Snow Angel (28 page)

But when she opened them—the blue still too dark but coming back finally, not so black with fear and reaction—when she opened them, they looked right into his. And held.

And held.

She stretched out her hand to him, and her parents stepped aside, letting her go. He met her halfway, and then she was in his arms, plastered against him.

Strong and real.

In his arms, where he always wanted her. Where he wanted her to stay and never go.

He leaned down, pressing his face into her messy, beautiful hair. Taking in the scents that were not all her own. Scents he was used to from his work in various emergency rooms and doctor’s offices and clinics, scents that should never have touched Melinda. Odors of medicine and antiseptic and crap-quality cafeteria food and distant sickness, and even the bitter cold from outside.

His stomach clenched, recoiled, but he shook it off because underneath it all was still Melinda, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d needed that reassurance, the warmth and the true underneath-it-all smell of her, until she was back in his arms.

Thank God, thank God.

For one awful minute, he worried he was going to lose it right there, right in front of her and her parents and the nurse at the end of the hallway, but he sucked it up, bolted it down, put it away.

It was done, the night was over, and she was okay. Would
be
okay, he’d make sure of it. No one would ever hurt her again.

She said, “Jakey,” in a small voice, and he hugged her even tighter.

“Ready, green bean?” he asked, and she nodded against his chest.

He caught her parents eyes and nodded toward the exit, then swept Melinda right off her feet into his arms, carrying her toward the door.

“I can walk,” she protested in her still-gritty voice.

“I know,” he said, brushing a kiss over the top of her head. “This is for me.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see her rolling hers. But with a tired little groan, she settled trustingly against him, her body going slack and her eyes drifting closed as she pressed her head to his shoulder.

That feeling in his heart flopped right over, made him dopey with relief, like a big, stupid dog having its belly scratched by his favorite human.

Love was a funny, powerful thing, one moment choking him up, the next making him want to sing and dance like a fool.

He carried her through the thick, swirling snow across the small parking lot, her parents speaking in low voices behind him, then waited while Stan unlocked the door to the car he’d fetched while they’d been waiting in the clinic. The wind had come back, rising and falling around them. The snow came down harder than ever.

Settling Melinda in the backseat, Jacob scooted around the other side of the car and climbed in to sit beside her, taking her hand gently in his. Silence reigned in the little car, the quiet of extreme fatigue. It was nearly three in the morning. Melinda laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes while Stan drove them back to the condo.

Over her token protest, Jacob carried her up the flight of stairs into their unit, the four of them keeping as quiet as possible to avoid waking the others. Dim lights shone in the kitchen to light their way.

Christian and Wendell, who’d both been snoring lightly from the depths of the family room sofa-bed, popped their heads up with mutual grunts, blinking blearily as they came in. Tufts of blond and red hair stuck up wildly from their respective heads.

Rubbing his eyes with both fists, Christian said, “M-kay?” through a jaw-cracking yawn, and Wendell bobbed his head, birdlike, lending his silent support to the query.

“Okay,” Melinda answered.

“’Kay,” they said together, yawning in unison now. Wendell added a mumbled, “G’night,” and they both flopped back onto the bed, where they appeared to slip immediately back into sleep.

Jacob’s parents’ bedroom door was closed, though Lois had left a note on the counter that read,
Thinking of you, sweetie. Hugs and love, Bill and Lois.
Melinda’s sparkly handbag sat beside it.

Jacob set Melinda on her feet by the kitchen table. She hugged him around the waist and simply hung on.

He wished, fervently, that they were alone, but when Stan and Karen came forward, he gave Melinda one more squeeze and stepped aside. He said goodnight, then left them to talk. He mounted the stairs and was about to change into his pajamas when Melinda’s mother surprised him by entering the loft.

“She needs to shower,” Karen said by way of explanation, her voice a whisper.

Moving to Melinda’s suitcase, she selected her daughter’s pajamas, robe, and slippers, then turned to face him, the clothing clutched to her chest. She stood still, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, which she blinked furiously back.

“Are you okay?” Jacob asked, knowing it was a stupid question, but not knowing what else to say. Her daughter had almost been raped,
had
been abused.

Of course she wasn’t okay.

Karen seemed to gather herself together. Still whispering, she said, “I wanted to thank you. For what you did. For being there when—” She cleared her throat. “For being there for her.”

Ducking his head, Jacob waved her thanks away. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Of course you—”

“No,” he interrupted her, needing her to see. “I punched him when he was already down, and that was for me as much as her.”

Wanting to make his point, he looked the woman who was like a second mother to him dead in the eye.

“You need to know this, Karen, and really believe it. She took care of herself. You raised her strong, and smart. She’s going to be okay. I’ll always be there for her, and so will you, and Stan, and the rest of the family, and she knows that. But she needs to know you believe she can handle herself, too. That she’s not a victim.”

Karen stared at him, an odd look on her face. She set Melinda’s clothing down on the end of his bed, then stepped to him and took him in her arms for a fierce hug.

“You’re right, and I do know that,” she said, holding tight. “You’re such a wise man, Jacob. I’m so proud of the person you’ve become. And you’re a good friend.”

She leaned back and cupped his cheeks in her hands the way she often did to Melinda, her eyes searching his deeply.

“But you’re wrong about one thing,” she continued. “You did a lot tonight. You stood up for her, even if she handled herself. You comforted her, and you made her know she was safe again. That is a priceless gift. As her mother, and someone who loves you both, I won’t ever forget it. Thank you.”

Karen kissed him on both cheeks, hugged him once more, then scooped up Melinda’s sleep clothes and was gone, leaving him standing there staring after her, so many emotions rioting through his system that he couldn’t identify them all.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

With nothing else to do, Jacob changed into his pajamas, then sat at the end of his bed, staring at his feet. He heard the shower turn on downstairs, and a long while later, shut off again. Time dragged slowly. Tired as he was, he couldn’t make himself climb into bed. Not until he knew where Melinda would settle for the night.

Maybe then he could relax.

The memory of her bruised face, damp eyes, and trembling chin haunted him, hurt his heart, and he rubbed his own eyes, trying to scrub the vision out. Every time he blinked, the scene was right there, waiting to replay in his mind. Melinda struggling against Dane. Melinda screaming.

Jacob’s knuckles were bruised from punching Dane, though he’d washed the blood away at the clinic. He flexed his stiff fingers, enjoying the ache and sting, wishing he’d hit the bastard again. And harder.

Wishing even more that it had never been necessary in the first place.

Later, the faint whir of Melinda’s hair dryer sounded down the quiet hallway. Almost done, then. The bathroom door opened, and Jacob peeked over the loft railing to watch as she went back to the kitchen and her parents, who had waited for her to return to the table.

Still he sat.

The night was supposed to have gone so differently. Dancing, laughing, New Year’s Eve kissing.

Now he wasn’t sure how to broach all the things he wanted—needed—to say to Melinda, or when the time would be right again.

The question was how to go from everything that had happened tonight back to where they’d been headed a few hours before.

He didn’t know.

Jacob stared hard at his fingers. His feelings would have to wait. Now that he knew for certain that Melinda was The One, he wanted to act on those feelings as fast as possible, but hers had to come first. It was far more important for her to recover and get back to normal before he sprang his hopes on her out of the blue.

Patience had never been his strong suit. But for her, he would wait.

She would be okay. He’d meant it when he said those words to Karen. As delicate as Melinda might look, she was made of tougher stuff on the inside. She would be okay.

So he would wait.

Listening to the low murmur of Stan and Karen’s voices, the slightly lighter notes of Melinda’s, Jacob wondered if Melinda would come up soon or maybe sleep in her parents’ room.

If she came up, would it be better for her if he pretended to be asleep, so she didn’t feel she had to make conversation or talk about the night? Or would she want him to be waiting up for her?

He stayed on the edge of his bed, indecisive.

Before he could choose which path to take, he heard Melinda’s parents say goodnight and head to their room. Their bedroom door closed quietly. Silence settled over the condo, though outside the windows, the snow continued to whirl and the wind had picked up to howl.

Jacob waited, bouncing his heels, expecting Melinda to top the stairs any moment, but she didn’t come and didn’t come, and finally he stepped stealthily to the loft railing to look down into the kitchen.

She sat at the table with her back to him, not moving, a steaming red mug cupped in her hands.

Now what should he do?

Jacob scratched his fingers through his hair. She probably needed some time to herself. But she looked so small and alone, it pulled at his heart.

Remembering he hadn’t brushed his teeth yet gave him the excuse he needed, and Jacob made his way quietly down the curving stairs. Melinda looked over her shoulder when he reached the bottom.

“Hey,” she said, a wan smile on her tired face.

“Hey,” he whispered back.

Forcing his face into neutral lines to keep from reacting again to the sight of the ugly bruises splayed across her mouth and cheekbones, Jacob smiled in return.

His fists had clenched instinctively, wanting to pound on the sorry excuse for a man who had dared to hurt his woman, but he continued walking, striving for casual. He stretched and relaxed his hands.

As he passed behind her seat, he reached out and lightly squeezed her shoulder, then ran his fingers over her freshly-washed hair, careful to avoid the tender area where Dane had bashed her head against a jagged piece of wall hard enough to draw blood.

“Have to brush my teeth,” Jacob said, explaining his presence downstairs.

Melinda nodded and took a sip of her tea, the scents of cinnamon and honey swirling from the hot mug.

She was still far too pale, which was saying something. With her Irish coloring, she was always pale, despite living in the California desert. Now her skin looked practically translucent. Her dark hair shone in the low kitchen lighting, and she was well-bundled in her thick, shaggy robe and furry purple slippers.

Continuing down the hall, Jacob dealt with his teeth, then stood, hands braced on the bathroom counter, staring at himself in the mirror. He took a breath, needing another moment to get himself back under control before facing Melinda.

Every time he caught sight of her face, the violence rose up inside him again, and it was all he could do to keep the murderous look out of his eyes. He hoped he’d broken Dane’s nose badly enough that it would never look the same. He hoped the bloody coward would wear the mark of his fist on his face for the rest of the man’s miserable life.

Maybe it would serve as a warning sign to other women that the bastard was not to be trusted.

Of course, the scumbag would probably use it as proof of some invented heroic tale and rope the unsuspecting women in even more.

Jacob sighed.

Nothing he could do about that.

If there was any justice in the world, Dane would at least serve some jail time for attacking Melinda, but he knew better than to expect that to be the case. Nope, the bastard would get a little talking to, a wagging finger in his face, and be back out preying on some other unsuspecting female in no time flat.

It could have ended so much worse. He knew that. But the slime had bruised her, hit her. It didn’t take broken bones, or worse, to leave lasting scars. Thank God Melinda was strong and had an equally strong support network.

But he wished it had never happened.

Damn it all to hell.

Standing straight again, Jacob jiggled his hands and arms, rolled his head back and forth, and jumped lightly in place, trying to rid himself of the bloodlust the thoughts of Dane brought out in him. He was not, by nature, a violent person. But if someone threatened Melinda, whether by word—as had happened in high school—or by deed...

Well, they’d just better watch out.

Satisfied he had himself back under control, he returned to the kitchen. Melinda still sat at the table, staring into her mug of tea, her brow furrowed.

“Okay, chili bowl?” he asked, taking a seat next to her and putting his palm out, offering the connection instead of simply taking her hand the way he usually would, so that it was her choice.

Relief spread through him in a warm glow when she reached over and grasped his fingers.

Melinda raised her gaze and smiled, though her mouth winced a little at the pulling on her lips.

She said, “Okay, French dip.”

Jacob twirled an imaginary mustache and said, “French, ooh-la-la,” in a terrible accent and made her smile again, though it still didn’t quite reach her eyes.

On the couch, Christian gave a loud snort and flipped over, shoving his blankets off and throwing one leg across both of Wendell’s. Now Jacob grinned, a genuine smile.

Rick was well known for fighting in his sleep, Danny for walking and talking, but Christian wasn’t nicknamed The Cuddler for nothing.

On any other occasion, Jacob would have whipped out his cell phone and Facebooked that photo with all due haste, but tonight wasn’t the moment.

He blew out a breath. Nope, not tonight.

When Melinda glanced his way with questioning brows raised, he indicated the sofa bed with a nod. Melinda looked, and her dark blue eyes lit up with humor.

“Every time,” she whispered with a quiet giggle. “Poor Wendell.”

Jacob shrugged, though inside he did a happy dance to see the mirth back in her expression. “He’s used to it,” he said.

Melinda snorted and said, “That just makes it worse.”

They smiled at each other in mutual amusement.

When her grin faded, Jacob squeezed her fingers lightly.

“Ready to head up?” he asked after a minute, wanting to offer her a little more time on her own if she needed it, but more than willing to stay if she wanted company. “It’s after four.”

She nodded. “I’ll just finish my tea,” she said, and he took that as his cue to give her some space.

“Okay. See you up there.”

Rising from the table, Jacob pressed a kiss onto the top of her head.

“Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“It looks worse than it is. Truly. Don’t keep looking at me like I’m about to break.”

He breathed in hard, one long sniff to suck back the emotion that wanted to pour out of him. “I’ll try, cream puff. Okay?”

“’K. Goodnight, Jake,” Melinda said, her voice lowering back down to a whisper. She reached for his hand again and squeezed his fingers, holding him by her side. “And thank you. For before. I—”

“Don’t thank me.”

Oh, God, he didn’t want to lose it in front of her. He struggled against the words hanging on the tip of his tongue, words that would spew more violence and hate all over Dane and not do Melinda any good.

Clearing his throat, he said, “I wish I’d gotten there sooner.”

“You got there in time. That’s what matters.”

Strapping on his humor like an iron shield, he scoffed lightly and ruffled her hair—carefully, far from her head injury—pulling back his regrets. They were for him to bear. He wouldn’t burden her with them.

“In time to see you drop his ass like a champ,” he said. “I was just the clean-up crew.”

“You were—
are
—more than that to me,” she said, and wrapped her arms around his waist for a hard hug.

Jacob hugged her back. He had to force himself to let go, to give her the time she needed.

“Get some rest,” he said, and climbed the stairs back to the loft, hoping against hope that her words meant what he wanted her to mean.

He peeled back the covers and flopped into bed facing the window, watching the snow swirl and dive, thrown in every direction by the roaring wind. It seemed even louder now than it had downstairs. If the storm worsened too much more, they might close the ski lifts tomorrow. Or rather, later today.

Not that he cared.

He doubted Melinda would be up to skiing, and he didn’t plan to leave her side. They could hang out in the condo and watch movies or go for a drive or something if the weather lightened up. But he hoped the mountains stayed open so the others could go ski and give them time alone, just to be together.

Melinda topped the loft stairs a few moments later. She gave his toes her habitual friendly waggle where they hung off the end of the too-short bed as she walked past and climbed into her own bed. Her silhouette was barely visible in the nearly pitch-dark loft, the faint glow of the nightlight left on in the kitchen downstairs only reaching so far. Any moonlight beyond the windows was totally obliterated by the storm.

He listened to her shuffle around to get comfortable, then silence descended, except for the unrelenting winds and the low creaking of the building.

More able to relax himself now that she was safely snugged in for the night, Jacob let his eyes drift closed, conscious of his own breathing deepening toward sleep.

What a freaking day.

Exhaustion settled over him like an extra blanket, muffling all sound.

Then...

From the other bed, he heard, “Jake?”

Just his name, low and hesitant, nearly inaudible over the sound of the storm, more a feeling than an actual word.

Opening his eyes, he could hardly make out her slender hand stretched across the space between their beds. He dug his arm out of his blanket cocoon and reached for her fingers, wrapping them inside his own.

“What’s up?” he whispered.

Melinda held his hand, silent for so long he wondered if she’d fallen asleep.

Then she said, “Would you—” She took a deep breath. “Would you—No, never mind.”

“What?”

“It’s silly.”

“Mel. What.”

“I just—I wondered if you... if you would sleep with me again.”

Jacob’s hand twitched involuntarily, and his heart swelled with the strength of the emotions coursing through him at her request.

Striving to keep his voice in check, not wanting to scare her with the force of his response, he said, “Of course,” and nearly sprang out of bed, tripping over his own two feet on the single step to her side.

She turned and scooted over, and he slid in behind her, wrapping her in his arms as he did so and pulling her securely back against his chest.