Special Delivery by April Wilson

Chapter 7 - Hannah

Hannah McIntyre

I stare out my airplane window as we circle O’Hare International Airport. Good old Chicago—place of my birth and home to my entire family. But it’s no longer my home. I moved away to go to college the summer after I graduated high school.

Down below, the streets are jam-packed with cars waiting in line for the arrival and departure zones. There are people everywhere—so many people. There are more people in this one square mile than there are within fifty miles of the small Colorado town I now call home.

I lean back in my seat and close my eyes, hoping I can meditate myself out of a panic attack.

Just breathe.

It’s only for a weekend.

You can survive a few days of peopling.

The only reason I ever come back to Chicago is for family get-togethers—this time we’re celebrating the birth of Shane and Beth’s new baby. I hear they had a girl—Ava. That’s a pretty name.

I try to get back to Chicago two to three times a year to see my family. I always come home for Christmas, and then at least once in the summer. And for the arrival of new babies and weddings. I came home when Luke was born and when Jake and Annie had their twins. My sister Sophie is due to have her first baby this spring, so I’ll be coming back for that, too.

It looks like my sibs have been working overtime lately in the baby-making department. The upside to that is my parents are thrilled, especially my mom. She loves babies.

Nearly all of my siblings are either married, engaged, or practically engaged. Liam and I are the only holdouts, unless he’s gone and gotten himself a girlfriend since the last time I saw him. I doubt it, though. I think he would have told me if he had.

The captain comes on and tells us to prepare for landing. I stow my carry-on bag and put my tray upright. I love flying—takeoffs and landings are my favorite part. I love the rush of the plane, knowing how fast it’s actually going as it slices through the air. I get such an adrenaline rush.

We land smoothly and wait for what feels like forever to be let off the plane. I brought with me one carry-on bag and a backpack in lieu of a purse, and that’s it. I’m a minimalist at heart, and this way I don’t have to bother with baggage claim.

Eager to see my family, I march through the airport, the heels of my well-worn boots striking the polished floors. It’s quite a hike to the arrivals lounge, where one of my sibs will meet me. As I step through the checkpoint, I pause and scan the crowded waiting room, looking for a familiar face. I spot one immediately—it’s not hard, as he stands head and shoulders above most everyone in the crowd.

But he isn’t any of the ones I was expecting. My heart stops as I catch my breath.

Killian Devereaux.

When our gazes meet, he tips his head in greeting and heads toward me. I’m relatively tall for a girl—five-foot-nine—but next to Killian, I feel small. He’s got to be over six feet tall with big muscles, a big chest, and big shoulders.

And damn, those thighs.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask him, before I can censor myself.

But he’s not in the least offended. Instead, he grins. “Well, hello to you, too, cher. Ca va?”

Killian was born and raised in the Louisiana bayou. He says his family can trace their roots all the way back to Acadia—Nova Scotia—when the British kicked the French out. He once told me he was the first in his family to leave the area when he joined the Army right out of high school. His parents, siblings, and grandparents still live in Louisiana.

He’s been out of the bayou for over a decade now, but he still has the accent. It’s subtle, but French words slip into his vocabulary from time to time.

I took French in high school and college. I know enough to get by with the basics. “I’m fine. Killian, but honestly, why are you here?” I don’t mince words, and I don’t play games. It’s just not my style.

The corners of his mouth curve up. “Shane sent me.”

I’m going to kick my brother’s ass. “If everyone was too busy to pick me up, I could have taken an Uber.”

“Ouch.” He winces. “You say that like I’m the last resort. Well, sorry, but you’re stuck with me.” He nods toward the exit. “I’m parked in the garage. Shall we?”

As I start walking, Killian reaches for the handle of my wheeled carry-on.

“Thanks, but I don’t need any help,” I tell him, moving out ahead. “In case you haven’t noticed, I manage just fine on my own.” I know I sound like a bitch, but I don’t care. I hate to be patronized.

He follows a few paces behind me and mutters beneath his breath. “Don’t I know it, cher.”

The long walk through the airport gives me a few minutes to rein in my reaction to seeing Killian again. The last time I saw him was at Luke’s first birthday party about three months ago.

Every time I come home, this guy shows up. It never fails. He violates my personal space with his stupidly handsome face—dark hair, dark eyes—and his muscular build that makes my belly quiver. And to add insult to injury, he starts talking in his stupid, sexy Cajun drawl—calling me cher—and it turns my insides to mush. All I can think about is getting naked with him.

And that sure as hell can’t happen.

Ever.

I’m never moving back to Chicago, and I don’t do long-distance relationships. So, we’re fucked from the outset. It’s not gonna happen.

“Slow down, cher,” he calls after me. He chuckles. “Is there a fire I should know about?”

That just makes me walk faster.

I push through the automatic doors and head for the parking garage. He’s right behind me the whole time, and I swear I catch the sound of his occasional laughter.

Once we reach the garage, I realize I have no idea where he parked, so I’m just walking blind, which is stupid. I’m being stupid.

Why do I let him affect me this way?

I stop walking so he can catch up.

“This way,” he says, cupping my elbow and steering me to the right. “Ground floor.”

His touch sends a shiver down my spine, a streak of electricity that lights a small fire deep in my core. My belly tightens.

I let him lead the way through row after row of cars until we finally stop at a black Jeep with tires caked in mud. The entire vehicle is in need of a wash.

Clearly, he’s into off-roading. It figures. He’s an adrenaline junkie, just like I am. It’s one of many things we have in common—a fact I try to ignore.

“It’s unlocked,” Killian says, and he heads for the driver’s door.

He doesn’t offer to help me with my luggage, which I appreciate. After setting my bags on the floor of the rear seat, I open the front passenger door and climb in.

The inside is clean, yet utilitarian. Except for an open can of Redbull sitting in a cupholder and a CB radio mounted to the dash, the vehicle’s empty. No trash on the floor. No empty cans or food wrappers. I like that.

His vehicle reminds me of my Jeep back home—a good off-road vehicle with all-terrain four-wheel drive and heavy-duty tires that can tackle the roughest of conditions.

Killian shoves a key into the ignition and starts the engine, which roars to life. “I sure wish I knew why I raise your hackles so much, cher.”

He’s right—I’m not very nice to him, and it’s not fair. He’s never done or said anything inappropriate to me. It’s just my own reaction to him that makes me mad—at myself. I don’t want to want him. I don’t want to want anyone.

I shoot him a look but don’t say anything. What can I say? It’s not you, it’s me? But as lame as that sounds, it’s the truth.

He twists in his seat to watch behind us as he backs out of the parking spot. Then we’re off to Kenilworth. I crank down my window and let the wind ruffle my hair as I gather it up into a ponytail. It’s a hot evening in September, humid as well. I’m used to the cooler temps up in the mountains.

I sit quietly and watch the familiar scenery zip by. Despite the fact that my heart is back in Colorado, Chicago is my first home. No matter what others might think, I do miss it. I just can’t live here. It’s too crowded, too confining.

* * *

Killian doesn’t say another word on the drive to Shane’s property. That’s good, as it lets me get lost in my own thoughts. I hope Scout’s doing all right. I know I shouldn’t worry. My friend Maggie and her two sons will take good care of him while I’m gone. She and her kids love that puppy as much as I do. I wish I could have brought him with me, but traveling on a plane with a forty-pound Belgian Malinois puppy who is rambunctious as hell didn’t seem like a good idea.

My gaze keeps drifting to the sight of Killian’s hands on the leather-wrapped steering wheel. His fingers are long and tan. The backs of his hands are dusted with dark hair, and I watch the tendons flexing beneath his sun-kissed skin.

Damn.

Against my better judgment, I keep imagining what those hands would feel like on my body, touching me, brushing my skin, or cupping the ache I’m currently experiencing from just being around him.

Why does he have to be such a turn-on? It’s everything about him—his looks, his manner, his confidence. Hell, even his accent is sexy. If I were looking for a guy—if I wanted that kind of complication in my life—this is exactly the one I’d want.

If I walked into Ruth Yellowhawk’s tavern back home and saw Killian standing at the bar, I’d definitely give him a second look. But he’s part of this world here—Chicago. He’s part of my brother’s world. So that means he’s off-limits to me.

When we pull up to the house, Killian parks at the end of a long row of cars, trucks, and SUVs. He shuts off the engine and turns to face me.

Before he can say a word, I blurt out, “I’m sorry for being a bitch to you.” The admission burns my tongue. “You don’t deserve it.” Then I open my door and hop out of the Jeep.

“Hannah, wait,” he says as he jumps down from his seat.

But I ignore him, instead grabbing my stuff from the back and heading for the front steps of the house. I may be sorry for being a bitch to him, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let down my guard.

When I walk into the house, I glance back to see him leaning against the side of the Jeep, his big arms crossed over his broad chest. He’s watching me with the single-mindedness of a mountain lion stalking its prey. As I close the door behind me, a shiver courses through me.

What I wouldn’t give for a chance to tussle with that mountain lion.