by Terry Odell
A warm hand on her shoulder should have made her jump, but didn't. Somehow, she had become attuned to Ryan's approach. His scent, the cadence of his footfalls, slightly syncopated as he favored his injured knee. Had their lovemaking aggravated it?
Sex, she told herself. Not lovemaking. Wonderful sex, but she wasn't ready to go beyond that. Not yet, and not with Ryan. Tonight they'd both taken refuge from burdens they couldn't control.
"She looks like an angel, doesn't she?" he whispered. "Totally at peace."
He slipped his arm around her waist. She turned and rested her cheek against his bare chest, taking in the raw, male scent of him. He drew her closer, apparently at ease with his nakedness, and she traced the line of hair that ran down his torso, stopping at the nest of curls at his groin. He kissed the top of her head, and she felt as much at peace as Molly. Who should not wake up and see a naked man outside her door. Where were her brains?
Breaking the embrace, she closed Molly's door. She took Ryan's hand and led him back to the bedroom. The bedside lamp was on. "It's been wonderful, but you can't stay."
"I understand. I promise I'll be gone before she wakes up, but I don't want to leave yet."
She glanced at the clock on her dresser. After midnight. She should be exhausted, but she'd never felt so alive. "I guess a little longer's okay."
He lowered the robe from her shoulders. "Let me look at you."
She knew she blushed, but she stood still and let his gaze move up and down her body. Roughened by calluses, his fingertips were surprisingly gentle as they roamed the silver streaks at her breasts and belly. She fought the urge to cross her arms and hide the lasting evidence of her pregnancy.
"They're ugly. I know."
"Honey, don't be ashamed. You're not ashamed of Molly. You should be proud of these, too. Right now, I find them…erotic."
Dumbfounded, yet without embarrassment, she stood there as he walked around her, kissing her shoulders, her neck, running his hands down her back.
His fingers stopped at the base of her spine, exactly where she expected. "Now that's a surprise," he said. "I never would have figured you for the body art type."
"Does it bother you?"
He turned her around and placed her hand on his erection. "Not in a negative way, honey."
She followed his gaze to the nightstand and the scattering of square foil packets. "Again? So soon?"
"What can I say? Stretch marks and palm tree tattoos seem to do it for me."
They seemed to do it for her, too.
*****
Much the way she'd watched over Molly, Frankie watched Ryan, asleep beside her. Feeling brazen from the exciting new places he'd taken her, she studied his body without shame. In repose, his rugged features relaxed, and she saw a gentleness that made it difficult to believe he could be as hard and cold as his job demanded. The still-red scar at his knee, and others she'd seen, faded with time on his back, on his chest, half-hidden beneath the dark hairs, brought home the reality of who he was. He'd said he'd quit that job, but she wondered if he could stop being the person who used force to take care of things.
Well, he hadn't used any force tonight. Tender and patient, he'd shown her a side of him—and herself—that sent a warm glow through her. She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. He snapped awake. The warrior, ever vigilant. For this night, her warrior.
"Hi," she said. "Nice nap?"
He sat up and raked his fingers through his hair. "Yeah. Guess someone wore me out."
She smiled, pleased that she'd satisfied him. Tonight had been one of mutual pleasure.
"What time does Molly wake up?" he asked.
"Usually by seven, although if she's as wiped out as she should be after her day, maybe eight."
"And how much sleep do you need?"
"Tomorrow—today," she corrected, after seeing that it was after one—"is Saturday. She knows how to fix herself a bowl of cereal and watch cartoons, but I don't like to leave her unsupervised very long. She may look like an angel when she's asleep, but—"
"I get it. I think I found a little devil in her mother, too."
Her face burned. Before she could speak, he pulled her up alongside him.
He gave her the grin she loved, the one with the dimple. "Any chance of a midnight snack? My batteries need a charge."
"I'm no cook," she said, "but I could probably scrape something together."
"There's ice cream in the freezer. Double chocolate chip." He got out of bed and picked up his jeans. She admired the view as he stepped into them. She also noted that his briefs still lay on the floor.
"I don't remember buying any ice cream," she said, trying not to laugh as Ryan lost his balance. "And I wonder how you figured out that was my favorite flavor. Could a little angel have told you?" All of a sudden she wondered what other secrets Ryan might have pried out of Molly while they were together.
He turned away, and she heard the buzz of his zipper. She shook her head. They'd been as intimate as two people could be, he'd walked down the hall in all his naked glory, but he had to turn away to get dressed. She stepped up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
"I'll meet you downstairs," she said.
"I'd like fudge sauce on mine. It's on the counter by the microwave."
"You had this entire evening planned, didn't you? Candles, condoms and chocolate ice cream. What else could anyone ask for?"
Quick as a rattlesnake's strike, he grabbed her hands and spun her around. He clutched her to him, giving her a kiss that curled her toes. "The right person to share them with."
*****
Downstairs, tucked side-by-side into the corner of the couch, they shared a bowl of ice cream in companionable silence. Frankie set the empty bowl on the coffee table beside the flickering candles.
"Did you pick up your pictures?" he asked.
How had she forgotten? This morning they'd been the most important part of her day. "Yes. Want to look?"
"Of course."
She'd glanced at the small prints as soon as she'd picked them up, but now, she could study them in detail. Together, they leafed through her pictures. A glow of satisfaction welled up inside as she examined each one.
"You've got a great eye," Ryan said.
"Thanks." She put the pictures back into the envelope, eager to start printing.
She told herself to slow down. Check with Mr. Loucas first. See if he agreed, before she spent a lot of time and too much money. He knew his clientele, and what they'd like.
Ryan took the envelope and set it on the end table behind him. He leaned into the corner of the couch and stretched out his legs, patting his thighs in invitation. She smiled and curled up on his lap. He draped one arm over her shoulder. With his other hand, he stroked her hair.
"How long were you married?" he asked a few minutes later.
For all the expression in his voice, he might have been asking about the weather. Her heart rate stepped up, and the dreamlike quality of the evening snapped. Still, he deserved the truth, and she sighed. Afraid to meet his eyes, she faced away from him and positioned herself between his legs, reclining against him as if he were a comfortable chaise. His arms wrapped around her waist, confining as a seatbelt, but soothing as well.
"I wasn't," she said.
There was an extended silence. "I'm sorry. I assumed you were divorced."
"I can't say I'm proud of what I did. But I'm not ashamed, either. I was always the dutiful daughter, the one who poured oil on the troubled waters. I needed everything around me to be stable. I was loved, but there was always this niggling fear that if I didn't do everything right, people would go away."
"Your father?"
"I think that had a lot to do with it. He died when I was little, and part of me was afraid I might lose Mom, too. Irrational, but I wasn't much older than Molly.
"I never felt like I fit in Broken Bow. I had bigger dreams. I wanted to study art and be a famous photographer. I worked for two years t
o earn tuition money, and I got accepted on a partial scholarship to NYU. There, I was a small town kid in the big city. The first year, I hid out. Not many friends, did all my work, felt obligated to prove I was worth that scholarship."
"That sounds like you."
Her mind flashed back to those days. Her goals, her plans. Everything had a purpose.
"It was. But in my sophomore year, I started poking out of my cocoon. Football games, a few parties, making new friends. Louise. She was from a small town, too. Her goal for college seemed to be to experience as much of life as she could. She convinced me to go to Daytona Beach with her on spring break."
"Sounds like a little R and R might have been good for you. All work, no play—you know."
She tried to move away, but he put his hands on top of hers and circled his thumbs over her knuckles. His touch reassured her, and she went on.
"Spring break was one big party. Louise had commandeered our hotel room, bringing in guys, getting drunk, and not much else. She set me up with a friend of whoever she'd found for one night. Brent. He was nice enough, polite, and the four of us went for a long walk on the beach. It was hot, and he had some beer. Fitting in became important, and I had a drink. And another. After the third beer, I was out of it, and we ended up in a tattoo parlor. You saw the result."
"A permanent reminder of your first spring break. Not that bad, really." He leaned forward and nibbled her earlobe.
She tried to laugh, but it emerged as a snort. "Well, there was one other reminder."
Ryan's fingers stopped moving. "Molly?"
"Yeah. I was buzzed almost the entire rest of the trip. For a while, I blamed Brent for keeping the beer coming, but I was the one who drank it. I wanted to party like everyone else. Little Frankie from Broken Bow, Montana was letting her hair down. Louise wanted the room, so Brent and I spent most of our time together, and…well, I gave in."
"You didn't use protection?"
"Yes, but those things don't always work." Her scalp prickled. "Tonight. Everything was okay, wasn't it?"
He smiled. "All intact." He stroked her cheek.
The comfort of Ryan's touch released her inhibitions more effectively than alcohol ever could. She let out a long breath and forged ahead. "I was a virgin. I thought…until tonight… until you…I didn't realize what sex could be like." Her voice started to crack, and she swallowed. Ryan stayed silent.
"I thought it was supposed to be like that. Quick. With Brent, in the backseat of his car, it was all about him."
Ryan scooted himself up and worked his way out from behind her, tugging her legs around until she faced him. "You mean you never had sex again? Only that one time?"
She shook her head, trying to avert her gaze, but he lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. In the candlelight, his whiskey eyes looked almost as pained as they'd been the first night she'd seen him. Tears burned as she realized the pain was for her.
"Not just that time, but only with Brent." And always the same, she thought. Five minutes of kissing, a few breast tweaks, and into the cramped backseat. "Frankly, I couldn't see what all the fuss was about, and after that, I was too busy."
"You didn't keep seeing him after you went back to school?"
She shook her head, afraid the dammed up memories would burst through and overwhelm her.
"But—didn't you tell him you were pregnant?"
"He was a fling. A stupid, drunken, spring break fling. The one time in my life I was reckless. I didn't know I was pregnant until after we'd gone our separate ways. I never even knew his last name. He was from Wisconsin, that's all I knew. I have no idea where he is, and it doesn't matter. It wouldn't have worked out. He was more of a child than I was. Molly's mine. I made up my mind to keep the baby, finish school, and I did."
"Your mom? Family? You went through it all alone?"
The huskiness in his voice undid her, and the tears burst through. He held her, rocked her until they subsided. He handed her a napkin, and she wiped her eyes.
"Sorry. I never cry."
"Hush," he whispered, stroking her hair. "It's okay."
"I couldn't come home. Oh, Mom would have accepted me, but it was easier being a single mom at school than it would have been here. I didn't want either her pity or her disappointment. And with her being the school principal, I figured it was better all around. I made my bed and all that. No pun intended." She managed a tiny smile. "God, what a cliché I turned out to be, saving myself for marriage, then losing my virginity and getting pregnant on my first spring break. Considering the way my mind was working at the time, it was a good thing Molly was a girl. If she'd been a boy, I probably would have named him Mustang."
She twisted to see his face, and he gave her his dimpled grin. "Well, I guess I can't totally hate the guy, then. He has great taste in cars." Kissing her, he added, "And women. But it's probably a good thing you don't know his last name. I'd hunt him down and make him pay."
"Why? Molly's the best thing that ever happened to me."
"That may be so, but he took what should have been the most wonderful experience of your life, and he cheapened it with his selfishness. I can't forgive that."
"I don't hate him, Ryan. It's over and done, and I have Molly. I can't help remembering how she was conceived, but I don't think of it as a mistake. I can't. And until tonight, I never knew how much I'd been cheated."
She snuggled back into him, drowsy and content. Relieved of a burden she thought she'd shed long ago.
"Why Molly?" he asked.
"What?"
"Why that name? It's old-fashioned. Certainly not the female equivalent of Mustang. A family name?"
She laughed. "No. But Brent always had an oldies station on the radio. I lost my virginity to Good Golly, Miss Molly. Couldn't get it out of my head."
He chuckled and kissed her. Sweet and tender, but it sent a fresh surge of desire straight to her core. His hardness pressed against her thigh. No longer drowsy, she reached for him.
His hands were on her breasts. "If I set my alarm for six, can we go upstairs?"
The thought of an empty bed made the answer an easy one.
Chapter 19
Ryan wished for his Mustang as he coaxed the old ranch pickup down the mountain from his cabin to Frankie's the next morning. Her frantic phone call had sent his heart pounding, and it hadn't slowed yet. True to form, Frankie made absolutely no sense, babbling about Bob and Brenda, and then the damn signal had cut off.
All he got was she and Molly were all right. Nevertheless, he shoved his Glock into the glove compartment before taking off. At eleven on a Saturday morning, the highway was clear, and he pushed the pickup to its limit. His pulse slowed, but his mind slammed into overdrive. It dawned on him that when he'd heard Frankie's frenetic rambling, his first thoughts had been of both Frankie and Molly. As a unit. The two had become inexorably linked in his mind. Maybe not only in his mind.
He refused the thought. He needed distance. It had been a marvelous night, but that's all it was. One night.
Frankie needed help. That's what he did. Helped people. No strings.
Then why was he sporting a two by four between his legs? He remembered how she'd transformed from a meek, almost frightened girl to a wild vixen, eager to learn and willing to go anywhere he took her. She'd ended up taking him places as well. Delightful places.
Reflecting on what she'd said about her earlier sexual experience, he clenched the wheel, still wanting to find Brent in some dark alley and teach him a lesson. What kind of a man didn't consider his partner?
He sobered when he realized his own recent encounters had been even shallower than Brent's. Hell, at least Brent had hung around for the week, not disappeared before dawn, never to return, the way he usually did. But Ryan had never seduced a young, vulnerable girl—a virgin, no less. He seethed anew at the way Brent had treated Frankie.
He swerved into the turn onto Frankie's street and had barely stopped the pickup in her driveway before he was o
ut and running up the porch steps. She met him at the door, throwing herself into his arms. He held her to his chest, her heart pounding against him. She smelled clean and fresh, nothing like the way he'd left her last night, slicked with sweat and carrying the musky scent of their lovemaking. He tangled his fingers in her shiny hair. After a moment she sighed, and he felt her relax against him.
"Okay, Frankie. Explain. Deep breath, and start at the beginning."
She took his hand and tugged him through the kitchen, down a short hallway and opened a door. Inside was a simple bedroom, a twin bed neatly made with a flowered comforter. A desk, a chest of drawers, and an easy chair upholstered in a narrow striped fabric completed the room.
"She's gone," Frankie said. "Brenda. I came in to air out the room, to put in some fresh flowers as a welcome home, and this is what I found." She swept her arm in a broad circle.
At the far wall a door stood ajar. He wandered over and found a bathroom with a pedestal sink and stall shower. Blue towels hung neatly on the racks, but not so much as a toothbrush indicated anyone had used the room.
Back in the bedroom, he roamed through the small space, peering into the closet and dresser drawers.
"I already looked," Frankie said. "There's nothing in here. This is the way the room was when she arrived. She put pictures on the dresser, clothes in the closet, books—all the normal stuff any college student would. She wouldn't have taken it all to visit her family for a week, would she?"
He shook his head. "Doesn't seem likely. What do you know about her?"
"She was a grad student at the University. Business. She said she was from Arizona." Her face paled. "Arizona. BLD Enterprises. Brenda Donnegall. Not Bob Dwyer. I'll bet anything her middle initial is L."
Her face faded to the color of a cheap paper plate, and she sank to the bed. "You've got to find her. I was all wrong about Bob. Brenda stole Mom's money. I'm sure of it."