Only by Your Touch

by Catherine Anderson

  When the second song finally ended, he led her back to their table. Chloe nursed her wine. He tossed back the Jack and Seven, then signaled the waitress for another round.

  “Not for me, thanks.” Chloe set her nearly full goblet back down on the table. “I’m a lightweight. I probably won’t finish this.”

  At the end of an hour when they returned to the Bronco, Bobby Lee had a gleam in his eye that made Chloe uneasy. When she asked if he should drive, he waved aside her question and laughed, saying he was fine. As he drove from the parking lot, she said, “This has been fun, and I really appreciate your ending the evening early.”

  Expecting him to hang a left onto Shoshone, Chloe flashed him a startled look when he kept driving north. “Uh—Bobby Lee—you passed my turnoff.”

  He flipped on the stereo. “Relax, honey. Just one little detour.”

  Chloe’s alarm mounted when she realized he was driving toward the river. “It’s getting late, Bobby Lee. I really do need to get home.”

  Ignoring her objection, he just kept driving. Chloe’s muscles knotted with tension when the lights of Jack Pine were eclipsed by woodland darkness. To increase her apprehension, there were no other cars on State Rec Road, which made her feel frighteningly disconnected from other people.

  A few minutes later, Bobby Lee parked near the river, cut the engine, and unbuckled his seat belt. Without the dash lights to brighten the Bronco’s interior, Chloe could barely make out his features. He leaned across the console to unfasten her safety restraint as well. Then, without a word, he snaked out a hand, clamped it over the back of her neck, and dragged her toward him.

  “Bobby Lee, what are you—?”

  The breath whooshed from her lungs when his other arm clamped around her. Despite her panicked attempt to extricate herself from his hold, he pulled her across the plastic compartment between the seats and onto his lap. His mouth covered hers, his teeth shoving her lips back as his tongue thrust deep. For several moments, Chloe was plunged back into the past, and fear almost paralyzed her.

  He was strong. Terrifyingly so. And to Chloe’s frightened mind, he seemed to have six hands. She struggled helplessly against him, her brain so frozen with shock that she could recall none of the self-defense moves her brother Rob had taught her.

  She heard buttons pop, felt the front of her silk blouse fall open, and then his hands were on her, his fingers digging brutally through the lacy cups of her bra. Chloe whimpered into his mouth, shoved ineffectually at his shoulders. Oh, God. He meant to rape her. With her hip wedged under the steering wheel, she couldn’t get enough distance between their bodies to knee him in the groin.

  Chloe’s mind reeled with memories of Roger and how helpless she’d felt the few times he turned his strength against her. If anything, Bobby Lee was even stronger. A burning sensation scored her breast. She realized he was clawing at the cups of her bra, and that he’d scratched her in the process.

  Red blurred the edges of her vision. With a violent twist of her head, she managed to wrench her mouth from his. “Let me go, Bobby Lee!”

  He made a fist on her hair, bringing tears to her eyes. His face hovering a scant inch from hers, he grated out, “You got something against cops? If you want to keep your goddamned job, you better treat me nice. With one word, I can get your sweet little ass fired.”

  Chloe rammed the heel of her right hand hard against his nose. He grunted and grabbed for his face. She seized the moment to scramble away from him. Thank you, Rob. Once on the other side of the Bronco, she grabbed her purse, threw open the door, and spilled gracelessly out of the vehicle.

  Shaking with outrage, she spun to cry, “I don’t care that much about the job, you jerk! You can shove it where it’ll never again see daylight!”

  Recovered from the nose jab, he tossed open his door, as well. “Oh, yeah?” he cried as he piled out. “Think long and hard about that, darlin’. You’ll be hard-put to feed that kid, standing in the unemployment lines.”

  Afraid he might jump her again, Chloe ran toward the woods. “I’d rather go on welfare than be touched by the likes of you!”

  “Good, ’cause that’s where you’ll end up, on welfare!” he yelled after her. “I don’t spend a hundred bucks on a woman without getting something in return.”

  Chloe wasn’t about to delay her escape long enough to remind him that she’d offered to pick up her own tab. When she reached the trees, she ducked behind a stout trunk, pressed her spine to the bark, and tried to breathe shallowly so he couldn’t follow the sounds. Something in return? She’d heard of men who thought that way, but she’d never had the misfortune of actually dating one.

  “You’re a long way from town, little lady,” he hollered.

  Little lady. What a pompous, chauvinistic ass he was. She should have heeded her instincts and canceled the date.

  “I’ll leave you out here, damn it. Put out or walk, your choice.”

  Put out? He was disgusting. Chloe shivered, silently sending up heartfelt prayers that he’d get back in the Bronco and drive away.

  “There are bears and cougars out here!” Anger throbbed in his voice now. “I’m the lesser of two evils. You were quick enough to start fucking Longtree. Why not me?”

  Chloe gulped down a retort. That was undoubtedly his intent, to make her so furious she gave away her location.

  His voice turned wheedling. “Come on, Chloe. All I did was get fresh. I’m a little drunk, okay? Come back, and I’ll behave myself, swear to God.”

  Right. She was staying put. If she hadn’t landed a good one on his schnozzle, she’d be in big trouble right now.

  “Fine, then. You wanna walk? Okay by me!” She heard him stomp back to the vehicle. A door slammed. Then, “The cell phone reception sucks out here, by the way. Enjoy your hike home. Just desserts, if you ask me.”

  A second door slammed closed. An instant later, the Ford’s engine roared to life, and its tires peeled out on the loose gravel. Chloe stayed put for several minutes to make sure he didn’t come back. When she deemed it safe, she drew her phone from her purse with shaking hands. When she turned it on, the illuminated window said, NO SERVICE. Unlike the Seattle area, Central Oregon was rife with dead zones where cellular signals couldn’t reach.

  “Blast it!” she cried.

  An owl hooted somewhere nearby, then swooped from its perch, filling the air with a rushing sound just above her head. Chloe ducked, swung to one side, and dropped the cell phone. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

  The faint glow of the phone saved her from having to crawl around on her hands and knees to find it. She grabbed it, stuffed it into her purse, and made her way back to the parking area. In the dark, she tripped every few steps, which drove home to her that she was way out in the woods somewhere. If she fell and got hurt, no one but that jerk would know where to look for her.

  Once on the road, Chloe draped her purse strap over her shoulder and tried to fix her blouse. Hopeless. In the moonlight, she could see a long, deep scratch on her right breast, just above the edge of her bra. The knowledge that Bobby Lee’s fingernail had inflicted the wound made her feel contaminated.

  Remembering how he had pawed her, Chloe started to shake, and her belly rolled with nausea. She’d meant it about the job. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would induce her to work in the same building with him again. He might catch her alone. No way. She didn’t need any job that badly.

  Hugging her blazer close against the night air, she trudged along the shoulder of the road, her fury mounting with every step. Her two-inch heels were comfortable walking shoes in town, but they’d not been designed for country roads. She kept stepping on rocks and almost turning her ankle.

  She was seriously tempted to file charges. He’d threatened to get her fired from her job, hoping to coerce her into having sex with him, and he’d tried to use physical force as well. If she lodged a formal complaint, he would be in deep trouble. Ha! Maybe he’ll be the one standing in the unemployment line.
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br />   The notion no sooner took root in Chloe’s mind than she discarded it as a bad plan. If she filed charges, it would be her word against his. He was a law enforcement officer, and she was nobody. Who was a judge going to believe? She didn’t need that kind of stress in her life right now when no good was likely to come of it.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d do for money until she found another job. If worse came to worst, she could always call her dad. She hated to ask him to dip into his retirement fund, but she knew he’d do it if she really needed help. If it came down to that, she’d pay him back with interest.

  One thing was for certain: tomorrow morning she would tell Sheriff Lang what had occurred and quit the job without notice. If anyone else asked why, she’d just say she had irreconcilable differences with one of her superiors.

  The thought of being without an income was frightening. As the first wave of panic washed over her, she straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin. She could have been raped. She would not, absolutely would not whine and whimper because the stupid job hadn’t worked out.

  The owl hooted again, reminding her how completely alone she was. Better to stay focused on her present problems than to obsess about empty cupboards and unpaid bills.

  Lengthening her stride, she plucked the cell phone from her purse again to see if it was working yet. No such luck. Okay, fine. She was young, and in fairly good shape. If she couldn’t call for a ride, she’d just have to hoof it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ben turned left onto Shoshone Road, taking the turn so sharply that the grocery sacks slid across the seat toward him. The deejay at Country Best, 105.3, came over the radio, saying, “And now, listeners, we’ve got George Strait to serenade you as the clock strikes midnight.”

  The song began, and Ben had just started to sing along when a woman walking along the edge of the road loomed in his headlights. She wore gray, of all the stupid things. What was she trying to do, get herself killed?

  Just as Ben thought that, the woman veered off the road, jumped across the bar ditch, and plunged into the thick brush and small trees growing at the other side. Watching in his rearview mirror, Ben caught only a glimpse of her from the front, but that was all it took to make him slam on the brakes. Chloe? What was she doing out here at this time of night? And why was she diving for cover?

  Battling the grocery sacks, he leaned over to throw open the passenger door. Locked. Damn it. Easing off the brake pedal, he shifted into first gear, steered the pickup onto the gravel that bordered the asphalt, and then backed up so the headlights were trained on her hiding place. There wasn’t enough room to get the vehicle completely out of the traffic lane, so he turned on the flashers, shifted to neutral, and set the emergency brake.

  “Chloe?” he called as he exited the Ford. No answer. He strode over to the ditch. Aided by the headlight glare, he glimpsed movement in the brush. He narrowed his eyes. “Chloe?” he said again, wondering why she wouldn’t answer him.

  Growing truly alarmed, Ben jumped across the ditch. The instant his feet touched down, she flew up from the bushes. Blessed with sharp night vision and lightning-quick reflexes, Ben saw her swinging a branch at him and threw up an arm to shield his head. The force of the blow snapped the tinder-dry weapon in half, rendering it useless.

  She sobbed and scrambled backwards, almost tripping and falling when her feet caught in the tangle of roots. In the glare of the headlights, her face was stark white, her eyes huge pools of fear.

  “Get away!” she cried, poking at him with the broken stick. “I mean it. One step closer, and I’ll stab you!”

  In that instant, Ben realized the lights were blinding her and she couldn’t tell who he was. And her blouse, stained with blood at the bodice, had been ripped almost off her.

  “Chloe, it’s me, Ben,” he tried. She didn’t seem to register the words. “Ben Longtree?”

  Her already huge eyes went even wider as she strained to see his features. “Ben?” she repeated shakily.

  He turned so the light would touch his face. She stared up at him. Then, trembling with delayed reaction, she slowly lowered the stick. “Oh, God, I hit you. I’m so sorry. I thought it was him.”

  Him?

  “At this time of night,” she went on, “there isn’t much traffic. I thought it was him. Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

  If it hadn’t been for the condition she was in, Ben might have smiled. Babe Ruth couldn’t have swung that rotten branch with enough force to inflict injury.

  “I’m fine,” he assured her, thinking that the same couldn’t be said for her. She was shaking violently, and her small face was so pale it alarmed him. He was afraid to move for fear he might startle her. The sprawl of his shadow, cast by the headlights, reminded him just how large he must appear to her. “The question is, are you okay?”

  The fact that she didn’t try to straighten her clothing and cover her chest told Ben she was treading perilously close to shock. He wanted to lend her the support of his arm, but he was afraid to touch her.

  “Oh, I’m okay,” she said hollowly. Then she looked stupidly at the stick in her hand as if wondering how it had come to be there. Her hair was a wild tangle of curls around her heart-shaped face, the strands peppered with twigs and bits of leaves. “Just a little shaken up.”

  Ben decided the best course of action was to focus on the practical, giving her a moment to collect herself. “When I first saw you, you were carrying a purse. Do you know where you dropped it?”

  She turned to stare blankly around. “Somewhere,” she replied, which was no help at all.

  Ben executed a search, taking care that he made no sudden moves. He found her handbag lying at the base of a bush. “Here it is.” The top wasn’t zipped, so he parted the folds and tipped the purse toward the light to peer inside. He didn’t think anything important had fallen out. Her wallet and cell phone were there.

  Keeping his distance, he offered her the bag. She dropped the broken branch to take the purse, holding it in front of her by the straps. Ben had the uneasy feeling she might clobber him again if he got too close.

  He gestured at the ditch. “Ladies usually go first, but let’s change the rules this time so I can help you across.”

  She nodded. He leaped over, then turned to offer her a hand. He wasn’t sure if she’d take it, but she surprised him and laid her slender fingers across his. Closing his grip, he steadied her as she made the jump, catching her from falling when she reached the other side.

  Before guiding her onto the road, Ben glanced in both directions to make sure no cars were coming. Then he turned back to Chloe. She just stood there, staring at him. He released his hold on her and retreated a step, giving her the distance he sensed that she needed.

  “What are you doing out here, Chloe?” he asked, pitching his voice to be heard over the truck engine.

  She took a moment to digest the question. Ben saw the confusion in her expression give way to relief and then a flash of anger. “My forking cell phone wouldn’t work. Can you believe it? I couldn’t call anyone to come get me.”

  Forking? If he hadn’t been so concerned about her, he might have smiled. “The phone reception’s usually good in Jack Pine.”

  “I’m not coming from Jack Pine. I got stranded at the river. I took that dirt road that cuts across from the State Rec Road.”

  “You walked?” It was a five-mile trek. He wanted to ask how she’d found her way in the dark, being so new to the area, but for now, he had more pressing concerns, namely to get one very upset lady into his pickup before they caused an accident. “That’s a far piece.”

  Ben took a cautious step toward her again, assessing her physical condition. He hadn’t been seeing things; there was blood on her blouse. Now that they were closer to the headlights, he could determine the source, a deep scratch, perhaps two inches long, just above the lacy cup of her bra.

  “Are you badly hurt?”

  “I’m fine.” Her
chin came up. “Mad, but fine.”

  It looked to him as if she were holding herself together by sheer force of will. He wanted to gather her into his arms. The proud lift of her chin forestalled him. “Get in,” he settled for saying. “I’ll give you a ride.”

  “What’re you doing out here?” she asked.

  “Grocery shopping while my mom’s asleep. I don’t have to worry about her that way.”

  Giving her a wide berth, he went to the passenger side of the pickup. After opening the door, he set two of the grocery sacks on the backseat of the quad cab to make room for her up front, then moved well away so she could approach the vehicle without feeling threatened.

  She took a lurching step toward him. His gaze shot to her feet. In the headlights, he saw that the heel on one of her pumps had broken off. When she reached the truck, she just stood there, staring as if she couldn’t think how to climb in. Ben’s heart caught. He grasped her elbow to give her a boost and said, “There’s a hand grip to your right.”

  Still, she just stood there. Ben thought, Well, shit, this is worse than I thought.

  “When you pulled up, I thought it was him again.” She pushed ineffectually at her hair with a trembling hand. “After driving off the first time, he parked at a pull-off along State Rec Road and waited to ambush me when I got there. It scared me half to death when he came roaring up behind me. I hid and waited until he finally gave up and left, but after that, I kept expecting him to come back.”

  Judging by the state of her clothing, she’d had reason to be terrified. Ben bit down hard on his back teeth. His hands knotted into fists. By nature, he wasn’t a violent man, but there were times when an injustice could be righted only with a good ass-kicking.

  She dragged in a quivery breath. “He would have been sorry, I can tell you that. My hip’s not wedged under a steering wheel now.” She angled him a burning look. “My brother taught me self-defense.”