The Sheriff's Surrender (23 page)

Raindrops rattled on the tin roof as a particularly loud crash of thunder vibrated through the house. “I let her down so many times,” he went on. “Yesterday I almost got her killed. I promised her that trip to Tulsa would be safe, and I was wrong. She could have died because I was wrong.”

“So you made a bad decision. How does that justify the way you're treating her?”

It was something of a relief, Reese realized, that Brady didn't argue or try to absolve him of guilt. Of course, Jace hadn't argued, either. He'd been more than willing to put the blame squarely where it belonged. “It doesn't. It's just…I keep remembering that when she got shot, she didn't have anyone to drive her home from the hospital. There wasn't anyone to fix her meals, change her dressing or make sure she took her medication on schedule. She was totally alone—had to cope completely by herself because it was my job, my responsibility, and I wasn't there.” He rubbed his good hand over his eyes and his voice grew unsteady. “I can hardly bear having her do things for me now when I was too selfish and stupid and judgmental to do the same for her then. It makes me feel so guilty.”

“Everybody makes mistakes. Everyone does things they later regret. The key is to accept the responsibility, make amends and get on with life.”

“And how do I make amends for walking away from her when she'd been shot? How in hell do I make amends for
almost getting her killed yesterday? Both times she was counting on me, trusting me, and both times I let her down. How do I make up for that?”

“You start by saying ‘I'm sorry.' By asking her to forgive you. Then you spend whatever time and effort it takes to let her know that she can count on you and trust you and you won't let her down again.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It's not. Asking someone to forgive you can be the hardest thing you've ever done. And if she refuses, it can be the most painful thing you've ever done.”

He spoke as if from experience, Reese thought, and wondered when and with whom. What had he done that couldn't be forgiven, and was that what had brought him from wherever to Oklahoma?

I'm sorry. Please forgive me.
Difficult words to say, a difficult risk to face. But he owed them to Neely. Even if she never forgave him, she deserved the words, and every bit of the sincerity behind them. And if she chose to throw them back in his face…it was no more than he deserved.

He wished she was awake at that moment. Talking to her in the dark of night would be easier than in the bright, unforgiving light of day. Honesty came a little simpler under cover of darkness, and hurt was a little less hard to bear. But he couldn't wake her from a badly needed rest just to ease his conscience. That would be selfish, and he'd been too selfish already.

“At Doc's office yesterday, you said she was a former prosecutor. She doesn't do that anymore?”

“No. She swears she's giving up her law practice.” Reese paused to let a rumble of thunder play itself out. “There was a time when that was all I wanted—for her to quit defending criminals, stay home and raise our kids. But she's a damn good lawyer. The kind of lawyer that, when the opposing counsel hears who they're up against, their first response is, ‘Let's make a deal.' She's too good to give it up and stay home
changing diapers.” Or waiting tables, selling real estate or kissing strange men at Medieval fairs or anywhere else.

“You didn't opt for an easy relationship, did you?” Brady asked. “A deputy and a defense attorney. Most people in that situation never would have gotten close enough to start anything.”

“I had ‘easy' when I was playing ball. I could walk into any bar across the country and walk out fifteen minutes later with the best-looking woman in the place. In the beginning it was gratifying to my ego, but it got old real fast.” He glanced at the other man. “Was yours easy?”

Brady was so still that he could have been carved from granite. That was probably the first personal question Reese had asked him in all the years they'd worked together. Everyone in the department had learned early on that Brady had little or nothing to say about home, his family, his upbringing or anything else the least bit private. Anyone who did ask a personal question got a simple yes or no if they got any answer at all. He was more likely to give them a chilling look, then turn away.

But maybe because talking
was
easier in the dark of night, he gave a little more of an answer than usual. “No. It wasn't easy at all. Which is why I'm here and she's…not.”

That was how he and Neely had spent practically the entire time they'd known each other—one of them here, the other there. Unless she was more forgiving than he had any right to expect, that might also be how they spent the rest of it. He wasn't sure he could bear that.

“My dad's getting married again,” he said as the rain started in earnest. “This is number four—and the last one, he says. Of course, he also said that about numbers two and three, but I think he really means it this time. I never minded all the women he brought temporarily into our family, but every time he brought a new one home, I reminded myself that I wasn't going to be like him. I was going to fall in love one time, get married one time, and that was it. But I never considered what I would do if the one woman I wanted wouldn't marry me.
That was what happened with him. He fell hard for Lena nearly forty years ago. They slept together, lived together for a few weeks one year, a few months the next, and they had a kid together…but for every month they spent together, they spent a year apart. So far, I'm turning out just like him. Neely and I were together twelve months, and we've been apart nine years. I don't want to spend the next thirty years without her.”

There came a sudden lull in the storm—one of those still-nesses before a particularly powerful bolt of lightning or a clap of thunder that would rattle the house down to its very foundation. The wind stopped tearing through the trees and the rain eased to a sprinkle, as the storm seemed to catch its breath and decide what havoc to wreak next. And into that stillness, from somewhere close behind him, came the sweet, quiet voice that had haunted him since the first time he'd ever heard it, and it offered a challenge.

“So do something about it, Sheriff. Say the magic words. Make everything all right.”

T
he floorboards vibrated underneath Neely's feet as the storm returned with a vengeance. The rain that had beaten the tin roof for the past twenty minutes was joined by hail, the chunks of ice clanging on the metal. The wind was rattling the windowpanes, sending small branches with leaves still attached tumbling across the yard, skidding the rockers across the porch until they hit the wall, and the lightning was everywhere, brightening the sky in jagged sheets and striking the earth in brilliant forks. Such tremendous power and fury outside the log house…yet inside she felt calmer, more serene, than she had since first setting foot there.

Brady touched her lightly on the shoulder as he passed on his way to his room, and she smiled. He was an interesting man who deserved much closer scrutiny…but not tonight. Reese required all her attention tonight.

He was sitting in the leather chair, looking at her, but with the lightning at his back, she couldn't make out his expression. That was all right. She'd heard most of his conversation with Brady. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop. She'd gotten up to
make certain he'd taken his antibiotics and as soon as she'd stepped into the kitchen she'd heard their voices. She'd merely waited for an opportune moment to interrupt, and it had taken its time presenting itself.

Her nightgown brushed the tops of her feet as she crossed the room to the chair where Brady had sat. Normally she slept in a T-shirt and shorts, but once in a while she indulged her taste for the fussy, frilly, unbearably feminine and romantic instead. Because she'd gone to bed tonight feeling bruised and battered and just possibly beyond surviving, she'd chosen the white cotton gown, with its ruffles, ribbons and lace. Its fitted top was tied with pink satin ribbons and dotted around the demure neckline with pink rosettes, and it fell in a long skirt that ended in an elaborate deep ruffle.

She sat primly, legs crossed, arms resting on the chair arms. “How's your shoulder?”

Reese stared at her. “F-fine. How—how's yours?”

Her first impulse was to touch the scar, hidden under the thin cotton, but she resisted, instead pressing her fingertips tightly against the cold leather. “It's a lot finer than yours is.” Then, after a moment, she prompted him. “Well?”

His smile was heavy with regret. “I don't know any magic words.”

“Sure, you do. You're a smart man. You know me well. You know which words hurt, and you know which words heal.”

“I don't know words to make right everything I've done wrong.”

“How do you know until you try?”

He looked outside again, and the lightning showed the range of emotions that weighted his expression—anger, great remorse, greater guilt and sorrow. “Some things can't be made right. Some things are unforgivable.”

“You're right. Cold-blooded murder, hurting a child—those things would be impossible for most of us to forgive. But we haven't done either of those things, Reese.” Shivering in the cool air, she leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees
and hugging herself. “You blamed me for Judy Miller's death, and for a long time I blamed myself. I also blamed those deputies for tainting Leon's confession, and the justice system for letting him go time after time. I blamed his parents because too often, that's where an abuser learns to abuse, and I blamed Judy herself, for not getting that gun first and blowing
him
away. But, you know, Reese, the bottom line is Leon killed Judy. We were all a part of it, every one of us involved in arresting, prosecuting, defending and punishing him, but
he
made the decision to kill her.
He
had the gun available.
He
chose to point it at her and pull the trigger. Those deputies and Judy's family and everyone else can wish eternal damnation on me, but
I
know it wasn't my fault.

“Just as my getting shot, and everything that followed, wasn't your fault, and your getting shot wasn't my fault. It was
because
of me, and I regret that more than I can say, but that man made the choice to shoot, and you made the choice to push me out of the way, to save my life.” She smiled faintly. “I haven't thanked you for that yet, have I?”

“You don't owe me any gratitude. If I hadn't taken you there in the first place—”

She slid soundlessly from the leather to the floor, kneeling in front of him. “Reese, we could play If-only until the sun comes up and manage to blame virtually everyone we've ever known. If only you hadn't taken me there, if only Jace hadn't brought me here, if only the jury hadn't convicted Forbes…Hell, if only my father's boss hadn't murdered his partner and framed my dad for it, I doubt I ever would have even considered becoming a lawyer, so that makes it
his
fault. But it's not
his
fault, or yours or Jace's or mine. Eddie Forbes offered a great sum of money to anybody who could kill me.
He's
responsible. The man who fired the shots is responsible. Not you, and not me.”

He raised his left hand to her hair, slid his fingertips along her jaw. “But I feel so damn guilty.”

“So feel guilty. Admit that maybe going to Tulsa wasn't
the smartest thing we could have done. We both knew it, and we went anyway. And then forget it.”

His laughter was choked and scornful. “Forget it?”

“We're human, Reese. We make mistakes. We learn from them and move on, or we let them drag us down.” Resting her arms on his legs, she found his skin as cool as hers. They needed to shut off the air-conditioning, put on some clothes or continue this conversation someplace a tad cozier. She intended to vote for someplace cozier. “It's funny… We're so good at remorse and guilt. But the people who are really responsible for the bad things in our lives don't feel either one. Leon was sorry that his beating Judy landed him in jail, but he was never truly sorry for doing it. Dave Dugan regretted that his aim was off when he shot me, but he never regretted trying to kill me. And Eddie…to him killing people is just part of doing business. Someone interferes with your income, your control, your freedom, you kill him. Problem solved. What's to feel guilty about?”

“But—”

She laid her fingers across his mouth. “Feeling guilty is good, because it means you've got a conscience. It means you're a decent, honorable person. But then you deal with it, and you move on. And that's what we're going to do.”

Rising to her feet, she took his left hand and tugged until he stood, too. She led him across the room to the side hall, then into his bedroom, where the lights were off, the covers rumpled from his restlessness. He sat on the bed, pillows at his back cushioning the headboard. She raised the blinds to let the storm in, got a cup of water from the bathroom, then sat facing him. After shaking the two pills from the bottle into his palm, she handed him the water, watched while he swallowed it down, then continued to watch. Considering that he'd been shot yesterday, he looked good—handsome, rested, vital. He also looked, at that moment, serious and intent.

“Neely…” He threaded his fingers tightly through hers. “I am so sorry. I don't know if you can forgive me, but if you'll try, I'll do my best to deserve it.”

Simple and to the point. So was her response. “I forgive you. If you'll try to do the same for me, I'll do my best, too.”

“There's nothing to forgive. You never let me down. You never walked away. You never broke my heart. Those are all my failings.”

Her smile came slowly. “Then I must be almost perfect. Hmm…I've never been almost perfect before. I think I like that.” Leaning forward, she brought her mouth into contact with his for a gentle, innocent kiss. But when he released her hand and slid his fingers into her hair to pull her closer, when he thrust his tongue into her mouth and sent incredible heat and need shuddering through her body, gentle and innocent fled her mind in favor of fierce, raw hunger.

When finally he ended the kiss, he took a ragged breath. “Sweet hell, Neely, I want you, but I can't… My shoulder…”

She leaned forward and tenderly kissed a patch of warm skin between the two dressings. “You want me to go back to my room and let you sleep?” she murmured, though she had no intention of going anywhere.

He responded with an obscenity that suggested he shared her intentions. “What I want you to do is take pity on me and come over here and torment me a little more.”

“Oh, good. That's exactly what I wanted to do.” She turned to kneel on the bed, lifting one leg over his, sliding bit by bit until she was exactly where she wanted to be, until he was almost where she needed him. “Does that hurt?”

“No.”

She slid along the length of him, then back again. “How about that? Did it hurt?”

“No.”
This time he ground out the word in a harsh voice. With his left hand, he caught hold of her, held her tightly, stopped her from moving again. “You're a generous woman.”

“This?” She smiled seductively as she managed, in spite of his grip, to send sensation rocketing through him. “This is the height of selfishness. I need this. I've waited for it, for you, so long…I've been so lost without you.” With the last words she brushed her mouth over his, and he opened to her,
welcoming her tongue inside, accepting her kiss as if he needed it, too, as if he'd waited forever.

She savored the taste of him, the familiar, dark flavor that was embedded in her memory, in her soul. She thought she would recognize that taste, that texture and intensity, blind-folded—would be able to pick him out of a hundred men because he was a part of her.

Though his right hand was useless, he didn't sit idly while they kissed. With his left hand, he loosened the ribbons that held the front of her gown together, pushed it aside and treated her breasts to gentle, fleeting caresses. He stroked and rubbed and made her groan, pinched her nipples and took advantage of her gasp to take control of their kiss. He made her shiver and heated her body, raised goose bumps on her flesh, then chased them away with tantalizing caresses, claimed her mouth and promised to claim her body soon…but not soon enough.

When he began pulling at her gown, she helped him remove it, though she did most of the work while he played. When she removed the gym shorts that were all he wore, she repaid him in full, taking forever to do a task he would have accomplished in seconds, drawing the most interesting responses from him, from erotic groans to savage curses.

He was pulling her back into place astride his hips when she held herself back. “What about a condom?”

Lightning illuminated his face, features taut with arousal, eyes clear and sober. “In the drawer…if you want one.”

She couldn't pull her gaze from his while she considered it. If she opted for protection, he wouldn't say anything, but he would be a little disappointed, she thought, and so would she. The chances of her getting pregnant tonight were minuscule—but the chances of Forbes's man finding her in Tulsa yesterday had gone way beyond that. But if she did get pregnant… She couldn't imagine anything better.

She settled herself over his hips, and he filled her slowly, sweetly, making her eyes close and her breath catch and her chest tighten with emotion. When she'd taken all of him, mois
ture filled her eyes and turned her smile bittersweet. “Do you remember the first time…?”

Sliding his fingers into her hair, he pulled her close, until they were practically nose to nose. “Every detail,” he growled as if offended at the implication that he might have forgotten.

“You slid inside me, and it was so tight and full and incredible, and you said—”

“‘I've been looking my whole life for the place where I belong, and here you are.'”

“And here you are,” she echoed softly. Bracing her hands on the headboard, she began moving slowly, ever so gently, gliding easily along the length of him, gloving him tighter to provide friction for the return. She set a gentle pace, letting the pressure build slowly, taking her own sweet time, ignoring Reese when he silently urged her to move faster.

“Did I mention I've waited a really long time for this?” he asked, his voice raw, his breathing uneven.

“You told me to torment you.” Her voice wasn't much smoother.

“You're doing a damn fine job…but you're killing me.”

She tried to stop, but he refused to let her. “Your shoulder—”

“What shoulder? This— I need— I need to—” A great groan escaped him as he filled her, and she matched him pretty well with her own cries. Shudders racked her, and her lungs grew too tight to allow any but the smallest of breaths as sensation after sensation swelled over her. She collapsed against him, her head on his uninjured shoulder, and held tightly as the same shudders rocketed through him.

Minutes passed before they both became still, before she was able to once again fill her lungs with air that smelled of him, her, them, before she found the energy to lift her head. She gazed at him a moment before he raised his head and opened his eyes to look back. “And here you are,” she murmured.

He kissed her gently before correcting her. “Here
we
are.”

 

Thanks to his wound, Reese could lie only on his back, but he didn't mind, since Neely was stretched out full-length beside him. For a time she'd lain on her side facing him, before turning her back to him. His arm was still around her, though, and she still held tightly to him, even in sleep.

He'd dozed awhile, then decided he could sleep anytime. Right then he'd rather watch her and the storm. So that was what he'd done for the past hour, alternating between wondering if the storm system was ever going to clear the area and whether she would stay with him forever.

There was a rap at the open bedroom door, then Brady's voice broke the quiet. “Reese, Neely, either of you awake?”