Kitabı oku: «Lawman's Redemption», sayfa 2

It wasn’t a great house. It was sixty years old, one story, painted white with dark green trim. There was a front porch wide enough for a swing and a back stoop barely big enough for a man to stand on. Inside was a living room, a dining room and kitchen, one bedroom and bathroom, and an additional room he planned someday to incorporate into the living room. The floors were wood, with cracked and peeling linoleum in the kitchen, and the walls needed painting, the bathroom updating, the roof reshingling. He’d paid cash for it, and could have done the same for a house ten times its price, but he hadn’t wanted a bigger, nicer place.

After all, he hadn’t been buying a house but a memory.

One of the few childhood memories he recalled with fondness.

He pulled into the gravel driveway and parked next to his sheriff’s department SUV, then shut off the engine. Nights were quiet in this part of town. The lots were several acres, the houses distant from each other, and behind them was pasture. Forty acres of it had come with the house, but the old man had leased it to a neighboring rancher, and Brady had continued the lease. Someday, though, he planned to put up a barn and buy a few horses from Easy Rafferty, one of Reese’s friends over in Heartbreak who raised damn fine paints.

He went inside the dark, empty house, turned on the TV and settled on the sofa with a beer. Welcome to his usual Saturday night.

Most of the time he didn’t care how alone he was. Hell, he’d been that way so long it had come to feel natural. Growing up, he and his kid brother, Logan, had pretty much been each other’s best—and only—friends. They’d known other kids at school, of course, but they’d kept to themselves. It had seemed safer that way.

Then Logan had disappeared without a trace nearly seventeen years ago. Brady had gone to bed one night and Logan was there in the next room, and he’d awakened the next morning and his brother was gone. He’d taken his clothes and left a note, one line that had just about killed Brady.

He didn’t let himself think about Logan very often, but tonight it somehow seemed appropriate. Where was he? Had he even survived the last seventeen years? Had he managed to make himself over into someone who could live a normal life, have friends, laugh, be happy? Had he ever married, had kids? Did he ever think about looking up his older brother?

Probably no more often than Brady thought about trying to find him. He had run a nationwide driver’s license check a few years ago and come up with a number of Logan Marshalls, but none whose birth date matched his brother’s. He’d even considered hiring a private investigator, but had discarded the idea. Logan had had his reasons for taking off the way he did. The least Brady could do was respect them.

He flipped through the channels, watched the clock and told himself that, barring any emergencies, he was home for the night. Bored with television, he went in and took a shower, then went into the bedroom to get a pair of boxers. He wasn’t getting dressed, he told himself, even as he took a clean pair of Levi’s from the closet, and he repeated it as he pulled a T-shirt from the dresser drawer. He absolutely wasn’t going anywhere, he insisted as he picked up his wallet, pager and keys from the dresser, then started toward the front door.

He wasn’t going to the motel.

Wasn’t parking beside her Mercedes in the back lot.

Wasn’t climbing the stairs.

Wasn’t standing in front of Room 22.

He stood there, trying desperately to talk himself out of knocking. But damn it, being accustomed to being alone didn’t mean it didn’t eat at him sometimes. Some days the need for somebody got under his skin and damn near drove him mad until he’d satisfied it. That was what had sent him to the bar Thursday night—what had made him come back to the motel with Hallie. Usually that one night would have been enough to fill the emptiness that sometimes consumed him and would enable him to go back to his life for a few more months.

But this time, God help him, he wanted more, and Hallie Madison was the perfect person to give it. They’d already filled each other’s needs once. He liked her, and she… He didn’t know whether she liked him, but at least she wasn’t intimidated by him.

And most important of all—she was leaving town the next morning. He would probably see her again, but not until she came back to visit Neely, and that could be months—even years. By then she might not even remember his name.

Raising his hand, he hesitated, then rapped sharply on the door.

Seconds ticked past with no sound from inside the room. He wouldn’t blame her if she refused to open the door—half wished she would do exactly that so he would have no choice but to go home. But after a minute, maybe two, there was a rustle inside, then the door swung open.

She’d obviously showered since the party. Her face was free of makeup and her hair, still damp, was slicked back from her face, and damned if she didn’t look as pretty as she had all dressed up. She was wearing something thin and satiny held up by tiny straps and ending somewhere around midthigh, and she was naked underneath it. She looked sexy and innocent and vulnerable, and he knew if he touched her again, he would be damned to hell with no way to redeem himself.

Even knowing that, he reached out.

And he touched her.

Chapter 2

Hallie knew why he’d come.

It was in the hunger that made his blue gaze intense, in the tension that crackled around him and the heat where his fingers loosely held hers. She could send him away with no more than a shake of her head…or she could pull him inside and close the door.

Sending him away would be the smart choice, of course.

But in all her thirty years no one had ever described her as the smart sister.

Barely breathing, she watched him watch her. He hadn’t taken so much as a step over the threshold, and she knew he wouldn’t unless she gave him an invitation. Did she have the courage to offer that invitation?

Did she have the strength to hold it inside?

She didn’t know how long they stood there—one minute or ten—but the sound of familiar voices in the parking lot below signaled that time had run out. Her sisters, mother and stepfather were back from the party, and while Doris Irene’s room was on the ground floor, Bailey and Kylie were sharing a room down the hall and around the corner.

Send him away or let him stay?

She wanted to do the first. She needed the last.

Tightening her fingers around his, she took a step backward, then another. While her family said their good-nights downstairs, she drew Brady into the room and closed, then locked the door.

As he’d done the first time—what she’d thought would be the last time—he turned off the lights, then pulled her close. She thought of her smart, talented, capable sisters kissing their mother good-night, then coming arm-in-arm up the stairs, far too good and moral to indulge in anything so tawdry as a one- or two-night stand.

Then Brady kissed her as if she mattered, and she stopped thinking.

He aroused her expertly, stroked her, caressed her. Though she wore nothing but a simple satin shift, he took his sweet time removing it, exploring, touching, tormenting every inch of her. When she was naked and weak, when the need for him throbbed throughout her body, he clamped his mouth to hers and kissed her onto the bed before pulling away.

Her entire body was vibrating, thrumming with need. In the inky darkness, she heard his boots hit the floor, followed by the soft whoosh of his shirt falling and the rasp of his zipper. She raised up on one arm, but it was too dark to see. She could hear, though—harsh breathing, strong hands crinkling plastic as he tore open the condom wrapper. She could smell the clean, fresh scent of him as he came nearer, the faint hint of beer, the fainter essence of pure, base lust. She felt the mattress give under his weight, then the warm, satiny skin when she slid her hands to his shoulders.

Just as he’d done the other time, he grasped both of her hands in his, pinned them at her sides, then lowered his head to kiss her. Forgetting that she wanted to protest, she greedily welcomed his tongue, then, with a swallowed gasp, welcomed him into her body—every hot, silky, hard-as-rock inch of him.

For a moment he was content merely to be inside her, and she was content to feel him there again. He didn’t move, but held himself rigid, letting her body adjust to his. She sighed deep in her throat at the pure simple pleasure of it. For this brief time, she felt connected. Wanted. Even needed.

And that was all she wanted—all she’d ever wanted. Tonight the feelings didn’t even have to be real as long as she could believe in them for the moment.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Hallie,” he said, his voice little more than a growl that vibrated all the way through her. Then he began moving, slowly taking long, deep strokes, pulling out, filling her again. At the same time he lowered his head to nuzzle her breast.

She tried to free her hands, but his grip was too strong. “Please,” she began, then caught her breath in a low groan as he sucked hard at her nipple. “I—I want…”

He increased his pace, thrusting into her faster, harder, deeper, and continued to kiss and torment her breasts. She was starting to see stars, quickly building toward a release that just might leave her shattered…then put her back together again. Every time his arousal rubbed against her, every time her body clenched his, every strong pull of his mouth on her nipple….

“Let me…Brady, I want…” To capture this feeling and make it last forever. To grab hold of him and never let go. To scream. Explode. Weep.

The pressure inside her kept building, increasing with every touch, every kiss, every breath. Her muscles were taut, her nerves quivering, her breathing ragged and shallow. He pushed her until she was sure she couldn’t survive, and then he pushed her even farther, until her climax rocketed through her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t control the trembling that claimed her entire body. All she could do was feel and, sweet hell, she was feeling everything. She was drowning in incredible sensations, all hot and sweat-slick and shuddering and satisfied. Oh, yes, incredibly satisfied.

It wasn’t until much, much later, after her second orgasm, when she lay quietly in Brady’s arms, that she remembered what it was, in particular, that she’d wanted—to touch him. To run her hands over his body, to make him hot and achy, to feel his strength, to cradle his hardness in her palms. To tease, play with and arouse him, the way he’d teased, played with and aroused her.

She turned so that she faced him, even though she couldn’t see. “Can I ask you something?”

His breathing was so slow and steady that she thought for a moment he’d fallen asleep. Then he exhaled loudly and asked, “What?”

“Is it everyone or just me that you don’t want touching you?” She felt the tension in his body ratchet up a notch or two before he answered.

“It would be physically impossible to touch more than we are right now.”

That was true. Her head rested on his arm, her breasts were pressed against his chest, her legs tangled with his. But that wasn’t what she meant, and she suspected he knew it. “I’m talking about with my hands. You held my wrists so I couldn’t touch you.”

“Did I?” He asked it as if he hadn’t noticed what he’d done, but she knew better than that. He was too observant, too self-aware, for that to wash.

She stared at him, a shadow among shadows. When he didn’t say anything more, she laid her hand on his ribs. Soft, warm, dark skin—she couldn’t see, but she could visualize—as smooth and silky as her own pampered skin. She slid her palm up a few inches, then down again, then he caught hold of her hand and lifted it to his mouth for a simple, sensual, toe-curling kiss.

Hallie had to catch her breath before she could speak. “See? You don’t like it when I touch you.”

With another heavy sigh, he released her and rolled onto his back, arms and legs open wide. “You want to touch me, go ahead.”

She considered it a moment, then in a pouty voice said, “No.”

“Come on, Hallie,” he coaxed, reaching for her hand and pulling it to his chest.

“No.”

“Okay. Then I’ll touch you.” He raised up and reached for her, then rolled back again, lifting her on top of him. She tried to wriggle away, which caused an immediate and intriguing reaction in him, so with a womanly smile, she did it again.

Since he was being so agreeable, she took him up on his offer and spent some time exploring his body. Having a man in her bed was one of the things she missed about being married—the different textures of his body, the contrasts to her own body, even the simple sound of his breathing. Even when there was no sex, there was still intimacy, and she missed that with all her heart.

By the time she’d satisfied her curiosity, she’d aroused him to the point that his breathing was rapid, his voice guttural. “No more play. Come here.”

She thought about refusing, at least for a while, but knew she didn’t have the willpower, because all that touching, kissing and caressing that had aroused him had had the same effect on her. She was hot and achy, and she needed him, please, just once more.

She knew the moment she took him inside her that neither of them were going to last long, and she was right. The duration was short, the intensity killing.

Long after it was over, she found the strength to lift herself away from him. She pressed a kiss to his jaw, then bonelessly sank down to lie beside him.

She wasn’t sure exactly when she fell asleep—right away, she thought—but it seemed like mere minutes until he was shaking her awake. “Hallie?”

“Hmm.” She blindly reached for him and realized he was dressed again. She forced her eyes open and saw that the lamp nearest the door was on and he was, indeed, dressed and ready to go. She felt a twinge of disappointment that he wasn’t going to stick around to wake up, maybe get some breakfast, maybe make love again. Next time—

She cut off that thought the instant it formed. There wasn’t likely to be a next time. She’d already gotten so much more than she’d expected when she approached him in the bar Thursday night. She should be grateful for it and not hoping for even more.

“I’ve got to get home.”

“Oh.” She raised up on one arm, then shoved her hair from her face. She imagined she looked pretty darn scary without makeup, her hair standing on end and after only a few hours sleep. “Okay.”

At least he was telling her. She’d awakened Friday morning to cold sheets and nothing to suggest that he’d even been there besides her incredible sense of satisfaction.

As she scooted to sit up with the sheet tucked under her arms, he sat down next to her. Looking seriously intense, he threaded his fingers through her hair, tilted her head back and simply looked at her. When moments passed and he didn’t say anything, she smiled awkwardly. “Thank you.”

His mouth twitched as if he might smile, but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned forward and gently kissed her. “It was my pleasure.”

Releasing her, he stood up and crossed to the door in three strides. He glanced back at her and finally did smile, just a little.

And then he was gone.

Sunday was just like every other Sunday in Brady’s life for the past fourteen years—long and empty. He worked his usual every-other-weekend shift, did his usual chores and still had plenty of time to brood. Every time he’d left the sheriff’s department, it had taken all the determination he could muster to stop himself from driving through the motel parking lot to see if the California Mercedes was gone.

Too bad he hadn’t had that much strength last night.

He’d never been proud of the women-and-sex aspect of his life, but this time he felt particularly despicable. If he could learn how to live without occasional sex, female companionship or human contact, he would. Hell, if he could learn to open up to a woman, he would do that, too. But life had taught him a few lessons too well ever to forget them, the first of which was that the safest way to live was alone.

Even if alone was sometimes pretty damn miserable.

So damn miserable this time that he was grateful to see Monday and what promised to be a long, busy work week roll around.

He hadn’t had any experience in law enforcement when he’d walked into the department and applied for a deputy’s job over six years ago. He’d been hired in part because the salary was so low most people couldn’t afford to work there, but also because Reese had been willing to take a chance on him. He’d been surprised by how much he liked the job and by how good he was at it. He’d advanced quickly to undersheriff, and wouldn’t likely go any higher. The only job left to aspire to was sheriff, and Reese wasn’t going anywhere. But that was all right. Work was one aspect of his life that he wouldn’t change if he could.

After a morning spent on the paperwork Jace had warned him about, he picked up his Stetson from the filing cabinet and stopped by the dispatcher’s desk. “I’m going to lunch, Wilda.”

She waved her hand idly without looking up from her magazine. She was a good dispatcher and was less likely to miss work than any other department employee besides him, but she wasn’t the friendliest of people. Some of the deputies complained, but it suited him just fine.

He left the department, located on the first floor of the Canyon County Courthouse, and stood for a moment in the shade of an old oak. Buffalo Plains was a nice town—not big enough ever to get crowded, but large enough to provide everything a person needed. If there was something you absolutely couldn’t find, Tulsa was only an hour to the east, Oklahoma City about the same distance to the southwest. In six years, he’d made fewer than a half dozen trips to Tulsa and none to OKC.

After crossing the park alongside the courthouse, he walked half a block east to the sandwich shop. Eating alone in a restaurant was one of the hardest things he’d had to learn to do after his marriage ended. Even now, it didn’t come easily. Most days he went to the Dairy King for a burger and fries, and on really slow days he’d go home. Today, though, a quick sandwich seemed best.

He got a roast beef sandwich, a bag of chips and a soft drink, then headed for an empty table. Just as he set his tray down, he happened to glance at the woman sitting by herself at the next table, and for a moment he froze.

Hallie Madison gazed back at him. After a moment, she waggled her fingers in a wave.

“What are you doing here?” he asked brusquely.

“Having lunch.”

“You were supposed to go home yesterday.”

She shook her head. “My mother and my sisters left yesterday. I’m staying awhile.”

“How long?”

Wariness slipped into her expression. “Do you want to have this conversation from over there, or would you like to join me?”

It was a toss-up, he admitted sourly. He damn sure didn’t want the other diners to listen in, but he also didn’t want to share her table, not when he wasn’t sure he could look her in the eye. But he picked up the tray and moved it to her table, then slid onto the bench opposite her. First thing he did was bump her feet, then bang his knee on the table’s center leg.

“How long?” he asked again once he was settled.

“At least three weeks. I’m overseeing the construction on Neely and Reese’s house.”

Three weeks. Damn. He never would have gone near her or her motel Saturday night if he’d known that. He’d thought she was leaving. He’d thought he wouldn’t see her again. He’d thought…

His jaw tightened. He’d thought he would take what he wanted from her, then say goodbye and forget her.

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” he asked as he unwrapped his sandwich.

“When did you ask?”

She had him there. He’d known the other Madisons were leaving Sunday, and he’d assumed she was, too. That was his mistake, not hers.

She finished the last of her chips and stuffed her trash into the bag, then set it aside and rested her arms on the tabletop. “Look, Brady, you’re apparently concerned that I might expect something from you. I don’t. What we did…that’s all it was. Two nights. Nothing more. I imagine in a town like this, it will be impossible to avoid each other entirely, but we can try. If we fail and you do run into me, don’t feel you have to acknowledge me. I don’t expect that, either.”

She looked so cool, but her hazel eyes were a little too bright, the muscle in her jaw clenched a little too tight. Picking up her purse, she slid across the seat to leave, but he extended his leg, blocking her way.

“Don’t go. I didn’t mean— I just thought—”

When he didn’t go on, she finished for him. “That you would never have to see me again. I’m not yet as experienced at one-night stands as you are, but I do understand how they work. No strings, no commitment, no nothing once the night is over.”

It was illogical as hell, but he took offense at her assumption that he had some vast experience at sleeping with strangers, and he took even more offense at her use of the word yet. She was implying that one day she would be as experienced as he was—an idea that made his gut tighten. As if it were any of his business.

“It’s just that seeing you took me by surprise.” And he didn’t like surprises—never had. Most of his security came from controlling as much of his life as possible, probably because he hadn’t had any control to speak of until after his divorce. His job wasn’t predictable, but everything else in his life was, and he liked it that way.

Hallie was still poised to leave, stopped only by his size-twelve boot blocking her exit. He wished she would relax and stop looking at him as if he were the last person she wanted to see—which was only fair, since he’d made her feel as if she were the last person he wanted to see. “Sit with me while I eat,” he said, trying to sound friendly but doubtful he succeeded. “Please.”

After a moment, she moved back to the center of the bench and laid her purse aside. She sipped from her drink, then folded her arms across her chest. “Are you aware everyone in here is watching us?”

He didn’t bother to look. He could feel the curious stares. “I imagine they’re surprised.”

“By what?”

“The fact that you’re sitting here and we’re talking.” He scraped a pile of lettuce from his sandwich, then took a bite.

“People don’t sit with you?”

“Generally not. I don’t exactly invite friendly overtures.”

“Oh, gee, now there’s a surprise,” she said with a delicate little sniff, and then she simply watched him. Figuring turnabout was fair play, he fixed his own gaze on her. Her blond hair was pulled back in a fancy braid, and she wore a sleeveless yellow sweater with white shorts and sandals. Even so casually dressed, she looked like money, and a lot of it. Her nails were manicured and painted a deep rose, and her only jewelry was a wristwatch and earrings…and a stud nestled in her navel. He hadn’t seen it—had only felt it in the dark—so he didn’t know exactly what it was.

Besides sexy.

How many other men knew that about her?

An ex-husband or two. Probably a few others. She hadn’t said he was her only one-night stand.

“Tell me about your divorce,” he said as he picked up the second half of his sandwich.

“I got the house, the Mercedes and a nice cash settlement. He kept his fabulous career and got the girlfriend and all the friends.”

What girlfriend? he wanted to ask. At the moment he couldn’t imagine the woman a man would pick over her. “I guess I made the wrong request. Tell me about the marriage.”

“Which one?”

I’m a three-time loser, she’d said at the reception Saturday night, with more than a little bitter mocking. “The most recent one.”

After a moment’s silence, she shrugged. “His name was Max Parker. He’s a film producer. We were married four years and were—I thought—happily in love. But at my birthday party last winter, I went looking for him and found him boffing the star of his last movie. He needed someone who could arouse his passion, he said—someone who was…oh, gee, how did he put it?” She pretended to think, then scowled. “Oh, yeah. Someone who wasn’t as old as me.”

He thought about the things he could say. I’m sorry. That must have hurt. The guy’s a bastard. You’re better off without him. He settled for something a little less sympathetic. “You look pretty damn good for an old broad.”

For a moment she simply looked at him, her hazel eyes opened wide. Then slowly a smile curved the corners of her mouth, and he felt the first real warmth from her since he’d left her bed before dawn Sunday. “Thank you,” she said. Uncrossing her arms from her chest, she settled more comfortably on the bench. “What about yours?”

Now that she’d relaxed, Brady grew stiff, stilled in the act of gathering the sandwich wrapper and lettuce shreds. Turnabout was fair play, remember? But weren’t there limits to how many old habits a man could be expected to break all at once? He’d been in Reese’s wedding, had attended the party afterward, had turned his one night with Hallie into two and was sitting with her now in full view of anyone who cared to look. Every one of those things was new for him.

And keeping his past in the past—and private—was old. The oldest habit he had.

But she was waiting quietly, patiently, and for some unfathomable reason, he didn’t want to disappoint her.

“That’s a deep, dark secret around here,” he said at last.

“How deep? How dark?”

As she’d done, he pretended to need a moment to think about it. “Well, you’re the only person in Oklahoma who even knows I was married.”

“Of course, Neely and Reese aren’t in Oklahoma right—” She broke off when he shook his head. “They don’t know?”

He shook his head again.

“Then why did you tell me?”

“That’s a good question.” She’d been looking a little blue, her mother and Neely had trampled on her feelings, and she’d looked so wounded. He’d wanted… To let her know she wasn’t the only one who’d failed? That he understood at least something of what she felt?

“What happened?”

He had never discussed his marriage or his divorce with anyone—not once in fourteen years. There had been one oblique conversation with Reese a while back, but he hadn’t said enough to give away any of the facts. There was no reason why he should break his silence now, and no reason at all why he should break it with this woman.

But when he opened his mouth to say so, the wrong words came out. “Her name was Sandra. We were married three years, until I found out she was—” How had Hallie put it? “—boffing half the guys in town.”

“So we both married people with exquisitely bad taste,” she remarked.

“Looks like.” He glanced at his watch. He got an hour for lunch, but he usually took less than half that. Today, for the first time he could recall, he wasn’t anxious to get back to work.

“Will you be staying at Neely’s apartment while they’re gone?”

“She offered, but I’d rather not. It would feel intrusive.” She fiddled with her drinking straw for a moment, then gave him a direct look. “I understand you were there the night Reese’s house got shot up.”

He nodded.

“Neely says you saved her life.”

“She’s got it backward. She and Reese saved my life.”

Hallie knew better. Neely didn’t get things turned around. She was the best darn lawyer in this part of the country, and she always had her facts straight. She hadn’t offered a lot of details about that night in June—being the oldest sister and mother hen, she felt it was her responsibility to protect the younger ones from anything that might worry them—but she’d told them enough to know it was terrifying.

Eddie Forbes, a criminal Neely had sent to prison when she was working as a prosecutor in Kansas City, had sworn revenge on her, and when he got out, he put out a contract on her life. One of the men trying to cash in on it had shot Reese, and a whole gang of them, including Forbes himself, had tracked them to Reese’s house in Heartbreak.

It was at that point Neely’s details had gotten a little fuzzy. All Hallie knew for sure was that Brady had gone to the house to help them, that he’d been willing to die to save Neely and that the house had been shot all to hell. Seven of the bad guys had died that night, including Forbes, shot by Neely herself.

Even weeks later in the middle of a hot, sunny day, the mere thought sent a shudder of revulsion through Hallie. God forbid, if she ever found herself in a similar situation, she hoped she would be as courageous as her sister.

“However it went,” she said, “you have the undying gratitude of the Madison family.”

A faint blush turned his cheeks crimson, and he shrugged awkwardly. “I was just doing my job.”

Right. And if she believed that, no doubt he’d have some fine swampland to offer, too.

Casting about for something to keep the conversation going, she seized one of the more mundane questions new acquaintances always asked. “Where are you from? Or is that another of your deep, dark secrets?”

“Not so deep or so dark, but…yeah. Only Reese knows that one.” He looked as if he wanted to drop it there, then took a breath and answered. “A dusty little town west of Dallas.”

“A Texan. Well, that explains a lot.” She softened the words with a smile. “Contrary to the opinions of every Texan I’ve ever met, being from Texas isn’t such a big deal.”

“You won’t get any argument from me. I left when I could, and I’ve never been back.”

“After the divorce?”