Hope's Corner

by Chris Keniston

  “I thought… I mean the way you, we… It just seemed…time.” She pulled back. “I’m sorry.”

  The flash of pained rejection in her eyes was more than his restraint could handle. “I’m the one who’s sorry. You’re right. This is right. But I’m not making love to you on a cramped couch like a horny teenager.” In a move that would have been worthy of a major motion picture, he drew her fully onto his lap and pushed to his feet in one dramatic swoop.

  As Pam nipped and kissed his chin, his throat, any bare spot within reach of her talented lips, his need spiraled off the charts. At the top of the stairs he almost tripped when her tongue ran a slow path along the edge of his ear. Thankful to find her bedroom door open, his long strides crossed the room quickly. Without letting go, he deposited his precious cargo on the bed, rolling with her until she lay flat on her back, her long blonde hair feathered across the pillow with the exquisite precision of a Renaissance painting. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

  God. A pang of guilt kicked at his heart. Then his eyes settled on Pam; her gaze a reflection of everything he felt for this amazing woman. Nothing could be more right. “I love you.”

  The words said, his mouth took hers with a ravenous hunger he’d kept banked too long. Tongues clashed, battled, then settled into a slow dance of desire and love. Impatient to feel every inch of her, but determined to go slow and easy, his fingers worked to undo each button of her blouse, resisting the urge to rip off the garment and toss it away, never to be found again.

  Intent on his goal, he hadn’t realized Pam’s fingers had steadfastly worked to undo his buttons. When she pushed him up to shrug out of the shirt and raked her fingers down his front, stopping to draw swirls in the vee of hair at his pant line, all the air rushed from his lungs.

  “Let me help you.” With one hand she undid the snap on his jeans and ran her finger along the edge of his hip.

  A groan strangled in his throat. "I don't know if I can do slow."

  “I guess we'll have to find out.” Just yesterday the thought of ever being with another man seemed as foreign as a Japanese car. At this moment Pam couldn’t think of anything more right than making love to Jefferson Davis Parker. She tugged on his jeans.

  Before she could get a good hold on the fabric, Jeff had toed off his shoes, kicked out of the pants and dropped his briefs. Slow would have to wait for another day. Seeing him stand before her in all his naked glory, she sucked in a deep breath. On her knees, she inched her way to the edge of the bed and reached out to wrap her hand around him.

  “No, ma’am.” He pulled her up until she clung to him, her legs wrapped around his waist. In a single move, his fingers adeptly unsnapped her bra.

  “Smooth,” she whispered.

  A soft smile spread across his face, a mischievous twinkle gleamed in his eyes. “Like riding a bike. Some things you never forget.”

  Still holding her in his arms, ducking his head, he latched onto one breast and gently tugged. Like a wanton woman, she thrust her chest forward, silently pleading for more. The sensations shooting from the tips of her nipples to the apex of her thighs had her back arching with the ease of a contented cat.

  One knee on the bed, Jeff lifted his head and caught her gaze, a huge grin breaking across his face. “You like that.”

  “Mmm,” she cooed, mourning the lost sensations.

  “There’s lots more where that came from.” Placing her gently on the bed, his mouth settled on her breast again, one hand softly kneading the neglected breast. His other hand eased her sweatpants down her legs, pausing along the way to brush her delicate skin, toy with her soft curls.

  The flashes of fire burning everywhere he touched had her gasping for air. Needs snapped to life, sweeter, hotter, darker than anything she'd ever known. Enough was enough.

  She rolled out from under him, slung a leg around his hip, and shoved him down against the bed until he lay flat on his back, her breasts dangling in his face. Before he could make a move, she slid down over him. Taking him in, inch by tantalizing inch, she watched the agonizing pleasure take over his face. His hands grabbed for her hips, lifting her and setting her down, faster, harder. A perfect rhythm. Bursts of heat exploded in every nerve. Waves of pleasure washed over her until bones turned to gelatin could no longer hold her upright.

  Still inside her, Jeff rolled them over. Propped up on his elbows, he brushed a gentle kiss against her lips. “Not to sound corny, but I could stay with you this way forever.”

  Pam lifted her hips playfully. “Sounds like a plan.”

  His gaze lingered on hers for a long moment. “The whole town thinks we’re getting married.”

  She nodded.

  “Public opinion is a terrible reason for two people to marry.”

  She nibbled on her lower lip and nodded again.

  “Would you consider marrying me for love?”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. She waited for the doubt, the hesitation, the sensation she was somehow cheating on her vows to Travis.

  Calm slipped from Jeff’s face. His brow curled with concern. “Am I wrong? Did I misunderstand what just happened?”

  “No. You’re not wrong.” She’d made love. No doubts, no guilt. “I love you.”

  Tense lips spread into a broad grin. “Then marry me now. Today.”

  “You can certainly wait one month.” Abigail Clarke patted Pam on the cheek.

  “Right now a month seems like forever. Texas only requires three days.”

  “Sweetie, in ninety-seven years, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that patience has its rewards. Both you and young Jeff have to finish your course before you start a new race.”

  Pam pondered her friend’s words. She hadn’t really considered marrying Jeff a race.

  Abigail took a seat beside Pam on the old Victorian sofa. “Tell me more about your memories. What did the detective say when you called?”

  “He asked me to come in and work with a sketch artist. Apparently Dallas has a pretty good one. Detective Hannigan doesn’t want my memory influenced by photos.” Pam leaned back and blew out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. It doesn’t sound like he believes I’ve actually remembered the face of my attacker.”

  “What about the other part?” Abigail set her hand on Pam’s.

  “He said they’d checked out Greg the first time. But the man he saw at the accident scene wasn’t faking. Greg was distraught and fawning over me like I’d been his wife and not the wife of his best friend.”

  “And…” Abigail coaxed.

  “And Detective Hannigan agreed to take another look just to put my mind at ease.” Deep down she wondered if nightmares weren’t better than facing what she hoped to God wasn’t the truth. “Jeff will be picking me up here to leave for Dallas.”

  “And I’ll be darn pleased to see that young man. Thursdays haven’t been the same the last few weeks without him.”

  “He’s missed coming, but now that he’s not working, I’m sure he’ll have more time to visit.”

  “Being stubborn is he?” Abigail pressed her lips in a tight clench and set her foot tapping. “We’ll have to see about that.”

  Pam wasn’t sure what the old woman had in mind, but she almost felt sorry for Jeff. If there’s one thing she’d learned since moving home, it was to stay out of the way of smart old ladies with a plan.

  “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Jeff sat at the table for four at the Three Italians’ Restaurant in Uptown and wondered how he’d let Pam talk him into this.

  “You heard what Detective Hannigan said. After this much time the odds of my dreams being very accurate are slim.”

  “But not impossible.”

  “And no reason not to have dinner with the man who Travis trusted to take care of me.”

  There wasn’t much he could do or say. While he still didn’t think meeting Greg face-to-face was the best thing for Pam at the moment, he couldn’t deny he was looking forward to meeting the son of a bitch i
n person. Despite Pam’s doubts, with every passing moment, Jeff was more convinced Greg was the key.

  “Here he is.” Pam’s smile seemed strained but genuine.

  “Why, if it isn’t the prettiest woman in North Texas.” Greg Johnston took Pam’s hand in both of his before pulling her into a good old Texas bear hug. “Man, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  Jeff watched. The guy was good. Real good. He could probably steal the shirt off a man’s back and then sell it back to him.

  “And you must be the good news?” Greg offered his hand to Jeff, his eyes clearly summing Jeff up.

  “Jefferson Parker.” Jeff extended his hand.

  “Greg Johnston.”

  Good firm handshake. The guy never blinked. The message loud and clear: Greg Johnston was not giving up his claim on Pam.

  “Okay, gentlemen.” Pam’s smile shifted into a soft chuckle. “Everyone to your respective corner.”

  “Now, Pam.” Greg reached over to pull out Pam’s chair. Jeff beat him to it by a finger.

  “Thank you.” She glanced over her shoulder at Jeff.

  The sheer adoration in her eyes was enough to make Jeff forget all about Greg, the nightmares, the police, and anything else under the sun.

  “Okay. I see the way the wind blows.”

  Jeff took his seat. “And that would be?”

  “A blind man would be able to see the sparks flying between you two.” Greg shifted to face Jeff. “Let’s get this on the table and over with. Travis was my best friend.”

  The man said the words with such conviction and sincerity he almost made Jeff doubt the dream, but the nauseous flip of his stomach reminded him the man was as smooth as snake skin.

  “Though he never outright asked me to, I’ve taken it upon myself to see to it that his wife is well cared for, not lacking for anything.” Greg paused, cast a glance at Pam, then returned his attention to Jeff. “I can tell you’ll do the same.”

  A hell of a lot better than you did. Jeff practically had to bite his tongue to keep from speaking his mind.

  “But be warned,” Greg continued. “If anything goes wrong, if you hurt her in any way, you’ll be sorry you were ever born.”

  “Greg.” Pam rolled her eyes. “He’s a pastor.”

  “He could be the pope for all I care.” He turned to Jeff again. “Are we clear?”

  “Perfectly.” Jeff forced a smile.

  “And for the record, Pammy, I know Travis is real pleased to see you this happy. So am I.”

  Pam slipped her hand over Greg’s. “I appreciate that.”

  “Why don’t you tell him why we’re in Dallas?” Jeff picked up the menu.

  “There’s more good news?” Greg asked.

  Pam set aside her menu. “I think so.”

  Jeff pretended to be reading his dinner options, keeping an eye on Greg over the top of the menu.

  “I recently remembered something.” She flicked open her napkin and set it on her lap. “The face of the man who attacked me.”

  Jeff had to give the man credit. Except for a quick blink, Greg’s expression remained neutral. The guy was probably one hell of a poker player.

  Greg took a sip of water before asking, “How is that?”

  “My dreams. They’re becoming less fragmented, more clear. That’s why we’re here in Dallas. We just left the police department.”

  And there it was. The momentary flash of panic followed by a quick curtain of calm. The bastard was guilty as sin.

  “Then you remembered what he did to you?”

  This time Jeff saw a deep-set pain in the man’s eyes. Whatever his crimes, Jeff had to admit the guy really did care about Pam.

  “Some. But this was just about the time you arrived to save me. I saw him clear as day.”

  “But you were unconscious when I arrived.” Gripping his glass of water, Greg’s knuckles turned white.

  “Mostly.”

  “Mostly?” The flash of panic in Greg’s eyes had now taken permanent residence. The man was running scared.

  “I seem to have been semiconscious, when you pulled him off me. I think I remember you hitting him.”

  “Should have killed him,” Greg mumbled.

  Pam reached across the table and patted Greg’s hand. “It’s okay.” She blew out a breath. “That must be when I blacked out for real.”

  “What happens now?” Greg took another sip of water and flagged down the waiter for a refill.

  “The police have a sketch, but after all this time the detective didn’t seem very hopeful.”

  For the first time since Greg had walked into the restaurant, his shoulders deflated with ease.

  The conversation soon shifted to horse races and wedding plans. Under any other circumstances, Jeff would probably have liked Greg. Especially his heartfelt concern for Pam, but all Jeff could see was a snake in the grass.

  “Well, I hate to cut this short.” Greg rose from the table. “I’ve got a late business meeting in twenty minutes.”

  “Is she blonde or brunette?”

  “Paying client.” Greg grinned. “Honest. Mario’ll put this on my tab.”

  “That won’t be—" Jeff started.

  Greg held up his hand. “Call it an engagement gift.”

  Though it grated at him to say, Jeff had no choice. “Thank you,” he and Pam echoed.

  “Be happy. That’s all the thanks I need.”

  They watched him walk through the restaurant and out the door.

  “I have to be wrong. I just have to.”

  Jeff didn’t say a word. There was no winning in a situation like this. The two of them might have spent the rest of the evening staring after Greg, if Pam’s phone hadn’t rung.

  “Hello… Oh, yes… Oh.” Pam’s brow curled. “Yes. Mmm-hmm.” All the color drained from her face, and she flipped the phone shut without even saying good-bye.

  Jeff reached out and covered her hand. It had turned as cold as ice. “Who was that? What happened?”

  “Detective Hannigan. His partner just came into the precinct. Thought something about the picture looked familiar. On a hunch he looked through his files. They think they know who my guy is.” Pam stared down at her phone. “He wants me to go back. Look at some photos.”

  Twenty minutes later Pam sat in the wooden seat, resisting the growing urge to bolt and run. One by one, a Dallas police officer who bore a surprising resemblance to a granite statue held the photo of a potential suspect in front of her. With each new face her heart beat a little faster, and her breath seemed a little shorter.

  “Tell me if anyone seems familiar.” The officer held photo number four.

  Her racing heart stopped. Even in a passport-sized photograph she recognized the vicious gleam in the eyes of a monster. Scenes from her own private hell flashed before her. She didn’t need to see suspects five and six.

  “Mrs. Dawson. Do any of these men seem familiar?”

  She nodded but couldn’t make a sound.

  Jeff tightened his hold on her hand. “Pam?”

  Blinking in a vain effort to stop the memories, Pam forced the words from her mouth. “Number four.”

  The officer placed the photo in front her again. “You’re sure this is him?”

  No need to look down. She was sure. “Yes.”

  Within minutes Detective Hannigan slid into the chair across from her. “His name was Michael Shraeder. Not much of a rap sheet. Mostly petty stuff. Couple of assaults. We found him dead in an alley less than a week after your attack.” He slid a sheet of paper in front of Pam. “My partner collared him a few times, had to testify. He remembered this scum always had the same lawyer get him off. Normally I wouldn’t have this information, but…” His finger fell on the name at the bottom of the page. “The lawyer was Gregory Johnston.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “Everyone is just buzzing with excitement.” Etta Mae poured a cup of chamomile tea for her husband.

  Harlon smiled. “I had John Haskell on
the phone for over half an hour gushing about how the smartest move he ever made was naming Jeff as my fill-in.”

  “Why that arrogant…” Etta dropped her hands on her hips, elbows flaring. “Everyone knows George Beauchamp made the recommendation and Theresa Cahill seconded. John Haskell sputtered and huffed to have been outvoted.”

  “Apparently he doesn’t remember it that way.” Harlon’s satisfied smile remained firmly in place.

  “And what may I ask are you grinning about?”

  “Our boy is accepted. The town rallied around him.” Harlon set down his teacup and cocked his head toward his wife. “With a little help from his mother.”

  “Nonsense. Jeff made his own way.”

  “Yes.” Harlon nodded. “Yes he did.”

  “You’re worried though. That he’s still thinking of walking away.”

  “Not nearly as much as a few days ago, but yes, it’s still a concern. I wish—"

  Both Harlon and Etta turned to the sound of the front door squeaking open.

  “Now who might that be?” Etta pushed to her feet as her son and new fiancée walked into the kitchen. It took only a few seconds for Etta’s words of welcome to freeze in her throat. Pam looked as though she’d lost her best friend and seen his ghostly apparition in the same instant. Jeff didn’t look much better. “I’ll put on a fresh pot of water for tea.”

  That’s what Etta did best. Mother and fuss in a moment of crisis. And Jeff knew he wouldn’t have to say a word for both his parents to realize this was the case. “Thanks, Ma.”

  “Would you like some pie too?”

  Pam cleared her throat. “Just tea for me, please.”

  Harlon looked at his son. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Thanks, Pop. Not this time. I was wondering if Pam could stay in Carol’s old room?”

  Pam’s eyes widened into button-round circles. “Oh, that won’t be necessary.”

  Jeff put his hand over hers. “You shouldn’t be alone, and I can’t keep staying at your place, engaged or not.”