Lana's Lawman (16 page)

But she wasn't quite the same woman as she had been the previous night. Lana was still responsive, and generous, and able to drive him to the brink of insanity with one touch, even one look. But that morning she held something of herself back. Even as he plunged within her and found a nameless ecstasy, he mourned
the loss of the firebrand she'd been the night before, the woman with nothing to lose.

At the same time, there was a part of him that was relieved she wasn't seeing him as the solution to all her problems. He still had his doubts about whether he could provide what she needed. He talked a good game, and he was Johnny-on-the-spot when it came to fixing roofs and criticizing ex-husbands. But in terms of strong emotional support, he was largely untested.

She didn't climax this time, and he worried that he'd rushed her, but she merely shook her head and said that sometimes it didn't happen. “I still adored every minute of it. You're a better lover than I remember.”

“I would hope so,” he groused, his male vanity only slightly mollified. He'd better be an improvement over a groping, overeager, sex-starved teenager. Now at least he was a groping, overeager, sex-starved adult.

“It's the closeness I care about anyway.” She rubbed her cheek against his arm. “Being turned on and having an … well, you know, is terrific, but it's not the ultimate reason I made love with you. I wanted to feel close. That's something men have a difficult time understanding, I think.”

“Yeah, men are a little more climax-oriented than women, on the average, I guess.” That was as close as Sloan came to discussing feelings. But maybe it wasn't time for that yet, he decided. He was, after all, supposed to be taking this thing one day at a time, cautiously, so that no one got any nasty surprises.

Ah, hell, who was he kidding? If she turned away from him like she'd done before, it was gonna hurt.

Lana turned onto her side, facing him, and put her head on his shoulder. “Sloan—” She paused, weighing her words. “Whatever happened to your parents?”

Where had that question come from? Sloan wondered. He could have sloughed it aside with a glib rejoinder. Truth was, he felt uncomfortable having to admit the truth about his folks. He wasn't particularly proud of his efforts with them. Or lack of efforts.

But this was Lana, and if she was asking, it wasn't out of morbid curiosity. For some reason, she needed to know.

He took a deep breath. “Dad's been in and out of jail since I can remember, mostly in,” he said, trying to sound casual. “After I moved away, he used to call me sometimes, but it was usually to ask for money or to help get him out of the slammer. Last time I talked to him, he told me Mom had split.”

“That's terrible! When did this happen?”

“About five years ago. That's when I changed my phone number and hoped like hell neither of them would find me again. They might be my flesh and blood, but they weren't parents, not in any real sense of the word, and I don't want to associate with them anymore.”

Lana shivered slightly. “That's so sad. Both my parents are gone too, but at least I have fond memories of my mother. She was a little nutty about some things, but she loved me. I never doubted that.”

Love. In all his life nobody had ever said that word
to him. Long ago he'd told himself it wasn't important. He could live a happy and productive life even if he never shared that special connection with another human being. But seeing Lana again had reopened old wounds, pulled old yearnings to the surface like turtles in a swamp rising to the surface to breathe.

When they'd broken up way back when, at least she'd had her mother's love to fall back on. Sloan hadn't had anything.

He wanted to drop the subject, but she continued. “So you've been on your own since … when, age fourteen?”

“That's about when my parents got so heavy into the drinking and drugs that they pretty much quit acknowledging my existence.”

“So you've had fourteen years of independence to practice, make mistakes, correct them, figure them out.”

“Yeah?” Did she think that meant he always got things right?

“I've had only fourteen
months.
I get so scared sometimes. What if I can't make it? What if I end up homeless, or having to ask for a handout from some distant relative?”

“People like you do not end up homeless.” Sloan stroked her hair. “You're a survivor if I've ever seen one. Is there a point you're trying to make?”

She gave a nervous huff of laughter. “Yeah, I guess. I swore I wouldn't have second thoughts about all this, and well …”

“You do. I knew you would.”

“You did?”

“The way we ended up in bed last night wasn't exactly a rational, well-thought-out plan. It just happened.”

“So you're having second thoughts too?”

“Some doubts. Some worries. But I wouldn't trade it for anything. Unless we went off each other cold turkey, it was going to happen sooner or later. Now we just have to figure out how to deal with it.”

“See? I knew you were better at this than me.”

He smiled down at her. “We'll both get better with practice.”

“Very smooth line.”

“Hungry?” he asked, wanting to get off the sticky subject while he could still escape intact.

“Famished.”

Sloan threw together a quick breakfast of bagels and scrambled eggs while Lana showered. She was as pretty as ever, even with wet hair slicked back and no makeup. They talked quietly while they ate, and some of the awkwardness receded. But the bond they'd formed the night before seemed very tenuous this morning.

“I'll clean up the kitchen while you shower,” she offered. He took her up on it. Twenty minutes later he was walking Lana to her car.

“Are you sure you don't want me to take you back to my house so you can pick up your bike?” she asked, perplexed.

“I'll jog over and get it later,” he said, trying to sound unconcerned. “I have some stuff to do first.”
Never mind that picking up the cycle now would take all of five minutes. He wanted an excuse to drop over later and see if she'd really gotten the furnace problem solved. If Lana saw his subterfuge for what it was—and how could she not?—she didn't let on.

He kissed her, long and hard, before letting her leave.

“Was it a fun party?” Lana asked Rob when she picked him up at the sleepover.

“Yeah, it was pretty good. Peter Spearman threw up.”

“Oh, dear. It's not something catching, is it?” She lived in fear of Rob getting sick, because it invariably meant she would miss some work.

“Nah, I think he ate too many hot dogs.”

“You didn't sleep outside, did you?”

“We started to, but it got too cold. I came in at midnight. Nicholas and Clifford stayed out there until three!”

“They were either very brave or very foolish.” At the moment, she considered anyone who took refuge from the cold when they had a chance as very wise. She kept trying to convince herself of that anyway.

“Mom, how come your hair's all wet?”

She shrugged. “I overslept.”

“You never oversleep.”

“It was awfully hard to get out of bed on this cold morning. I should warn you, the house is freezing. Something's wrong with the heater.”

“Oh, great. Something's always wrong with something.”

“That's what happens when you move into an old house, sweetie,” Lana said sensibly. “We're gradually getting everything into shape though.”

“I wish we lived in a new house.”

“I wish we could afford a new house,” she said on a sigh. “Someday. When I graduate and I can get a better job.”

“How long will that be?”

“Mmm, a while yet.” Probably another three years, at her current pace. “But I'm almost halfway there.”

“I'll probably be in college by the time you can afford a new house.”

Lana winced. She knew Rob wasn't being deliberately hurtful. This was a good time to bring up a question she needed to ask though. “Rob, if you had your choice about who to live with full-time, me or your dad, which would you choose?” She steeled herself, because she had a pretty good idea what his answer would be.

He didn't say anything for a time. At least he was thinking about it.

“I guess I'd rather live with Dad,” he finally said. “As long as I could visit you.”

Determined not to let him know how much he'd hurt her, Lana pasted on a false smile. “So tell me why you'd like your dad's house better.”

“Well, he's got a big TV I can plug my Saturn game into,” Rob began. “And he's got a swimming
pool. And when I stay there I get to go to McDonald's a lot. Oh, and there's Pudge.”

Pudge. Bart's champion English bulldog. He'd bought the darn dog strictly to use as a stud, because it gave him something else to brag about and brought in more money. Pudge lived in a crate much of his life and was hardly a good pet.

“Do you play with Pudge?” Lana asked.

“Well, sort of. He jumps on me and slobbers, and I push him away. That's how we play. But still, at least he's a dog.”

Lana had steadfastly refused Rob's requests for a pet because pets were expensive and her budget was delicately balanced. But if he liked dogs enough to enjoy Pudge, maybe she'd figure out something.

Meanwhile, she was gratified that none of the aspects Rob preferred about staying with his dad had to do with Bart himself. Bart provided Rob with lots of
things
, but little in the way of play or companionship or help with homework.

“Would Dad let me live with him full-time?” Rob asked.

“Yes, right now that's what he wants,” Lana answered honestly. “When you had to go to the hospital, it shook him up, I think. He wants you at his house, where he can be sure you're safe.”

“Can I do it, then?” Rob asked cautiously, as if he instinctively knew what the answer would be.

“We'll have to see.”

“Maybe …” Rob screwed up his face in thought. “Maybe I could live half and half with you and Dad.”

“That's something I'm willing to talk about.” But she doubted Bart would settle for a compromise. With him it was all or nothing. If he didn't win all the marbles, then he considered it a loss.

When she pulled into the driveway, Sloan's motorcycle was still there. She felt a definite sense of relief—she might get to see him again today—followed by a panicky flutter her craving for him always brought. Seeing the bike also meant she had to explain its presence to Rob.

“Wow, where'd the motorcycle come from?” were the first, predictable words out of Rob's mouth when he spotted the bike.

“It's Officer Bennett's,” Lana answered casually as she pulled into the garage. “He came over last night to visit, and it was too cold for him to ride the motorcycle home later on. I took him home in my car.” No lies there, she thought with a twinge of guilt.

“You had a date with Officer Bennett? Wait'll I tell Will Jones!” Rob bounded out of the car to inspect the Kawasaki. “When's he coming back for it? Will he take me for a ride?”

She supposed that question was inevitable. Lana's first instinct was to say “No, no, no!” Her baby wasn't riding on the back of a motorcycle. But then she remembered that Sloan would be driving, and she couldn't think of anyone she would trust more. “Maybe some time, if it's all right with Officer Bennett, but not today when it's so cold,” she said.

“Awesome.”

Lana left Rob to drool over the bike while she went
inside to call her HVAC man. They were swamped with calls, the receptionist informed Lana. The first cold snap of the season always brought a bunch of service requests. But someone would be out before the end of the day.

Lana kept her jacket on while she prepared some soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch. By the time lunch was ready, Rob still hadn't made an appearance indoors. Feeling uneasy, Lana went to the front door, thinking about the garage roof and how easy it was for a little boy to get hurt. Maybe she should be more vigilant! But Rob was safe and sound, sitting on Sloan's motorcycle—with Sloan giving him instructions. Sloan had on worn black sweats and running shoes. Apparently he'd made good on his intention to jog over.

Rob was wearing a helmet that just about swallowed his whole head, along with a pair of mirrored sunglasses. He looked adorable, even if the idea of her baby on a motorcycle scared Lana to pieces.

“Hey, you two,” she called out, standing in the dubious protection of the doorway, though it wasn't much warmer inside than out. “Lunch is ready. Sloan, why didn't you tell me you were here? I'd have fixed an extra grilled cheese.”

“He can have mine,” Rob piped in. “I had about a jillion pancakes for breakfast, Mom. I'm not that hungry.”

“Okay by me, as long as you eat some soup. Sloan?” She was pathetically glad to have an easy way to invite him inside. Her sudden dependence on his
company was beginning to worry her. Dependence could quickly turn to addiction. Even now she didn't go five minutes without thinking about him, reliving those exquisite hours from the night before, wondering if and when it would happen again.

Seeking companionship was fine. But this
wanting
and
needing
were going to get her into trouble. Her careful plans for remaining in control were flying right out the window, and she was helpless to stop it.

Sloan nodded as he helped Rob off the bike. “I was just giving the Easy Rider here a few safety tips,” he said with a wink.

“Sloan said I could ride his bike sometime,” Rob said excitedly. “When can I, Mom?”

“When it's warmer,” she said firmly. “If you go out in this wind, next thing you know you'll wind up with an earache. And Officer Bennett and I have to set up some ground rules first.” She gave him a warning look.