He turned his gaze to the devastation that had once been the kitchen. The bomb had been powerful enough to destroy the immediate area and blow off that section of the roof, revealing the rooms above. Yet it wasn't strong enough to bring down the main walls and totally demolish the dining area.
But if they'd been in the kitchen, or had turned on the lights earlier, when he was more interested in making love to Vannah than eating breakfast, they would be dead.
That bomb had been aimed at her father, not her. Not them.
The back door still hung on its hinges, but only barely. Vannah grabbed his arm, balancing herself as she kicked at the door. It gave way on her third blow.
"Over here,” she said, and then started coughing so violently she was almost bending over with the force of them. He touched her back, wanting to comfort her, yet knowing there had to be priorities. And right now, no matter what instinct might be saying, she wasn't it.
He found the gas valve and turned it off. Then he got out his cell phone and checked to make sure it was still working. It was, thankfully. He dialed Anton's number and grabbed Savannah's hand, pulling her away from the smoke and the dust into fresh air.
"Anton,” he said, the minute the phone was answered. “I need you to get over to the diner near the corner of First and Main. Someone just tried to blow us up."
"Hell—everyone okay?"
"Yeah. Just get here fast."
"Will do."
He hung up. The wail of sirens split the air, approaching fast. He and Vannah should head around to the front and clear the curious that always gathered after a major drama, like gulls drawn to a tasty morsel. But right now, he didn't give a damn about the curious or any remaining danger. Not when Savannah was still coughing her heart out.
He glanced around until he found a tap. Luckily, it had a hose attached. “You want a drink?"
She nodded and leaned against the rickety back fence, scrubbing a hand across her face and smearing blood everywhere. “That bomb wasn't aimed at us."
He turned on the tap and bought the hose over to her. “No."
She washed her hands under the dribbling water, then grabbed the hose and took a long drink. “Thanks,” she said, handing it back.
"Your face is cut.” He reached up with a free hand and thumbed the blood away. Not that it helped much. The cut was relatively deep and bleeding fairly heavily. “I think you'll need to shift shape to stop the flow."
"It's only blood,” she said, repeating his earlier words with a smile teasing her lips.
"Cheeky wench.” With his hand still cupping her cheek, he leaned forward and kissed her. And while passion was evident, there was none of the urgency that had so filled their kisses only a few minutes ago, just a vibrant mix of tenderness and relief. She was okay; he was okay. Everything else really didn't matter.
When the approaching sirens stopped, he pulled back and dropped his hand. “We'd better get around to the front."
She half nodded, took several steps forward, then stopped and groaned. “Dad's around the front."
"How do you know that? Smell?"
She tapped a finger to her head. “He's seen my truck and is impolitely knocking. We'd better get around there."
He followed her as she walked off. “How does one impolitely knock telepathically?"
She glanced at him, merriment dancing in her green eyes. “You really want to know?"
"I've a notion I should say no, but I'm feeling reckless."
She arched an eyebrow, the glint in her eyes deepening. He threw up his strongest mind-shield as a precaution, but he would have been better off figuring out a way to use internal ear muffs instead. The noise hit like a hammer and made him feel like he was standing inside a ringing church bell. A church bell that oddly sounded like someone screaming his name. His whole body vibrated with the ungodly noise, but thankfully, it cut off as abruptly as it started.
"That,” she said sublimely, “is what I meant."
And she'd done it when his shields were on full. If she could do that so easily, then she could probably do everything else she'd threatened. Maybe he did have a lot to learn when it came to telepathy.
"And you have to put up with intrusions like that all the time?"
"No. Most people just ask.” She paused, and her voice, whisper soft, said, Like this, in his thoughts. It was a quick caress of sunshine that had him hungering for more. God, conversing with his teachers had never felt so good ... so intimate.