The Sheriff's Surrender (14 page)

“You wrestling the pigs for the corn?”

“These have not been the finest few hours of my week. Don't laugh again, or I might have to scrape some of this mud off and let you get an idea how it feels.”

“You wouldn't.”

Though he'd cleaned off the worst of it at the accident scene, he easily filled one hand. “Where would you like it? In your hair? On your face? How about inside your shirt? Or dripping over your peach satin—”

As he broke off, her eyes widened and her mouth opened in a silent gasp. “How did you know—”

“I've gotta take a shower.”

Careful not to touch him, she moved to block his way. “Uhuh. How did you know?”

The heat in his face was so intense that he wondered if he might have gotten sunburned this morning. He was naturally dark enough that it didn't often happen, but he'd spent more time outside today than normal.

Of course, he knew the difference between the burn of too much sun and plain old embarrassment.

“I, uh, went to your room to…to tell you that I had to go out, and you…you were asleep, so I, uh, uh…”

Neely folded her arms across her chest. “You stood there and…ogled me?”

“That sounds a lot worse than it was. Let's say I admired you. Thought how incredible you looked. Remembered how incredible…” He didn't finish. He could tell by the smoky look that softened her brown eyes that he didn't need to.
She
remembered how incredible they used to be.

For a long time she looked at him, her lips barely parted in the slightest of smiles, and for that same long time, he had an insane urge to kiss her. To forget that he was muddy, that he despised more about her than he'd ever admired, that her great
passion in life was letting bad guys go free. To pull her close and kiss her until they both forgot everything except need. Hunger. Lust. Heat. Torment. Pain. Pleasure. Satisfaction.

She broke the spell, though, with one whispered question. “Do you have any idea how much I loved you?”

Bitterness welled inside him, sending the more tender feelings on their way. “Yes,” he said flatly. “Not enough.”

Hurt crept into her eyes and chased the smile from her lips. “You're wrong, Reese. I would have died for you.”

“Instead Judy died.”

She raised her hand to her right shoulder, rubbing as if it ached. He brushed her hand away and lifted the fabric, but she stepped away too quickly.

“You want to see the scars?” Her voice was taut, reckless.

“Want to see if they're as gruesome as I deserved?”

“No.” There was no way he could look without touching, no way he could touch without wanting. Besides, he didn't need to see the physical proof from when he'd let her down.

“I'm going to take a shower now.”

“Oh, come on, Reese. Everyone in Thomasville got such a kick out of seeing me with my arm in a sling. You can be the first one to see the actual scars.” She began unbuttoning her blouse with trembling hands. “Dave Dugan wanted to see them, but I wouldn't let him. I told him if he ever broke into my house again, I'd kill him. He laughed and said I didn't have the guts, but he never broke in again, so who knows? Maybe he did believe me.”

As she reached the last button, Reese pivoted on his heel and started for the hall. Her broken voice stopped him at the doorway.

“Please…don't walk away from me again.”

He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't go back to her, couldn't leave. It was one of those situations where every possible action was wrong, where he had to determine which was least wrong, and he didn't have a clue.

From behind him came a soft, choked sob, and he realized abruptly, as if it were somehow important, that he'd never seen
Neely cry. He knew she did—he'd seen the proof of it from time to time—but he'd never witnessed it.

But she was crying now. When he turned, she was standing in the middle of the kitchen, head bowed, shoulders slumped, blouse unbuttoned and hanging open. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her hands open, and she was sobbing helplessly.

He reached her in two strides, pulled the edges of her blouse tightly together, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Closing his eyes, he stroked her hair, patted her back and thought how curious it felt to have her in his arms again—familiar, awkward, wrong.

And eternally right.

Clutching handfuls of his shirt, she cried until the fabric was damp, until her eyes were puffy and her sobs turned to hiccups. For a long time after she fell silent, she didn't move and neither did he. Well, not voluntarily. It wasn't his fault that holding her felt so damn good, or that he'd been celibate too long, or that every pore in his body remembered the exquisite pleasure of her body. It wasn't his fault that she'd cried—not entirely—or that he'd had no choice but to comfort her, or that he found such comfort too erotic for his weak will to resist. He'd never been able to resist her, even under the best of circumstances. How could he be expected to now, when she was vulnerable and he was aroused? When she needed somebody and he needed her?

When she became aware of his erection pressing against her belly, tension flitted through her. He felt it, and knew instinctively it was sexual in nature. He could kiss her. Slide his hands inside her blouse, his tongue inside her mouth, other parts in other places. He could open his jeans, lift her skirt, remove those tiny peach satin panties, and he could take her right there—standing up, on the table, on the floor. Neither of them was a stranger to places less common.

Her fingers tightened on his shirt, pulling the fabric taut, but she didn't raise her head, didn't look at his face. “Do you…” Her whisper faded, and she cleared her throat before trying again. “Do you want to make…”

A shiver rippled through her—maybe arousal, maybe hurt—and she discarded the phrase she'd been about to finish and chose a shorter one. A blunter, bolder, cruder one. Most often it was obscene, but in her delicate voice it became sexy, hot, erotic as hell. It sounded damn near proper, and in that moment his need for it—his need for her—was damn near killing him.

Finally she did look up at him. Her red-rimmed eyes were glittery and hard, her smile brittle, her demeanor wounded. “It's pretty obvious you want to—” she shifted against him, making him choke back a groan “—do it to someone. Do you think you can use me without hating one or both of us afterward?”

His hand was unsteady when he touched her cheek, her jaw, then slid along the silky length of her throat to the pulse at its base. She was so soft where he was hard, so warm where he suddenly felt cold. “I already hate one or both of us,” he murmured. “It wouldn't be anything new.”

Bitterness stole into her eyes. “So is that a yes or no? You want to set your self-respect aside long enough to take the edge off, or are you planning to make that shower a cold one?”

He wanted her—sweet hell, he wanted her! But not enough to sacrifice his self-respect or to endure that bitter little smile of hers. Not enough to deal with the fallout of having her. No matter how they approached it, she would be hurt. He knew that as surely as he knew he would feel worthless, selfish, a first-class bastard, when it was over. He deserved better than to feel that way.

So did she.

“I…” He touched her face again, brushing away a smudge of dirt. “I think we could both use a cold shower.”

Her expression was impossible to read. Disappointed? Relieved? He didn't have a clue. “Are you being noble?” she asked flatly as she took several steps back, then pulled the edges of her shirt together so tightly that the fabric flattened her breasts into soft, malleable mounds…with hard, dusky
pink crests that would get harder still if he touched them…kissed them…dragged his tongue slowly, roughly across them. “Or are you simply repulsed?”

It took a moment for her last word to register, for his gaze to move from her breasts to her face. “Oh, yeah, I really look repulsed, don't I?” he asked scornfully. His jeans were stretched taut, his skin was clammy and his hands and voice were less than steady.

“Then why…?”

“Is this what you do, Neely? Offer yourself to any man who gets hard around you? You used to have more self-respect than that.”

“I used to have you.”

And when he'd left, he'd taken some of that self-respect with him. One more thing to feel guilty for—not that he needed anything else.

“It would be wrong,” he said with a heavy sigh. “There's too much between us.”
Yeah, like too much distance,
his libido taunted inside his head,
and too many clothes.

Too much history,
his conscience countered.
Too much anger, disappointment, love, hate.

For a time she stood very still, looking like a lost little girl. Then she nodded once in agreement and walked away. He let her get as far as the hallway before he spoke.

“Neely.”

She looked back.

“Are you okay?”

Again she stood very still. With her bare feet, her long skirt half unbuttoned, her blouse held together by only her fingers, her mussed hair and the dirt still smudged across her cheek, she looked wanton. Wicked. The best time he might ever know. Then a smile eased across her face—not a bitter smile, or a hurt one, or one with even a hint of anger. This was a womanly smile—slow, lazy, confident. The kind that could bring a man to his knees and make him grateful to be there.

“Sure,” she replied. “I'm a survivor. I can endure anything.”

W
hen Neely found herself Monday afternoon, arguing with people on a TV talk show that had been taped weeks earlier, she knew she had to do something or go nuts…which might not be a bad thing, as long as she got to take Reese with her. He was responsible for at least half the mental duress she'd been under, so it was only fair that he suffer half the insanity.

He still refused to give back her credit cards and money, and had every pair of shoes she'd brought with her locked up in his closet. He also refused to give her the code for the alarm, even though she'd sworn she would never set foot off the front or back porch. He wouldn't leave the power cord for the computer, even after she'd solemnly promised to do nothing more than play Free Cell, and she hadn't seen an intact telephone for eight days now.

She appreciated that he was trying to keep her safe. She just hoped he appreciated that when she did go nuts, she couldn't be held accountable for her actions.

She was curled up in the chair-and-a-half with a diet pop and a bowl of buttered popcorn, muttering insults to the snotty
teenagers on television when a car coming down the driveway caught her attention. The bowl slid from her lap and balanced precariously on the leather cushion before she found the presence of mind to grab it and jump to her feet. Should she go to the bedroom and lock the door? Barricade herself inside the safe room? Curl up in a dark corner and pray for Reese to come home right that very instant?

Or maybe first see who the visitor was?

She hurried into the hallway, then peeked around the corner of Reese's bedroom door. The sidewalk from the driveway to the porch went right past his window. If whoever it was walked past there, she would see, and if he looked particularly dangerous, she could be secure inside the safe room before he could kick in the front door. And if he
didn't
come past there, she could assume he was up to no good, trying to sneak in the back, and she'd lock herself up.

But it was no
he
who walked past the window, and she was only dangerous to susceptible men and jealous women. Of course, Neely fell into the latter category.

Shay Rafferty was peering in the windows when Neely returned to the living room. She waved and beckoned Neely closer. “I thought you might be getting a little stir crazy, so I brought some lunch. You want to come out or let me in?”

Neely shrugged helplessly. “I don't know the code to the alarm.”

“Oh, I forgot about that. Are the windows wired, too?”

She nodded.

“Well…” With her hands on her hips, Shay tapped one foot rapidly. “What happens when you open the door? Is there some kind of horn or siren here?”

“No. It just calls in to the dispatcher at the sheriff's department, and he sends someone out to check.”

Shay's smile was broad and smug. “The sheriff's department is over twenty miles from here, and it's lunchtime. Unless there's a deputy in town that I missed—and trust me, in Heartbreak, it's hard to miss
anything
—by the time anyone
got here, we could be finished with lunch and just getting started on gossip. What do you say?”

Okay, so she was beautiful. Had a body to die for. Wore a white denim skirt that hugged her curves and was a good six inches shorter than the shortest of Neely's shorts. And her blouse…Neely had handkerchiefs that were bigger.

But she liked the way Shay thought.

“Meet me at the door.”

Neely took a deep breath before turning the lock, then placing her hand on the knob. With her luck, Reese would answer the dispatcher's call, and she wouldn't have to worry about Forbes anymore because he'd kill her himself. Then she turned the knob and it was too late to worry, so why not enjoy the company?

“Do you mind if we eat outside? I've been stuck inside for so long that sometimes I crave just one breath of fresh air.”

“Grab some drinks and lead the way,” Shay agreed. “I have no idea what I've brought to eat. I told the cook to wrap up two meals and surprise us.”

Neely took two cans of pop from the refrigerator, then opened the back door. “You have a cook?” she asked enviously. Not that she couldn't afford household help. It just seemed pointless when she was always alone.

“I own a café in town, and it has a cook. Anyone in town will tell you that I'm not allowed in the kitchen because I'm a disaster at any sort of food preparation. But I'm pretty good at taking orders and chatting up the customers.” Shay hooked a small table with her foot and pulled it between two patio chairs, then gracefully sat. “What about you? What are you pretty good at?”

“Making Reese angry. I excel at that.”

“Every woman should be able to get under at least one man's skin. What else?”

Neely peeled back the foil from her plate, uncovering a chicken sandwich, still warm from the grill, her favorite kind of dill pickle spears, a dish of creamy cole slaw and a bag of
chips. “That's really about it,” she replied with an awkward shrug.

“Of course that's not it. You were good enough at sending bad guys to jail to make one of them want to kill you for it.”

“He hasn't tried anything in a week.”

“O-oh, a whole week. You getting bored?”

“Trust me, being locked up alone all day with no telephone, no computer, no one to talk to, and no shoes—” she wiggled her toes “—and then spending all evening with a man who can hardly bear the sight of me is
not
how I would choose to spend my time.”

Shay frowned at her. “How could he already ‘hardly bear the sight' of you? You just met a week ago…didn't you?”

Neely filled her mouth with food to buy time for the crimson heat that warmed her face to fade. When she finally had no choice but to swallow, she gestured with the sandwich. “This just might be the best grilled-chicken sandwich I've ever had. If the rest of the café's food is this good, I'm surprised they can spare you at lunchtime.”

“I'm the boss. They don't have a choice. How long have you and Reese known each other?”

“I'm not sure we ever did know each other.”

“Quit hedging. How long?”

Neely took another bite before finally replying. “Ten years.”

“So you're the one,” Shay said softly.

“Who? The naive, self-absorbed, bleeding-heart witch who wanted to win, whatever the cost, who would say anything, do anything and destroy anyone who got in her way?”

“The one who broke his heart.”

Neely's laughter sounded phony and tearful in her own ears.

“No, ma'am. You must be thinking of some other manipulative, shameless, bleeding heart witch.” The only heart she'd ever broken was her own, by loving him too much.

“My gosh, this must be hard for both of you.”

For one more than the other, she thought scornfully. “We're
both agreed that I don't want to be here and Reese doesn't want me here. I'd leave in a heartbeat if…”

“If what?”

Neely slowly raised her gaze to Shay's face. “If someone would help me. I need shoes. A small loan. A way to get away from this house.”

Shay's curiosity instantly gave way to apprehension. “Oh, Neely, I can't help you with that.”

“A pair of sneakers, five hundred bucks and a ride to Tulsa. I'd pay the money back just as soon as I could get my bank to transfer it. I have cash, Shay—plenty of it—but he's locked it up where I can't get to it. Please…I've got friends and family all over the country. They'll help me if I can just get away from here.”

“Look, Neely, I'd love to help you, but…Reese would kill you and me both.”

“He'd have to find me first.”

“He would, trust me. Besides, I know you're bored and lonely here, but…you're
safe
. If you go off by yourself, God only knows what could happen.”

Neely tamped down the disappointment rising inside. It had been a long shot—she'd known that the instant she'd opened her mouth. Reese was Shay's friend, her former lover. Neely was nothing. She forced a smile as if it were no big deal. “Oh, well…I figured it couldn't hurt to ask. How about a smaller, less deadly favor? Could you call my sister and let her know I'm all right?”

The apprehension remained in Shay's blue eyes. “I always wanted a sister. Does yours live in Kansas City?”

“No. One's in California, one's in Texas, and Bailey, the one I'd like to get a message to, is in Tennessee.” Hallie had her own problems, and Kylie…there was just something about turning to her youngest sister for help that felt wrong. Bailey, though, was the second eldest and had helped raise the other two. She was responsible, capable, and, as a newly licensed private investigator, she was somewhat trained for the task.
Given the chance, she would find some way to get in touch with Neely and then help her escape.

“Three sisters. You're lucky.”

There had been times when Neely wasn't so sure of that, such as when she'd tried to feed a family of five on a budget inadequate for two, or when she could never spend time with her friends after school because she was cooking, cleaning and doing laundry, or when she desperately needed time to study but Kylie needed cuddling or Hallie couldn't learn her times tables or Bailey needed patching up after another fight defending their father's name.

Most of the time, though, she'd appreciated her sisters more than she could say. They got together whenever they could—not often enough, since they all had lives in other places. When she'd gotten shot nine years ago, one phone call would have brought all three of them to Thomasville and they would have stood up for her to every narrow-minded citizen and corrupt cop in the county. Once she'd realized Reese was never going to forgive her and her heart had finished breaking for good, if she'd told them, they would have come, armed with chocolate and tissues, and they would have cried with her, told her what a fool he was, convinced her she deserved better, mourned his leaving, celebrated it, and just generally made everything better.

But she hadn't made that phone call. She hadn't told them it was over with Reese until she'd recovered to the point that she didn't need their support. They'd been angry, and had demanded to know why, and she hadn't had much of an answer to give them beyond the fact that she was the oldest.
She
took care of them, not the other way around. She'd always been strong for them and hadn't known how to let them be strong for her.

Well, she needed them now, even if it was for nothing more than a loan and a way out of Oklahoma. She wouldn't stay with any of them, wouldn't endanger their lives, but she would use them to get away. To save her sanity. To protect her heart.

“I am lucky,” she agreed with Shay. “If you could just
call Bailey and let her know that everything's all right and that I'm safe here in Heartbreak…”

“And what would she do?”

“She'd thank you, and pass it on to Kylie and Hallie.” And, being the curious sort, she would wonder why Neely had sent such a message when she'd been closemouthed about her problems in the past. She would take a few days off and do some snooping around—would find out about Forbes's threats and the attempts to make good on them. She already knew about Neely's friendship with Jace, and that Reese was from Heartbreak, and she would head west to the rescue.

“What's her name?” Shay asked reluctantly.

“Bailey Madison. She lives in Memphis. She's listed in the phone book.” Neely drew a tentative breath. “You'll call her?”

“I—I'll think about it.”

Neely would bet that translated to Shay couldn't think of any reason why such a phone call would be out of line, but some part of her strongly suspected it was. She made a none-too-subtle effort to convince her. “Normally, I wouldn't ask you to do this. Reese has his reasons for not letting me near a phone. He's protecting me—I understand that. But they're my
sisters.
Since our father died and our mother remarried, we're all we've got. He doesn't understand how worried they are.”

Conveniently she didn't mention that fifteen years had passed between their father's death and Doris Irene's second marriage, or the fact that the four daughters spoke to and saw their mother regularly. If they sounded like abandoned little orphan girls… Oh, well.

“I'll think about it,” Shay repeated.

At least it wasn't a flat refusal. Neely couldn't ask for more than that.

Shay glanced at her watch. “It's been about twenty minutes. Someone should be showing up to check on you about…” She smiled at the sound of a powerful engine that nearly drowned out the crunch of tires on gravel. “Would you think
I'm a coward if I slipped around the house, got in my car and hustled away while you dealt with Reese?”

“That's what I would do, given the choice,” Neely said dryly. But she didn't have many choices these days. All she could do was go along and hope for the best. “Would you think
I'm
a coward if I go inside where I can be berated and threatened in private?”

“Go ahead. I'd like to talk to him a minute.”

Neely hesitated only an instant. Hearing a car door slam, followed by her name in an angry roar that was approaching the rear corner of the house, she jumped to her feet and hurried inside. She waited at the door long enough to catch a glimpse at Reese, whose expression was as dark and ominous as anything she'd ever seen, then she disappeared into her bedroom. No doubt, he would come looking for her, and no doubt, he would find her, but she didn't have to make it easy for him by waiting meekly on the deck.

She didn't have to make it easy for him at all, she thought as she locked the door.

 

Reese wasn't surprised to find Shay sitting on his deck, beautiful, tanned, wearing an outfit flashy enough to catch any man's eye. It said a lot about the strength of her relationship with Easy that he didn't mind her dressing that way.