“This is no place for me. Or for you,” she added, rubbing one closed hand over her belly. “We need to get out of here just as soon as I can figure out where to go.” She blinked the sleep out of her eyes as she pushed her fingers through her hair and headed for the bathroom.
She could hear Wiley’s voice as she stepped into the hallway. He seemed to be on the phone, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. When she emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later he was still speaking, but her attention was caught by the black-and-white photos spread out on the small table in the hall.
Sam must have dropped these off sometime during the night, she thought. There were seven of them, glossy blackand-white blowups that did more than any words could to prove that Rodney Dietrich was as guilty as Jack Cotter had said he was.
The first picture showed Rodney talking to the curly-haired man who’d come to the Dietrich ranch house last night. Rae-Anne shook her head as she looked at it, marveling that it had only been last night. The picture seemed to have been shot just before the curly-haired man—Armand Grant, one of the new employees whose file and ID picture she’d copied—had driven away from the ranch.
Wiley had caught the two men in the act of exchanging a briefcase. That must have been what Rodney had been stashing in the front seat of his pickup before he, too, had driven away, Rae-Anne thought.
The rest of the pictures were as damningly clear as the first one. Wiley had gotten several clear views of Rodney filling the deposit envelopes with cash at the small-town automatic teller machine. He’d even managed to get the town clock in the background, she noticed, tying the event to a specific time and place.
The final picture wouldn’t have seemed significant unless you knew that the shiny new pickup truck in it belonged to Rodney, and the long dark car next to it to the two men who’d threatened her and attacked Wiley. Its license plate was clearly displayed in the photograph, and once again the town clock in the background held it all together, showing that the car—which would undoubtedly prove to be registered to someone with a connection to the mob—had been at the right place at the right time.
“Right. First thing tomorrow, then.”
Wiley’s voice cut through her thoughts, and she wondered for the first time who he was talking to. She’d expected him to be calling Jack, but although his voice had the mocking edge he always used with his brothers, his words didn’t make sense. Surely he would want to deliver their evidence to the FBI sooner than tomorrow morning.
His next comment brought her up short. “And listen, buddy, don’t do too much of a hard sell, all right?” he was saying. “There’s been a lot of stuff coming at her lately, and I think she’s more likely to go for this if you don’t come on too strong.”
He paused, then laughed. “Yeah, I know you, all right,” he said. “Just lay it out as a business proposition, and I think she’ll say yes.”
Rae-Anne didn’t listen to the pleasantries that ended the phone conversation. She was too busy feeling furious with Wiley Cotter.
“What was that all about?” she demanded, when he’d hung up the phone.
He was wearing the black sweatpants and white T-shirt he’d pulled out of his dresser before heading out to sleep on the sofa-bed last night. Judging from the stiff way he was moving as he set the phone on its shelf, and the dark shadows under his eyes, he hadn’t rested nearly as well as she had.
But he seemed to have showered and shaved already—his hair was damp and newly combed, and there was no trace of stubble on his long jaw. And his voice was assertive and steady as he said, “I called a guy I know who’s just starting up a greenhouse business down in Wimberley. Last time I talked to him he was looking for somebody to run the office side of things. I thought you might be interested.”
“Why did you think that?”
Wiley moved toward the small kitchen and switched on the coffee maker on the counter. “You’re going to need to do something to support yourself,” he said. “Obviously you can’t go back to working for Rodney. And this’ll be nice sedate work—reasonable hours, sitting at a desk instead of standing behind a bar, and the pay’s generous.”
“Wiley-”
He went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “I figured I might as well make use of some of my contacts and see if I could help out,” he said. “Wimberley’s a pretty little place—a real hill-country town. We can find you a comfortable place to rent and get your stuff moved down there before-”
“Wait a minute.” She stepped into the living room. The patter of rain was louder against the big plate-glass window that overlooked the yard. She could see a small wooden deck out there, shiny in the rain, and a black drum barbecue at the far end of the small lawn.
“Who’s this ‘we’?” she asked.
Wiley didn’t miss a beat. He didn’t look directly at her, either, she noticed. “I feel kind of an obligation to help you settle things,” he said. “After all, I’ve been in on this since the beginning, and—”
“An obligation?” She cut in on him again, feeling madder and madder as she listened to his down-to-earth tone. We’ll just do the sensible thing, that’s all, he seemed to be saying. As though sensible was a word that had any place in their tumultuous relationship.
Obligation didn’t belong there, either. And the idea that he could even suggest it—
“You have no right to be making my decisions for me, Wiley,” she told him crisply.
“You said the same thing when I hijacked your wedding limousine, but it turned out it was a good thing I did.” He seemed to be speaking to the countertop, glowering at its bare white surface as though it had insulted him and all his ancestors.
At the moment, she was just as glad not to be meeting the dark sizzle of his gaze. She had a feeling they were on the edge of saying things that had been lurking just under the surface ever since he’d reappeared in her life, and it was hard enough to keep her thoughts straight without letting the dangerous magnetism between them start acting on her again.
“I’ll admit that,” she said. “I’m not exactly thrilled about the prospect of being a single mother whose child’s father lied to me from the very beginning of our relationship. But I’d rather know about it than not know.”
“Or find yourself the victim of some accident, like Rodney’s first wife,” Wiley muttered.
“You don’t need to rub it in, Wiley. I get the picture.”
Suddenly she didn’t know if she was angry at Rodney or Wiley or at the whole situation. She only knew that something inside her was starting to boil over, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
“But just because you were right about Rodney doesn’t mean I’m going to let you take me by the hand and lead me through the rest of my life,” she said. “That’s not what I want.”
“Good.” He looked at her finally, and the jolt of meeting his eyes was just as potent as she’d known it would be. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”
Rae-Anne felt another kind of jolt, one that had the hollow feeling of disappointment to it. She swallowed hard and said, “Well, the rest of my life starts this morning. And I’ll deal with it in my own way. You have no place in it, not now.”
It was happening all over again—that quick, intuitive connection between them. Any strong feeling was enough to ignite it—anger, passion, longing. And Rae-Anne knew, beyond any doubt, that what Wiley was feeling right now was the same hollow disappointment that had just echoed through her frame a moment before.
Why?
She was telling him to stay out of her life, and he was replying that he wasn’t interested in sticking around for the long haul. Why, then, was she suddenly feeling as bleak as the rainy day outside? And why was Wiley looking as though he felt exactly the same way?
She hadn’t had time to come up with an answer before Wiley stepped out of the kitchen and fired off an angry question of his own.
“This is because I disappeared on you ten years ago, isn’t it?” he demanded.
“I let you down once, so you’ve decided you can never trust me again.”
“This isn’t about trust.”
“Isn’t it?” His temper seemed to be fraying along with hers. “Are you sure? You spent the first half of your life being uprooted from one place after another, and believe me, honey, I can understand how that makes you want something—anything—that you can count on. But are you sure you haven’t gotten to the point where you can’t trust anybody except yourself?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Wiley’s sofa was almost the only piece of furniture in the living room. It sat facing the big window, isolated in the middle of the beige-carpeted floor. Rae-Anne was leaning one hip against the end of it, and she felt herself wanting to retreat when Wiley moved closer to her. But it seemed important to stand her ground, and not to let him see how it affected her when he raised both big hands to her shoulders and rested them there, forcing his presence on her, trying to make his point.
But it did affect her, and her quickened breathing was proof of it. She was suddenly aware that she had nothing on except Wiley’s T-shirt. And as always, anger and passion were becoming more and more mixed together as they argued with each other.
“Did you ever bother asking my superiors at the DEA about where I’d been buried after they told you I was dead?” he asked, holding her eyes level with his own. “Did you demand to see a copy of my death certificate?”
“You’re crazy, Wiley. I had no reason to think they were lying to me. You’re being unreasonable.”
“Maybe I am. But you might want to consider this, RaeAnne. Deep down, was there a part of you that expected me to run out on you someday? Did you figure anybody you got close to would eventually disappear from your life, the way they did over and over when you were a kid?”
He was touching on things she didn’t want to think about. And yet she knew there must be some truth to what he was saying. Why else would she be feeling this sharp ache in her bones, this biting sense of hurt?
“You disappeared pretty fast and pretty thoroughly yourself ten years ago, honey.” Wiley’s voice had gotten harder. “And it looks to me like you’re getting ready to do exactly the same thing again.”
It was so tempting to stop fighting and just give in to the warmth of his hands resting on her shoulders. His chest under his well-worn white T-shirt was rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm, and she knew intimately how the beat of his heart would feel if she rested her head against his shoulder and leaned in to the strength of his big body.
She couldn’t do that. It was too important that she keep her thoughts straight, for the sake of her baby if for no other reason. She put both her hands over her stomach and glared at Wiley.
“I’m not just thinking about myself,” she told him firmly. “In case you’d forgotten, I’m going to be somebody’s mother in seven more months. I can’t afford to let myself get sidetracked on all these old issues.” With an effort, she moved away from him and sat down on the sofa.
It wasn’t fair, she thought. Even here the seductive, musky hint of Wiley’s body kept teasing her. He’d folded the blanket he’d used last night and set it on top of the pillow that lay on one arm of the sofa, but the faint scent of his skin kept suggesting rumpled beds and passionately tangled limbs to Rae-Anne’s mind.
And he wasn’t letting her retreat this time. He came around to stand in front of her, then lowered himself until his elbows were resting on his powerful thighs and his eyes were locked with hers again. He took her hands in his, insisting that she think about what he was saying.
“Did you actually believe I’d forgotten you were going to be somebody’s mother?”
His voice was rough, but softer. And his eyes, which had been snapping with anger a moment ago, were searching hers with slow concern.
Rae-Anne shook her head. She didn’t want Wiley’s concern, she told herself. She wanted to be alone, and free.
Except that she wasn’t. She’d just finished telling him so herself. “Oh, God, Wiley,” she said. “Sometimes I forget it. Sometimes I still can’t believe this is happening to me. But I have to handle it on my own. Can’t you see that?”
“Life can be hard enough, Rae-Anne. Why make it harder by refusing to let people help you?”
Because letting people get too close—even if they were just trying to help—was a prescription for getting hurt, and Rae-Anne couldn’t stand to hurt any more than she already did. But she couldn’t find the words to tell Wiley that right now. She’d tried to draw away from him a minute ago, and he hadn’t let her. It was just too hard to summon up the strength to pull away a second time.
She tilted her head forward in sudden weariness, and felt Wiley’s arms go around her. Her forehead came to rest on the strong curve of his shoulder, and suddenly he was surrounding her gently, without his usual air of taking command.
He was holding back, she realized, letting her decide whether she wanted to move closer to him or not. And it didn’t seem to be an easy thing for him to do. His body was tense, his breathing quick and shallow. But he was keeping himself still, his arms loosely around her waist, his breath lightly ruffling the loose hair at her temple.
She moved a little closer, because she couldn’t help it. In spite of her determined words, in spite of all her good intentions, it simply felt too good to have Wiley holding her like this. She felt as though she’d been through a wringer and back these last few days. Now, even if it was just for a few stolen moments, she found herself wanting to be free of all the questions and decisions, just letting herself rest.
Wiley was moving one hand across her shoulder blades, kneading muscles she hadn’t realized were quite so tense. She took in a deep breath, startled by how good the slow inhalation felt.
The sense of being sheltered in his embrace was suddenly too comforting to resist. She moved closer, to the very edge of the sofa, and heard Wiley’s knees ease onto the carpeted floor as he came to meet her. He drew in a long breath, too, and Rae-Anne couldn’t tell if the shuddering release as he exhaled was running through his body, or her own, or both.
“You know—” She was startled by the throatiness of her voice, and by the hint of tears in it. Had she been this close to tears all along, and just refusing to admit it? “You know, my life would be a lot simpler if you weren’t in it,” she said.
Her head was still resting on his shoulder, and her lips skimmed the warm, smooth skin of his neck as she spoke. She closed her eyes, picturing that deeply tanned skin and the magnificence of his half-naked body the day she’d seen him on the work crew at the Dietrich ranch. He’d turned her knees to water that day, and he was doing it again now.
“How can you say that?”
He was still moving his hand over her back in everwidening circles. Rae-Anne felt drawn closer to him with every slow curve. Somehow his deep voice had become a part of it, an audible caress that vibrated inside her like a lover’s promise.
“How can you say you don’t want me in your life, after—what we mean to each other?”
There it was again—that turbulent mix of anger and yearning and sympathy that was unique to the two of them. Rae-Anne could hear the rasp of it in his voice, and see it in his eyes, too, when she raised her head to look at him.
There was no trace of the mockery he sometimes dragged around him like a protective cloak. She could see many things fighting for the upper hand in his eyes, but that highhanded arrogance was gone, leaving emotions so raw and honest that Rae-Anne’s whole soul responded achingly to the thought of them.
“What—do we mean to each other?”
She had to ask it. And from the scowl that appeared on Wiley’s handsome face, it was clear that he had no simple, handy answer.
But he didn’t skirt the question, either. “If you want to come back to bed with me,” he growled, lifting his hands to frame her face, “I’ll be more than happy to show you.”
Chapter 12
Stop thinking, Wiley ordered him
self.
Stop imagining that this might be the last time you’ll ever make love to Rae-Anne Blackburn. Stop trying to figure out what you can do to keep it from being the last time.
There was nothing he could do, he knew. Rae-Anne had only gotten more stubborn in the past ten years, and the harder he pushed her, the harder she pushed back. Until that sudden, sweet moment when she’d finally softened in his arms, she’d been intent on letting him know that she was as ornery as she’d ever been. And as single-minded.
And as beautiful.
Wiley felt the world around him fading into nothing as he eased down on his bed with Rae-Anne. It was like crawling into a nest that nobody knew about except the two of them, a place where they could hide. It was warm and secluded and nearly silent, and even the faint patter of the rain against the window only made the room seem like more of a refuge against the cold realities that had been pursuing them.
He propped himself on one elbow and looked at RaeAnne. Her face was touched with that rosy blush that always seemed to make her eyes brighter, her lips redder. She must have combed her hair since getting up, because it had that softly burnished look that always made Wiley want to bury his face in its auburn depths and draw in the honeyed scent of her skin until his whole body was suffused with it.
He didn’t move, though, because he couldn’t bear to cut short this silent moment, this wordless exchange. They held each other’s eyes as though they needed to know things that words didn’t exist to express. And the longer Wiley looked into Rae-Anne’s dark blue eyes, the more deeply he felt himself being drawn into the old magic, the old spell they seemed to cast over each other whenever they were close like this.
Stop thinking, Wiley. You can think later.
Gradually, everything ebbed away except the two of them, and the bed, and the moment. Wiley ran one thumb along the line of her cheek and was rewarded by a slow smile that curved Rae-Anne’s mouth upward and erased what was left of the uncertainty in her blue eyes.
When you smile at me like that, nothing else really matters. He wanted to say the words out loud, but didn’t. Every time they spoke, they seemed to find something to disagree about, and he couldn’t stand the thought of another heated exchange interrupting this sensuous moment.
The Wedding Assignment Page 17