protector, her single contact with the world at large. Where Keller had been cold and impersonal, Jesse exuded a warmth that was appealing.
However, she couldn’t forget that, to him, she was an assignment. Nothing more. Nothing less. Besides, she thought with a touch of bitterness, what man in his right mind would want to saddle himself with a helpless blind woman? A blind woman who several Templeton cops would love to see dead.
All the lessons her mother had taught her about independence and self-reliance replayed in her mind—needing a man was a weakness not to be tolerated. She’d lectured over and over again that ultimately a woman could only depend on herself for survival, and depending on a man for anything was the work of a fool.
Allison ran a hand over her hair, feeling for errant strands. Satisfied that she looked presentable, she left the bedroom, deciding that she’d indulged herself in deep thought for entirely too long, especially considering the fact that she had yet to have a cup of coffee.
As she entered the kitchen, she drew in a deep breath of the luscious scents that permeated the room. The fragrance of fresh brewed coffee battled with browning sausage and onion. “Something smells wonderful,” she said as she eased into the same chair she’d sat in the night before.
“I love breakfast. Coffee?” Jesse’s voice came from someplace to the right of her.
“Please.”
“Cream or sugar?”
“No, just black.” She heard the sound of a cup being set in front of her. “Thanks.” She reached out with both hands and wrapped her fingers around a sturdy ceramic mug.
“The omelets will be ready in just a few minutes,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”
“Like a baby.” She took a sip of her coffee. “How about you?”
“I almost always sleep like a baby.”
She took another drink of her coffee, enjoying the warmth of the sun at her back. “It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is. How—how did you know?”
She smiled as she heard the surprise in his voice. “Don’t worry, I’m not a psychic. There must be a large window near my bed. I could feel the sun shining on me this morning.”
“It’s a typical gorgeous Mustang day,” he said, and set a plate in front of her.
She waited until she heard his chair scoot across the tile and knew he was seated across from her at the table. “A typical gorgeous Mustang day,” she repeated with amusement. “You make Mustang sound like Camelot.” She picked up her fork and attempted to cut off a mouthful of the omelet.
“It’s as close to Camelot as you can get,” he replied. Again an easy amusement lightened his voice, an amusement that was wonderfully attractive. “It only rains after sundown and July and August may not get too hot.”
Allison laughed in delight. “You know the song,” she said. Who would have thought a sheriff from Montana would know the title song of a Broadway show?
“My senior year in high school, the drama department put on Camelot. In order to graduate, all seniors had to work on the production in some capacity or another.” He paused a moment, then continued. “I made my debut as a thespian in Camelot.”
“Really? What role did you play? King Arthur? Lancelot?”
He laughed. “Nothing quite so illustrious. I was one of the knights of the Round Table who didn’t have a single line of dialogue. I just wore cardboard armor and looked pure and knightly.”
“It must have been fun,” she said, wistful at the thought of all the high school experiences she’d missed out on. “Our school did plays, but I never got to participate.”
“Why?”
She paused a moment to take another bite of the omelet, her thoughts winging backward to her adolescence and teen years. “My sister and I were raised to believe that extracurricular activities were a waste of time. School was for an education to pursue whatever career would be our livelihood. Spare time was used for jobs to save money for college. There was no time for glee club, or football games, or dating or plays.”
“Sounds pretty dismal,” he said, no censure or judgment in his voice.
“It was,” she admitted. “Although I understand now what motivated my mother. She was twenty when my father walked out on her—on us. She had two babies less than a year apart in age and no education or job.”
“Did you ever hear from your father again?” he asked.
“No. I don’t even remember him. I was only a year old when he left.” She paused a moment to sip her coffee. “Anyway, Mother worked like a demon to support us. At the same time she went to college and got a degree in accounting. By the time Alicia and I were in high school, my mother had a very successful accounting business with four people working for her. But she never forgot those years of struggle, and she was determined we’d never have to go through similar experiences, that both of us would be able to survive without a man.”
Allison released a slightly bitter laugh. “Thank goodness my mother isn’t alive to see me now. I’m not exactly excelling in the self-sufficiency department.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said, his voice gentle.
She forced a smile. “You just don’t want to send me to my room for indulging in self-pity.”
His hand touched hers. It was a light touch, yet held warmth and comfort. There had been little solace in her life for the past month. The hospital staff she’d come in contact with had been efficient, the few law-enforcement officers she’d spoken with had been impersonal and demanding.
The comfort in Jesse’s touch broke through the self-control she’d fought so hard to maintain and tapped into the grief that had yet to be fully expressed. She grabbed his hand and squeezed tightly.
“They killed her,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion that ripped at her heart. “They killed my sister and my brother-in-law. They shot them while I was hidden in the closet.”
Tears burned at her eyes, choked in the back of her throat, but she swallowed against them as the horror of the trauma replayed itself in her mind. “I did nothing to help them. I stayed in the closet and watched John and Alicia die.”
As she remembered the final gasp of Alicia’s life, recalled her sister’s blood on her face and her chest, she felt Jesse squeeze her hand more tightly.
The warmth of his touch met up with the coldness of her grief, creating a tumultuous tornado of emotions she could no longer contain.
Deep sobs tore through her as her heart constricted with a pain so great, she thought she might die from it. It was the grief of loss…and the guilt of survival.
She had pushed her emotions aside for weeks, focusing on the loss of her sight rather than confront the overwhelming pain of the loss of her family. Now that pain riveted through her like a hot poker stabbing her heart, searing her soul.
She was vaguely aware of Jesse removing his hand from hers. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she was making a spectacle of herself and probably alienating Jesse, but she could no more stop the grief than she could go back and stop the bullets that had ripped her life apart.
In his years as sheriff, Jesse had faced many things, including drunk men with guns, a scared teenage bank robber and a vicious rabid dog, but nothing in his years of experience prepared him for dealing with her tears.
Helplessly he watched her fall apart, aware that nothing he could say would possibly comfort or touch the deep anguish that obviously pummeled her. His heart ached for her.
As Cecilia’s sobs grew deeper, more harsh, he stood. Not knowing if he was right or wrong, he touched her shoulder then pulled her out of her chair and into his