by Sandra Brown
Panting, Lucky continued, "I didn't remember it later. Not until today when—" He broke off, unwilling to let mention of Shelby spoil the most pleasure he'd ever had in bed. God, it just didn't get any better than this.
"Today, when I realized that you were a virgin that night and that I was the only man you'd ever been with, hell or high water couldn't have kept me away from you, Devon."
Then he groaned her name again and sank deeper into the snug, liquid heat of her body, and they both climaxed. Her throat arched beautifully, and her limbs enfolded him as she experienced her long, sweet release.
Moments later, lying face-to-face, he brushed away the damp strands of hair that clung to her flushed cheeks. Her eyes were limpid and dilated, as though she had been drugged.
"Lucky," she said in a soft, sad rasp, lightly touching his lips with her fingertips.
"That's me." He smiled crookedly.
Without returning his smile, she rolled to the opposite side of the bed and got up. He appreciatively watched as her graceful body moved from bed to closet and she wrapped a robe around her slim nakedness. He was charmed, especially when she used both hands to free her sex-tousled hair from her collar.
But when she turned to face him, his enchantment dissipated.
"What?" he asked with perplexity.
"You've got to go now."
He would have thought he hadn't heard her correctly if her face weren't so pale and blank of all expression. Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he reached for his jeans, thrust his feet into them, and pulled them on as he stood up. Tamping down his frustration, and a twinge of fear, he approached her calmly.
"That's the craziest statement I've ever heard you say, Devon. What do you mean by it?"
"Just what I said. You'll have to go now. And this time our parting must be final. You can't come back."
"Does the expression 'fat chance' mean anything to you?"
"Don't get angry."
"I'm not angry. I'm incredulous."
"Let's not make this difficult."
He laughed hoarsely. "It started out with a fist-fight, Devon. It was difficult from the beginning, and got more so each time we saw each other. But dammit, we've just proved it's worth fighting for. Tell me you think so, too."
Gnawing her lower lip, she glanced away and began fiddling with the knotted belt of her robe. Her distress was plain. Lucky softened his tone. "Tell me what's wrong."
"I'm married."
"Not to him."
"To him!" she said with emphasis. "Our names are on the marriage certificate. We signed it. In the eyes of the state—"
"What about the eyes of God? Who's more your husband? Him or me?"
"How dare you drag religion into this," she cried angrily. "Are you suggesting that since you've known me in a biblical sense, you have a greater claim on me than Greg?" She tossed back her hair. Her green eyes were stormy. "If you are spiritually married to every woman you've slept with, then you're a polygamist!"
The barb hit home, and Lucky knew it would be pointless to pursue that line of reasoning. It had been worth a try, however. This was one argument he had to win. He had to pull out all the stops.
"You don't love him," he stated flatly.
"No, I don't. But I'm still married to him."
"And why? Why did you ever marry him? He doesn't love you either."
"At the time it seemed right."
"I applaud your grand gesture, but, Devon, surely you don't plan to throw away your happiness and spend the rest of your life with a jerk like him?"
"I have to stay married to him at least until he gets out of prison."
"He used you."
"I know that."
"He's a felon."
"I know that, too."
"You know he's guilty?" he asked, his jaw dropping open.
She gave a terse bob of her head. "I lied to you before. I'm reasonably certain he did it. At first I believed he was innocent. Later, after he was incarcerated, I began to have my doubts."
"Why?"
"He refused to consummate our marriage. Oh, he told me it was for my benefit. That way, he said, if I wanted to get out of the marriage, I could more easily. I thought he was being self-sacrificing. He might still be."
Lucky was shaking his head. "He was thinking of himself. He wanted to be able to have the marriage annulled when you were no longer useful. I'll bet that even now, he's trying to figure a way to turn the scandal about us to his advantage."
She hung her head. "The afternoon I met you, I learned that he had been declining his conjugal visits, something that I hadn't even known was available until I heard another prisoner's wife talking about it. I confronted Greg. We had a big row. I couldn't understand why he would reject his marital rights."
"Unless he was guilty not only of the crime, but gross manipulation."
"Yes."
It was a tough admission for her to make, but it only frustrated Lucky further. He plowed his hand through his hair. "Why haven't you started divorce—or annulment—proceedings?"
"Because I had used Greg just as much as he had used me. I used his story to help promote my column. That's when the Devon Haines byline really began to mean something to the newspaper. So I, as much as Greg, profited from our marriage."
"Devon, you've got incredible talent. Your column would have succeeded anyway. Why are you staying married?"
"Because I take my responsibilities seriously. I can't just wash my hands of a marriage because it's no longer useful, because it's inconvenient."
He shot down that argument with a curt, "Bullshit. You just don't want to admit that you were duped."
"That's not true!"
He knew by her instantaneous and adamant rebuttal that his guess had been right. "You always have to be in control, calling the shots. It's impossible for you to admit that twice your heart has overruled your head. Greg's sob story got to you, and you can't live with that. Rather than admitting to a mistake in judgment, you'll stubbornly stay married to him just to prove you were right."
"As long as there's the slightest chance that he's innocent, I can't desert him while he's in prison."
Lucky's oaths were vicious. "You don't believe he's innocent any more than I do."
"You said my heart had overruled my head twice."
He glanced at the bed. "You've fought it every step of the way, but you love me and I damn well know it. We connected the first time we laid eyes on each other. What you can't own up to is that you're as vulnerable between the thighs—"
"I won't listen to your lewd—"
"You don't want to be a weak nonentity like your mother was, totally dependent on her husband for everything. Okay. Fine. Guess what, Devon? I don't want to wipe my feet on you. I don't want a silent, submissive partner, in or out of bed."
"I have a husband."
"He's not the issue. He never has been, or so I found out this morning. You're just using him as an escape hatch. This is between you and me."
He gripped her shoulders. "You want a career. Terrific. Have one. I'm all for it. But have me, too. We can have each other and make both our careers worthwhile.
"I want babies. The burden of that responsibility falls on you, I'm afraid. But if you consented to have my babies, I'd put you on a pedestal and make it the most wonderful experience of your life."
He lowered his voice to a compelling, tempting whisper. "I've felt your passion for me, Devon. I've tasted it. I know it's there. Put your arms around my neck. Tell me you need me. Admit you love me."
"Twice you've persuaded me to break my wedding vows. Isn't that enough for you?"
"I want us to exchange our own vows, vows our bodies have already made. Vows you haven't made with Greg or any other man."
"I can't see you again, Lucky."
"Say you love me."
"I can't."
"It's because of the way your mother died, isn't it?" he demanded.
Devon fell back a step. "What?"
; "You turned a deaf ear to her and she died. You take responsibility for her death."
"Yes!" she cried. "Wouldn't you?"
"Was she incapacitated? Bedridden? Homebound? Unable to drive?"
"What are you getting at?"
"Could she have gone to the doctor alone, Devon?" She hedged, and he knew he was on to something. "She laid that guilt on you because her life had been miserable, and in a warped way she wanted yours to be. She probably wanted to die, and going about it as painfully as possible was her way of guaranteeing your attention for the rest of your life. And in the same damn way, you've shackled yourself to Shelby."
"He might be innocent."
"He isn't."
"But if he is—"
"You will have done all you could do to save him from imprisonment." He clamped down on her shoulders. "Devon, you can't take on responsibility for the whole world. No one's asked you to. You can't sacrifice your present happiness because of what happened in the past or what might happen in the future. Let it go. Let them go. Focus on someone who needs you here and now."
He had never begged a woman for anything. It was difficult for him to do so now. It went against his nature as diametrically as snow in the jungle. But, as he had realized, this was one argument he couldn't lose. His life depended on it.
"Don't throw away the best damn thing that has ever happened to either of us. Not for the sake of pride or principle or anything else. Don't. I'm begging you, Devon, please don't." He bracketed her jaw with his hands and tilted her head back. Enunciating each word, he said, "Tell me you love me."
She stared him down, her features tortured and emotional. Slowly her head began moving from side to side, as far each way as his hands would allow. Then, voice tearing, she said, "I can't. Please don't ask me to again."
* * *
Chapter 20
Lucky's black mood didn't improve when he got caught in a traffic jam as he approached the outskirts of Milton Point. He cursed the summer heat, the gloriously setting sun, cruel fate. After sitting broiling in his open convertible for several minutes, he got out and flagged down a cattle truck that was driving past in the opposite lane.
"What's caused this snafu?"
"Helluva wreck ahead of you," the teamster shouted down from the cab of his rig. "Two cars. Ambulances. Highway patrol and local cops. The whole shooting match. You might be here for a while, buddy."
"Not likely," Lucky muttered as he climbed back into his Mustang. He was going to the place, where he would drown out all thoughts and memories of Devon Haines and her senseless, stupid stubbornness if it took ten gallons of Jack Daniel's to do it.
He was eventually able to maneuver the Mustang out of the lane and onto the shoulder of the highway. To the fury of other stranded drivers, he breezed along the outside lane, slowing up only when he came even with the site of the wreck and the emergency vehicles.
He was hoping to crawl past without attracting attention, but his legendary luck had deserted him. One of the officers flagged him down and approached his car. Lucky recognized him as a local sheriff's deputy.
"Damn."
"Hey, Lucky, I thought that was you," the deputy called when he was still some distance away. "Stay put," he ordered.
"But—"
"Wait right there." The officer turned and jogged toward a cluster of other officials.
Lucky blew out a gust of breath. Why the hell was he being detained? He had just about decided to disobey the deputy's order when he noticed Pat Bush detaching himself from the huddled group of officers.
"Pat," he called, "get me out of this—"
"Lucky."
Pat's somber expression and hushed tone of voice were out of character under the circumstances. Pat usually commandeered this kind of situation with professional detachment. Lucky's impatience switched to curiosity. "What's going on?"
"Pull your car over there. I need to talk to you."
"What's the matter?" Lucky put on his emergency brake and alighted. Something was very wrong here. Pat was having a hard time looking him in the eye, and Lucky couldn't account for his strange behavior. He was off the hook as far as the arson charge went.
Alarmed, he glanced beyond Pat, toward the tangled wreckage, and slumped with relief because he didn't recognize either car involved in the accident. "Good God, Pat. You had me thinking that one of—"
Pat laid a hand, a consoling hand, on his arm. He and Pat exchanged a meaningful glance. Then Lucky shook off Pat's hand and broke into a run.
"Lucky!" Pat grabbed hold of his shirt.
"Who is it?"
"It's Tanya."
Lucky's chest caved in painfully, his ribs seeming to crack under the pressure of his disbelief. "Tanya?" he croaked. "She's hurt?"
Pat lowered his eyes.
"No," Lucky said in swift denial. What Pat's silent gesture indicated was unthinkable. He ran toward the ambulances, elbowing aside anybody who dared to block his path.
Parting the crowd, he saw that an injured woman was being worked over by paramedics. When he heard her groans, he felt a burst of relief. But as he drew nearer, he saw that her hair color was wrong.
Frantically scanning the area, he spotted another collapsible gurney. It was being lifted into the ambulance. A black zippered bag had been strapped to it. He lunged forward.
Pat stepped into his path and struggled to stop him. "Let go of me!" he shouted.
"It won't do any good to see her now, Lucky."
"Get out of my way!" Bellowing like an enraged bull, he overpowered the older man, shoved him aside, and charged for the back of the ambulance.
The startled paramedics put up token protests as he pushed them aside, but the ferocity of his expression was intimidating, and they fell back. Lucky reached forward and unzipped the black plastic bag.
After one long, disbelieving gaze, Lucky squeezed his eyes shut and spun around. Pat signaled for the paramedics to finish their business. Lucky didn't even respond when the ambulance doors were slammed shut and the vehicle drove off.
"You okay?"
Lucky looked at Pat, but he didn't really see anything except his sister-in-law's still white face. "It's not possible."
Pat nodded his head, as though agreeing. "I was just getting ready to notify Chase of the accident and tell him to meet the ambulance at the hospital."
Lucky's chest heaved. He felt as if a white-hot spike had been driven through his heart. He thought he might vomit. "No. This is a family affair. I'll go. And nobody else tells my mother or sister either, got that?"
"Lucky, this isn't the time to—"
"Got that?"
Pat backed down. "All right. If that's the way you want it."
"That's the way I want it."
"As soon as this is cleared up, I'll come out to the house."
Lucky didn't hear him. He was already headed for his car. It was only a short distance from the accident site to the office of Tyler Drilling. On the one hand, it seemed the longest drive he'd ever made. On the other, he was there far too soon, before he had found the words he must say.
Chase's car was parked out front. Lucky pushed open the door of his Mustang. It felt as though it weighed a ton. On his way into the office he met Chase coming out.
"Hey, where've you been all day? Mother said you struck out first thing this morning and hadn't been seen since." He was obviously in a hurry, and didn't give Lucky time to answer.
"George Young called and wants to know when we plan to make that note payment. That s.o.b. is still putting pressure on us, fire or no fire. I heard from somebody at the courthouse that Little Alvin and Jack Ed both pleaded guilty to arson today and will be sentenced sometime next week. I also met with the guy from the insurance company for two and a half hours. Thank God we kept up those premiums. I'll tell you all about that later. Right now I'm late. I'm supposed to meet Tanya at—"
"Chase, wait a minute." He laid his hand on his brother's shoulder, stopping him halfway down the steps. His lips began to
tremble, and Chase's image blurred because of his tears. Lucky's voice faltered. He unsuccessfully cleared his throat. "Chase—"
God, how did one tell a man that the woman he loved and the child she carried were dead?
* * *
The following morning Marcie Johns was moved out of intensive care and into a regular room at St. Luke's Methodist Hospital. She had suffered a concussion, a broken arm and collarbone, and trauma, but none of her injuries had been critical.
She was considered fortunate, since the driver of the other vehicle involved in the accident, a Texas Tech student home for the summer, and Marcie's passenger, Tanya Tyler, had been fatalities. The student had run a stop sign and hit Marcie's car broadside. Most considered it a blessing that he and Tanya had died instantly upon impact.
Lucky had wanted to hit anybody he overheard saying such a thing, and was only glad that, so far, nobody had said it to Chase.
His brother wasn't himself. He was acting like a crazy man. A little unreasonableness was justified, but when he had announced that he was going to the hospital to speak with Marcie, the other members of his family had been shocked and had pleaded with him to reconsider. No amount of persuasion could change his mind, however, so Laurie had instructed Lucky to go with his brother and "take care of him."
Together they walked down the corridor of the hospital toward the room assigned to Ms. Johns. "Why are you so bent on seeing her?" Lucky asked quietly, hoping that even now Chase would change his mind. "If anybody catches us with her, they'll throw us out of here. She's still in serious condition, and not supposed to have visitors."
Chase was walking with the determined tread of a prophet on a mission. He pushed open the door and entered the shadowed room. Lucky, after a quick glance over his shoulder, went in behind him. He vaguely remembered Marcie Johns from high school, and knew her now only by sight. She was an attractive woman, but one couldn't tell by looking at her now.
In spite of the fact that she had been wearing her seat belt, she'd been thrown against the windshield with enough force to bruise and abrade her face. Both eyes were ringed with bruises. Her nose and lips were grotesquely swollen. On her shoulder was a cast designed to keep her broken arm elevated.