She sat up and for a moment he thought she was going to call a halt to the whole procedure. One part of him wished she would; it would be awkward to spend every waking moment with her afterwards. The other part wanted her to be in his bed every day for the rest of his life. Two opposing forces and both terrified him.
"It's my turn," she whispered. She buried her face in the soft brown hair on his chest, nuzzling there until he moaned.
"I could love you," he tangled his fingers in her hair.
She heard him but chose to ignore such a crazy idea. It was a line he probably used on all the women he bedded from Texas all the way to New York City. Love was an overrated, overused, four-letter word. She pulled the string on his bathing suit and peeled it off his slender hips. "Oh my, I do believe you could hold up your hat," she whispered with a giggle.
He smiled and she trailed kisses up his neck and chin, finally finding his lips. She didn't love Slade and she wouldn't say such idiotic words. She didn't intend to ever love anyone again and this was definitely a one-night stand just to release all the adrenaline still racing in her veins.
Later, Slade propped up on an elbow. "The next time will be better. It's been a while."
She wrapped the bed sheet around her and started for the shower. "If it's any better than that, I wouldn't be able to stand it. There won't be a next time, Slade."
"Why?"
"Because… I can't put it into words. It just can't happen again, is all."
"So this is what a one-night stand feels like," he said.
"I wouldn't know. I've never been one until now. It was a heat of the moment thing, Slade. One of those, I'm-alive-I-have-to-prove-I'm-alive moments. It didn't mean anything lasting or real."
He lay on his back staring at a blank television screen while she took a long shower. Emotions rattled around inside him like marbles in a quart fruit jar. He was elated that she wouldn't expect more out of him than a one time performance. Now that her would-be assassin was in custody, he could take her to Greenville and get on back to his hayfields.
Then again, Slade was just plain sad.
He made no attempt to cover his nakedness when she returned, dressed in her faded old nightshirt, a towel around her wet hair and a blush on her face. "Your turn," she said.
"Sure thing. Then we can check out. I can have you back at your ranch before midnight and be on my way back to Ringgold."
"No!" she almost shouted.
"Why? The boogerman is in custody. This meant nothing. What else is there to do?"
"One more week. We don't have to travel but I've got to be somewhere hidden for another week. Damn it, Slade—don't you see? If Paul has to do it himself, he'll pull the trigger or commit me to keep that oil company. I can't go home until I'm twenty-five years old. Even the fancy-smancy lawyer you put me in touch with said for me to stay away until the Monday after my birthday."
"Why the Monday after? Why not the very day?"
"Company offices are closed on Saturday and Sunday. Please find a place for me to hide for another week. I don't have to be on the ranch but…"
"I know just the place. We'll leave in the morning. It'll take a couple of days and when we get there, I'm going home."
"Where?" Lord, she wished he'd cover up or at least put his bathing suit back on. Desire was begin ning to melt her hormones into a puddle in the middle of her stomach.
"You are going to Milli and Beau's place until your birthday. I'll go on back to the Double L and take care of my own business. You can fly home on Monday. I'll even drive up there and take you to the airport in Dallas."
"I wasn't invited."
"No, you weren't. You can pay them."
"You sure are a cold sumbitch when you are mad," she said.
"I'm not mad, Jane. I'm tired of running all over creation with you. I'm ready for this to be over and go home."
She nodded. "Me, too."
"Pick a movie or read your romance book. I'm going to take a shower and go to the bar downstairs for a few drinks."
"Can I go?"
"Not with me. You can go before I do or after but not with me," he said.
"Why? Are you interested in a one-night stand with another woman?" Her heart dropped to the floor and flopped around in pain.
"I'd say that was my business."
"After what we just did?"
He stretched and stood up, towering above her. "I think your exact words were 'It was a heat of the moment thing. One of those, I'm-alive-I-have-to-prove I'm-alive moments. It didn't mean anything lasting or real.' Correct me if I'm wrong. But there might be a woman in the bar who's looking for something lasting or real, now that I don't have to baby-sit you or put up with your whining."
"Whining!" she shouted and threw her wet towel at him.
He caught it mid air. "Yes, whining! I'm mad. Feed me. I'm not dead. Make love to me. I own you because I'm in trouble so do everything I say but it doesn't mean shit."
"You are a pig from hell."
"You stole that line from that stupid chick flick, Steel Magnolias. Come up with something original or keep your mouth shut."
"You don't tell me what to do. And I don't care if that line is straight out of your sorry ass, it's the truth. Besides that movie is not stupid and what were you doing watching it? Suffering through something without blood and guts to get in a woman's pants?"
He grinned. "Oh, darlin', I don't have to do anything like that. I just have to be a damn good bodyguard and they fall at my feet."
"Go to hell," she said.
"If that's what they call the bar, that's where I'm headed. I'll call your curse and meet you in hell, Ellacyn Jane Hayes, but you stay out of the bar. I don't want any more of your company tonight."
She shot him her meanest look and slammed the door between the bedroom and sitting room. Damn his black soul to the devil's back forty for all eternity. There hadn't been a man in her entire life, and that included John, who could make her so mad. So he was going to the bar, was he? Well, she'd beat him there and be one drink ahead of him when he arrived.
She jerked her T-shirt over her head with such force that she ripped the neck binding and kicked it over next to the wet towel. She fished one of her sundresses from the duffel bag, glad that it was that new fabric that could be left on the highway, run over by a semi, and then thrown in a dog bed for a week, and still wouldn't need ironing. Her bra went into the duffel bag and she pulled the dress up from the bottom, tying the halter top at the nape of her neck. She ran a brush through her semi-wet hair and applied a little makeup. She was just shutting the door when he stepped out of the shower.
"Well, damn it all, anyway," he grumbled. Surely, she hadn't taken off on her own. Granny would kill him on the spot if he'd lost her precious friend's granddaughter. He sure couldn't tell her they'd had a knock-down, drag-out after the best sex he'd ever had.
He hurriedly dried his hair, put on jeans, a shirt, boots, and splashed on a bit of cologne. He wasn't really looking for a woman. God knew he wasn't even interested in anyone but a feisty little wench who fought like a tiger and had a bend toward arguing. But he'd be drawn and quartered before he let her know such a thing.
He found her sitting on a barstool with several men already staring their fill and a look in their eyes that said they were about to go in for the kill. Considering how enraged she was, they had no idea how much a one-night stand would cost them. Dinner alone could run into three digits. A romp in the bed would have them yanking out whatever hair they had left. That bald-headed fellow winking at her from the end of the bar would have to bite the bullet and tear the earring out of his earlobe just to pay for part of her dinner.
He propped a hip on the barstool right next to her and ordered a beer. She'd already downed one and was on her second. She didn't even look at him.
He looked into the mirror behind the bar instead of at her. "What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"
"That's cliché and about as old as my grandmothe
r," she said.
"Okay then, what's a good-lookin' broad like you doin' in a high-class joint like this?"
"This would only be high class to a piece of redneck white trash like you."
"Thank you ma'am. I am a redneck piece of white trash but remember I can hang a hat on the family jewels without using my hands to hold it there."
"Prove it."
"Right here?" He made as if to stand up.
"Chicken?"
"Not at all. You don't mind the ladies seeing the trick, I damn sure don't mind. Remember Ellen is my aunt."
She actually blushed.
He stood the rest of the way up, slowly pulled his shirt from his pants and unbuckled his belt.
She put her hands over her face. "Stop!"
He refastened his belt and sat back down on the stool, leaving his shirt hanging free.
"What's your name, pretty lady?"
She glared at his reflection without bothering to turn her head and actually look at his profile. He smelled wonderful. Water droplets still hung on the curls just beginning to hang on his shirt collar again from the last haircut. She wanted nothing more than to drag him back upstairs and undress him.
"Jane Day," she answered belligerently. No man was going to talk to her like he did and expect to make up in the mirror above a bar. Whining indeed!
"Pretty name for a pretty girl. Could I buy you a drink?"
"You're buying all of them. I'm charging every thing to the room. Including a tray full sent to that table over there where all those good-looking preppy types are sitting."
He bit back the acid remark begging to be let loose from his mouth.
"Remember what Pepper said to the lady at the party?"
"Before he danced on the tabletop?" she asked.
"That's right. I believe the line was 'I can ride anything with hair and dance with anything that has two feet.' Well I can add one to that. I can ride anything with hair better than you can, dance with anything with two feet better than you can, and I can damn sure drink your sorry ass under the table," he said.
"You're on, cowboy."
"I was an hour ago," he said.
She blushed again.
"What's the stakes?" she asked.
"No stakes. Just a contest. Winner wins. Loser loses," he said.
"Set 'em up bartender. And bring a bottle of Jack Daniels to chase 'em with."
"You crazy, lady?" the bartender asked.
"No, I'm a winner."
She declared she was still sober enough to make it up all seven flights of stairs and to hell with the elevator. He said he'd be carrying her before they made it to the third floor. By the middle of the second floor they were kissing while they caught their breath. On the third floor she threw up in a huge pot with a fake tree of some kind. On the fourth, Slade did the same in a trash can. Fifth floor: it took three tries to get the quarters into the soda machine for a Sprite, but they finally managed and washed the bad taste from their mouths. They had to rest on the sixth floor steps and that's where she lost her dress and gained his shirt. Finally, they made it to their floor and stumbled down the hall leaning on each other, slipping and falling, giggling and kissing. By the time they had their room door locked she was wearing nothing but his shirt. Her bikini underwear was hanging out his back pocket like a victory flag and her dress was thrown over his shoulder like a towel.
They awoke the next morning in bed together, snuggled up in each other's arms wearing nothing but birthday suits and severe headaches, with the memory of proving that Slade could wear a hat in a most conspicuous place and that Jane could make love with his boots on her tiny feet.
She awoke humming "Don't Call Him a Cowboy."
Slade tried to smile but it hurt too badly.
"I'm going to the shower. When I come out I don't want to hear a word," she whispered.
"Don't worry, neither do I," he said.
Chapter 13
IT WAS FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY MILES FROM BATON ROUGE to Beau and Milli's ranch southwest of Ardmore. Slade had every intention of unloading Jane that night. He could make it in nine hours, even allowing time to stop for food and potty breaks. But he hadn't counted on hangovers and headaches. He kept hoping she'd set up a whining moan, wanting to stop so she could sleep off the hangover. He couldn't complain—not after the whining accusation he'd made the night before. She didn't and he made it to Shreveport before he took an exit advertising Economy Inn. To the devil with waiting for her to want to stop; he was driving. She was simply sitting there.
"Thank God," she muttered. She would have curled up in a ball beside a farm pond and used a dried-up cow patty for a pillow just to get out of the truck. The wheels turning on the highway sounded like a brass band marching through her head. Every time Slade sighed she wanted to slap him for making so much noise. She figured he was stopping for a cup of coffee or a potty break. A few minutes inside the bathroom at a McDonalds would be heaven. She might sit on the toilet for an hour, lean her head against the cold steel of the stall, and sleep.
"Did you say something?" he asked.
She shook her head and even that hurt.
"Two rooms or one?" he asked when he stopped under the hotel awning.
"Two," she answered.
She could have kissed him but she'd already proven where that could and would lead. And she damn sure didn't want a drink to celebrate having her own bedroom.
Early birds that they were, he was able to get them ground-floor rooms with outside entrances. Side by side with a connecting door, which he had no intention of opening. He tossed a couple of room keys toward her when he opened the truck door.
"We got two right around the corner toward the back," he said.
She didn't care where they were as long as the ice machine wasn't close enough that she could hear it dumping every few minutes. A bed with clean sheets and dark drapes were the only things she required.
He grabbed his suitcase and she reached for her duffel bag at the same time. Their fingertips touched and sparks flew but neither of them even looked up. There would be time enough to think about the future once the present pain was gone.
There was plenty of hot water and she stood under it for a long time. She wrapped a white towel around her body, brushed her teeth, and turned back the bed. The sheets were crisp and cool, the air conditioner turned down as far as it would go, and she wallowed for about thirty seconds before she looked at the digital clock beside the bed. It was three minutes past three p.m. when she shut her eyes.
She felt a presence, slowly opened one eye, and checked the clock. Six forty-five. She popped both eyes open to see Slade sitting on the bed right beside hers. He was a dead man. She'd only had a three-hour nap. No way was she ready to go again. He could go find something to do and let her sleep some more.
"Hungry?" he asked.
She put a pillow over her head and rolled away from him. "Still sleepy. Go away."
"You've been sleeping almost seventeen hours."
She sat straight up and her stomach set up a growling howl that could have been heard halfway to Georgia.
"You're lying to me just to get me awake," she said. Her head was free of pain. She was hungry. Was it really morning? She grabbed the remote control and turned on the television to find the morning news complete with a weather report for Shreveport. Hot and dry. Surprise!
"Sounds like you are hungry. Get dressed while I check out and we'll find a Denny's. I could eat a Grand Slam breakfast this morning," Slade said.
Jane was beautiful with her hair all tousled and it was cute the way she kept the sheet tucked around her when she sat up. Evidently when he wasn't around she slept in the nude just like he did.
"Give me ten minutes to brush my teeth and get my hair in a ponytail," she said.
He didn't move.
"Get out of here. I'm starving."
"I've seen you naked. Go ahead. Besides I've already checked out. My stuff is in the truck."
"You are a pig from hell
," she said.
"We've already established that. I think it was before I showed you who could drink the most."
"I outdid you, cowboy. You fell asleep before I did."
"That's only because you wore me out. So crawl your ass out of bed and get dressed. I'm sittin' right here. It's my prize for winning."
"You did not win," she argued.
"Sure I did. I woke up before you did, which means it didn't take me as long to get over the drunk, so that makes me the winner."
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