Read Reckless Online

Authors: Ruth Wind

Reckless (2 page)

BOOK: Reckless
7.43Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
“This is the doctor, Alonzo. Ramona Hardy. She said she'd like to see your work sometime.”
“A lady doctor? You must be very smart.” He inclined his head. “Sure, sure you can come. Anytime. I am always working.”
“Thank you.”
Louise pushed none too gently at Ramona's arm. “Go get something to eat,” she said, and sent a meaningful glance behind Ramona. Jake had filled a plate and now sat at his place at the table. Ramona's bouquet was on the chair next to him. As she watched, Jake took a long breath as if preparing himself for some painful task, then picked up his fork.
For one moment, Ramona was transported backward over the years. She was sixteen and very studious, a shy girl who hid behind thick glasses and tried her best to camouflage her overdeveloped bosom under baggy clothes. Her shyness was only increased by the comments the boys constantly made about her chest, as if it belonged to them. As if it had something to do with who she was.
And across the years, she remembered standing in the doorway of the cafeteria, mortified by a knot of boys who had trapped her as she went in to buy her lunch. They made crude remarks in quiet, snickering voices and shoved each other until one “accidentally” put his hand right there.
Jake Forrest had come to her rescue. Big and strong, and as clean-cut then as he now was ragged, he had grabbed the boy manhandling her and twisted his arm behind his back. With a quick jerk of his head, he indicated Ramona should go, and she had. When she tried to thank him the next day, he'd just shrugged. “No big deal.”
He didn't remember her, Ramona thought now—and maybe that was for the best. He wouldn't remember what a terrible, nerdy little wallflower she had been. How many times had she wished there had been someone like Jake Forrest to rescue her a year later from another group of boys?
She shoved the thoughts away. She was over the trauma of that awful day. More, she'd won. The boys had gone to jail.
And because she had survived that brutal day when she was seventeen, because she had built a solid, warm life in spite of the evils in the world, she knew she could help Jake Forrest.
If he would let her.
At the very least, she could offer kindness to repay him in some small way for that long-ago act in her defense. Catching up the skirt of her ridiculous bridesmaid's dress, she headed across the room.
 
Jake felt better after he allowed himself a solid belt of single malt Scotch on the rocks. Scotch was good medicine—and not only for sleeping. It blunted the edges of his rage and sorrow and lostness. Enough of it could even make him forget everything entirely for an hour or two. Some days, the idea of simply crawling into that tall green bottle and never coming out was very appealing.
Trouble was, a drunk couldn't afford imported Scotch, and Jake really didn't care for anything else.
The food was very good—catered by an upscale establishment that had grown used to satisfying celebrities and the simply wealthy who kept second homes in Red Creek to be close to the best skiing to be had this side of the Atlantic. He ate wafer-thin slices of smoked salmon and strawberries and whole-grain bread with real butter, and the knot in his gut eased. By the time he spotted Ramona returning to the table, he felt much mellower and not nearly as defensive about her all-too-knowing eyes.
Pretty eyes, he could think now, without danger. Big, soft, get-lost-in-them brown. As she made her way across the room, he noticed that people stopped her often—and bent down to hear her gentle voice. They smiled after her, and even the restlessness of children confined by patentleather shoes and unfamiliar dress clothes seemed to settle a little as she moved among them, stopping to touch this one's shoulder, murmur a joke in that one's ear, scold another who was teasing his sister.
Peace and calm followed after her like the glow of a good wine.
He grimaced. Fine and well if you were looking for a mother, or maybe even a mother for your children. She was the type of woman who wanted to domesticate the world—probably had herbs hanging from her kitchen rafters and rows of home-canned tomatoes and beans on her shelves.
Not his style.
Restlessly, he scanned the room, feeling his disturbance rumble in his loins. Sometimes sex helped almost as much as liquor, and there were several possibilities in the room. Somehow, he couldn't seem to rouse himself enough to get out of the chair.
When Ramona sat down beside him, Jake briefly imagined her in his arms, all warmth and softness. A little of the tight anxiety eased out of his neck. “I bet you put up your own jelly, don't you?” he said before he could help himself.
To his surprise, she laughed. The sound was much huskier and richer than he expected. It made him think of thick woolen blankets on a cold, cold night. “You make it sound like something criminal. Don't you like jelly?”
“I don't think about it.” He picked up a roll and suddenly did think about the rows of ruby soldiers his mother had made every year. “Do you ever make chokecherry?”
That laugh again. A little fuller this time. “I made a lot this year. There were so many chokecherries last fall I gave thought to starting a new hunger drive—chokecherries for the world.” Her dark eyes danced. “What do you think?”
He smiled, almost against his will. “So do you have any left?”
“Well, I don't know. If putting up jelly is a criminal activity, maybe you ought to be careful about becoming an accomplice.” She speared an artichoke heart on her fork. “Did you taste these? The sauce is wonderful.”
“Slimy green vegetables aren't my thing.”
“Shame on you.” She popped it into her mouth and made a noise of pleasure. “Wonderful!” Spearing another, she held it out to him. “Try one. Really. You'll be glad.”
He looked at her for a long moment. Maybe she wasn't as plain as he first thought. Her coloring was nice—the hair that was swept up into some elaborate system of braids was not just brown, but brown and blond all mixed together, and very healthy. He wondered how long it was and what it would look like spread over her shoulders.
A faint, almost unnoticeable ripple moved down his thighs. Impulsively, he leaned forward and snagged the triangle off her fork, knowing she had meant him to take it with his fingers.
The taste exploded on his tongue. He widened his eyes to show his approval. “That's good.”
She grinned, and he decided her mouth was very nice. A nice mouth was one of his requirements in a woman. How had he missed it earlier?
“You might be surprised how many wonderful, slimy green vegetables there are,” she said.
He picked up his fork. “May I have another one?”
“Of course.” She leaned back to give him access, and Jake speared another from her plate. He smelled something nice coming from her skin, very light, a perfume or something.
“You smell good,” he said.
“Thanks. So do you.”
He met her gaze and felt a flame arc between them—that undeniable frisson that passed between a man and a woman, a frisson that had nothing to do with anything except perfect chemical alignment. Chemicals didn't care if her figure was the kind he usually admired, or whether she had home-canned peas on her shelf. He let his gaze sweep over her face, light on her mouth, travel downward to the plump breasts too tightly confined in the ridiculous dress. For a minute, he was a little dizzy—his exhaustion rising to the fore—and had to close his eyes. With an effort, he opened them again and made a stab at flirting. “You like my cologne, huh?”
Maybe he'd expected her to be flustered. She was not. She met his gaze steadily, a tiny smile hovering at the corner of her mouth. “Yes.”
Something about that expression teased his memory, and he frowned for a minute, trying to place her. The snippet jelled and he saw her laughing with an old soldier as she checked his blood pressure. “You work at the VA home, don't you?”
“That's one of my stops, yes.”
“Are you a nurse or something?”
She raised her eyebrows. “These days, women aren't only nurses.”
“A doctor?” He couldn't keep the slight surprise from his voice. Not because she was a woman, but because he associated women who achieved such grueling positions with a much more aggressive personality. “You're a doctor?”
“Amazing as it may seem, I am.”
“I didn't mean it like that.” He shrugged and took another artichoke heart from her plate. “Most women with big-time careers are kind of...” He stopped, noticing the tightness of her mouth. “Ah, never mind.”
“No, please,” she said in a silky tone, “I love to hear sexist comments from the lips of macho soldier boys.”
He laughed. It just came out of him all at once, sounding rusty and unused because it was. “Touché,” he said. “I'm sonny.”
“Accepted.” Tiny flames of humor danced in her eyes. “I mean, you can't really expect a soldier to be politically correct, now can you?”
“Ex-soldier,” he said automatically.
“Ah, that's right. You're retired, aren't you?”
“No,” he said without the usual pang. Amazing how far a little Scotch, a little food, and a woman to flirt with went toward silencing his demons. “You have to complete your commission to retire. I resigned.”
“I see.” She picked out a perfectly shaped, bright red strawberry and admired it on her fork. “That's beautiful, isn't it?”
“I guess.”
“You guess? Look at it again. This is the queen of all strawberries, and by some fine accident, she ended up on my plate. And my mouth.” She bit into the flesh, and Jake found himself admiring the movements of her pretty lips. A bawdy comment bloomed in his mind as he watched her savor it, eyes closed, all concentration focused on the task. Another prickling wave of desire washed down his thighs. A little more insistent this time.
“Are you flirting with me, Doctor?”
She smiled. “Maybe a little. Isn't that what one does at these things?”
She made it sound so harmless and innocent and simple. He'd forgotten innocent pleasures even existed and he was suddenly quite glad to realize they still did. “I guess it is.” Impulsively, maybe because she made him laugh, he held out his hand. “In that spirit, I think you should dance with me and let me flirt back.”
She frowned. “I'm not much of a dancer.”
“It's easy.” He stood up, still patiently holding out his hand. “Just follow me.”
She hesitated for a moment, just long enough to make Jake want to reconsider. He wasn't kidding himself for a second. He wanted to get laid, and this was the woman his body wanted, no matter how inappropriate it was. Or impossible. He couldn't go around sleeping with the local doctor.
Plus, in his current mood, it was dangerous to give in to any whim. Once he had her softness close to him, he wouldn't be thinking about appropriate or inappropriate. He'd be thinking about how to seduce her.
Bad idea. Even Jake had some honor. He stuck to the fast, brittle women his mother despised, simply because they didn't want anything more than he did—a quick, impersonal roll in the hay. Ramona, with her soft eyes and plush warmth, was not the same kind of woman at all.
But before he could sit back down, she took his hand and rose gracefully. “I hope you don't fall down from exhaustion,” she said.
“You can hold me up,” he replied, and led her onto the floor.
Chapter 2
R
amona followed Jake out to the small square cleared for dancing, all too aware of the eyes that followed their progress. She'd seen the measuring examination of the women here, many of them the kind of woman Jake was known to enjoy.
When he stopped in front of her, waiting for her to catch up, she felt a strange, quick swoop of dizziness. She wished she were wearing something besides the unflattering bridesmaid's dress. She wished she were tall and lean and elegant, with a swath of butter-colored hair. She wished she had spent her youth making small talk instead of buried in her studies, so now she would know what to say to catch this big, beautiful man's attention for more than a moment.
But because she had no illusions, she simply smiled up at him and moved into the circle of his arms.
She tipped her head back to look at him. “I hope I don't trip you.”
He simply shook his head, not even a faint pretend smile breaking the graveness of his dark face. Against black lashes, his eyes were almost painfully blue, that bright, rare shade that defied naming. Only the mountain sky on a hot summer day in the mountains ever came close to that color.
“Dancing is just two bodies moving,” he said. “Relax and let yourself feel me.”
Feel me
. An image of her putting her hands on his skin rose up with vivid and erotic insistence—a vision all the more surprising because she simply didn't get those kinds of thoughts very often. Her introduction to sex had been violent, and it had been a long time afterward before she'd even allowed a man to hold her hand. Once in a while, she saw a movie that made her wonder what it would be like to feel passion, or she dreamed of a man whose face never came clear, a man of vast tenderness who disrobed and worshiped her as if she were an angel.
But Jake was real and male, and smelled not only of his cologne, but of a distinctly earthy note that she thought must be that skin she thought of touching. Beneath the fabric of his coat, she felt the muscles of his arm moving easily, and she wondered what color his skin was there. Tanned a golden shade? Or white from the long winter?
With a frown, she realized she was making too big a thing out of it. He had only asked her to dance, for heaven's sake. Not a particularly revolutionary act at a wedding reception.
Taking a deep breath, Ramona exhaled slowly and tried to release the tension in her shoulders, tried to let her hands rest lightly upon him instead of gripping so tightly.
“There you go,” he said. “Relax and listen to the music. Let it move inside of you.” As if to make it easier for her, he stepped a little closer.
Her breasts brushed his chest, and his knee rubbed the side of her thigh. Trying to ignore those details, Ramona concentrated on the music. It was a song from high school, and she knew it well enough that she didn't have to stumble. When she finally relaxed a little, she caught a glimmering of what he meant by letting herself feel his body. A dozen nearly imperceptible movements signaled her to move this way or that—the faint pull of his hand, the nudge of his knee, the sway of his hips.
But then her awareness of his body led to an increased awareness of her own, and she tripped on his feet. “Oops,” she said with a grin. “I don't think that's what you meant.”
“You're still thinking too much.” Now there was a little humor in his eyes. “Have you ever ridden a motorcycle with someone?” he asked.
“Sure.”
Jake put one of her hands on his waist and settled his free hand on her shoulder. His palm was cool against the bare flesh above her gown. “You know how you have to lean into turns and both of you have to lean together?”
Ramona nodded. He slipped his arms closer around her, and their bodies touched at chest and thighs. She swallowed against the sudden jolt of desire that passed through her, fast and hot.
“Close your eyes,” he instructed.
“If I close mine, you have to do it, too,” she countered. “I don't want anyone thinking I'm swooning over you.”
A grin cracked the somberness of his face. “It's a deal.”
So she did. Closed her eyes and leaned into him lightly, then let him lead her in a dance. He smelled of coffee and Scotch and the heady after-shave she liked so much. His jacket brushed her arms. And dancing, which had always eluded her, seemed an effortless thing.
“You're a very good dancer,” she said quietly.
“Mmm.”
The song changed, sliding into something else from the same era. “‘American Pie,”' Jake said, his voice coming to her both through his chest and from above. “They played it at the homecoming dance when I was a senior.”
Ramona smiled. “I remember it, too. I bought the 45.”
“Forty-fives. Do you still have them?”
“Probably some.”
“I'd love to see what you have sometime.”
“No problem.”
At his urging, she gave in to the impulse to rest her cheek against his shoulder, to relax completely against his body, moving sinuously against her. Their thighs slipped and slid, and their hips swayed in perfect harmony.
Distantly, she was aware of his hands moving almost absently against her back, up and down. Was it normal to dance like this with a stranger? Ramona didn't really know—nor, oddly, did she care. It felt as if it were the right thing to do, and that was all that mattered. Maybe it would give Jake a little peace.
“Am I leaning on you too much?” he asked.
“Not at all.”
A silent sigh moved his chest, and Ramona felt the tension ease out of him as if someone had pulled a plug.
The song ended, and the band suddenly switched gears, moving into a rowdy reel. Jake straightened abruptly, blinking. Ramona thought he looked as if he'd been suddenly awakened from a nap—and that probably wasn't far from the truth.
She smiled. “Thank you for the lesson.”
A puzzled look crossed his face. “My pleasure.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I think I'll go have a drink with my brother. Maybe we can dance again later.”
“Sure.”
 
The reception lasted a long, long time. It was well past dark, and Jake was amazed to find himself still upright. He didn't dare drink much for fear of keeling over where he stood, but in his current state, it didn't take much Scotch to give him a little buzz. He danced when asked and drank a toast to his brother, but mostly, he stationed himself at the bar and drank water, watching the room with the same sense of distance with which he'd viewed everything for longer than he cared to admit.
Nothing ever seemed real. He had a sense of being on the outside, as if he were watching a movie—even when he had sex with a beautiful woman, or ate a good meal, or pretended he was having a conversation with one of his brothers. He could manage to participate for about five minutes in any one thing, then some switch in his brain kicked in and he was no longer a part of the moment, but instead observing it from some faraway place, with the sound turned low.
He was fairly sure he was losing his mind. But even that roused no emotion in him. He didn't much care.
There were only a couple places he felt his old self—at the VA home and when he cooked. Six months ago, he'd purchased a long-established restaurant at the edge of town. He'd done it on a whim, wanting something to do. He'd always enjoyed food and cooking, and the business was handled by a manager. In the short time he'd been running the place, the profits had slowly increased. But it was in the big, old cluttered kitchen that Jake found peace. If only he could retreat there now and spend the rest of the night making up dishes, Jake thought he could weather this bout of—whatever the hell it was. But much as he half-wished to retreat to the restaurant now and spend the rest of the night making up new dishes, sometimes a man had to turn up for certain occasions, and his brother's wedding was one of those times.
So he watched the movie playing on the dance floor, complete with soundtrack from the band. Colors seemed a little overbright, as if it were an old Technicolor film. The blondes were brassy, the lipsticks too red or too pink, the dresses just a little too flagrantly pastel.
A hand fell on his arm, and Jake smelled Ramona's perfume. “How you doing, soldier?” she said, and half hopped up to the seat of a stool beside him.
He couldn't rouse a lie. “I'm dead on my feet, Doc.”
“I thought so.” Her hand rested lightly on his sleeve, and it didn't annoy him as he might have expected. It was soothing. “Why don't you let me drive you home?”
A picture of his sterile condo flashed through his mind, and Jake found himself gritting his teeth. “No, thanks. I might run over to the Wild Moose after and cook up something interesting.”
“I'd forgotten you bought the place. How's it doing?”
“Great. All it needed was a little modernization—some low-fat salad dressings and upscale presentation. I've tried to keep the old feeling, too, somehow make it okay for the town, as well as bring in that fit crowd from the mountains.”
“I'll have to stop by.”
“Do. I'll hustle up something special just for you.” He found his face stretching into that weird, sincere smile. “No artichoke hearts, but I'll have to see about getting them on the menu.”
Ramona laughed. “Don't bother. There's so much fat in the dressing, no one in the ski crowd will touch it, and I suspect most of the townspeople would avoid artichokes on general principles.”
“I'll bet I can come up with a sauce that tastes exactly like that one, and cut ninety percent of the fat.”
“You make it and I'll eat it.”
Her smile was warm as morning, and he liked the gentleness in her eyes. Against the Technicolor surrealism in the rest of the room, she was as real and as tangible as the earth itself. There were no artificial harsh highlights in her hair, no lipstick blurring her pink mouth. Her bare toes peeked out from beneath the awful dress and her feet seemed the most real thing of all. “Where are your slippers, Cinderella?”
“I hate high heels.” She looked at her toes. “And anyway, Tamara is Cinderella, remember? I'm the mouse turned into a coachman for the day.”
“Not a mouse,” he said, and inclined his head. “A deer, maybe. You have eyes like a doe, all big and brown and shiny.”
“A deer?” She grinned. “You mean those tall, leggy creatures that leap gracefully through the forest?”
He chuckled and cast an appreciative eye over her lush curves. “Well, doe eyes anyway.” He lifted an eyebrow. “The rest is more like—” he narrowed his eyes teasingly “—a hen.”
“Oh, thank you very much!” she exclaimed without rancor. “Now I know exactly how awful this dress is.”
Jake
had
thought she looked like a hen at first and hadn't thought it kindly. But now, as she sat next to him, all real and earthy and shapely, he thought of how she'd felt against him when they danced: giving and soft. He raised his eyes. “I was thinking more like a succulent, freshly roasted hen—juicy and rich and delicious.”
Ramona blushed. The color rose instantly, burning in her cheeks and faintly along the rise of her breasts. “Oh,” she murmured.
He leaned forward. “Are you really blushing?” he teased, and touched her cheek. “I haven't seen a woman blush like that in a long, long time.”
She wouldn't look at him. “You embarrassed me.”
It pained him a little. “I didn't mean to, Ramona. I was trying to give you a compliment.”
A reluctant smile curved that pretty mouth. “Well, then, I suppose I should thank you.”
“I think so.” Distantly, he realized he shouldn't be flirting with her, not this good, kind, honorable woman, who was unsophisticated enough to blush at a bawdy compliment, but he was too damned tired to think it through. He ought to take his randiness to one of the brittle women he'd danced with and be done with it. But he didn't want one of them. Not tonight. It was more pleasant to simply sit here with Ramona.
The band shifted to a new song, and Jake felt the notes pluck something inside him. It was a good rendition of Van Morrison's “Listen to the Lion.” Impulsively, he took her hand. “Dance with me again, will you?”
She lifted her dress to show him her bare feet. “Not this time. Without my shoes, I'll be way too short.”
Jake stood and took her hand. “No, you won't. You can stand on my feet, like a little kid.”
“No way!” She laughed and tried to pull her hand out of his grip.
He didn't let go. “I won't take no for an answer. You might as well just give in.”
She gave him a wry, disbelieving look. “Or what?”
“Or—” he let her hand go and reached for her waist “—I'll carry you out there.”
BOOK: Reckless
7.43Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Two-Way Street by Barnholdt, Lauren
Wynter's Captive by Taiden, Milly
Falling by J Bennett
The Three Colonels by Jack Caldwell
Maggie's Door by Patricia Reilly Giff
Maia by Richard Adams
She Got Up Off the Couch by Haven Kimmel