Stepbrother Studs: Sean by Selena Kitt Page A

thought would round out a nice meal—dried carrots and onions. I pulled an old flat-topped desk to the center of the room, placed a gas lamp in the center of it, and set the table.
    But as darkness fell, I lay on my sleeping bag, trying not to think the worst. Sean wasn’t afraid of the dark. A bear or a cougar didn’t stand a chance against him. He was my Superman—invincible.
    Eventually, I fell asleep.
    Sometime during the night, I awoke to scraping beneath me—footsteps on the wooden stairs. Moonlight filtered through the open windows. Sean wasn’t beside me. My heart began to thud inside my chest.
    Please be Sean. Please be Sean.
    I eased up, careful to distribute my weight so the floorboards didn’t creak. I pulled my pistol from under my sleeping bag and set my back against a wall, aiming for the dark figure rising through the trap door.
    “Rose?” came a whisper in the darkness.
    I set down the pistol and sobbed, rising and launching myself against his chest. I pounded him with my fists. “Where were you? Why were you gone so long? I was scared!”
    “Shhh. Shhh.” He crooned, holding me tightly against him. “I’m sorry I was late, but I have rabbits. I was never far. I wouldn’t leave you, Rose. You’re safe, you’re safe, I promise. You’ll be safe as long as I’m alive.”
    But I wanted more than to feel safe. I wanted his love. I rested against his chest for a few moments longer, breathing in his fresh pine scent, and then pushed back. I’d broken my own rule and let him see how much I depended on him.
    “Those rabbits won’t cook themselves,” I muttered.
    His soft chuckle lightened my spirit as I puttered around the small wooden cubicle and imagined a different future for us.
    * * * *
    We found our first ghost town in Oklahoma, at a place called Crow’s Crossing. We searched the streets of the quaint old town, looking for any signs of life but there was no one. Just a few hungry dogs roaming the streets and houses with windows broken, and front doors left wide open to the elements. Trash drifted across the road.
    “I know this place,” Sean said, giving me a smile. He made a turn onto Main Street and drove past empty shops before halting in front of a saloon. “Come on, let’s check it out.”
    On the sidewalk, he caught my hand and dragged me, laughing, inside. The interior of the bar was mostly untouched. The tables, the chairs, stood waiting for someone to take a seat. The bar, however, had been ransacked for the most part. Glasses and empty bottles littered the counter.
    “Wait here.” Sean pursed his lips. “I’m going to check the back.”
    I stood, looking out a broken window at the gathering dusk, glad my pistol was securely in its holster and strapped to my upper thigh. A foot step scratched and I whirled, but it was only Sean, raising a half-empty bottle of bourbon.
    “Found it in the manager’s office.” He set it on the counter then searched for clean glasses. When he’d cleared a spot on the bar, he glanced around again. “It’s not a honky-tonk without music.”
    Again, he disappeared, this time returning with our small, portable generator. He pulled the cord and the generator rumbled into life. Then he ran an extension cord to the jukebox. In minutes, the strains of an old George Strait song filled the room, echoing against the lonely walls.
    “May I have this dance?” Sean strode toward me and held out his hand.
    So proper. So polite. It made me want to tear up.
    I gave him my hand, and then let him pull me against his body. We swayed together, awkwardly at first, until he pulled me in again and wrapped his arms around me.
    I relaxed then. Safe inside his arms. Aware of his scent, of the warmth emanating from his strong, muscled frame. The tips of my breasts tingled and my breath shortened, and I allowed myself to nuzzle his shoulder, pretending he wanted more from me than to be his little sister and road companion.
    When the song ended, Sean stepped back