Chance of a Lifetime (34 page)

He smiled down at her. “You do know the kissing comes with touching?”

She nodded. “I believe I’ve already started that addition. I wouldn’t want to leave anything out so, if you don’t mind—”

There was no more time or need for words. He lifted her, blanket and all, off the bed and headed toward the living room.

“What are you doing?” she squealed.

“If we’re going parking, we’d better do it on the couch. I don’t trust you in bed.”

When she giggled, he added, “You’re already ahead of me on the touching part, but I’ll catch up.”

He sat down with her in his lap and began kissing her with a warmth and passion she’d never known. All their clothes remained on, but when he finally carried her back to bed she knew she’d been kissed and touched and held lovingly just as she’d always dreamed of.

“If we’re going no farther tonight, honey, we’d better go to sleep.”

She was too relaxed and too tired to do anything but moan her agreement.

“You all right, Emily?” he whispered as he kissed just below her ear when she cuddled closer.

“Yes,” she mumbled. “I was just wondering how good I’d feel if you’d had two hands to work with.”

He laughed and pulled her back against him. “Hang around and you’ll find out.”

She breathed in the smell of him and the warmth of him. “I plan to do that.”

The soft sound of his slow breathing was her only answer.

S
ATURDAY NIGHT

R
ICK PULLED ON HIS BEST JACKET AND STEPPED OUT OF
the downstairs bedroom of Winter’s Inn. Martha Q and Trace had been chatting in the drawing room for an hour as if they really were related. He’d listened to them while he’d dressed. Martha Q was all about the writers’ group and Trace’s questions about each member just egged her on. What Martha Q didn’t know for fact, she pulled from fiction, making each member of the group far more interesting than they probably were. She even included the librarian and the janitor in her tale, claiming Emily was probably frigid after being attacked in high school. She didn’t know the details, no one really did, but Martha Q was sure it was terrible.

As for Sam the janitor, he’d been in love with Martha Q, according to Martha Q, most of his life. “Of course,” she explained, “half the men in Harmony were in love with me
at one time or another. I teased some, married some, and ignored some, but I never used a man.”

She glanced up as Rick walked into the room and giggled when he winked at her.

“Don’t you look nice.” Martha Q whistled. “You’ve put on some weight, boy, and you look good enough to eat. If I were ten years younger, I’d give you a whirl. There’s nothing that looks finer than a tall man in jeans and a starched shirt.”

Rick laughed, thinking if she was ten years younger she’d still be old enough to be his mother. “Thanks,” he managed. “I thought I’d go over to Buffalo’s and have a drink.” It was the only place he was sure that the man stalking him had been.

Trace stood slowly as if debating with herself whether to argue or give in. “That’s not a good idea,” she finally said in a tone that hinted his plan might be the worst idea ever.

Her eyes challenged him, but it would take more than a look to stop him. “I’m through with hiding, waiting for some guy to come find me. I’m going hunting for him.”

“You’re using yourself as bait.” He had no doubt Trace Adams would handcuff him to the house if she thought she could get away with it, but unless she pulled a gun, he planned to walk out the door.

“I’m going,” he said simply. “Would one of you ladies like to join me?”

Martha Q laughed. “My lord, boy, it’s after ten. I haven’t gone out that late in years.”

“Marshal?” he said, knowing she’d consider it part of her job to go along. They’d looked for a safe apartment for him today, and she’d probably talked to Alex about watching out for him after she left. He could feel her leaving, even though she hadn’t packed her bag. Her vacation was up. She had no reason to stay except because of his problem, and he had a feeling no one but a Matheson would consider it worth a U.S. Marshal’s time to babysit him.

“Give me five,” she said, heading up the stairs. “If you’re going to get yourself killed, I might as well go along to arrest the son-of-a-bitch who murders you.”

Martha Q waited for the footsteps to reach the top of the stairs before she said, “The girl’s crazy about you.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

Martha Q leaned toward him. “That woman drinks adrenaline for breakfast. She lives on excitement. Give her passion, wild and full-out, or walk away. Some women you got to court with words and flowers; others, you got to show them what you want.” Martha Q leaned back, crossed her arms over her round little body and added, “Don’t give her time to think. Just act.”

“Thanks for the advice, but her type isn’t going to fall for a small-town lawyer. She’s big city, drug busts and gang wars. She wouldn’t have stayed around for as long as she has if someone wasn’t trying to kill me, and I can’t draw that out forever. Eventually the stalker will get bored or he’ll get me. Either way, I don’t see me ending up with her.”

“What you don’t know about women would fill the Palo Duro canyon to the brim. Men don’t always have to give a woman what she wants; they need to give her what she needs. If you take the time to know her, really know her, you’ll find the one thing she needs more than anything else.”

“That’s just it. We’re out of time.”

He heard footsteps tumbling down the stairs and knew that his time was up in more ways than one.

Trace walked past him, opened the door and said simply, “Let’s get this over with, Matheson.”

Martha Q stood on the porch and waved them good-bye like they were kids on a first date.

They were halfway to the bar when Trace said, “You’re an idiot.”

“I’ve heard that before. Why don’t you get a new line?”

“Why don’t you get a brain? After putting up with that stubborn streak of yours, I’m surprised more than one person isn’t trying to kill you.”

Rick pulled into the packed parking lot. “Don’t act like you care, Marshal.” He pulled into an illegal spot and climbed out of the car. He was around to her side before she opened her door.

“I do care,” she said as she stood inches away. “Your idiotic behavior is starting to rub off on me, I guess.”

He had the feeling she wanted to say more, maybe even something nice, but they were both mad, and for the life of him he couldn’t think what had started this argument. Without warning, he reached for her. He pushed her a few inches until her back bumped against the car and then he leaned into her, full body, full contact. “Kiss me,” he ordered. “If you’re right and I’m going to die tonight, I want the taste of you with me when I fall.”

The kiss was hard and primal. Nothing like he’d ever kissed a woman before. His hands held her shoulders as he leaned her head back and opened his mouth against hers. When she dug her fingers in his hair and took his advance with a hunger of her own, his knees almost buckled. Without breaking the kiss, he shoved her leather jacket aside and felt of her body in long possessive strokes. He wanted her like he’d never wanted any woman or any thing in his life. The leather, the gun, the anger didn’t matter. He wanted Trace. He broke the kiss and moved to her throat, tasting his way down her neck as he unbuttoned her shirt. As his hand spread over her skin, he returned to her mouth for a kiss that was almost violent with need.

Far in the back of his brain, he prepared for the kick or punch she’d deliver at any moment to stop him, but it never came. She didn’t go soft and loving in his arms, but her hunger matched his and he felt her fingers clawing their way down his back as she moved against him.

A group of drunks walked by in the shadows yelling things like “Get a room.” Rick sobered enough to pull his mouth away slowly and allow himself to breathe. Trace remained against him as she gulped for air. The world settled.

“I’m not apologizing,” he whispered against her hair.

“I’m not asking you to,” she answered. “I’ve never felt like—” She didn’t finish.

He pushed his forehead against hers and laughed. “I know, me neither.”

He held her for a while, feeling her body breathe against his, feeling her hands lightly move over him as if she were learning the feel of him. There were no words. No words either could say for what had happened. But they’d both felt it. They both felt it still. This strong beautiful woman was rocking his world and somehow he’d managed to do the same to hers. At some point they’d have to talk about it, but right now they both just wanted to feel pure passion settling, waiting until the time would be right to fire again.

“Come on,” he finally said, taking her hand. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

For once, she didn’t argue, but she turned loose of his hand as they neared the bar, and he knew without looking that she was touching her weapon, making sure all was in place and ready. He could have changed his mind and gone back to the bed-and-breakfast, but right now nowhere was safe.

B
EAU WATCHED THE CROWD AS HE PLAYED.
A
S ALWAYS, HE
looked for his mystery girl, hoping she’d drop by, hoping she’d be waiting when he finished for the night. Once in a while, he thought of what he should talk to her about. Maybe if she came by this week he could tell her about almost being arrested. He could tell her his dream.

As he ended one song and started another, he knew he wouldn’t tell her anything. Just like, if he were honest with himself, he didn’t want to know all the facts about her. If they talked, he might discover she wasn’t as bright as he thought she was or as funny or even as sexy.

He wanted to see her parked in that great old car out in the back parking lot after midnight tonight. If she wasn’t there, she would be in his dreams. He was dying to hit the blacktop on back roads that had never known a stripe other than moonbeams. He wanted to lean back and feel the wind in his hair and the warmth of her next to him. He wanted to reach over and hold her breast, knowing that it would make her smile.

A song began to form in his head about dodging reality and chasing the dream. Words drifted through his mind about how sometimes the dreams he had when he was alone became more real than life and how he’d slipped between one world and another until he didn’t know which was which.

He knew that regardless of whether she showed up tonight, he wouldn’t sleep. The girl or the song would fill his mind till dawn.

Border leaned in his line of vision and pointed with his head toward the back booth nearest the cage Harley called the stage.

Beau watched a couple sit down. It took a few turns of the lights for him to see who they were.

He couldn’t believe Miss Tomlinson, the librarian, had come to listen to him play. Over the years, they’d become friends. She always asked how he was doing. When he was about fourteen, he’d told her that he was playing the guitar. Now and then she’d order a book about country music for the library and hand it to him first. Until he left home, she’d been the only person who’d encouraged him. Though she’d only said a few words now and then, her caring mattered to him.

And now she was sitting in the booth nearest to the band. Some guy Beau had never seen was at her side. He was big, in a strong, powerful kind of way. Big enough to take care of Emily Tomlinson if anyone bothered her in a place like this. Beau figured if someone even tried, he’d come out of the cage to help if necessary.

Another couple walked in and took the seat on the other side of the booth. Beau smiled, suddenly impressed with the crowd. His lawyer had come to hear him and he’d brought that good-looking biker chick Border drooled over every time he saw her.

Beau straightened. Maybe Rick Matheson had only been his lawyer for about a minute, but he’d come to offer help and that mattered. He was classing the place up
tonight. In a few years, they’d pay a hundred bucks a ticket to see him on a real stage.

He motioned for Border to take a ride as Beau began to play guitar for the crowd. Border set his bass down and just listened. A yell went up, and then everyone settled down knowing they were listening to a master perform. Even the drunks at the bar stilled. No one moved, except Harley, who continued to make drinks, because the minute Beau stopped playing the orders would come in.