The Seduction of Shamus O'Rourke

Chapter Twenty

"I'm okay,” Cyndi said for what seemed like the hundredth time as she place the last dish in the dishwasher. They'd just finished a couple of sandwiches for a late lunch, although neither of them had much of an appetite. “It's more of an inconvenience than anything. I can't even go into town and check the mail.” Her father had kept a box at the post office rather than have the mail delivered to the house.

"I'll go and get the mail. That's the least of our worries."

Shamus had been a rock since he'd pulled into the driveway an hour ago. The deputies had come and gone, and surprisingly, had been much more courteous than they'd been the last time they were here. Cyndi hadn't minded dealing with the authorities, but freely admitted she felt much better with Shamus beside her.

Like the last time, there wasn't much for them to go on. With only a few other houses on James Lane, and none of them close to Cyndi's, nobody had seen anything. It would have been easy for someone to sneak through the woods, cut the tires, and disappear back into the heavy forest surrounding the house. The trees were still thick with fall foliage, even though it was starting to thin somewhat.

Mike Sampson had driven out from the garage to tow her car. He'd promised to have it back before supper. It was silly, but she hated being without transportation. Made her feel trapped. She needed to stop thinking like that.

When she finished wiping her hands on a thick, linen towel, she hung it back over the rod, straightening it. “I don't think they'll find who did it.” There, she said it. Like the shooting, she was being terrorized by some unknown enemy. That was truly frightening. It could be anyone she knew or a complete stranger. There was no way to know.

"Patrick thinks it's someone with a personal grudge. These types of crimes suggest someone angry with you and your family. Most likely, your father.” Shamus leaned against the kitchen counter, glancing occasionally through the window.

It amused Cyndi how much time they spent in the kitchen. It was her favorite room in the house—probably because she knew her father hadn't spent any time here.

"What are you grinning about?” Hooking his arm around her waist, he dragged her up against his chest.

She flattened her hand against it, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. “Just that we have a huge house at our disposal, but we spend all our time in the kitchen."

"The kitchen is the heart of the home."

He said it so easily that it made her heart ache. “Not in this house. At least it wasn't, but I think it will be."

"Burke told me he stopped by to see you.” She could feel his muscles tense as she peered up into his stormy blue-gray eyes.

"Oh?"

Shamus shook his head. “Burke wouldn't say much about it either. Said it was your decision. But I got a feeling that whatever you said to him made an impact."

"How were things with your sister?” She hated to think of Shamus at odds with his family. For his sake, she wanted things to stabilize between them.

"Good.” Leaning down, he nuzzled her temple. “Better than I'd hoped, actually."

"Good,” she parroted. He was so close that she could smell him, the usual seductive combination of soap and Shamus. Unable to resist, she nestled closer, burying her face against his chest and inhaling deep. The bulge between his legs was growing longer and thicker by the second, pressing against her stomach.

"Maybe we should check out another room of the house?” Shamus nipped at her earlobe before trailing kisses down her neck.

"You have any particular room in mind?” She rolled her hips, pushing his erection tight against her belly.

He groaned. “Yeah. The bedroom is looking mighty good at the moment.” Scooping her into his arms, he carried her down the hall toward the stairs. They were halfway up when the doorbell rang.

"We could ignore it.” Even as she said it, she knew they couldn't. “Or not.” It could be someone from the sheriff's office or her lawyer with news about the mess her father had left behind, or who knows.

Shamus slowly lowered her feet until they were touching the stairs. Cyndi hung onto the railing. “Hold that thought,” she told him as she headed to the front door. With his obvious erection, she was in better shape to answer the door.

"Let me.” She hadn't even heard him following her. “Don't open it until I see who it is.” It was a stark reminder that someone in this town wanted to hurt her.

Shamus peered out the window and shook his head. “We're going to have to hold that thought until tonight from the looks of things.” On that cryptic note, he pulled the door open. Cyndi didn't recognize the men standing on her porch, but it was obvious that Shamus did.

All three men nodded at her before turning back to Shamus. “Burke called and said to send a small team out to get started on Ms. Marks's renovations.” This from a stocky, bearded man who appeared to be somewhere in his forties.

Cyndi could tell that Shamus appeared to be just as surprised as she was, but she could also see that he was pleased. She was too. After this morning's conversation, it was the last thing she'd expected. It was a peace offering of sorts. Burke's way of letting her know he wouldn't oppose her B & B.

"Come in, gentlemen.” They all stepped inside and scraped their boots on the mat.

"Pete Johnson, ma'am.” The older man held out his hand and she shook it. “This here is my nephews, Arthur and Silas."

"Pleased to meet you all.” She glanced at Shamus for guidance. She hadn't planned to have to deal with workers today. They hadn't even finalized all their plans yet.

Shamus scrubbed his hand over his jaw. “Why don't we start in the dining room? I know you were thinking about putting in French doors that opened to the garden. It should have been done before we painted, but we can do it without too much damage to what we've already done. Plus, we can also build that reception desk in the foyer before we paint the foyer, hallway, and stairwell."

"Sounds like a good a place to start as any. I know I shouldn't have insisted on doing the dining room until I'd finalized the plans."

Shamus shrugged. “It's not a problem. We can leave the French doors for now if you want."

Cyndi thought long and hard, shaking her head. “No, it's a good idea. We should just go ahead and do it."

"No problem."

"Linda said that the truck would be here later this afternoon to pick up the remainder of the boxes and the furniture,” she reminded him. It would be good to have it all out, so she could really start to work.

"We can help load the truck when it gets here,” Shamus assured her. The men all nodded in agreement.

"I'd better finish clearing out the desk in my father's office then. That's one of the pieces that are going."

Shamus nodded. “I know which door you were looking at for the dining room and if you let me know your final decision on the paint for the foyer, I can pick up supplies when I run to get the mail."

"No problem. I've got it narrowed down to two possibilities."

"If you want I can pick up a couple of sample tins and we can try both of them."

She liked the way Shamus thought. “That would be perfect."

"We aim to please.” He gave her a look that almost melted her socks. One of the men cleared his throat, while the others shuffled their feet.

"Well,” she said, feeling more idiotic at the moment just standing there staring at Shamus like a lovesick fool. “I'll be in the office if you need me."

"No problem.” Shamus ignored her discomfort and dropped a quick kiss on her lips. It was obvious that he was letting the men know how things stood between them. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, but it was too late to protest now. It was done and Shamus was already moving away.

"We'll measure for the door and the counter here in the foyer and figure out how much paint we'll need. In the meantime, we've got several buckets of primer, wood filler, and sanders. We can get the walls ready for the paint."

"I leave it in your capable hands.” She nodded to the men. “Gentlemen.” She could see the speculation in their eyes, but it was more curious than malicious. There were no sly glances. Not quite sure what that meant, she left them and headed to the office. If renovations were going to start this fast, she needed to get working on the draperies.

The sound of male voices hummed in the background as she picked up the phone and dialed. It was answered on the third ring. “Hello."

"Aunt Verna, it's so good to hear your voice."

"What's wrong?"

Cyndi wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Her aunt knew her too well. “Nothing's wrong.” She'd been in contact with her aunt every other day, but hadn't told her about the shooting incident or what she'd found in her father's papers. The older woman was worried enough about her as it was.

"I don't believe you. If you won't tell me, I'll have to come out there."

Cyndi shook her head, knowing she had to tell her aunt something. She curled up in one of the large wingback chairs that flanked her father's desk. These, she planned to keep and recover. “Nothing's really wrong. Someone slashed all my tires this morning."

"What!"

"It's probably nothing, just some kid's prank."

"Kid's prank, my patootie.” Closing her eyes, Cyndi could picture her aunt's scowl.

"No, really,” she rushed to reassure the older woman. “The authorities are looking into it."

"I don't like the idea of you being there alone."

"I'm not alone,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. She could practically hear the wheels in Verna's brain spinning.

"Do tell."

Cyndi laughed at her aunt's dry comment. “I mentioned him before.” She curled her legs over the side of the chair and swung her feet. “Shamus O'Rourke."

"The same O'Rourkes you had trouble with years ago?” Sometimes she wished Aunt Verna didn't know every detail about her past.

"Yeah, but he's different.” She hesitated. “He makes me feel...special."

"Now I really have to come for a visit."

"Don't pack your bags just yet,” Cyndi laughed. “Most of the furniture is gone, and I'm about to start tearing up the rest of the place."

"Good. That old mausoleum needed it."

"That's why I called.” Cyndi swung her legs back to the floor and ambled over to her father's desk where she'd left her renovation notes. “I need fabric samples. There's no store in town that has what I need. Do you think Janine would overnight me some sample books? Tell her I promise to only keep them for a few days and it will be worth her while. I've got a heck of a lot of windows to cover and furniture to reupholster.” Janine Evans was a friend of Aunt Verna's who owned a fabric and sewing shop.

"I don't think that would be any problem. Let me call her and get back to you."

"Thanks."

Her aunt cleared her throat. “If you need me, you know I'd be there in a second."

Cyndi's throat tightened with emotion. “I know,” she whispered. “I love you too."

Her aunt sniffed. “Enough of this maudlin sentiment. I'll call you as soon as I talk to Janine."

Cyndi shook her head as she said goodbye to her aunt and hung up the phone. For all her gruff, no-nonsense exterior, Verna Marks had a heart of gold and was as tough as a marshmallow with those she loved.

Reenergized, Cyndi grabbed an empty box and yanked open the first drawer of her father's desk.

Shamus was feeling better than he'd felt in days as he let himself back into Cyndi's home. His family was thawing slightly toward his relationship with Cyndi and that meant the world to him. The fact that Burke had sent a crew to her house spoke volumes.

Carrying the mail in one hand and a bag with a couple of sample cans of paint in the other, he headed to the office. He was certain Cyndi would still be working. When he'd stopped in earlier to let her know he was running into town, she'd been knee deep in boxes and excited about books of fabric swatches her aunt's friend was sending by courier. Women got excited over the strangest things. But he didn't care. It had put a smile on her face and that was all that mattered to him. It was better than the worry that had been there earlier.

Shamus had dropped into the sheriff's office long enough to talk to Patrick. There were no leads on the tire slashing, but they were still interviewing neighbors. He could tell that his brother was getting more concerned about Cyndi's safety. One incident could be written off as a horrible prank. Two showed a pattern. He just hoped there wouldn't be a third.

Pushing open the office door, he peered into the room. It certainly looked different than it had this morning. Boxes were piled neatly against one wall, two chairs and several small tables had been moved to the far side of the room, and the rest of it was stacked in front of the desk.

Shamus assumed the few items on the far end of the room were staying and the rest were going. He also noted the painting in front of the safe had been replaced by one with flowers on it. Linda had taken the one Cyndi didn't like when she'd left.

Cyndi was currently measuring windows, muttering under her breath and jotting figures down in her notebook, which always seemed to be at hand these days.

"Hey.” She jerked at the sound of his voice, but when she turned around, she was smiling. He could see the strain in her face no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

"Hey yourself. You weren't gone long. Were you?” She pushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes as she walked toward him.

"Long enough.” He dropped a kiss on her very kissable mouth and handed her the mail. “I picked up eight sample cans of paint. I figured we might as well look at the choices for the library and the office as well."

"Sounds good to me.” Cyndi dropped her notebook on an antique side table and began to rifle through the mail. “Bills, bills, junk, junk.” She tossed the envelopes into two separate piles.

"I saw Patrick while I was in town."

Cyndi stopped, envelope poised in the air. “Any news?"

The tension gripping her was palpable. She'd done a very good job of hiding it, but he knew she was worried. And why wouldn't she be? She'd been threatened, not once, but twice, in two separate acts of violence.

Shamus was just grateful she hadn't run at the first sign of trouble. He wouldn't have blamed her if she had, but then they never would have had the opportunity to be together.

He shook his head. “No. But they're still talking to the neighbors."

She nodded and went back to examining the mail. He could see the resignation in her face and knew she didn't expect answers. Frustration tore at him that there was nothing he could do or say to change things. He deposited the bag of paint samples on a nearby chair. He needed to hold Cyndi in his arms, if only for a moment.

She was staring at a plain manila envelope, frowning as he reached for her. “What is it?"

"I'm not sure."

He leaned over her shoulder, wrapping his arm around her waist. It was addressed to her, but there was no return address. He got a bad feeling in his gut as she ripped it open. “Maybe you should leave this until later?"

"Why?” She glanced up at him and reached inside.

He couldn't come up with a reason fast enough and she withdrew a sheet of paper. Block letters that someone had obviously cut from a newspaper or magazine covered the page. The message was simple. LEAVE TOWN BEFORE YOU GET HURT. NEXT TIME IT WON'T BE YOUR TIRES THAT GET SLASHED.

Cyndi swayed and he tightened his grip on her, easing her down into a chair. “Son of a bitch,” he swore. He yanked out his phone and placed a quick call to his brother. Cyndi was sitting there, staring at the letter, her face devoid of any color or expression.

When he ended the call, he crouched down in front of her and gently eased the sheet of paper out of her tightly clenched fingers. Such a small item, but it had done incredible damage. Anger at the unknown coward threatening his woman coursed through his veins. No one would hurt her. He wouldn't allow it.

"Everything will be okay,” he promised. “Patrick is on the way."

"The sheriff is going to be sick of coming to this house. I've caused him nothing but trouble since I got here."

Shamus wanted to swear again and kick something. The soft smile that had graced her face when he'd walked into the room a few minutes ago was gone. Now, she looked tired and worn. He observed faint, dark circles under her eyes and damned himself for not noticing them earlier. Cyndi was worn out with worry and late nights.

"None of this is your fault."

"Isn't it?” She straightened her shoulders and, once again, he was reminded of her backbone of steel. “All of this is because of who I am and who my family is."

"No,” he disagreed. “All of this is because of some nutcase with a need for revenge, who was too afraid to face your father, but isn't afraid to taunt and torment a woman."

Cyndi shook her head and turned away from him. He caught her chin in his hand and drew her face back to him. “None of this is your fault.” His gut clenched. He could almost hear her contemplating her options, one of which was leaving town. He couldn't bear the thought of her leaving Jamesville. Leaving him.

He could tell she didn't believe him and there was no time for him to say more. Cars were pulling up outside. It was obvious Patrick was back with some of his deputies. Sighing in frustration, he eased himself back up and stared down at the woman who owned his heart. She didn't even look at him.

There was a loud thump on the front door, followed quickly by a ring of the doorbell. “I'm coming!” he yelled as he turned and stalked toward the front door.

He practically ripped the door open to find his brother with two deputies standing behind him. “Come on in."