Wild Child

by Suzanne Forster

  With a little more probing, Cat put together that Bumper had been practicing marbles in his garage when the aggie had rolled into the alley and the black car had driven by, cracking it.

  Cat’s head filled with questions. What would that car have been doing in the alley behind Bumper’s house? Bumper lived a couple doors down and across the alley from the robbery victims. Cat had talked to his mother once, but she’d said she hadn’t seen anything. “What day did your grandparents come, Bumper? Was it last week? On Monday?”

  With considerable probing of Bumper’s recall, Cat finally narrowed the date down to the afternoon of the robbery. A zing of adrenaline fueled her as she began to realize she was on to something. She hoped Bumper had his information straight! “Who was in the car? Did you see the driver?”

  He described two boys, one with the build and ruddy coloring of Skip Sinclair, and a smaller boy, who sounded very much like Johnny by his physical appearance.

  “He had on one of those—y’know—leather jackets and red head things,” Bumper offered, then added thoughtfully, “kinda like Johnny’s.”

  “A red bandanna? Tied around his head?” Cat’s heart was roaring by this time. She sat on the ground, not quite able to deal with what she was thinking. “Did they stop? Did they get out of the car?” she asked softly, almost afraid to hear the answer.

  When Bumper nodded, she began to pepper him with questions. Within moments she’d learned enough to know that her instincts of a week ago could well have been correct. Then she’d suspected Johnny Drescher had been set up. Now she was almost sure of it.

  “Bumper, would you know those two boys if you saw them?”

  He thought about it. “The guy with the leather jacket smiled funny—and he was missing a toof.” Bumper opened his mouth wide, stretching his lower lip across his gums as he wiggled one of his baby teeth. “Me too, see? This one’s loose!”

  Cat pressed her hands to her face and nearly cried. Dear God, she thought, this little boy had seen it happen—the robbers, and the robbery. She caught him gently by the shoulders, choking back the emotion in her throat.

  “Bumper,” she said, “I need you to come with me, okay? And bring your aggie.”

  Twenty minutes later Cat pulled her Mustang onto the private road that led to Blake’s cabin. She saw the lights on and breathed a sigh of relief. He was home.

  She could hardly walk she was trembling so hard. Bumper struggled to keep up with her, and finally she picked him up and carried him, laboring up the steps of the cabin. She found Blake in the kitchen, cooking a steak. He turned as she entered.

  She set Bumper down and stood with him beside her, clutching his small hand. “Johnny didn’t do it,” she said. “I have proof.” As she held up the cracked marble, tears began to stream down her cheeks.

  Blake stared at her hard—at the beautiful, anguished woman and the bewildered little boy beside her. Emotion hit him like an uppercut. The flesh above his jawbone sucked in and out as he tried to control it. Johnny didn’t do it, and her proof was a marble? He didn’t know what the hell she was talking about, but it was the best news he’d heard in a week. “Thank God,” he said, feeling as though he wanted to cry himself.

  It was fortunate that Cat spotted Johnny before he saw her, because the emotion that welled up inside of her at the first glimpse of him nearly undid her. If ever there was a sight for sore eyes, she thought as a uniformed matron escorted the teenager into the station house proper.

  Dressed in his street clothes—the leather jacket and trademark red bandanna—he looked so grungy and wonderful, so unmistakably Johnny, that Cat could hardly contain herself. She wanted to rush up and hug him, but she knew better. He would be embarrassed beyond belief.

  “Johnny?” Cat stepped forward as the boy swung around and saw her. He was still pale and a little shaken, but his eyes lit up and a grin wavered.

  “Hi,” he said.

  He swallowed with some effort, and Cat realized he was struggling with his feelings too.

  “He’s free to go,” the matron said, urging Johnny forward.

  Cat took a quick, steadying breath, then she dealt with the awkward moment by linking her arm in Johnny’s and whisking him with her toward the door. “Let’s get out of this dump,” she said.

  Sunlight burst over them as they pushed through the swinging doors of the station. It was a breathtaking day, and Cat simply couldn’t help herself. A soft sigh of delight escaped her as she breathed in fresh-cut grass, sunshine, and hope.

  “Oh, Johnny, don’t you just love spring?”

  Johnny cocked an eyebrow and extricated his arm from hers with a pained grin. “You’re weird,” he said.

  She nodded, laughing with him. “Weird” wasn’t the word for it. She was thrilled about Johnny’s release, and at the same time, so muddled about her feelings for Blake that she couldn’t get herself grounded. She felt like a plane, circling the clouds and unable to get her landing gear down.

  “It looks like Skip’s going to do some time,” she told Johnny as they stood on the sidewalk in front of the station.

  “Bozo deserves it,” Johnny muttered.

  Cat watched him tug at his bandanna and wondered what was wrong with him. Suddenly he looked up at her and his jaw knotted up painfully. “I just—” He ducked his head, stammering, reddening. “I just wanted to thank you,” he finally managed.

  The gesture was so wrenchingly difficult for him that Cat fought back another urge to give him a hug. She knew if she did, they might both tear up. “That’s okay, Johnny,” she said softly. “It was my privilege.”

  She pressed her tongue up against the back of her teeth, stemming the poignancy she felt. This was a rare occurrence for him, she suspected. He probably hadn’t been given too many second chances—or opportunities to thank people for helping him.

  “The slammer’s no place for a Young Turk like you,” she said. “You’ve got things to do.”

  “Yeah.” He glanced up at her, still fire-engine red and blinking furiously against the threat of tears. After a moment his expression lightened a little and he managed a smile. “Yeah, I got things to do. And you too. I guess you like that Wheeler guy, huh?”

  “Yes . . . I like him.”

  “So, you gonna stick around and date him or something?”

  Or something, it seemed. “I don’t know, Johnny. I just don’t know. I’ve been thinking maybe I ought to go back to Berkeley—” At the boy’s obvious distress she quickly added, “I haven’t decided yet, of course.”

  His knitted brows said he truly didn’t understand adults.

  As they started toward her car Johnny glanced at her a couple of times. Cat thought he was still worried about her leaving and it nearly broke her heart. She wished she hadn’t let her ambivalence slip.

  And then suddenly a grin flashed on his face, full of adolescent intrigue and mischief. “Okay, what’s the story?” he said. “Did you and Wheeler really get naked in the park?”

  Cat was driving her Mustang down Main Street, her dark hair streaming in the sunlight, when a package of cheese puffs plopped into the passenger seat beside her. She checked out the pedestrians on the sidewalk, then craned around to look behind her, but saw no one she recognized.

  The roar of an engine in the next lane brought her back around with a start. Gunning the motor of his Corvette, Blake pulled up precariously close to her. Smart alec, she thought, ignoring him. Some men couldn’t take no for an answer.

  She hit the gas and the Mustang jumped out in front.

  But not for long.

  He surged up, head to head with her instantly, burning up the pavement with his powerful machine. That car did everything but paw like a bull, she thought, flashing Blake a look that told him what she thought of his macho antics.

  Unperturbed, he fenced with her for another block or two, then he hit the horn and waved her over. He wanted her to pull to the curb. She didn’t budge from her lane.

  He was unrelenting in hi
s determination to force her over, but Cat wouldn’t be intimidated. Mariner’s Park was the next turn off, and perhaps for old times’ sake, Cat decided to go for it. She pulled her car into the parking lot, screeched to a stop, leapt over the side of the convertible. And ran.

  She was thankful she had on jeans and tennies. She was also thankful she could run like a thoroughbred. It was only when she got crazy and tried to leapfrog the birdbath that she sacrificed precious seconds. He tagged her as she darted through the picnic area, and they fell in the grass and rolled and rolled and rolled. She landed on her back, with him over her, breathing and laughing.

  “Kinda like the three-legged race, huh?” he said.

  “I let you catch me.”

  Cat fought to quiet the tumult inside her. He was devastating hovering above her. Just that, devastating. She’d never seen him so gorgeous, his eyes hot and smoky, his body breathing sex. His tousled hair streamed with sunshine.

  “Let me?” he said, laughing. “In that case I’ll press my luck. How about an answer to my proposal?”

  “Which proposal was that? The indecent one? Or the one in which marriage was mentioned?”

  “Either,” he said. “No, both.”

  “I cannot marry you, Blake. As for the other—”

  “Wait—why not?” He pretended anger. “Why the hell not? I got your client sprung, didn’t I? Johnny’s a free teenager.”

  “With my evidence,” she reminded him.

  “See what a team we make. By the way, Skip Sinclair will be cooling his heels for a while on robbery and assorted other charges. I gave his parents your card, counselor.”

  “Oh, thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me, woman. Marry me.”

  “Blake, for starters, we have nothing in common.” Undoubtedly she sounded as helpless as she felt. He’d been pursuing her mercilessly ever since she showed up on his doorstep with Bumper that night. Thrilling as it was, he had to be made to see that it couldn’t work. For his sake.

  He dug another package of puffs from his jacket and dangled them above her nose. “Nothing in common?”

  She squirmed out from under him and sat up, determined to talk some sense into his stubborn head. “You have a career to think about, mister, a future.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t want to think about either without you.”

  She turned serious then. “I’d be a liability to you, Blake. We both know that.”

  “You’d be the best thing that ever happened to me, you knucklehead. I know some things about myself now that I didn’t know before.”

  He pushed himself up and crouched in front of her, gripping her by the arms. “I really want to be the governor of this state, Cat. I think we could do it—even without a political machine to back us up. You know, the old grass roots approach. Winning an election because the people are behind you.” His smile was irresistible. “I think that’s a refreshing idea, don’t you?”

  “We could do it? Why we? Why me?”

  He threw back his head and laughed.

  Cat was astonished and a little frightened. She’d never seen him like this, ever. He was a wild man.

  “Why you?” His eyes said she’d have to be crazy not to know. “Because I love you, woman. Madly! Because you’re more than fire and fight, you’re ballast. You’ll keep me honest and remind me that I’m human. I need you, Catherine. What do you say to that?”

  Help! That’s what she said. Needed her? Loved her? Madly? Her heart was soaring, but she wasn’t crazy enough to let him know it. “I’m not sure I like being called ballast.”

  Laughing, he gazed into her eyes. “I do need you, beautiful lady, but it’s more than that. I’ve got a lot of making up to do for the last ten years. I want to turn your sadness into sunshine, I owe you that. I want to make you smile and hear your crazy, husky laughter every day of my life. Let me do that, will you, Cat? Let me make you happy.”

  He touched her face, an endearingly awkward caress, and his voice went husky. “The truth is I’d kind of like to be a hero again, in your eyes. And this time I want to deserve it.”

  “Oh . . . Blake—” She broke off, inexpressively touched. Tears misted her eyes and a tender barrier swelled in her throat. Seconds flew by, but she simply couldn’t speak.

  Blake watched her, mystified as she knuckled away tears and refused to look at him. Taking her silence as reluctance, he brought her head up. “You aren’t going to force me to get physical, are you, Cat?” he said, only half-joking. He shook her gently, but with enough latent sexual desire to send the park up in flames.

  “Okay—” She gasped more than said it.

  “Yes?” His eyebrow cocked. “You will?”

  Breathless, Cat pressed the heel of her hand to his chest like an outmatched prizefighter. His outpouring had almost totally overwhelmed her, but she desperately needed time to think this through! “I said okay—to the indecent proposal—maybe to that other thing.” She swallowed thickly. “I’m not sure I want to be a politician’s wife.”

  This time Blake took her reaction for exactly what it was. Resistance. She was a woman in want of more tangible persuasions. “Oh, I think you do,” he said, laughing, flashing a silvery warning with his eyes. “In fact, I think you want it bad. I think you’re dying to be a politician’s wife.”

  Cat felt something seize up inside her as he caught hold of her hand and brought her fingers to his mouth. She felt the heat of his lips on her flesh, the sexy dart of his tongue.

  His eyes said he could read her body’s reaction, every sharp inner thrill she felt. “You want to be in my bed as much as I want you there, Cat. You want to make love, amazing love . . . and maybe some little politicians.”

  Little politicians?

  “Say it, Cat. Say what I want to hear.”

  “I did . . . maybe.”

  “No, that other thing, that four-letter word.”

  A number of such words flashed through Cat’s head, but she was pretty sure she knew the one he meant. Even the simple act of forming that word in her mind twisted her inside out with angst. It wasn’t something she’d ever said before to a man. It wasn’t something she’d ever felt for a man. But she was feeling it now—in the wild beat of her heart and the misty sting beneath her eyelids. She was coming apart inside, sweetly this time, irresistibly.

  “Say it, Cat. I need to hear it from you.”

  She caught the soft flesh of her lower lip between her teeth. “I suppose I do lov—”

  He pulled her into his arms before she could get the words out, nearly squeezing the breath out of her in his exuberance. “God, I love you!” he said, his voice shaking. “Do you know what you do to me? You open me up. You make me feel.”

  He pulled back to look at her and tenderness flared in his eyes. Tenderness and such a sweet, hungry, sexy blast of love, she was rocked by it. Tears sparkled in her eyes and her lips trembled.

  “I lov—” The words hiked up in Cat’s throat again.

  He laughed, watching her, waiting.

  “Oh, dammit, I l-love you,” she blurted. “I do love you, I’ve always loved you”—her voice wobbled and cracked—“even when I hated you.”

  His low, rich laughter died on her lips. The kiss became a celebration as she flung her arms around his neck and abandoned herself to the joy flooding through her. She loved this man! It was crazy—the craziest thing that had ever happened to her, but she couldn’t fight the feelings anymore.

  Cat’s sweet abandon was interrupted by the pointed sound of a throat clearing behind her. She broke the kiss, startled. A smile flickered in Blake’s eyes as he glanced over her shoulder.

  “It’s the park police,” he whispered.

  Twisting around in Blake’s arms, Cat met the frowning stare of the same policeman who’d interrupted their last rendezvous in the park. The officer nodded at her, then addressed himself to Blake.

  “Excuse me, sir, but this is a public park.”

  Cat felt Blake’s body jerk with l
aughter. She pinched him a good one, then turned her attention to the officer. “It’s okay,” she said, the soul of seriousness. “I’m going to marry him.”

  A Biography of Suzanne Forster

  Suzanne Forster, the New York Times bestselling author of more than forty romance novels, was on a career path to becoming a clinical psychologist until a life-altering car accident changed everything. While recovering, she tried her hand at writing to pass the time and quickly found that it was her true passion. Before she was ready to return to school, her first manuscript had won second place in a contest sponsored by the Romance Writers of America for unpublished writers. Before she knew it, she sold her first novel, Undercover Angel (1985), and embarked on a new path.

  Throughout her career, Forster has made unconventional plot choices for the romance genre, such as setting her novel The Devil and Ms. Moody (1990) in the gritty world of motorcycle gangs, an idea her publisher resisted for years. The hero, Diablo, an intimidating yet tender rogue in black leather who rides a Harley-Davidson, was given the WISH (Women in Search of a Hero) Award by RT Book Reviews. For her Stealth Commandos trilogy she chose mercenaries and bounty hunters as her heroes. Child Bride (1992), the first in the trilogy, became her publisher’s top-selling series romance that year. The romantic thriller The Morning After (2000) appeared on several bestseller lists including the New York Times.

  RT Book Reviews has twice honored Forster’s work, first in 1990 with a Career Achievement Award in Series Sensual Romance, and again in 1996 in the category of Best Contemporary Romantic Suspense. In 1996 she was also a nominee for the Romance Reader’s Anonymous Award for Best Contemporary Author. Her mainstream debut, Shameless (2001), won the National Readers Choice Award. Forster’s 2004 novel Unfinished Business was made into a movie, called Romancing the Bride, for the Oxygen Network.

  Forster lives in Southern California with her husband, and has taught women’s contemporary fiction writing seminars at UCLA and UC Riverside.

  Suzanne at five years old, smiling with her beloved family dog, Duchess. Suzanne was the youngest of four children, and Duchess was passed down to the children as they grew up.