Baby, Hold On

by Stephanie Bond

  The man had an arsenal, all right. He was built like a tank.

  Mike jumped in surprise, but recovered quickly. When he grunted with appreciation at her naked body, she felt her femininity unfold in the face of his hard, muscular planes and his growing erection.

  He pulled her against him and murmured, “I thought you said this was a bad idea.”

  “It still is,” she whispered, then pulled his mouth onto hers for a hard kiss.

  The water pinged off their bodies as they devoured each other’s mouths. He sank his fingers in her hair and she skimmed her fingers down his corded back. The dark springy hair on his chest felt wonderful against her nipples, bringing the tips to hardened buds. He swept his hands down to her buttocks and pulled her up to meet him, grinding his stiff shaft against her stomach. She reached down to clasp the slippery knob and he groaned against her neck. “That feels so good.”

  He palmed her breasts, then dipped his head for a taste of each. Lacey’s knees felt rubbery from the onslaught of sensations arrowing to her womb. She stroked the length of him and when his fingers delved into her slick folds, she sucked in a sharp breath.

  An orgasm swirled low in her stomach, a humming, thrumming energy that made her weak and excited at the same time. She clung to him and he followed her vocal cues, caressing her with greater urgency until she came apart in his arms. She gave up pretense of standing, gave herself over to his support. He kissed her deeply, absorbing her moans, then lifted her out of the shower and carried her to his bed.

  He lay her down, then stepped away to rummage in a toiletry bag. Lacey felt so wanton, lying there just waiting to be taken. She was glad Mike had the presence of mind to retrieve a condom, and roused herself enough to help him roll it onto his large member. Just the size of him sent a thrill through her. And when he thrust into her, filling her completely, she could only sigh in his ear.

  “You feel amazing,” she whispered.

  His eyes were half-closed, glazed with passion. His big bronze body was still wet and glistening. He was glorious, and made her feel utterly female. He stroked the already-sensitive nub of her desire until she cried out in ecstasy again, then wrapped his arms around her and thrust deep to take his own release with a long, shuddering groan that left her shaken to the core.

  This man moved her.

  At length, he stilled, kissed her and pulled away. When he left to dispose of the condom, Lacey sat up gingerly, wondering if she should leave. But when Mike returned, he was wearing a big grin—and holding up another condom.

  *

  Lacey started awake and glanced at the clock on the nightstand—it was almost midnight. She and Mike had spent the entire evening in bed, stopping long enough to raid the refrigerator for cold-chicken sandwiches. He lay next to her sleeping, but their bodies weren’t touching, as if he wasn’t comfortable sharing his bed—overnight anyway. Her body still pulsed, tender and swollen from his attention. She marveled over their physical compatibility…and tried to ignore the disturbing feelings clicking in her chest.

  Like the feeling that she wouldn’t mind if Mike Nichols stuck around Sweetness for a while.

  A storm had blown in. The steady rain would’ve been soothing on the roof if not for the frenetic flashes of lightning through the window and the sporadic boom of thunder.

  From the main room, Sheridan began to whimper, then howl in earnest.

  Lacey got up and grabbed the first article of clothing she could find—Mike’s T-shirt—and pulled it over her head. She opened the door and found Sheridan cowering under the bench as before. He sounded so panic-stricken, her heart went out to the animal.

  “I thought you fixed him.”

  Lacey turned around to find Mike standing there in boxer shorts, hands on hips.

  “I thought you fixed him,” he repeated. His voice rang with accusation.

  She was stung he could talk to her like that, especially after what had just happened between them.

  Then realization dawned: He’d slept with her because he was happy—maybe grateful—she’d “fixed” his dog, not because he’d felt anything special for her.

  “It’s not that simple,” she said, gritting back tears. “I told you, some things can’t be fixed.”

  Lacey got down on her stomach and inched forward until she could hold Sheridan’s head and make him look into her eyes. It was dark under the piece of furniture, the dog wouldn’t care if she cried.

  So she let the tears fall and said the same comforting words in his ear that she’d used to soothe her pet Max after her father had left when she was seven years old. During those unhappy days when her mother had been buried in melancholy and her sister had been busy consoling their mother, Max had been her salvation.

  At length, Sheridan quieted and his tail thumped on the floor. She coaxed him out and back to his bed, where he circled a few times before settling down. The storm still raged overhead. Lacey pulled the curtains closed, scrupulously avoiding eye contact with Mike, who stood like a sentry in the dark, silent and condemning.

  “I’ll leave tomorrow,” she murmured. “You can have a refund.”

  “Lacey—”

  “Don’t,” she cut in, chopping the air with her hand. “From the very beginning, you made it clear you don’t trust me. But I agreed to try to help Sheridan anyway, because I felt sorry for him and frankly, because I needed the money. But I told you there were no guarantees. I’m sorry you’re disappointed, but I won’t let you blame me for Sheridan’s setback.”

  She turned and marched to her bedroom. Once there, she closed the door and exhaled heavily, then crawled into the bed and removed a handkerchief from her nightstand to wipe a fresh crop of tears.

  This was a personal record, she mused—discarded by a man while she could still feel the imprint of his body on hers.

  The storm raging outside rivaled the one in her head and in her heart. She shouldn’t care what the man thought of her…it was ridiculous to have feelings for someone so soon…it was her relative inexperience that made her feel this way.

  A few minutes later, a knock sounded on her door. She decided to pretend she was asleep until Mike went away. Instead, he knocked again, this time louder.

  “Lacey,” he called, his voice urgent. “I need your help.”

  She frowned and pushed to her feet, then walked to the door. She opened it a few inches. “Mike, I don’t think—”

  “A boy is lost.”

  She realized he was fully dressed. “What?”

  “Barry just called. A young boy is lost—Benjamin Tyler?”

  Her mind went back to the towheaded boys who’d petted Sheridan. “I know him. He’s a twin. What happened?”

  “Apparently he and his brother set a fire and he ran away, probably afraid to go home.”

  Lightning crashed above the roof.

  “He’s out in this storm?” Lacey’s heart rate picked up speed.

  Mike nodded, his face grim. “I’m going to join the search party, but Barry asked me if Sheridan was ready for tracking.” He straightened. “What do you think?”

  She swallowed hard, surprised and flattered he’d ask her opinion. She looked past him to where Sheridan lay sleeping, no doubt spent from the recent incident. “Aren’t other dogs from the center available?”

  “He has two, but they’re area dogs. With this rain, time is of the essence because the scent is being washed away.” He dragged his hand down his face. “My gut tells me to take him out to see if he even responds, but…”

  “But taking him out in a storm like this could result in a setback he might not recover from,” she finished.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. So…what should I do?”

  Lacey pressed her lips together. “A little boy’s life is at stake. You have to try.”

  He gave a curt nod. “Right. Will you go with me? You have such a way with Sheridan, I think it’ll help.”

  She hesitated.

  “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I was
out of line. Don’t do this for me—do it for Sheridan…and the boy.”

  Lacey nodded. “I’ll be out in five minutes.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The fact that Sheridan balked at walking out of the cabin into the thunderstorm did not bode well for a successful search, Mike acknowledged with a knot in his stomach. He picked up his dog and carried him through the driving rain to the SUV, then deposited him in the rear seat.

  Lacey climbed into the passenger seat, her face taut with anxiety. She looked small dressed in a jacket and hat he’d lent her, both of which swallowed her.

  Remorse hit him hard for the way he’d talked to her earlier, blaming her for Sheridan’s relapse, when he had her to thank for what progress his dog had made. He’d panicked when Sheridan had backslid into the anxiety attack, had felt guilty for indulging himself while neglecting his dog who had sacrificed so much over the years for strangers. He’d lashed out at Lacey in fear for his dog. But the sweet, sexy woman didn’t deserve anything but his gratitude. Even now, she sat twisted in her seat, stroking Sheridan to keep him calm.

  With hands that had been stroking him not so long ago, with the opposite effect. The woman had rocked his world.

  He banished the thoughts from his mind and started the SUV, wheeling toward the gathering spot Barry had directed him to. It wasn’t far, but the rain made driving treacherous, especially on Clover Ridge where lightning strikes provided the most illumination. The wind howled and bent smaller trees in half. Downed limbs were strewn across the road, and leaves stuck to the windshield. About a mile from the site, a tree across the road stopped them. There was no driving around it.

  Mike killed the engine. “Looks like we’ll have to walk from here.” He glanced over at Lacey. “Are you up for it?” He knew before she answered that she was, that this little slip of a woman was as strong as she was tenderhearted.

  She didn’t respond because she was already out of the vehicle. Sheridan hesitated when Mike opened the door, but finally jumped out, his feet tentative when they hit the slippery asphalt. Mike handed Lacey a flashlight and Sheridan’s leash while he shouldered the two bags of emergency equipment he always stored in the vehicle.

  They were soaked in less than a minute. They climbed over the downed tree, then followed the road until they saw a row of vehicles. It seemed many people had come out to look for the little boy. An older man directed them down through the woods, which made for a slick, tricky descent. Mike kept his eye on Lacey, wishing he could help her, but she was soldiering on, urging Sheridan forward. At length they reached a clearing where groups of people were mobilizing. Mike recognized Marcus, Kendall, and Porter Armstrong directing what looked like an army of men.

  “Mike, over here!”

  He swung his head to see Barry waving his arm from a tent that had been erected, probably as a home base and a place to get out of the weather. He turned to make sure Lacey and Sheridan were following, then headed toward where his friend stood next to two SAR dogs—both German shepherds—and a distraught-looking man Mike presumed was the boy’s father.

  “Glad you made it,” Barry said, clapping him on the back. “I see you brought Sheridan.”

  Mike grunted. “I’m not going to lie to you, man. I don’t know if he’s up for this.”

  Barry looked grim. “Let’s hope he is, because we have to find this boy. He was due an insulin shot three hours ago. These dogs haven’t been able to pick up his scent. Sheridan might be our last chance.”

  Mike’s chest tightened. “Is this where the boy was last seen?”

  Barry nodded and handed him a clear plastic bag that held a dark garment. “We found his jacket by that eucalyptus tree. The father confirmed it’s Benjamin’s. He was wearing a yellow ball cap and jeans, blue tennis shoes.” Barry introduced him to Carl Tyler.

  “Please find my son,” the man said in a choked voice.

  Mike swallowed against the lump in his throat. “My dog and I will do our best, sir.”

  But when he crouched down next to Sheridan, he was struck through with fear. His dog was trembling in the rain, flinching every time thunder boomed overhead. Mike looked up at Lacey. “I need for you to do your thing.”

  Lacey seemed surprised, but immediately sank to her knees on the wet ground and took Sheridan’s face in her hands. She maintained intense eye contact, forcing the dog to do the same. Then she massaged the thick, wet fur of his neck and leaned forward to whisper things in Sheridan’s ear Mike couldn’t hear. But he could see the way his dog slowly came alive. His tail thumped against the ground and his ears perked up. When Lacey drew back, Sheridan barked and stood at attention.

  Mike opened the plastic bag and withdrew the damp jacket, shielding it from the elements. “Sheridan, this is Benjamin.” He held out the garment.

  Sheridan’s nose twitched, then he took a few good whiffs and barked.

  Mike unhooked the leash from his collar. “Find Benjamin.”

  Sheridan bounded into action, his nose against the ground as he searched for the scent. Barry waved everyone back from the area, and every eye was on Sheridan in the darkness as he roamed the soggy area, sniffing and moving his head back and forth. He meandered in what seemed like a directionless route, crossing the same area and his own tracks many times. Mike watched, his heart pounding against his breastbone. The rain continued to pour down steadily, turning the ground into sludge.

  When Sheridan stopped suddenly and his long tail went up, Mike almost shouted in jubilation—he recognized his dog’s “alert.” He’d detected the scent and now had someplace to start.

  And suddenly, Sheridan was off.

  Mike snagged the bag of emergency supplies and hurried after him. Then he stopped and looked back at Lacey standing there soaked through, looking like a lost child herself in the illumination of her flashlight. He went back to her and reached out his hand. “Let’s go.”

  Even in the darkness, her green eyes shone wide and bright. She smiled and took his hand and they ran after Sheridan. Barry would know how to organize a band of volunteers to follow them at a distance.

  It took them one long, wet hour to cover the first mile, then Sheridan lost the scent next to Timber Creek—now a raging river—and became frustrated. About that time, the storm turned for the worse. Mike lost count of the lightning strikes around them, and the thunder seemed to explode from the sky. Sheridan began to whimper and flinch at the noise, becoming more and more distracted. Mike exchanged a worried glance with Lacey. Rain dripped off the edge of her nose. She had to be exhausted, he realized, yet she hadn’t missed a step as they’d tromped through mud and brambly underbrush. Unbidden, his heart jerked sideways—here was a woman who would be a true partner to a man…if he were the kind of man looking to settle down.

  “There’s something!” she shouted, pointing at the creek.

  Mike turned his head, already moving in that direction. He swept his flashlight over the area. In a bush at the edge of the bloated creek was a child’s yellow ball cap. His stomach churned—finding a piece of clothing in water was almost never a good sign. He waded in and managed to snag the cap. Inside were the letters BT.

  “It’s the boy’s,” he shouted back to Lacey. He started wading back, planning to offer the item to Sheridan as an interim reward.

  But a crack of lightning as loud as a gunshot followed by a deafening boom of thunder elicited a yelp from Sheridan. The dog shot into the woods. Mike could only watch in dismay and hope his dog hadn’t suffered a complete breakdown. But from the howling and barking in the distance, it did sound as if Sheridan was in distress. Mike hurried from the water, ignoring his heavy clothing and boots.

  He was almost sick thinking they could be so close to the boy yet not see him. He jammed the phone to his mouth and told Barry what they found, and where, then pushed forward through dense underbrush, trying to clear the way with his big body for Lacey to follow. The howling turned to frantic barking, and it sounded as if Sheridan had stopped running, at least.
The terrain became more rugged as they climbed, and the footing was more treacherous. They made arduous headway up a steep incline. Worse, Mike had the bad feeling they would find Sheridan chasing his tail, or curled up somewhere in a ditch, afraid to move.

  So when he rounded a corner and the beam from his flashlight caught his dog, it took a few seconds to process what he was seeing.

  Sheridan, with his paw on the chest of a small boy. He barked happily at Mike, and the little boy shifted. It was the closest Mike had ever come in his life to breaking down.

  Behind him, Lacey gasped, then her face broke into a huge grin. It felt natural to pull her into a happy embrace, but the fullness in his chest at the feel of her small body jammed up against his felt…disquieting. He released her, then brought up Barry’s number on his phone. “Sheridan found Benjamin,” he said, hearing the pride in his own voice. “The boy’s alive. Get a medic up here.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “A happy ending all around,” Rachel Hutchins said.

  “Yes,” Lacey agreed while she rang up the bill for Nigel’s grooming session. Her heart still swelled when she thought of the moment she and Mike had found Sheridan standing over little Benjamin Tyler. The sheer determination and the teamwork of the man and his dog left her breathless with admiration. “I saw the twins out playing yesterday. Ben’s mother says he’s doing great.”

  Rachel leaned in with a smile. “Good publicity for Sweetness, too. And for the dog training center. Barry asked Mike Nichols to stay here and teach at the facility.”

  Lacey’s heart lurched. “He did?”

  “But Mike said no.”

  Her heart sank. “He did?”

  Rachel nodded, oblivious to the cardio workout she was giving Lacey. “He’s leaving today, I think.”