Glancing around the room, she smiled as her gaze scanned the off-white walls, the poppy red drapes and matching Roman shades that graced the three windows overlooking the back of the house. Then her gaze lingered to appreciate the eighteenth century Italian commode over which she had hung an assortment of photographs of Will, from infancy to the present day. The summer cotton gown she had worn last night lay across the back of the Italian fauteuil, which she’d had reupholstered in a muted red-and-gold-striped silk brocade.
She loved this room. She felt safe here, in a space she had never shared with Kent. There were no bad memories haunting these four walls.
How had she reached such a low point? How had Bill and Celeste Noble’s spoiled little darling become the prime suspect in a murder case? All her life, she had been a good girl, obeying orders, following the rules. Pleasing her parents had been so important to her. As her mother had pointed out to her quite often—she was all they had, and because they gave her only the best, they expected nothing less than the very best from her.
Falling in love with Johnny Mack Cahill had been a major faux pas, a secret act of defiance that her mother had only suspected and her father had quietly ignored. Her parents had never known the truth about Will’s paternity, and now that they were gone, she was glad that they had died not knowing. Her father would have understood and even stood by her, but her mother would have disowned her.
Closing her eyes, she sighed and tried to relax. She had come upstairs to take a nap because she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since Kent’s murder. She had intended talking to Will when he came home, but he had phoned Lillie Mae to tell her that he was going to a matinee movie with a couple of his school buddies and he wouldn’t be home until dinnertime. He was avoiding her as well as avoiding the situation. But sooner or later Will would have to deal with the fact that Johnny Mack was his father and the man wasn’t going to go away just because Will wanted him to.
And you’re going to have to deal with the fact that Johnny Mack is back in town and you can’t stop those old feelings from resurfacing. You thought Kent had destroyed your ability to feel any kind of sexual urges, that his cruelty forever vanquished your desires, your sexual hunger. You thought you’d never again want a man, need a man. But after all these years, you’ve discovered that what you thought was dead was only traumatized and waiting to be healed.
But Johnny Mack is no healer, she reminded herself. He wasn’t a destroyer the way Kent had been, but he was a user. She didn’t dare trust him. Not with her life. Not with Will’s life. Not yet. And most certainly not with her heart. Not ever.
The insistent ring of the telephone on her bedside table brought her abruptly back to the present moment. She rolled over, reached out and grabbed the receiver.
“Hello.”
“Lane?”
“James, is that you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re talking so low, I can barely hear you.”
“Listen, Lane, as your lawyer…and as your friend, I’m advising you that Wes Stevens is taking what evidence he has against you to a grand jury, and my guess is that within a week, maybe less, you’ll be indicted for Kent’s murder.”
“Oh, God!” She sucked in several huge breaths of air. “I knew it was bound to happen, but I had hoped…”
“You’re going to need a better lawyer than I am,” James said. “If I held the purse strings, I’d offer to hire someone for you, but I doubt Edith—”
“I appreciate the thought,” Lane told him. “But you needn’t worry about me.”
“But I do. I know you don’t have the cash—”
“I have a friend who has offered to hire one of the best criminal lawyers in the country for me.”
“If I were you, Lane, I’d take him up on that offer.”
Johnny Mack pondered his options. He could stay put at the Four Way or he could leave in the morning and move to either a Holiday Inn or a Ramada Inn, the only two other choices in Noble’s Crossing, unless he wanted to stay at Miss Charlotte’s Bed & Breakfast. Or he could rent an apartment, maybe even a house. Although he might have to make a few short business trips back to Houston from time to time, he had no intention of leaving town until he had made every effort to connect with his son. And he certainly wasn’t going to desert Lane, as long as the possibility that she would be indicted for Kent’s murder hung over her head.
Restless, unaccustomed to having this much idle time on his hands, Johnny Mack paced the floor. Maybe he should take in a movie tonight, after he had dined alone at the restaurant next door to the motel. Or he could hit one of the bars. He wondered if the Boogie Barracks was still the hottest spot in town or if that old honky-tonk had been closed down years ago. Years before he was legal drinking age, he’d gone there with Wiley Peters. The proprietor had been an old war buddy of Wiley’s and hadn’t worried much about checking his clientele’s IDs.
Sharon had liked the Boogie Barracks. They had done their share of drinking and dancing in that place. And once they had even gotten it on in the men’s bathroom, when Sharon had followed him inside a stall. Heaven help Will, having inherited his genes from Sharon and the son of Satan himself, Johnny Mack Cahill. The boy was predisposed to be a hellion. But he wasn’t. Not yet. And both of his biological parents had been well on their way to hell when they were fourteen.
If he could do anything for Will, he would spare him from making the kinds of mistakes he had made. Back then, he hadn’t cared what he’d done or who he had hurt. All that had mattered was surviving and finding a way to ease the loneliness and the pain of being unloved and unwanted.
No one had given a shit about him, and he had felt the same about everyone else. Don’t care and you can’t get hurt. Don’t want what you can’t have and you won’t be disappointed.
But Will wasn’t him. And although Sharon had given birth to Will, he was far more Lane’s child than Sharon’s. From the report the PI had compiled on Will, Johnny Mack could see—in print—that Will Graham was no bad seed. He was the young man Lane had raised him to be—smart, studious, athletic and, as a general rule, courteous and considerate. Will had been given every possible advantage as the son of Kent and Lane Graham. He had known his place in this one-horse town, and that place had been as the young king of the hill. Even though he had known he was adopted, he had probably never questioned his right to one day take his place as the heir apparent, just as Kent had done.
But how did Will feel now? Now that he knew the truth? Would that inherited wild streak break free and lead him into trouble?
“Not if I can help it!”
A loud knock on his motel room door gained Johnny Mack’s attention. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He grabbed his shirt off the bed where he had thrown it when he’d gone into the bathroom to shave for the second time that day. Thrusting his arms into the sleeves of his black western shirt, he headed for the door. The undone pearl snaps on his shirt glimmered in the muted light from the two bedside lamps. After glancing through the view-finder, he immediately opened the door.
“Lane?”
“May I come in?”
With the late afternoon sun at her back, the light painted her with transparent gold, from head to toe. She looked like a golden goddess, a vision from the dreams he had tried so hard to forget.
“Something’s wrong,” he said, then stepped aside to allow her entrance.
She waited until he closed the door behind her before she replied. “James telephoned to tell me that Wes Stevens is taking the evidence he has in Kent’s murder case to a grand jury as soon as possible. I think now is the time for you to call Quinn Cortez. It’s probably only a matter of days before I’ll be indicted for Kent’s murder.”
Chapter 13
“Come over and sit down.” When Johnny Mack reached out to take Lane’s hand, she deliberately withdrew toward the closed door.
She didn’t think she could bear for him to touch her. If he did, she might fall apart in his arms. She had been
holding herself together since Kent’s death by sheer willpower alone. And although she desperately needed someone to lean on, that person couldn’t be Johnny Mack. For so many years, she had had no one to count on but herself. She had been the one to take charge, make all the decisions and carry life’s burdens alone. For her sake and for Will’s sake, she had needed to be strong even in her weakest moments. Lillie Mae had always done what she could, but it wasn’t the same as having a strong man to stand by her in times of trouble. And to complicate matters, Lane wasn’t sure she could trust Johnny Mack, or any other man—not after what Kent had done to her.
“You can’t know for sure that you’ll be indicted,” Johnny Mack said. “There had to be dozens of people who wanted to see Kent dead. Surely the police—Scratch that! I forgot for a minute that I’m in Noble’s Crossing and that the police chief is in Miss Edith’s hip pocket.”
Lane nervously twisted the straps on her shoulder bag. “The police have been gathering evidence for two weeks now, and I honestly don’t think they’ve checked out the possibility that anyone else could have committed the crime.”
“That tells me that Edith doesn’t want another suspect. Why do you suppose that is?”
“Maybe she honestly thinks I killed Kent.”
“Or maybe she knows who did and would rather see you take the rap.”
“I can’t believe that Miss Edith would protect Kent’s murderer,” Lane said. “After all, she was his mother.”
“Edith doesn’t have any maternal instincts. She tried to rule her children the way she tried to rule Noble’s Crossing. Miss Edith always did what was best for Miss Edith. I don’t think that’s changed.”
Lane nodded agreement, then let her gaze travel slowly over Johnny Mack. She couldn’t help noticing that his shirt was undone enough to reveal the hard, dark flesh of his naked chest. He was bigger and broader than he had been at twenty-one, but still muscular and sleek. Even as a fourteen-year-old, she had sat in the window and watched him while he mowed their grass and pruned their shrubbery. And during the hot summer months, he had worn nothing but a pair of cut-off jeans. Like every other female in town, she had lusted after the baddest bad boy Noble’s Crossing had ever spawned.
Heat rose within her. Sensual heat. She didn’t want this. Not now. Not ever. She had enough problems in her life without adding an affair with Johnny Mack to the mix. An affair that could end only in more heartbreak for her.
Think business, she told herself. You’re here to accept an offer. A repayment for an old debt. As Lillie Mae had said, to call in your marker. Concentrate on that and nothing more. Allowing herself to think of Johnny Mack as a desirable man would be like playing with fire. She had already had her heart singed by that particular blaze and didn’t relish letting it happen a second time.
Their gazes met and held again for only a brief moment. An intense awareness passed between them. Feeling as if he had somehow touched her, Lane shivered, but realized the intimacy had been only in her mind.
“Won’t you sit down?” He gestured toward the lone chair in the room.
Lane sat in the chair, while Johnny Mack eased down on the edge of the bed. She crossed her legs at the ankles, placed her bag in her lap, folded her hands together and laid them atop her bag.
“I’ll call Quinn and tell him what’s happened.”
“Thank you. I hope you know that I wouldn’t be here…that I wouldn’t accept your offer to pay for an attorney if I could afford Quinn Cortez’s fee myself.”
How ironic that the man who had once done yard work for her family now had more money than she did. If things were different, she would be extremely pleased for Johnny Mack, pleased that he had done so well. It had to be very satisfying for him to return to his hometown, where he’d been labeled a worthless bad boy, as a wealthy and powerful man.
“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” he told her. “And you certainly don’t have to thank me. I owe you my life.” He leaned over, placed his hands between his spread knees and twined his fingers together. “And I owe you my son’s life, too. Don’t you think that picking up the tab for your legal fees is a small repayment for your having saved two lives?”
She couldn’t take credit for what she had done instinctively, for the things she’d done for love. She had saved him and saved his son because, for her, there had been no other choices.
“There’s one other thing I want from you,” Lane told him.
He lifted his gaze to search her eyes. “Anything. Just name it.”
“I don’t want Will involved in this case,” Lane said. “I do not want Mr. Cortez asking him a lot of questions and upsetting him. Buddy went very easy on Will the day Kent was murdered. Even though Edith knows Will isn’t Kent’s son, she’s still very fond of him, and I’m sure she’ll persuade Buddy and Wes Stevens to protect Will in this situation.”
“What exactly does Will need protection from?”
“From having to relive that day.” Lane came forward so that she sat perched on the edge of her seat. “I’d rather confess to killing Kent than to have Will destroyed by…” Did she dare trust Johnny Mack? No, not yet.
“Destroyed by what? The truth? It’s been my experience that the lies are what hurt us.”
“I have to go. Please, let me know when you’ve contacted Mr. Cortez.”
Lane sprang up out of the chair. Her shoulder bag dropped to the floor. When she reached down to pick it up, her hand encountered Johnny Mack’s. He lifted the bag; then together they rose and stood facing each other. Without saying a word, he stationed the straps of her expensive leather purse on her shoulder. But his hand lingered, hovering close to her neck.
Her heartbeat accelerated. The drone of her blood rushing through her body hummed in her head. He was so close she could feel the warmth of his breath, could smell the faint hint of aftershave he used, could sense the tension in his muscles.
Unable to move, to run, as her common sense told her to, Lane glanced down and suddenly realized that their bodies were almost touching. She had been this close to Johnny Mack only once before, and that was a moment she would remember to her dying day. That last summer before he’d left town. Down by the boathouse. Under the willow trees that lined the riverbank. He had kissed her the way she’d always dreamed he would. And when he’d pulled her close, she had felt the hard, pulsing throb of his sex against her belly. She would have lain down on the ground and given herself to him, but he had released her and, without explanation, walked away.
If only he had made love to her that night, maybe she and not Sharon Hickman would have gotten pregnant with his child.
Johnny Mack cupped and lifted her chin, forcing her to face him. Don’t do this to me, she silently pleaded. It has taken me fifteen years to stop loving you. Don’t make me care. Don’t make me love you all over again.
As mesmerized by his lethal masculine charm as she had been when she was a teenager, Lane made no protest when he slipped one arm around her waist. As he eased his other hand around to clutch the back of her neck, he brought her forward just enough so that her breasts rubbed against his chest. Of its own accord, her right hand lifted and laid her open palm on his naked flesh. How could this be happening? She had thought she was incapable of responding this way to a man’s touch.
A sense of unreality claimed her. This was a dream. One she had had more times than she could count. Years ago, when she had been young and naive and trusting. When she had been eager to experience the pleasures of sex with the man she loved.
But this dream had died a brutal death, as so many of her dreams had. Killed by reality. Destroyed by Johnny Mack’s departure from her life. Bludgeoned by Kent’s insensitivity that had eventually turned to cruelty.
“Lane.” He whispered her name. Soft, low and deep.
A quivering sensation spiraled through her body, from the very depths of her feminine soul. Was he asking permission? her hazy mind wondered. Or was he giving her fair warning?
T
he moment his lips touched hers, she braced herself for the bruising crush that she had come to expect whenever Kent kissed her. But there was no demanding lunge, no hard, grinding pressure.
Remember, her mind murmured, remember how it was with Johnny Mack. She sighed, as much from the memory as from the present pleasure. His lips were warm and wet and captured hers with a languid, sensual expertise that took her breath away. He tasted and tempted, licked and nipped. Tenderly. Patiently. But only when she opened her mouth with a gratified sigh did he ease his tongue inside and explore her more intimately.
Rational thought ceased to exit as a longing that would not be denied took control of Lane. She wanted more. Oh, God, she needed so much more.
The feel of his hard, hot flesh beneath her hands excited her in a way she had never dreamed possible—not after Kent brutalized and humiliated her. When Johnny Mack lowered his hands to grasp her buttocks and fit her tightly against his erection, she couldn’t control her body’s instinctive preparation. The gush of moisture. The clenching and unclenching. The ache that only sex could ease.
“I want to make love to you,” he told her, his lips against her ear. “I denied us both what we wanted fifteen years ago, but we aren’t the same two people we were then. If this is what you want—”
Why had he said anything? Why hadn’t he just taken her to bed and made love to her? He was asking her to make the decision. If she let things go any farther, it would be her choice.
“You’re very good at this,” Lane said, as she wriggled in an effort to free herself from his hold. “Comes from a great deal of experience, no doubt.”
He released her immediately, but made no move to separate his body from the nearness of hers. When he looked her square in the eye, she saw anger and something more. Regret?
“When it’s right between a man and a woman, it doesn’t matter who or how many have come before. Or at least it shouldn’t,” he said.
She knew he hadn’t been pining away for her all these years and certainly hadn’t lived a celibate life. But she had pined for him, year after year, until she had grown to hate him. And since the day she’d asked Kent for a divorce, she hadn’t been with a man; hadn’t wanted an intimate relationship ever again. Knowing that she would never have to let Kent or any other man touch her had been such a great relief.
After Dark Page 14