Out of the Dark

by Justine Davis

  “A little. It’ll pass,” she said, tearing off the check.

  “Well, I’m glad you finally got some real help.” Marcy’s eyes twinkled. “And I must say, you have superb taste.”

  Tory blinked. “I do?”

  “That is one prime hunk of male,” the woman teased.

  Tory knew she was gaping, but couldn’t help it. “Cole? Cole was here?”

  “If that’s his name. Tall, built, gorgeous blue eyes with eyelashes a woman would kill for and a backside that—”

  “Yes,” Tory interrupted, knowing exactly what that backside could do to an otherwise sane woman. “That’s him.”

  “Like I said, you’ve got superb taste.”

  And he tasted superb. The silly phrase flashed through her mind before she could stop it, just as a blush rose in her cheeks before she could fight it down.

  “Mmm-hmm. That’s what I thought. He got this look in his eyes when I mentioned you. Oh, I do hope you’re... enjoying yourself, Tory. You’ve been alone far too long. And what a way to break the dry spell!”

  Tory nearly gasped. She stared at the woman, but there was no sign of anything other than a teasing goodwill in her face or voice. Still, the memory of that kiss by the spring made her voice a little sharp.

  “I’m not ‘enjoying’ anything. He just...works for me, okay? There’s nothing...like that going on between us.”

  “Hmm” was all Marcy said.

  Tory’s brows furrowed. “What was he in here for? He’s not sick, is he?”

  Marcy’s eyes twinkled. “Er...no. I just helped him find something.”

  “Oh.” Something about Marcy’s smile made her feel awkward. “Thanks for having these ready,” she said, picking up the package of pills.

  “No problem.”

  She started to turn away, then remembered that awful feeling of isolation she’d felt this afternoon. She turned back.

  “And thanks for...everything else, too, Marcy. I didn’t mean to be rude. Things just are...a little complicated right now.”

  Marcy smiled brightly. “That’s okay. I understand. You take care of that sexy uncle of yours, now.”

  Tory laughed, feeling much better. “I’ll tell him you said that.”

  “You do that,” Marcy said. “I declare, if I was single, I’d set my cap for him in a minute.”

  “I’ll tell him that, too,” Tory said, grinning as she waved a farewell to the woman. And she would, just to see Hobie turn red. Feeling much more cheerful, she left the store.

  * * *

  “Cindy, darlin’, I just knew you were the one I’ve been lookin’ for,” Cole said, slipping easily back into the heavy drawl of his rodeo days. It seemed to be working as well now as it had then. The platinum blonde who was draped across his lap was eating it up. That he wasn’t enjoying it at all was another matter.

  “Honey, all your lookin’ just ended,” she drawled back, running a finger—tipped with a long, bloodred nail—along his cheekbone.

  There was no reason for him not to enjoy it. True, this hadn’t been his intent when he’d strolled into this bar. He’d come because Hobie had told him about the place. Whitey Whitson’s tavern was notorious for two things in Summer Springs—the purity of the booze, in particular the homemade variety, and the general impurity of its patrons, male and female. This was where the working people came, contrasting with the upper-crust tendencies of many of the ranch owners themselves. Despite the clientele, Whitson’s formidable presence—the ex-marine was actually bigger than Cole—kept the place orderly; no one dared argue with his rules.

  Hobie had explained that, kept from fighting, the patrons were generally reduced to talking—about anything and everything. Cole had meant merely to probe the clientele for what information they had about what was going on on the Flying Clown. But when the blonde had made her invitation so blatantly clear, he’d decided she could provide what he needed as well as anyone.

  She looked like a regular, judging from her seeming familiarity with the bartender, and the knowing glances he was getting from the men over at the pool table. She should know as much as anyone here. Probably more. Besides, maybe this was what he needed—a reminder of the kind of woman he should stick to. He had no business sniffing around Tory Flynn, no matter what effect she had on him.

  And the blonde was certainly an adequate substitute, he told himself. She had a nice figure, perfect features and a mouth that made a man think of things that were still illegal in some states. By rights he should be in cowboy heaven, anticipating all kinds of heated activity later.

  He wasn’t. And it was all he could do to keep it from showing. Even his usually cooperative body wasn’t participating. No doubt, he thought dryly, because his mind was running at a full gallop. And in a direction the lounging Cindy would hardly appreciate.

  She’d probably wail if she broke one of those nails, he thought. And even though he knew it wasn’t any worse than what he saw every day in L.A., her makeup seemed a bit heavy-handed to him. He doubted she ever pulled that full, fluffed and, he had to admit, striking fall of pale curls into a bouncy ponytail. And he’d be willing to bet she never bit those soft, red lips. But then, he’d bet those lips would never curve into a full, joyous smile at the sight of a frolicking horse, either. He doubted that they ever responded so innocently, so delightedly to something so simple. And he couldn’t quite picture her letting that horse drench her with water. Unless it was for a reason.

  Purposely, he let his gaze lower to her breasts, trying to picture her in a wet shirt, nipples taut. It wasn’t difficult; her cropped blouse made the most of her generous attributes. And the minute she saw where his gaze had moved, she seemed to try and make certain he noticed she was braless.

  Nothing. Not even a twinge of interest. With her breasts in his face and her bottom rubbing all over him, he didn’t feel a damned thing. And that was enough to scare him out of thinking about it any longer. It was time to get to work, anyway.

  “So, tell me, darlin’” he said. “You live around here?”

  “All my life.” There was a sour note in her voice that told him she wasn’t happy about the fact. But she brightened a little when she bragged, “My daddy owns one of the biggest thoroughbred ranches in the valley.”

  And I’ll bet you’re a trial to him, Cole thought. “Congratulations,” he said, then winced inwardly. That had sounded a bit sarcastic. He thickened the drawl. “You must know pretty near everybody around here, then.”

  “Oh, I do,” Cindy said, snuggling closer. “And I know you’re new. I’d never forget seeing a man like you.”

  “Why, thank you, darlin’. You’re pretty unforgettable yourself.” He cleared his throat; this wasn’t quite as easy as it used to be, after all. He gave her what he hoped was a suggestive look. “I might even want to look into staying around here for a while. Know where a man might find work around here?”

  She seemed to light up at that. “Oh, I’m sure my daddy could find something for you.” She leaned forward and batted her eyelashes at him. He’d never really seen that done before, and he had to smother a laugh. “I usually don’t get involved with that boring old ranch, but for you, I’d ask him.”

  I’ll just bet you would, he thought. But he gave her the slightly crooked smile that had always worked before, in the days when he’d been young and had had no compunction about using his looks as a tool.

  “Now, that might not be such a great idea, honey. I mean, I’m not much for messin’ with the boss’s daughter, if you get my drift.”

  Amazingly, she blushed prettily. Or maybe she didn’t, maybe it was just that she was acting like she was blushing prettily. He couldn’t tell here in the bar’s low light.

  “I drove in past a neat lookin’ little place. Kinda liked the name. ‘The Flying Clown,’ it said.”

  Her brows—considerably darker than the silver-blond of her hair—furrowed. “The Flynn place? Oh, no, baby, you don’t want that. They used to be hot stuff, but there’
s been some bad things going on there lately, and they may be in big trouble soon.”

  Cole’s stomach knotted. It was clearly general knowledge now. “Bad things?”

  She nodded. “Couple of horses died, or maybe three, I don’t recall.”

  “Died of what?”

  She shrugged. “Colic, I think. Bad feed, people say. Folks are saying it’s their fault, and are pulling their horses out of training there. They’re probably gonna get sued and everything. Believe me, you don’t want to get tangled up with them.”

  Cole tried to look suitably appalled. It wasn’t hard. He was feeling a little sick to know the rumors had gone so far. Hobie and Tory’s troubles were getting deeper fast.

  “Didn’t look like the kind of place where they’d get that sloppy,” he said.

  Cindy’s nose wrinkled. “It seems strange to me, too,” she admitted. “That Flynn girl, she’s an odd one. A loner, you know? Kind of prissy, but she lives for those horses. That’s all she does. Doesn’t seem like she’d let something like that happen.”

  At her words, Cole felt a twinge of guilt for feeling so rancorous toward the woman. And the smile he gave her then seemed to show it, because she smiled back widely. She leaned in closer. Cole heard the bar’s door swing open, and had the fleeting wish that whoever it was would stand there for a minute and let in some air. In close quarters, Cindy’s perfume was a bit overpowering.

  “But let’s not talk about that,” she said, practically purring. “Let’s talk about us.”

  She punctuated her words with a tiny nip of his earlobe. Cole knew it was meant to be arousing. He knew it had been, for him, in the past. But he felt nothing more than a mild annoyance. And a stronger annoyance at himself as he wondered what the hell was wrong with him.

  Cindy seemed to be wondering, too. She drew back from him a little, frowning. Then something over his shoulder seemed to catch her attention. Her eyes widened.

  “Well, speak of the devil,” she murmured. “She’s never been in here before.”

  Cole froze. He knew, without looking. But still he made himself turn.

  Tory stood there, looking at him with an expression that ripped at his gut. What she was thinking was obvious, written all over her honest, ingenuous face. And before he could even remember to breathe, she turned and ran out.

  Chapter 10

  Tory’s fist ached where she had slammed it against the Jeep’s steering wheel.

  God, she was such a fool.

  She could forgive that in anyone else, she thought as she fumbled with her keys, but not herself. Not a woman who’d grown up with a prime example of the worst kind of using male. Not a woman who knew all too well about too-charming Texans with only one thing on their mind: all the women they can notch on a tooled, silver buckled belt.

  And she’d reacted to the sight of him with another woman like a jilted lover. She didn’t want to think about what that meant, about how far down that primrose path she’d strayed.

  And she had no one to blame but herself. She’d known in the first moment she’d seen him that he was cut from the same cloth as her father. Her instant, gut reaction had been right, and she’d been a simpleton to ignore it just because he made her feel things she’d never felt before. She’d convinced herself there was more to this man—that those flashes she’d seen were real feeling, not the result of a practiced, polished act. And now she was paying the price.

  She swiped at her eyes, furious at the moisture that was pooling there. Then she tried the keys again, managing to slip them into the ignition this time, and swore as a hot, salty tear fell on her bare leg below the hem of her dress.

  She would not cry over this, she ordered herself. She would not cry over him. She wasn’t hurt. She was just... disappointed. That’s all. Disappointed. In him. And much more than disappointed in her own judgment.

  And she was more than a little humiliated at how easily she’d forgotten the hard-learned lessons of her life, as if all it had taken to burn them away was the heat of his kiss.

  She turned the key. The engine fired.

  The Jeep’s door swung open.

  “Tory.”

  She started, her head snapping around to gape at him. She’d been so wrapped in her misery she hadn’t seen him approach. Swiftly she looked away. She would just die if he saw how close she’d been to crying. And she didn’t dare speak, for fear her voice would give her away.

  “Tory, listen, that wasn’t...what it looked like.”

  Fury rose up out of seemingly nowhere, flooding her with nerve-steadying strength. How many times had she heard Jack Flynn say that to her mother? And how many times had she wondered how her mother could ever doubt the wonderful man who was her father?

  She met his eyes then, her own suddenly clear and dry. “It looked like Cindy Crain to me. Which generally means it was exactly what it looked like.”

  His dark brows lowered. “Crain? The Crain you mentioned that might want the ranch? And owned the second horse?”

  So he hadn’t even known that. And she rebuked herself scathingly for even having considered that he might have been romancing the always available Cindy for a reason other than the obvious. Fool, she repeated to herself.

  “Well,” she said with a cool nonchalance that she found, to her surprise, she didn’t have to work too hard for, “that blows that excuse, Mr. Bannister.”

  “What excuse?”

  “That you were working.”

  His brows came up. “I was. I just didn’t know how close she was to the situation.”

  “Close,” she said bitingly, “is Cindy’s specialty. Speaking of which, I’m sure she’s getting impatient.”

  “Look,” he said, sounding exasperated, the same tone her father had perfected, “I was working. I wanted to hear what people were saying about what’s been happening.”

  That made sense, she supposed. And Cindy would be a good source—she never had known how to keep her mouth shut. Lord, she thought, she was still making excuses for him!

  “Hobie told me about this place—” He broke off, looking puzzled for the first time. “Did he send you?”

  She answered the unexpected question without thinking. “No. You got an express package, and I was in town, and I saw your truck, so I was going to tell you. It looks important.”

  “From the office?”

  “Yes, it’s—” She broke off, realizing in disgust that he’d diverted her. Just as her father used to divert her mother when she had asked him where he’d been. “It’s not going anywhere. You’ll see it when you get back.” Her gaze flicked to the door of the tavern. “Or if.”

  “Right,” he muttered. He let out a harassed-sounding sigh, looking as if he regretted having come after her. And then, slowly, something that looked like resigned determination turned his eyes that steel blue color once more.

  “I’ll get there when I get there,” he said, his voice now cool and indifferent.

  “I’m sure you will,” Tory retorted, hating herself for being stung by his tone. “And not a minute sooner.”

  “What’s wrong, little girl? Don’t like finding out you were right?”

  She straightened up; she’d betrayed enough to this man already. “I don’t like finding out Hobie can be as poor a judge of people as I can.”

  Something flickered in his gaze then, but it was gone so swiftly she couldn’t put a name to it. “People change,” he said flatly.

  “Yes, I suppose they do. Too bad you changed from whoever it was Hobie trusted to...to...”

  “A shell, darlin’.” His voice was an exaggerated drawl now. “Just a big, strong facade, without a damned thing behind it. It’d pay for you—and Hobie—to remember that.”

  He turned on his heel then, and strode back into Whitey’s without a backward glance.

  Tory sat staring after him, shaken, both by his words and the devastating conviction of truth that had rung in his voice. No matter how damning the words he’d just spoken of himself, Cole Bannister
believed every one of them.

  And, perversely, that very conviction shook Tory’s own belief in his innate emptiness. She couldn’t deny what she had just seen. And now she wasn’t sure she’d been wrong about the feeling of self-loathing she had sensed that first day in his office. Any man capable of being that down on himself, of speaking of himself so acidly, had to have emotions that ran deep. Real emotions, the likes of which she would have thought impossible to find in the kind of man she thought he was.

  And suddenly she thought of Rocky. The last thing she would have expected was that that kind of man would show up with a pet cat, too. Rocky was his, whether he admitted it or not. She hadn’t missed the dish he’d been using to feed the animal, despite his efforts to keep it hidden.

  She sat there, her thoughts whirling. When she realized that some of the men heading for Whitey’s were noticing her presence in the parking lot, she hastily put the Jeep in gear and pulled out, steadfastly not glancing at Cole’s truck.

  Maybe she’d been looking at this all wrong, she thought as she drove. Maybe she should look at the evidence that proved he wasn’t what she thought he was, not the evidence that proved he was who she thought he was. Maybe instead of only seeing what she’d expected to see, she should be looking at what she hadn’t expected. What had just happened, for instance. And his surprising perceptiveness when he had prodded her into talking about her father; his anger about the way Hobie had been treated; and the way he’d held her, nothing but gentle reassurance in his touch when she’d needed it so badly. And his refusal to claim Rocky. All his gruff talk about the “damn cat,” while at the same time he was secretly feeding him.

  And finally, there was what had happened at the spring, she added, not at all certain now how she felt about that fierce, shockingly arousing encounter.

  So maybe she should have her head examined. If they could find anything inside to look at, she amended wryly.

  She drove around for a while longer, aimlessly, needing to think. On the surface, it seemed simple. She was contrarily attracted—fiercely, she admitted reluctantly—to a man who was the image of everything she’d always avoided.