming away at a fast clip.

Bobby wanted to slug Sullivan for dismissing Darla — and her baby — so easily.

You don’t clear the air after knocking up a woman.

That was his woman Sullivan was flicking off like a pesky fly.

His wom—

But Darla isn’t your woman, arsehole.

Not anymore.

He gave up that right when he cruelly ended their relationship without explanation.

When you cruelly flicked her off like a pesky fly.

Bobby caught hold of the barn wall to keep his body from sinking to the ground.

No. It’s different. I did not abandon her, pregnant and alone. I had a valid reason—

But the reason you walked away is no longer relevant.

He shot upright as a new truth slapped him upside the head.

The reason he stayed away was no longer applicable.

And Darla needed him.