The Drifter (11 page)

The vacuum attachments clattered to the floor. “Then let me put you back together, cowboy,” she whispered, sliding her hands along his beard-stubbled jaw and bringing his mouth down to meet hers.

He groaned as she slipped her tongue between his teeth and stroked the roof of his mouth. Nipping and teasing his lips, she reached down and snapped open the fasteners of his shirt so she could run her hands over his chest.

“I hope you know what you're starting,” he murmured against her mouth.

“I have a general idea.” Stroking down over the pewter chain, she tunneled her fingers through his wiry chest hair and scratched her fingernails lightly over his hard nipples. His chest heaved and he deepened the kiss. Amanda opened to him, inviting him to delve into the moist recesses of her mouth. Inviting him to dare yet more.

When she reached down to the fly of his jeans and stroked him there, the contents of the shelf he was clutching began to rattle.

He wrenched his mouth from hers with obvious effort and stared down at her, his eyes glittering, his breath coming in great gasps. “You were supposed to be on a plane by now.”

She rubbed the heel of her hand over the bulge in his jeans. “Is that what you want?”

He stared at her for what seemed like forever. Finally, his answer came, low and full of tension. “I want you to leave your door unlocked tonight.”

She trembled, her body already heavy with need. “All right.”

“And snap up my shirt. If I do it, I'll leave soot marks everywhere and people will think I've been massaging my own chest in here.”

Triumph and desire surged through her as she refastened his shirt with slow, sensuous motions, taking time to caress him as she did so.

“Amanda, you're taking a big chance, playing around like that. You're liable to end up on your back on this concrete floor with soot marks all over that white skin of yours.”

Holding his shirtfront with both hands, she stood on tiptoe to brush his lips with hers. “I just don't want you to forget to come by tonight. For my bedtime story, you can tell me about the True Love Curse.”

He made a sound deep in his throat. “I have a slightly different bedtime story in mind.” He leaned down and ravished her lips once more before pushing away from the shelf with a resigned sigh. “We'd better get out there before Duane uses the feather duster on the white drapes.”

Amanda's eyes widened. “Would he?”

Chase's mouth curved in a smile. “Well, I told him to use his imagination. Duane is a good old boy, but he has the imagination of a hubcap.”

“Judging from that night in the truck, that's not one of your shortcomings.”

“And I was working in a limited space, too.”

She caught her breath as erotic images assaulted her.

“Don't give me that look, you devil woman. As it is, I'll have to stagger out of here bowlegged.” He leaned down and scooped the vacuum attachments from the floor. “I'm taking these to Duane. This might be the most private place to feed Bart, if you want to stay. There's a folding stool in the corner.”

“Are you coming back?”

“Knowing you're in here with your blouse undone? Not likely.” His eyes took on a wicked gleam. “Shall I tell Curtis you'll be a little later than you thought coming out to the porch?”

She put a hand to her throat, where her pulse was beating madly. She'd completely forgotten about the rest of the decorating job. Completely forgotten about Curtis and his hopeless crush. A smile of feminine delight touched her lips as she realized that was exactly what Chase had intended. “Please,” she said.

“Shall I tell him why you'll be a little late?”

“I doubt that will be necessary. I've discovered nothing's a secret for long around here.”

Chase stood with his hand on the doorknob as his gaze raked her possessively. “Good.”

C
HASE MOVED
through the rest of the cleaning and decorating in a daze. Freddy, Ry, Leigh and the wedding guests kept to their rooms and couldn't be tempted to come out for the makeshift dinner, which consisted of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches washed down with beer. None of the hands complained. Chase figured it was because peanut butter wasn't known for giving anyone food poisoning. During the meal, Belinda called from the hospital and said Dexter was better but the doctor wanted to keep him overnight. They'd be back first thing in the morning.

After dinner, Chase sent Amanda back to the cottage with Chloe as escort while he and the hands tidied up. Then he walked with them out to the front porch just as the last russet glow was fading from the sky. “Thanks, guys,” he said.

“You're shore welcome,” Duane said as he started down the flagstone walkway to the rusty pickup he'd used to haul the hands up from the bunkhouse. Then he turned and grinned at Chase. “‘Course, you know my dang manicure is ruined.”

Davis sashayed up beside him, flung an arm around his shoulders and spoke in falsetto. “You should use rubber gloves, dear. I always do, and it keeps my hands so nice.”

“I wanna know why I didn't get to wear an apron with ruffles,” Ernie complained. “I always liked aprons with ruffles.”

“I'll get you one for Christmas,” Curtis said. “Red-and-white-striped, to match your eyes.”

Laughing and trading insults, the cowboys piled into the back of Duane's pickup.

Just before he drove off, Duane leaned out the window of the truck. “I used to think that high-dollar woman of yours was a waste of your time,” he said. “But she's okay. Purty little filly, too.” Duane beeped the horn and drove away.

A high-dollar woman.
Good description, Chase thought. He had a feeling Amanda was going to be very expensive indeed, and the cost would have nothing whatsoever to do with money.

Fifteen minutes later he was showered, shaved, dressed and on his way through the patio when a voice called from the shadows.

“What's your hurry, cowboy?”

Chase spun around and saw Ry lying on a chaise longue. “Hey. You scared the crud out of me. Feeling any better?”

“Some. I was getting cabin fever in my room.”

Chase walked back toward the chaise, a smile tugging at his mouth. “And bridegroom jitters?”

“How should I know?” Ry grumbled. “I expect bridegroom jitters and food poisoning feels about the same.”

“I wouldn't know. Never had either one. Never plan to.”

“Yeah, you're such a free man you can hardly wait to get over to that little cottage.”

“Uh...”

“Don't try to get high and mighty with me, Lavette. You're as lovestruck as I am. If Amanda offered to stay at the True Love and wash your socks for the rest of your life, you'd jump at the chance.”

Chase adjusted his hat and looked away. “Yeah, well, I can guarantee she's not gonna do that, buddy.”

Ry laughed. “You're not giving yourself much credit. The night's still young.”

“That's not what I'm looking for, going over there.”

“You're not looking for sex?”

“That's
all
I'm looking for.” Chase thought it sounded good, just the sort of thing the old Chase would have said. But the old Chase was fast disappearing in the force of this driving passion. “The last time was a one-night stand for her. Now it's my turn,” he added, as if smart remarks could stop the momentum of his downward slide into neediness. Fat chance.

Ry chuckled. “If you say so.” Then his voice lost its playful tone. “What do you make of this food-poisoning business?”

Chase hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Could somebody deliberately cause something like that?”

“I don't know why not. Just drop some tainted chicken in the kettle. It could have been anyone who had access to the kitchen.”

“Which was damn near everybody, today,” Chase said. “Was Whitlock over here?”

“I don't think so. But did you notice who didn't eat any soup?”

“Yeah, but come on, Ry. Belinda wouldn't poison her own husband.”

“How do you know he was poisoned? Those two old people are crafty. She could have coached him on how to react.”

Chase shook his head. “I just can't buy it. I saw her face just before she got in the ambulance. You know, Duane didn't eat any soup, either. None of the hands did, for that matter. Maybe somebody has a grudge you don't even know about.”

Ry heaved a sigh. “Anything's possible. Damn, but I hate having these suspicions.”

“Davis mentioned something today about a `True Love Curse.' What's that all about?”

“That's more Leigh's department than mine, but the way I heard it, some cavalrymen killed a village of Indian women and children on this spot back in the 1800s. The men of the tribe supposedly put a curse on the land and said no white man would ever profit from it.”

Chase gazed uneasily at the shadowy mountains towering above the ranch house. “Did you hear this before we bought the place?”

“Yeah, but I don't believe in superstition, so I didn't see the point in repeating the story to you and Gilardini. We may have a problem on the True Love, but it sure as hell isn't on account of some century-old curse. It's because some flesh-and-blood trickster wants to drive us off of this land. I just wish I could catch somebody in the act.”

“I think you should forget it for tonight, buddy, and try to get some rest. Tomorrow's your big day.”

“And what if someone tries to ruin that, too?”

Chase couldn't very well promise there wouldn't be any accidents on Ry's wedding day. “Let's just hope our friends outnumber our enemies tomorrow,” he said, turning to go. “See you in the morning, bridegroom.”

“Yeah. Good luck tonight, cowboy.”

Chase raised a hand in acknowledgment of the remark. He didn't comment that a guy who didn't believe in superstitions shouldn't be wishing anyone good luck, either. As he walked toward the cottage, a pewter sliver of moon hung in the western sky with Venus dangling off its tip like a diamond pendant. He'd wished on a star exactly once. Nothing had happened. After that, he'd relied on himself to get what he wanted. And if he couldn't get it, then he'd convince himself it wasn't worth having.

No light shone from the cottage windows, and his heart beat faster. She was already in bed. Waiting. Or else she'd changed her mind, locked the door and turned out the light to warn him away.

In the pale gleam from the crescent moon, he could make out Chloe stationed outside the door on the porch, instead of inside the cottage. That was a promising development. Chloe stood and wagged her tail as Chase drew near.

“Come here, girl,” Chase called softly. Chloe trotted down the steps toward him and shoved her nose against the palm of his hand. He scratched behind her ears and lifted her muzzle to look into her eyes. “Go find Ry,” he commanded. “You stay with Ry tonight. I'll be on duty here.” Chloe whined. “Go find Ry,” Chase said again. The black-and-white dog bounded down the moonlit path to the main house.

Chase stepped up on the porch, wondering if Amanda could hear the sound of his boots on the weathered pine above the soft purr of the air-conditioning unit. He held his breath and turned the knob.

It opened.

He stood in the doorway, his heart hammering, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. There was music, unfamiliar music with violins, playing on the radio. Gradually, like a Polaroid picture developing, the four-poster came into focus with its expanse of lace-edged sheets. And there, reclining against a mound of fluffy pillows, the sheet pulled up over her breasts, her shoulders bare and her glorious hair spread around her, was Amanda. His throat went dry.

“The baby?” His question came out as a feeble rasp.

“Stuffed him in a mop bucket,” she murmured in a low voice.

“I see.”

“I hope you don't mind the music. It helps him sleep.”

“No.” He'd listen to somebody with a pocket comb and a kazoo if he could make love to Amanda while it was playing. He was a country-and-western fan, himself, but this music seemed to suit Amanda. Unwilling to abandon the sight of her stretched out in bed, Chase reached behind him to close and lock the door. Then he took off his hat and sailed it toward a bedpost. It caught and spun around once, almost in time to the music, before settling there.

“Good aim.”

“I've practiced.”

She muffled her laughter against her hand.

He walked toward the bed, unfastening his shirt as he came. “I figured that any cowboy worth his spurs should be able to do that before he climbs into a four-poster bed with a woman.” His arousal pushed painfully against his clothing.

“I agree,” she said softly. “What else have you been practicing?”

“Lately? Not much.” And he hoped he wouldn't pay for his lack of recent sexual activity by taking her like some rutting animal. He'd have to be careful. He wanted her so much he was beginning to shake. If he could pace himself to that gentle music, he'd be okay.

“If you tell me you've been celibate since that night in the truck, I'll know you're a liar,” she said.

He leaned on the bedpost to pull off each boot in turn. “Then I won't tell you that.”

“Who was she?”

He paused in the act of unhooking his belt from the buckle. In the past he would have shut down that line of questioning real quick. But that was because he'd made it a rule never to ask those same questions of the women he'd slept with. He'd already broken that rule with Amanda. He'd broken several of his rules with Amanda. “A waitress and a bartender,” he said as he pulled his belt through the loops. “Very nice ladies.”

“Two? At once?”

He controlled his laughter because of the baby. “Never tried that. Always thought it would be too confusing.” He dug the condoms out of his pocket before he stepped out of his jeans.

“Did they...know about each other?”

“No.” He walked to the head of the bed and deposited the condoms on the table beside it. “But then, they didn't ask.” He was close enough to see the shine of her eyes in the dim light. Her gaze was fastened on him, and under the sheet her breasts moved up and down in time to her rapid breathing. He reached for the elastic of his briefs.

“Did you ask them if they'd had other lovers besides you?”

“No, I didn't.”

She met that admission with a satisfied smile and asked no more questions. He figured she was remembering that he'd asked about other men within an hour of seeing her again. He'd told Ry he was here for a one-night stand, and the stupidity of that statement was already becoming obvious. He pushed his briefs down and released his straining erection.

Her glance swept downward, then back to his face. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and he clenched his hands to keep from flinging himself on her. The music. He had to use the rhythm of the music to stay calm. He took the sheet back slowly when he longed to rip it away from her body. The movement of the sheet stirred the scent of her perfume, which reached out to him with memories he'd never erase.

His breath came out in a long, shaky sigh and he cursed his lack of schooling. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked lying there naked against the white sheets, her body almost glowing, but he'd never be able to find the right words, especially when he needed her so much he couldn't think straight.

He returned his gaze to her face as he slid into bed beside her. He lay there, not touching her, just drowning in those eyes and feeling like a novice, a beginner, a virgin. His next move was too important. After loving so many women that he'd lost track of the number, he had no idea where to begin.

She took the decision away from him. Slipping a hand up the curve of his jaw, she guided him down with subtle pressure until their lips hovered a breath apart. “Get this straight, Lavette. I don't share,” she whispered just before she kissed him. It was a kiss that shattered what was left of the wall he'd tried to build around his heart. It was a kiss of complete, utter surrender.

With a groan, he pressed deep into her mouth and took that surrender, burying himself in the limitless passion she offered. Now he knew what to do.

As violins teased him to even greater awareness, he found the curve of her neck with a sure touch, followed it over her shoulder, into the tender crook of her elbow, down past the delicate bend of her wrist until at last he laced his fingers through hers. That clasp of hands felt more intimate than any touch he'd ever shared with a woman. She gripped his fingers as if she'd never let go. He returned the pressure as he moved his lips to the hollow of her throat. He'd forgotten how perfectly his tongue fit there, and how she shuddered as he trailed the moist tip over her collarbone and down the slope of her breast.

He remembered the silken texture of her skin, the exotic taste of scented lotion, but this time she swelled beneath him with more urgency than before. He listened to the rhythm of the music, circling the pebbled areola slowly, making the music part of the caress. Her fingers tightened in his, and he took her nipple into his mouth.

The taste of her milk stirred him as nothing had in his life. He felt as if her essence had passed into him, bonding them in a way he'd never be able to untangle. And didn't want to. He kissed his way to her other breast, eager for her, unashamed to let her know how he craved this closeness. She moaned and tunneled the fingers of her free hand through his hair.

Memories of their long night in the truck came rushing back. He'd learned about her then, and the imprint was still fresh, as if it had been only days instead of months. He retraced the path between her breasts, heard the familiar catch in her breathing as he caressed the gentle valley between her ribs. There was a ticklish spot—his tongue found it again—that he'd loved to lick just to hear her gasp of laughter. When her laughter bubbled out on schedule, his heart rejoiced in rediscovery.