Saving Allegheny Green (19 page)

“W
HAT IS THIS
,” I carped, once we were outside and I had twisted from his bear-trap grip. “I’m not yours to manhandle, Conahegg.”

A light rain had begun to fall. The shine from the neon sign flashed a reflection in the water puddles on the asphalt. Red, green, yellow.

He pushed the cowboy hat back on his forehead. “I saved your stubborn hide. Doesn’t that afford me some sort of momentary proprietorship?”

“No.” I glared at him but my heart went thudda-thudda-thudda.

“Can we at least get in out of the rain?” he asked, opening the passenger side door to his SUV.

“I’ve got my own car, thanks.”

“Get in, Allegheny,” he growled.

I thought about telling him to get stuffed but he had such a no-nonsense expression on his face and I was getting wet, so I climbed inside.

Conahegg slid behind the wheel and the dome light came on, illuminating him for a close-up.

Even drenched he looked good. Like Indiana Jones fresh from a field expedition, all manly and macho and full of himself.

“Please, tell me that’s not a gun in your purse.” Conahegg
groaned and cast a glance at my handbag which lay open on the seat between us.

“It’s not a gun,” I replied, happy to oblige his fantasy by hastily snapping my purse shut. “Besides, it’s not loaded.”

Conahegg whipped out his hand, grabbed my chin and forced me to look him square in the eye. “Your behavior isn’t funny, Ally. You’re in over your head. You don’t go after men like Dooley Marchand with an unloaded gun.”

His nostrils flared and his pupils constricted. I could smell the scent of his cologne, the tang of his toothpaste. His collar had gotten flipped up in the scuffle with Marchand, the white of it startlingly bright against his tanned neck. Right at that moment I wanted nothing more than to bury my mouth in the hollow of his throat, taste that skin, lose myself in him.

“Okay,” I admitted, even though I was loath to confess my weaknesses. “I’m in over my head.”

Conahegg let me go and leaned back against the seat. “Do you realize what a pain in the posterior you can be? You scared the daylights out of me.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Following you.”

“And you called Dooley a stalker?”

“Don’t start with me, Ally,” he warned.

“Why were you following me?”

The dome light faded to black. Conahegg’s SUV was parked facing the Majestic liquor store. We watched the manager lock up for the night.

“I dropped by your house to speak with you and I saw you driving away.”

“And you decided to tail me.”

“Yes.”

“I never spotted you.” I couldn’t believe I’d been so oblivious to Conahegg tracking me.

“You’re not trained.”

“Do you think Dooley Marchand could have killed Rocky?” I asked.

“No. He’s got an alibi.”

“You checked him out?”

“Of course. The day after you found Rocky’s body.”

I was impressed. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t been sitting on his hands as I supposed. “But you still think Sissy did it.”

“She’s the only one who’s skipped town. It doesn’t look good, Ally. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to face facts.”

“Sissy did not kill Rocky.” I peered out my window. Our breath formed moisture against the glass. I wiped a circle with my fingers.

“We need to find her. If she didn’t kill Rocky, then she probably knows who did and she’s afraid.”

That had never occurred to me. “Do you think Sissy is in serious danger?”

“Could be. Do you have any idea where she could be?”

“No.”

Rain drummed on the roof. I was uncomfortably aware of Conahegg’s presence not three feet from my reach. If I stretched out my hand, my fingertips would graze his hard muscled thighs.

“Ally,” he said, his voice strangely soft.

I raised my head. “Yes?”

“I want you to promise me you’ll stop doing crazy things like this.” He waved a hand at the strip club. “You’re going to get into serious trouble. Will you leave the law enforcement to me?”

“I can’t promise that.”

“You mean you won’t.”

“How can I trust you to look after my best interests,” I said.
“You’re the sheriff. Your job comes first. With me, it’s my family.”

“If I had to, I could put you in jail to keep you safe. That pistol in your purse is grounds enough.”

“But you won’t.” I met his eyes. They were hard and soft at the same time.

“No. I won’t.”

I exhaled, only then realizing I’d been holding my breath.

“Ally, I’m worried about you. I’m afraid the next time you get into a scrape I won’t be there to bail you out.”

“Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.”

“Can you?”

“I’ve been doing it for seventeen years. Myself and everyone else.”

“Maybe it’s time to let someone else do the caretaking.” He reached for me but I shied away.

I didn’t want him to touch me. I didn’t want to care about him. I didn’t want to be at the mercy of runaway emotions.

But it was too late and I knew it.

“By the way—” his eyes raked over me, his tone lightened “—I like the pantsuit.”

“What?”

“You look very nice. Much too nice for here. Would you like to go grab a bite to eat?”

“Are you asking me out?” I blinked at the abrupt change of conversation.

“Would you say yes if I were?”

“I thought you said I wasn’t ready for a relationship.”

“Who’s talking about a relationship? I’m proposing a steak at Taggert’s Diner.”

“I gotta go home.”

“Why? Are you afraid to be alone with me?”

He knew I couldn’t pass up a challenge.

Damn Conahegg. Damn him for tailing me. Damn him for being so attractive when the last thing I needed was to be entranced by him.

All I wanted was for Sissy to be cleared of murder charges and for my life to return to normal.

And then a little voice in the back of my head spoke up loud and clear.

Liar,
it said.

He ran his callused thumb along my wrist. I felt as if I were rushing headlong into an abyss but I couldn’t seem to stop myself from charging straight ahead.

“If not dinner,” he whispered, “maybe a drink? You need a little fortification after your run-in with Marchand.”

“Dinner’s fine.” Although I was hungrier for beefcake than beefsteak.

Don’t ask me what I was thinking, because I wasn’t. Not a coherent thought entered my head. I registered everything through a primitive, elemental filter.

Man. Big. Strong. Hands on steering wheel. Scent. Musky. Sexy. Immediate. Taste. Salty. Sweet. Eagerness.

Feel. Leather seats. Fingernails biting into palms.

Sight. Rain. Headlights cutting the darkness. Sound. Wind-shield wipers. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

Was this how Aunt Tessa’s Ung experienced the world? Blunt. Raw. Unadorned.

It felt real. I felt alive. I wanted more.

I wanted Conahegg.

Silence expanded in the vehicle. Filling my ears. Blossoming until it was its own noise.

I sneaked a surreptitious glance at the man beside me.

He turned his head, caught my eye.

The way he looked at me had me feeling as if I’d unleashed a chained beast. His breathing was heavy, his eyes murky.

I gulped, leaned toward the door.

He finally snapped his gaze away, forced to focus on the road and pulled into Taggert’s parking lot.

The lights were out. A Closed sign on the door.

We both stared at the empty building.

“Oh,” I murmured. “I forgot. Jim Taggert closes the restaurant the third week in July for his family vacation.”

“Ah,” Conahegg said and nothing else.

The digital clock, numbers glowing green from the dashboard, flicked over. Ten o’clock. Not yet late.

“I’ve got steaks in my freezer,” Conahegg ventured. “If you’re still interested in dinner.”

Our gazes met and held as if we’d been superglued together.

The ball was in my court. If I went to his place we both knew we’d never get around to those steaks.

“Um, uh.”

“Or I could take you back to your car.”
It could just be sex, Ally, it doesn’t have to mean anything.

Except I’d never had meaningless sex in my life.

So try something new.

Why not? If nothing else it would be a pleasant distraction from murder and mayhem, from dependent family members and a missing sister.

“Can I be honest?” Conahegg broke through my dithering.

Oh God.

I nodded.

“I want to spend the night with you,” he said. “I’ve wanted it from the moment I laid eyes on you, Allegheny Green. The steak was an excuse.”

“I know,” I whispered, my pulse racing at an impossible gallop.

“My place?” His voice was hoarse as sandpaper.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

In my heart I knew going to Conahegg’s house wasn’t a good idea. That we were both feeling vulnerable and swept away by passion. I didn’t want to hurt him. Hell, I didn’t want to hurt me.

I almost told him to forget the whole thing. I was only kidding, ha, ha. But the desire I saw reflected in his eyes was my undoing. No man had ever looked at me in quite that way. As if I was the most beautiful creature on the face of the earth and he couldn’t wait to bury himself inside me. Heady stuff for a small-town girl who didn’t get out much.

“I’m sure,” I said, even though I was anything but.

He threw the SUV into overdrive and stamped on the gas.

We shot from Taggert’s parking lot like an emergency ambulance headed for a ten-car pileup.

I
T TURNED OUT
Conahegg lived in a two-story log cabin with ten-foot beamed ceilings, three miles south of Cloverleaf. I briefly got to meet his German shepherd, Rex, whom he promptly escorted to the garage.

“Come here,” he said, shutting the garage door behind him and moving across the living room toward me.

And I went. Meeting him halfway.

Equals.

Hey, I couldn’t let him have the upper hand, could I?

He rested one hand at my waist. His eyes glittered in the dim lighting. I felt strange in his room, but comfortable in his arms.

He lowered his head to my lips.

I waited. Ready.

In that moment our mouths came together. Frantic, hungry. We clung to each other, kissed as though we could never get enough.

My groin was on fire. Aching, burning for release.

His fingers were fumbling with my zipper. I tore at the buttons on his pristine white shirt. I heard them snap loose, then hit the floor. The sound and my own wildness fueled my desire. I wanted Conahegg in a way I had never wanted another. He induced the most animalistic response in me.

Man. Woman. Sex.

Simple equation. Nothing complicated about that.

Gasping, I wrenched my mouth from his. “Wait.” He stopped, my zipper half-down, his chest heaving. “Uh,” he grunted, his eyes heavy lidded.

“Condoms?” I could barely speak myself.

“Got ’em.”

“Bed?” Although I don’t know why I asked. I was so hot for him, so wet and ready I would have done him right there on the hardwood floor.

“This way.”

He took my hand and led me upstairs to a bedroom with a four-poster king-size bed. The blinds were open and the rain had stopped. A sudden moon shone through the curtainless window, illuminating his body in a shimmery glow.

His shirt gapped open where I’d torn away the buttons. I could see the honed definition of his tanned, muscular chest. My stomach flipped in anticipation.

He guided me to the bed, propped me against the pillows. He removed his clothes while I watched, then slowly he finished undressing me.

I ran my fingertips over his skin. He hissed in his breath at my touch, as if I were a sizzling branding iron—and, indeed, I felt hot enough to mark him.

“I feel like an explorer,” I whispered, strumming his body from cheek to chin, shoulder to forearm.

“Delve to your heart’s content, Christopher Columbus, as long as I’m afforded the same privilege.”

His fingers skimming? His palms kneading my flesh? His tongue tangling with mine?

Hi-yi-yi.

Breathless, I placed kisses along his body and he did the same with mine.

We lay beside each other—feverish, trembling—touching and stroking, our hands gliding over naked skin.

It was a dance, a play, a sonnet.

A fantasy. So unreal and yet so authentic.

We lay shaken, awestruck at the power surging between us, snared helplessly in the sensations and newness of our discovery.

It was awkward at moments. Where do you put your mouth? Ouch, your nose hit mine. But at other times it was blindingly intense, the things we were feeling.

I say
we
because I know I was not alone in my wonderment. I could see the delight in Conahegg’s eyes and I reveled in the notion that I was giving him so much pleasure. I found the power exhilarating. I’d never had a man marvel at my sexuality and his marveling made me marvel.

He signaled his desire to me in small sounds, gentle movements and I responded in kind, the fierceness of our earlier passion receding into something incredibly poignant.

Knowing we might never make love again, each breath, each sigh, each soft moan became important and imprinted on my brain.

He was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and everything I’d ever dreamed about. Sexy, funny, tender, hard.

I rode the crest of pleasure, enjoying the foreplay, savoring every sensation. But then, in the end, when Conahegg moved to cover my body with his, my niggling doubts rose to the surface, refusing to be silenced any longer by my raging libido. Sensible Ally could only be banished for so long.

What was I doing here? Making love with the man who wanted to put my sister behind bars. Why was I allowing my hormones to get the better of me when I knew there was little chance for a lasting relationship between the two of us? We were both too stubborn. Both too accustomed to being in control. We’d both been single for a very long time. I was dedicated to my family. Conahegg was dedicated to law enforcement.

Was there room in our lives for more? Could I learn to stop mothering the world? Could Conahegg learn to relinquish command? Could either of us learn to compromise?