by Sandra Brown
Five heads nodded. It was the Tuesday after Thanksgiving. Leigh was meeting with the committee from Saddle Club Estates to decide, she hoped once and for all, on how they would decorate their lavish homes. As the committee couldn’t seem to agree, Leigh had taken it upon herself to find out what was available on short notice.
“We would also string the houses, outline the yards and trees, with white lights. It’s simple, but effective. Then each of you can do what you want for your Christmas trees, wreaths, and so on. But you have to let me know today.”
A man obviously impatient with the whole thing said, “I say yes and be done with it.”
“It sounds so plain,” one of the women complained.
“I said it was simple,” Leigh said with more graciousness than she felt. She was making a lot of money from this project, so she curbed the sharp retort that itched to leap off her tongue. “If we had started sooner, we could have planned something more elaborate. Next year we’ll need to start making plans in September or so. But I promise this will be pretty. You’ll be able to see the lights from miles away.”
“When can we get the stuff?” someone asked.
Leigh knew money was no object. “I can have the supplier send out everything—lights, props, the whole shebang—by air freight. He’ll get it here by Thursday if I tell him today. We can do all the work this weekend. Do you want me to hire electricians, or will you? The men who work with me in the mall will be glad to earn a Christmas bonus.”
“That’s fine then,” said the impatient man. “Saves us the hassle.”
“All right. You’re all in agreement?”
“Yes,” said another of the women. “We canvassed the neighborhood last night and everyone said that whatever we decided was okay. We contacted everyone but Chad.”
“Yeah,” the man said. “I hear he’s down in Mexico.”
At the mention of that name, the pencil that had been scratching across Leigh’s note pad came to an abrupt standstill. The point snapped off under intense pressure.
“One helluva fire from what I hear,” the man continued.
“Fire?” Leigh asked with feigned composure. Could these people be discussing Chad Dillon?
“Yeah. One of our homeowners works for Flameco.”
“Flameco?”
“You never heard of Flameco?” the man asked.
“N… no,” she stammered. “I haven’t lived here very long.”
“World renowned and based right here in Midland. Wild-well control. Those boys put out oil-well fires, y’see?”
Tentacles of fear wound around her vocal cords and she couldn’t speak. She only nodded dumbly. Maybe it wasn’t her Chad. It wasn’t that unusual a name.
“Guess Dillon’s been with them since he got out of Tech. How long’s that been? What year did Chad graduate? I can remember him eating up that football field. Godamighty. Could that boy run with a football!” The man was on to a subject he could enjoy now.
Leigh stood quickly, upsetting her purse. As she knelt down to scoop up the spilled contents with shaking hands, she said, “If that’s all for now, I’d better get to work. I’ll be in touch with you, but plan to have this done over the weekend.”
She stumbled out of the homeowners’ club house and leaned against the wall, gasping for air suddenly gone scarce. Chad was in Mexico fighting an oil-well fire. Highly specialized work. Highly dangerous. Highly paid. Oh, God, it was Greg all over again!
She pushed away from the wall and stalked down the sidewalk. Looking around her, she laughed mirthlessly. Highly paid. He lived out here with the millionaires in one of these sprawling houses. She had thought him a mechanic, often out of work. And he had encouraged that supposition. Rising anger combated anxiety and won.
She wrenched open the door to her car and slammed it behind her with growing fury. Driving carelessly, she left the exclusive neighborhood, glancing neither right nor left, not caring which of the opulent houses belonged to the man who had lied, misled her by omission.
Tears of humiliation and hurt blurred her vision. Damn him! He had held her and kissed her and then had run away from her to go fight an oil-well fire. Hell on earth. He had left her to possibly get hurt, to possibly
She sobbed as she braked at a traffic light. Chad had known how she would feel about his work, so he had deliberately kept her ignorant of it. He had wormed his way into her life, into her heart, until she ached for the sight of him. He had made himself essential, knowing full well that she could never accept him if she knew about his career. He had cajoled the full story of her feelings about Greg’s work out of her beforehand.
“I hate him for lying to me. I hate him,” she vowed.
And every time she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. The truth hurt, but it was there, baldly evident with each tear that coursed down her cheek. The fact of the matter was—she was falling in love with him.
* * *
One look at her closed, tight face and he knew. “You found out.”
“Yes.” She had had a week to absorb the facts surrounding Chad’s work, but the anger and shock hadn’t worn off.
“Can I come in?” he asked quietly.
“No.”
He sighed. Looking down at the cowboy hat in his hand, he fingered the brim. “I was afraid you might find out before I had a chance to tell you.” He raised troubled blue eyes to hers. “I was going to tell you, Leigh.”
“Oh, really? When?”
“Dammit, I knew how you’d feel about a man who had such a high-risk job”
“And you were right. That’s why I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.”
“Not until we’ve talked,” he insisted.
“So you can tell me more lies?”
“I never lied.”
“You never told me the truth, either.”
“Please let me come in.”
Grudgingly, theatrically, she moved aside and let him come through the front door. Somehow she managed to mask her relief that he appeared to be intact. He looked beautiful. His hair was too long, but well brushed. His skin was burnished to a glowing copper. The Mexican sun. He was dressed casually, but his jeans and shirt were crisply starched, his boots polished.
Leigh was wearing jeans, too. Hers were clean, but paint-streaked. She had worn them while painting a wall plaque for Sarah’s room. They were threadbare and frayed and fit a bit too snugly from so many launderings. Her red sweater was slouchy. Her feet were bare. Since she had worn her hair up that day, the moment she got home she had released it from its confinement. Now it hung loosely around her face and on her shoulders. But she wasn’t about to apologize for her appearance. He had some explaining to do, not her.
“Where’s Sarah?” Chad asked.
“Asleep.”
“Already? It’s not even five o’clock.”
“Only a nap before her supper. She’s been cranky lately. Mother says she’s cutting a tooth.”
“Have you been busy?”
“Yes,” she said, dropping down on the couch. He sat on the edge of a chair and balanced his hat on his knees. “I decorated your house last weekend.” Bitterness dripped from her voice. “It’s very nice.”
“So are the decorations,” he said tightly, and for the first time, Leigh heard a trace of irritation in his tone.
“Thank you. It was so kind of you to arrange for the electricians to be let in.”
“Did you go in?”
“No.”
“I wish you had. I want you to see the house.”
“Then why didn’t you invite me to see it?” She lashed out. “Why did I have to find out about you, your work, from someone else, by accident?” She felt herself getting angry and it suddenly occurred to her that she had no right to. What claim did she have on Chad? How many times had she seen him? He had taken her to lunch. He had come to see her twice. That was all. By what right was she making demands of him? She sounded like a shrewish wife and hated herself for it.
She covered her fac
e with her hands. “I’m sorry, Chad. I shouldn’t be angry with you. It’s not as if we’re involved or anything.”
“You’re wrong. We’re very involved.” Her hands fell away and she looked across the space that separated them to meet his penetrating eyes. “I intended to tell you about my work that first night I came here. I knew you wouldn’t like it. I don’t think any reasonably intelligent woman would, but I didn’t know until you began talking about Greg how much you’d hate it.”
He rose from the chair, tossed his hat onto the coffee table, and knelt in front of her, covering both her hands with his. “Leigh, I couldn’t risk telling you then. I wanted to give you time to get to know me. Then, if things were going well, if we were getting ‘involved,’ I was going to tell you. I didn’t want to do or say anything that would prejudice you against me.”
“That wasn’t fair, Chad.”
“No, it wasn’t. My only defense is that I wanted you. I still do.” He lifted a lock of her hair from her shoulder and raised it to his lips. Slowly, watching her all the while, he drew the silky strand back and forth across his mouth. “All I thought about while I was away was how you look, how delectable you smell. I could taste you, Leigh. I remembered how your mouth responds to mine, how your skin feels against my lips, my tongue.”
If he touches me, I’m lost, she thought desperately. Even now, knowing his occupation, knowing she had sworn never again to love a man who put his work before her, knowing he had lied to her, she wanted to sift through his hair, to feel the hard muscles under his dark skin, to comb through that mat on his chest, to touch
Sarah’s cry dragged Leigh up from the ocean of desire that was drowning her. “Sarah,” she said needlessly. Chad stood and moved aside as she scurried off the couch and raced toward the bedroom. Such haste was unnecessary as far as tending the baby was concerned, but essential to preserving her sanity. She couldn’t love him. She wouldn’t!
“Now, now, how’s mamma’s girl?” she asked, turning the baby over.
“She’s grown so much,” Chad said from behind her. His body was curved around hers as she bent over the crib. When he leaned over farther to inspect Sarah more closely, his thighs rubbed against the backs of Leigh’s. A subtle adjustment of his hips reminded her all too clearly of his sex. One hand came out to steady him against the railing of the crib, trapping her between him and it.
“Yes, she has.” She didn’t recognize the unsteady voice as her own. “I need to move her out of this portable crib and put her in her baby bed in the other room, but I forgot to have my dad set it up for me when he was here last.”
“I’ll do it for you.”
Sarah’s diaper had been swiftly changed. Miraculously the baby hadn’t been stabbed as her mother wielded the pins with uncharacteristically nervous hands. Leigh lifted her up and turned around in the narrow space Chad allowed her. “I can’t ask you to do that, Chad.”
“You didn’t. I volunteered. Where is it?”
“In the other bedroom. It’s still boxed up,” she said to his retreating back.
By the time she and Sarah got to the other bedroom, he was examining the long, flat box. “There’s a baby bed in that?” he asked, laughing.
“See, I told you. It’s a big project and”
“Do you have a tool kit? Screwdrivers? Never mind. I have one in my truck.”
“Chad, really”
His mouth swooped down on hers to stop her protests. The kiss was quick and hard and potent. Leigh felt as if a bomb had exploded in the lower part of her body, showering her with prickling sensations. “There. I’ve found a very effective way of keeping you quiet. If you’ll make me a sandwich and a pot of coffee, I’ll be compensated.” He kissed her once again fleetingly on the forehead, then moved her aside and went out the front door to his truck.
Fuming, Leigh stalked into the kitchen. She put Sarah, who seemed momentarily content, in her swing, and cranked it up with a vengeance. Hearing Chad’s happy whistle as he came back into the house was like feeding new kindling to a smoldering fire. Her anger burst into flame.
“He barges in here and takes over like he owns the place. He doesn’t. I do. We’ll make it on our own, Sarah. I don’t need him or anyone else, and I’m going to tell him that just as soon as he finishes putting up that damn baby bed.”
Sarah clapped her hands.
He had lied to her by omission and she was furious. Yet the moment he had reappeared, she had practically fallen into his arms and kissed him. “Sarah, what am I going to do?” Leigh groaned. Her baby only gurgled in response.
Leigh slapped cold cuts and slices of cheese onto a platter, pulled wheat and rye bread out of the pantry, and made a pot of coffee. She filled Sarah’s electric warming plate with strained vegetables and plugged it in to heat. When all was ready, she stormed toward the small bedroom to call Chad.
But instead of making a haughty announcement that the meal was ready, she laughed. Chad was sitting crossed-legged on the floor, surrounded by bolts and screws, rails, springs, and reams of technical instructions for assembly.
“You think it’s funny?” he asked belligerently. “What mental deviate thought up these instructions? You have to be either a genius or an idiot to understand them. I’m not sure which.”
“Maybe food will reinforce your thinking capacity.”
“Sounds great!” He jumped to his feet.
“Don’t expect too much,” she warned inhospitably as she led him into the dining alcove adjacent to the kitchen. “I didn’t know I was having company tonight,” she tacked on for extra measure.
She was yanked to a stop from behind when his hand dug into the waistband of her jeans and gripped it hard. He hauled her back against his chest and placed his mouth directly on her ear. “I’ll make you glad you’ve got company tonight,” he whispered seductively.
She jerked herself free and huffily pulled on the bottom of her sweater in a vain effort to regain her dignity. Her face worked with indignation. Her chest rose and fell. By the time she had thought of something to say, he was already biting into his first sandwich.
He managed to down two sandwiches, a package of potato chips, numerous pickles and olives, and six cookies in the time Leigh had eaten half of her sandwich. She had been alternating her bites with those she was feeding Sarah.
“Why don’t you let me finish with her while you eat,” Chad said.
“No thank you,” she replied coldly.
“I’ve been watching. I think I can handle it.” Her hand was relieved of the spoon, and Leigh knew, if she had never known before, that Chad Dillon didn’t take no for an answer.
He did amazingly well. Only one blob of strained beets fell victim to Sarah’s flailing fist and plopped on the instep of his boot. “I don’t blame you one bit, Sarah,” he said good-naturedly, wiping up the crimson lump. “I wouldn’t want to eat it either.”
Leigh didn’t want him to be cute and funny and pleasant. It would have been much simpler if he’d cursed the baby and the beets. If he’d lashed out at them both. She didn’t want it to feel so right to have him in her kitchen, underfoot, and getting in her way when she began putting things away. Why did Sarah have to gurgle at him affectionately and bless him with the laugh she had just learned to make? Irrationally she resented Sarah’s affection for him.
“Well, back to work,” he said, handing Sarah to Leigh and heading toward the bedroom and the baby bed. Sarah whined plaintively.
“Traitor,” Leigh mumbled as she carried the infant into her own bedroom to prepare her for bed.
Nothing’s changed just because he’s being nice to you, Leigh cautioned herself. He’s here tonight. But tomorrow? Next week, when he’s called to anywhere in the world to fight a fire and doesn’t know when he’ll be back? Can you live with that again, Leigh? She knew the answer.
Half an hour later, coming out of her bedroom, she glanced across the hallway. “I can’t believe it,” she exclaimed from the doorway.
From his p
osition on the floor, Chad turned to look back at her. “All done except for right here.” He made one more adjustment with the screwdriver, then stood, stretching his powerful back muscles. “Cross your fingers.”
He tried the lever that lowered or raised one side of the crib and stared at it in amazement when it slid up and down. “Well, I’ll be damned. It works,” he laughed.
“Now all this room needs is the baby,” Leigh said.
He looked at the Jenny Lind crib, the rocking chair with its padded seat and back cushions, the curtains at the window and the Raggedy Ann and Andy wall figures Leigh had painstakingly painted. “I think you’re right. Where is she?”
“For tonight, I left her where she is.”
“Are you sure you want to move her out of your room?” he asked intuitively.
“No,” she admitted. “I hate sleeping alo” Her eyes flew to his to see if he had caught her blooper. He had. In two giant steps he was in front of her, clasping her shoulders with hands made of iron.
“You don’t have to sleep alone, Leigh. Not tonight. Not ever again.”
His arms closed around her, folding her in the embrace that posed the greatest threat to her and yet conversely made her feel the safest. His lips pressed against hers. Stubbornly, self-defensively, she held herself rigid, shaking her head, her teeth clenched.
Her resistance didn’t curb his determination. His tongue glided along her lips, and when she still didn’t relent, his hand slipped under her sweater. Boldly he rubbed against her nipple with his knuckles until it contracted. Her mouth opened involuntarily, to emit a sharp, ecstatic cry, and he took full advantage.
He captured her mouth with his in a kiss that demonstrated how much they wanted, needed, each other. With exploring fingers he found the lacy edge of her bra cup and peeled it down. His fingers adored her as they examined, measured, loved.
“You want me as much as I want you, Leigh. Dammit, I know you do,” he rasped in her ear. His tongue laved her earlobe, then caught it between his teeth and worried it gently. She shivered, a sigh of defeat whispering past her lips. Mercifully he came back to her mouth. He sipped at her lips lazily until she thought she’d die if she couldn’t have more of him.