Reckless Passion (5 page)

"It would appear this enchanting evening is about to come to a close." Yale groaned, getting lithely to his feet as chaos erupted. The band played on, oblivious to the shouts and yells and bodies spilling onto the dance floor.

"Yale!" she squeaked, once more seeking the sanctuary of his smoothly muscled strength. "What's going on?"

"Guess," he invited succinctly, turning toward the door and shoving her unceremoniously in front of him.
"'Bye, Hank.
Nice meeting you. Have a good trip down to Sac...."

"Reckon I will at that," Hank agreed cheerfully, grabbing his jacket and loping after them as he tossed a vaguely regretful glance back over his shoulder at the rapidly expanding fight.

The sounds of breaking glass and male war calls were all around
Dara
as Yale hustled her through the mob. She gasped as the path which had appeared momentarily clear toward the door was suddenly littered with brawling men.

"This way," Yale ordered, pulling her off course in an attempt to circle the melee.

"What the hell you think you're
doin
', pal?" Hank's voice demanded behind them.

Dara
felt Yale hesitate and then turn to see what had happened to Hank. She swiveled with him, and both were in time to watch their table partner deflect a swinging beer bottle with his jacket-wrapped arm. An instant later he was planting a huge, square fist into the face of the man who had swung the bottle.

Before he could recover his balance, though, another man surged out of the mob, swinging a bottle. It was the drunken cowboy who had insisted on dancing with her,
Dara
realized dazedly.

She thought he was going to bring the bottle down on Hank's balding head, but before that could happen, Yale had left her side to intercept.

Hands across her mouth in the traditional pose of feminine shock,
Dara
gazed, stunned, as Yale stopped the drunk with an arcing fist. The drunken cowboy sank to the floor, blissfully unconscious.

"Hey, thanks, Ransom. That's one I owe
ya
." Hank beamed.

"Come on, both of you. Let's get out of here," Yale ordered, forcing his way once more toward the door.

From somewhere in the distance the wail of a police siren sounded.

"Some spoilsport must have called the cops," Hank muttered as the three of them made the door and staggered out into the parking lot. "Yup, here they come. Where you guys parked?"

"A couple of blocks away," Yale growled, grasping
Dara's
wrist and yanking her in the proper direction.

"You'll never make it, and they'll be
lookin
' for everyone they can get their hands on... Come on. My truck's out back!"

"Hank!"
Dara
exclaimed as she caught sight of a dark splotch on his hand. "What happened? You've been cut!"

"That bottle raked across my knuckles. Don't worry, I'll be all right."

"
Driving's
going to be tough," Yale gritted, pulling
Dara
along in his wake. "Want me to take over?"

"I'd appreciate it." Hank chuckled, nursing his injured hand. "That's my baby there." He pointed to a huge gleaming tractor-trailer truck which stood like a monstrous prehistoric creature in the back parking lot.

"In you go,
Dara
," Yale said briskly, practically tossing her into the cab and climbing in beside her on the driver's side. He started the engine as Hank bounced up into the seat beside
Dara
.

"Yale, do you think we should be doing this? I mean, you're not supposed to leave the scene of a crime, or something like that. We're witnesses..."

"Nobody but a fool would stick around a situation like that," Yale told her kindly, shifting the massive gears and setting the huge track and trailer in motion. "Trust me, honey. I know what I'm doing. This is my element, not yours."

Ruefully acknowledging the truth of that,
Dara
subsided as the huge truck lumbered off into the night. Bemusedly she watched as the Interstate sign flashed past. Yale was taking them onto the freeway.

Belatedly she remembered Hank's hand.

"Have you got a first-aid kit? I should put something on that hand," she said, turning in concern.

"Somewhere around here..." he said, rustling about behind her in the sleeping compartment
. "
Say, you seem to know what you're doing there, Ransom. Still doing it for a living?''

"Not anymore," Yale replied, catching
Dara's
quick glance out of the corner of his eye and grinning wickedly. “Kind of feels good to get my hands back on the wheel, though."

"Yeah, must as I complain about it, I'd miss it if I had to stop tomorrow," Hank said, dragging out a first-aid kit.

Dara
opened it quickly, pulling out necessary supplies and going to work on the cut hand.

"I don't think it's too bad," she finally said, taping the wound carefully. “Be sure to change the dressing. I've tried to clean it up as best I can, but you should probably still have a doctor look at it."

"I'll be home tomorrow. My wife can check on it," Hank said unconcernedly. "Thanks for the patching job, though. Between the two of you, you've been right useful tonight!"

"It's, uh, certainly been an adventure,"
Dara
agreed carefully, slanting a greenish glance up at Yale's hard profile. He looked right at home. "How far are we going with Hank?" she asked softly.

"I don't know. Hadn't thought about it," Yale murmured. "Why don't you crawl in the back and catch some sleep? You were tired earlier this evening, so I expect you're exhausted by now."

"Yale," she whispered, "we can't just go off like this! What about your car? How will we get back to Eugene? Where are we headed, anyway?"

"Go to sleep, honey. I'll take care of everything," he instructed gently.

"Go on,
Dara
," Hank said soothingly. "Let your man have some fun. The sleeper's not as clean as it ought to be, but you'll be all right if you stay on top of the blankets."

"Fun?"
Dara
eyed her escort. "Are you enjoying this, Yale Ransom?" she asked accusingly.

"I don't know.
Can't decide."
He chuckled. "Stop looking at me like that and go to sleep. I'll wake you later."

Dara
licked her lower lip in thoughtful contemplation. But she was outnumbered and she was exhausted. And she had brought the whole catastrophe down on her own head, she remembered in a surge of self-honesty. And it really had been rather exciting.

She smiled slowly to herself and climbed obediently into the sleeping compartment. Yale could handle everything.

Three

“Where
are we?"

Dara's
voice was a sleepy mumble as she stirred awake some time later. It was the lack of the muted roar of the heavy diesel engine which had roused her, and she realized the big rig had been stopped.

"A couple of hours south of Eugene."
Yale's voice came calmly from the front
seat.
"Come on, honey, this is where we get off."

"A couple of hours south!
Good grief! How are we going to get back tonight?" she demanded, scrambling out of the sleeper compartment. She was aware that the burnt russet of her hair was tousled and the emerald dress was badly wrinkled. The sleeping compartment had been strangely confining and she was glad to escape, even if she was still very sleepy.

"We'll worry about that in the morning," Yale told her, reaching out to help her back into the front seat.
His mouth quirked in amusement as she blinked up at him sleepily.
"You look like a tabby cat someone's just rudely awakened."

"Thanks," she muttered, knowing tabby cats tended to be plump and comfortable-looking, not sleek and racy. "How's the wound, Hank?" she added, eyes narrowing as she turned to peer at the other man's hand.

He held it up and grinned cheerfully.
"Fine.
The bleeding's stopped and I can manage things now."

"Oh. Well, I hope you have a good, safe trip on down to Sacramento," she said, returning his smile. "And...
and
I think you ought to consider finding another sort of job, Hank," she went on in an urgent rush. "This isn't a good life for a family man! Your wife shouldn't have to be raising that boy alone and—"

"Come on,
Dara
!" Yale's crisp drawl cut across the flow of words as he opened the door and grabbed her wrist. She was practically pulled down out of the cab and he had to steady her as she landed off balance beside him.

Hank's face appeared in the window above them as he slid behind the wheel. He was grinning.

"You take care of that little lady, now, Ransom. She looks to me like she's got about everything a man could want on a cold night! See
ya
!"

Yale wrapped an arm around
Dara's
waist and pulled her back out of the way as Hank brought the monster truck to life once more.

"Thanks, Hank," Yale called, lifting a hand in farewell.

"Anytime, pal, anytime!"

Diesel fumes filled the air as the truck and trailer growled past on its way back to the only element in which it was truly comfortable, an Interstate highway.

"It's cold out here!"
Dara
noted, wishing she hadn't left her coat in the Alfa Romeo. She glanced around at the scattered buildings.

"There's a motel over to the right," Yale said conversationally, holding her close to his side and starting off in the direction of the flashing sign advertising rooms.

"A motel!"
Dara
frowned. "Aren't we going to head back to Eugene?"

"Not tonight. We'll find a way back home in the morning. It's too late tonight to scare up a ride and we're both tired."

"What time is it?"

"Almost two o'clock. Did you get any sleep?"

"Between Hank fiddling with the CB and you switching from one country station to another on the radio, no!"
Dara
lied feelingly. "And what's the idea of telling half the northbound traffic on the Interstate that you were traveling with your own personal stockbroker?"

"I didn't tell anyone that. That was Hank on his CB," Yale defended with a grin that exposed the gold.

"He got it from you!"

"Well, he wanted to know your status in my life so he could share the gossip with his road buddies. I had to think of something."

Dara
was about to berate him further, but the truth was she had fallen asleep shortly after hearing Hank's cheerful announcement and she wasn't at all sure what had been said next.

"Do you think this place is clean?" she demanded skeptically, surveying the old motel with a critical eye.

"Hank assures me
it's
fine. Not elegant, but decent."

"We're going to look a little strange to the desk clerk."
Dara
sighed, lifting a hand to graciously cover a yawn. Even the chilly night air wasn't going to keep her awake much longer. "I mean, what with no luggage and no car..."

"I'll handle it."

"Uh-huh."

"Have some faith in your man, woman!" Yale gibed cheerfully as he opened the front door of the office.

"I'm your stockbroker, not your woman, remember?" she retorted sweetly.

"Actually, we haven't even agreed on that states yet, have we?'' he noted. The door swung shut behind them, cutting off her next words.

A thin, elderly desk clerk detached himself from a small television set and came forward reluctantly.

"Can I help you?" he asked, not looking particularly anxious to do so.

"Two rooms, Yale,"
Dara
remembered to hiss belatedly in his ear as he loosened his arm and started toward the desk. He ignored her, but the desk clerk didn't.

“Only got one.
A double.
Take it or leave it, and you pay in advance," the thin man growled with an owlish glance at
Dara
.

"We'll take it," Yale said quickly, fishing his wallet out of his pocket. Swiftly he counted out the money and collected the key. He had signed the register and hustled
Dara
out the door before she fully realized what had happened.

"I told you to get two rooms!" she gritted as the office door slammed shut behind them.

"You heard the man. He only had one!"

"Hah!"

"Don't take that tone with me," Yale instructed, sounding aggrieved. "Our being in this situation is
all your
fault!"

"My fault!
Of all the nerve! It wasn't me who got involved in a fight in a sleazy bar, and it wasn't my idea to hitch a ride with a long-distance trucker and not get out of the truck for two solid hours! If we'd stayed at that nice country-western place I took you to earlier this evening, none of this would have happened!"

"Don't act the innocent victim," Yale muttered, sliding the motel key into the lock of number 53. "You had to keep pushing at me, trying to find out what was under my nice accountant image. You have only yourself to blame!"

"Oh, my God!"
Dara
breathed in grim resignation as the door swung open to reveal a stark but clean room. "There's only one bed. Where are you going to sleep?"

"On my side, naturally," Yale growled, closing the door behind them and switching on the light.

Since she had guessed the answer to the question before she'd even asked it,
Dara
squelched a retort. There wasn't much else she could do under the circumstances, and in spite of his almost blatant love-making on the dance floor earlier in the evening, Yale didn't look particularly amorous at the moment. And there was absolutely nothing romantic about the cheap, poorly furnished motel room.

"I'll use the bathroom first." She sighed gloomily.

Inside the
spartan
bath,
Dara
studied herself wryly in the mirror. She looked a little the worse for wear, she was forced to conclude, raking her fingers through her hair. Sleepy gray-green eyes gleamed back at her and she frowned as she realized there was a tiny hint of excitement in her own reflection.

Things hadn't developed quite the way she had imagined, but there was no denying she had found herself in an interesting situation. She grabbed a washcloth and began scrubbing her face while she considered that. Yale Ransom was turning out to have several fascinating layers. Surely after their shared experiences this evening he would feel a degree of friendship for her.

Perhaps enough friendship to give her his securities account. That would provide the excuse she needed to cement the relationship along business lines, and from there...

Dara
broke off her hopeful thoughts and told herself not to get carried away. There was still a lot she didn't know about Yale. She wasn't even sure how he felt about her at the moment, although, judging from his reaction on the dance floor, she didn't leave him cold. Well, that was something, at least.

Hanging the threadbare white towel back on the rack,
Dara
unzipped the emerald-green dress and removed her lacy bra. Rolling the undergarment into a
Little
bundle, she stuffed it into her purse and then
rezipped
the dress. It would be more comfortable trying to sleep without the bra, she told herself, wishing she could take off the dress, too. But that, of course, was impossible.

Yale was sitting on the side of the bed, his weight putting an alarming sag in the old mattress as he leaned over to untie his shoes. He had removed the white shirt and was wearing only his slacks.

"Your turn,"
Dara
said cheerfully, determined to act with the casual comradeship the situation demanded. Damned if she would let him see her act like a nervous female! Not at her age!

He straightened, kicking off the dark leather shoes. The case containing the horn-rimmed glasses rested on the nightstand. His hazel eyes swept over her as she industriously began turning down her side of the bed.

"Thanks," he murmured, getting to his feet.

In spite of herself,
Dara's
gaze followed him as he disappeared into the bathroom. The broad shoulders and smoothly muscled back tapering into a narrow waist pulled at her awareness. She remembered how it had felt dancing with him
earUer
this evening and wondered at her own reaction. Never had she been so immediately attracted to a man.

Shaking her head,
Dara
slipped off her high-heeled shoes and panty hose and slid beneath the covers. Very carefully she arranged herself on the far side of the bed and lay on her back, gazing at the ceiling. Was there such a thing as love at first sight?
she
wondered.
Probably not.
But until tonight she wouldn't have expected to encounter attraction at first sight, either.

And attraction was a good place to start, she assured herself with a small smile, provided it was mutual.

"Don't tell me you're going to sleep in that dress!" Yale exclaimed, emerging from the bathroom and flicking off the overhead light as he walked toward the bed.

"As I didn't think to bring a nightgown, that's exactly what I'm going to do,"
Dara
told him acidly and then winced as she heard the sound of a buckle and zipper being undone.

"Suit
yourself
," he remarked carelessly. She listened anxiously as he slung the dark slacks over a chair. A moment later the bed sagged once again and the large male body moving in beside her raised the temperature under the cold covers by several degrees.

"The least you could do is
wear
your slacks," she said in brisk annoyance, lying rigidly on her side of the bed as he shifted and stretched beside her.

"In order to keep warm, you mean?" Yale asked politely and reached for her with shocking swiftness. "That's what my own personal stockbroker is for," he informed her, dragging her into the curve of his body.

"Yale! Stop that! What in the world do you think you're doing?"

Dara
flung out a hand in protest and encountered the pelt of curling hair on his chest. She pulled her fingers away as if they'd been burned. "Stop teasing me
like
this!"

"Teasing!" he growled, his arm moving around her waist to anchor her against him. "You're the tease in this little party. You've been badgering me all evening, and I've finally decided to give you what you want."

"I'm not in the mood for any more of your truck-stop manners!" she snapped haughtily. "You've had your fun tonight. Behave yourself!"