Sunny Chandler's Return

by Sandra Brown

  “You’re kidding!”

  “I’m only repeating what George said, you understand. The most popular theory, second to the baby one, was that you...uh...never mind.”

  “Come on, give.”

  “Nope, I gotta be going.”

  He made as if to rise. Sunny caught his arm. “Tell me, damn you. You brought this up.”

  His gaze moved slowly over her troubled face, taking in the messy ponytail on the top of her head and the curling tendrils that sweat had glued to her neck. It finally settled on her mouth. “Are you frigid, Sunny?”

  Her hand fell from his arm. She stared up at him in mute incredulity. “Just because I wouldn’t marry Don, they think I’m frigid?”

  He frowned and gave a dismissive shrug. “People talk. They make up things and twist them until the wild stories fit their own purposes.” He peered at her closely. “Of course, there’s usually some basis for speculation.”

  “There’s absolutely no basis for this speculation.”

  “George says you went through boyfriends like Kleenex.”

  “George is prone to exaggerate.”

  “Didn’t you have a string of broken hearts to your credit?”

  “I had my fair share of dates.”

  “Boys talk.”

  “Meaning?”

  “According to George, no one ever claimed to... you know. You never...”

  Sunny was fuming. “Went all the way?”

  He flashed a fleeting, though dazzling, smile. “Quaint phrase, but that about sums it up, yes. From what I hear, you left the boys of Latham Green hot and bothered. You’d only go so far, then zip.” He laughed at his own play on words. “I didn’t mean that literally.”

  “Disgusting.” Despite the heat, she shivered.

  “Some unflattering names are pinned on girls who tease.” His blue gaze moved over her. “Personally I don’t believe it about you. But you’ve got to admit they have a good case. You’re still single. You don’t have any boyfriends.”

  “I have boyfriends!”

  “How many?”

  Sunny was immobilized when the realization struck her. She shot him a baleful look from beneath her brows, then gradually raised her head. Her golden eyes were smoldering. “You’re making all this up, aren’t you? Aren’t you?” She surged to her feet. “You bastard.” She aimed a kick at his shin, but he dodged it. “Get off my pier.”

  He sprang to his feet, reached for her and missed. “Just calm down.”

  “Calm down? Calm down!” She was so furious her voice squeaked. “I’m going to kill you. I have a gun in the cabin,” she warned, pointing in that direction. “I’ll shoot you if you don’t get into that boat—”

  “I only wanted to know who my competition was.”

  “You don’t have any competition because you aren’t even in the running.”

  “From my point of view it looks like you’re leading me a merry chase.”

  “Tell it to the devil when you see him.”

  “Now, Sunny, is that nice? I wasn’t making it all up. There was gossip about a baby and an abortion and all the rest.” He lowered his head until his lips were moving only inches above hers. “I only added the part about you being frigid to see how you’d react.” Smiling, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “You shot that theory all to hell. You’re as hot as a firecracker.”

  “You’ll never know, Mr. Beaumont.”

  “Don’t be too sure. I want to win that wager. I like a glass of whiskey in the evening, especially when it’s mixed with just enough water to make it the color of your eyes.”

  “Let go of me.”

  “I like the way it goes down.” He pulled her closer. “Smooth and warm. I like when it hits my belly and spreads its heat.”

  Sunny’s knees weren’t making any guarantees that they could support her should he let go. On the contrary, they threatened to unhinge at any moment. Her senses were reeling. It was true that she had men friends who took her out to dinner and to the movies, a few of whom she would invite in for drinks and some harmless necking.

  But never in her life had she met a man who turned her inside out just by what he said and the suggestive way he said it. The men she went out with were unremarkable and forgettable. Once she bade a date good night, she rarely remembered what he had worn or what his cologne had smelled like.

  Ty Beaumont wouldn’t be so easily forgotten. His hard frame was imprinting itself on the front of her body, stamping an impression so deep that even when it was no longer there she knew she would feel it. The smell of his skin would tantalize her memory forever.

  That didn’t prove that she wanted him. It only proved that she was alive. Because only a female corpse could resist this inundation of masculinity.

  “Even if I hadn’t bet a case of whiskey on it, I’d still want to take you to bed, Sunny Chandler. You’re just as intoxicating.”

  “I won’t stand here and—”

  “Good idea.”

  Before she knew what was happening, she was sitting on the towel again. Ty was on his knees, straddling her thighs and supporting her head with his strong hands.

  When she saw his mouth descending toward hers, she turned her head away. “No!”

  He inclined his head back. “Maybe I was right. Maybe you can’t stand a man’s touch.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Well then...”

  Sunny flopped down on the bed.

  The cold shower hadn’t helped. Lowering the air conditioner’s thermostat hadn’t helped. Turning on the rotating fan overhead hadn’t helped.

  She was hot.

  She had adjusted the shutters on the window to allow only narrow stripes of sunlight through. The bedroom, which had always been hers when her family used the cabin, should have been cool by now. Instead she felt as if it were stifling and she was on fire.

  Impatient with the heat, she sat up and whipped the nightgown over her head and tossed it on the rocking chair beside the bed. She had put the nightie on after her shower because it was the coolest garment she owned. The white lawn didn’t touch anywhere except the shoulder straps...except for today. This afternoon it seemed to cling to her like an affectionate ghost.

  And, just as tenaciously, her mind clung to the memory of that hateful kiss.

  She hadn’t responded.

  “I didn’t,” she hissed at the ceiling, as though to convince it of what she hadn’t been able to persuade herself.

  His mouth had been so unapologetically hungry, so consummately male, as it moved over hers. He had pressed his lips determinedly against hers until they had parted. Then—

  Sunny groaned. Her stomach went weightless and her womanhood blossomed with a pulsing warmth when she recalled his tongue sleekly thrusting its way between her lips and into her mouth. Undisciplined. Erotic. Such a thief. Because it had robbed her of the will to resist.

  At that moment she had stopped trying to squirm away from him. The bones in her neck had turned to jelly. Her head had fallen back even more, giving him freer access to her mouth. Again and again his tongue had penetrated, delving deeper each time.

  She had allowed it! Heaven forbid, she had even encouraged it, reaching for his tongue with her own when his withdrew.

  With her capitulation, his hold had gentled. The hands, which had been firmly cupping the back of her head, moved down to her neck. His fingers stroked her nape with the same loving tenderness that his lips pressed soft kisses onto hers.

  “My fingers are still oily,” he had whispered. “Think how good it would feel if I...”

  Sunny looked down at her body now and saw that her nipples were responding with the recollection just as they had at his breathtaking suggestions. When he had whispered in that devil’s voice of his about what he would like to do with his lips and tongue, her breasts had ached with longing for him to stop talking about it and start doing it.

  Sunny shuddered. Her skin was finally cooling off. She had goose bumps. But the fire insi
de her still raged out of control. It was a conflagration of humiliation as much as desire.

  “Damn him.”

  She had repeated the curse a thousand times. For at the moment when she was the most malleable, willing to participate in enacting the fantasies he whispered about, he had eased her back, smiled, and said, “I’ve stayed too long. I’ve got to go.”

  As she watched, trembling with remnant desire and rage, he had hopped down into his boat. As he unwound the rope from the pile he said, “I’d be careful sitting out here like that if I were you. There’s all kinds of wackos prowling these woods, and your nearest neighbor lives over a mile away.”

  She had followed the direction of his gaze down and, to her further mortification, discovered that their embrace had worked down the top of her bikini. The creamy tops of her breasts were swelling out of it. She viciously tugged it back into place.

  He winked audaciously a second before he replaced his sunglasses. “I’ll be seeing you later, Sunny.”

  Then, with a jaunty wave, he had left.

  Sunny pulled the sheet over her nakedness, rolled to her side, and squeezed her eyes shut. She’d feel better after a nap. Maybe she was in the middle of a nap already and would soon wake up to discover that her visit from Ty Beaumont had been only a bad dream.

  His taste lingered on her lips and tongue. She could still feel him, full and firm, pressing against the cradle of her femininity. His denim shorts had felt so good against her bare thighs. The ragged fringe had tickled. Her breasts flushed with heat and tingled with sensations every time his evocative words echoed in the chambers of her mind.

  She hated him.

  She woke up hours later, disoriented and uncomfortable. She stretched her cramped muscles. Her skin felt tight and was stinging from overexposure to the sun.

  She got out of bed and pulled the nightgown back on. Her growling stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten anything since the grapefruit this morning. She padded into the kitchen and cooked herself an omelet. Maybe tomorrow evening she’d eat dinner out. But she didn’t feel like facing people tonight. Not if everything Ty Beaumont had said was true.

  Had people who had known her all her life really thought those terrible things about her? No wonder they had stared at her last night at the party as though she were a freak.

  And by going into town, she ran the risk of seeing Don and Gretchen. She couldn’t bear that.

  She cleaned up her few dishes and switched out the kitchen light. There was nothing to do until she grew sleepy again but read or watch television. She was trying to decide which when she heard the noise outside.

  Three

  Old houses settled and made creaking noises, right?

  Right.

  Branches knocked against the eaves when the wind blew, right?

  Right.

  So there was no need to panic, right?

  Wrong. Because the noise was coming from the shed behind the house where her father used to clean fish. It couldn’t have been made by settling timber or by the wind.

  Sunny’s heart was pounding so loudly that she thought she might have imagined the whole thing. But when she heard the noise again, like something or someone stamping through the underbrush behind the shed, she broke out in a cold sweat of fear.

  Thankfully she realized she had already turned off the light in the kitchen. She crept toward the window over the sink, which afforded a view of the back of the property all the way down to the dock and the lake beyond. Her hand was shaking when she moved the curtain aside, creating a crack no wider than an inch, but wide enough for her to peek through.

  Nothing. It was a dark night. There was only a partial moon, and it was obscured by clouds. The wind had picked up. The lake was choppier than it had been earlier in the day. It looked as though the clouds on the horizon might produce a summer storm after all.

  Sunny stood motionless at the window for several minutes. Nothing beyond it stirred, except for the trees that bent gracefully in the wind. What she had heard must have been just blowing branches. She let the curtain fall back into place.

  Shaking her head, amused and irritated with herself for behaving so foolishly, she turned and started to go out of the kitchen for the second time. Again, she got no farther than the doorway when she heard another noise. This time metal clanking against metal. Her father had stored buckets, gardening tools, and hardware out in the shed.

  “Oh, dear God.” Whimpering in fright, she mashed her fingers against her lips.

  Steve and Fran had expressed concern about her staying alone out here at the lake.

  “Nothing really criminal has happened out there,” Steve had told her, “but kids have beer busts, get drunk, raise a little hell.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay in town with me?” Fran had asked.

  “Don’t be silly. Your house will be in a state of chaos all week. I’ll be safer alone at the lake.”

  Sunny regretted her decision now. If she hadn’t been so stubborn, she could have been safely ensconced in the guest bedroom of Fran’s house instead of shivering in fear in an isolated cabin.

  She didn’t waste another second but hastened to the wall telephone, which her parents had never had disconnected. In the darkness, she overturned a kitchen chair. She stubbed her toe against the table as she lunged for the telephone receiver. She dialed O and waited breathlessly for the operator to answer.

  The moment she answered, Sunny said, “I need help.” Her words were hushed as they tumbled, one over the next, out of her trembling lips. She was certain she sounded hysterical and out of her senses, but she couldn’t help it. “Call the police. Tell them to come right away. I’m alone and someone is outside my cabin at the lake. I think he might be trying to break in.”

  Although that wasn’t quite true, it was better to be safe than sorry. Better to anticipate the criminal than to stand by and wait for him to make his move. Besides, it added an element of urgency to her message. It worked. Without hesitation the operator said, “I’m calling the sheriff ’s office right now. Someone will be there soon.”

  Sunny provided her with the rural address and hung up. Who else could she call? Her neighbors? She didn’t know them. Not even by name. They had moved in since she had left town. Steve and Fran? Yes. If this was a false alarm, she’d feel really stupid, but...

  The consequences of having false courage were too gruesome to think about. She bungled the series of memorized numbers twice before the call to Fran’s house went through. The phone rang and rang while Sunny muttered, “Come on, come on, answer.” When it became apparent that no one was there, she hung up, almost in tears now.

  What if he was out there watching her through the window?

  She almost collapsed when she recalled a previous conversation. “You should have become a window peeper.” “How do you know I’m not?”

  Good Lord! He was the one who had warned her about wackos roaming around the lake. He was the one who had pointed out that her nearest neighbor was over a mile away. He was the one who had gone to the trouble to find out where she was staying. He was the one who had crossed the lake to see her. And hadn’t his final words—“I’ll be seeing you later, Sunny”—carried both a promise and a threat?

  What did she know about him? Nothing except his name. He had been invited to the wedding party, but serial killers were often charming men who lured their victims—

  Stop it! Get control of yourself. Think of something constructive to do. Don’t panic.

  What was George Henderson’s number? She’d call and ask him about this Ty Beaumont. But what was George’s telephone number?

  The drawer beneath the telephone was stuck. Sunny tried it several times, then tugged on it so hard that it came out of its moorings and crashed to the floor. The Latham Parish telephone directory, a few unsharpened pencils, a scrap of fabric her mother had used to match paint, a coupon for buy-one-catfish-dinner-get-one-free, and a rusty nail all scattered over the linoleum floor.


  The racket she had made stunned her for a moment. Recovering, she dropped to her knees, gouging one on the head of the nail. She picked up the telephone book. As yet unaware that she couldn’t read it in the dark, she began frantically thumbing through the old, curled pages.

  It was then that she heard the heavy footsteps on the porch outside. She clutched the directory to her thudding heart. Her eyes were round with terror. She made a helpless mewing sound when the front doorknob rattled as though someone was trying to open it.

  She used the countertop to pull herself up. Her entire body was quaking with fear. Moving along the wall, she edged her way into the living room and stared in horror as the doorknob twisted first one way, then the other.

  Sunny almost jumped out of her skin when the loud knock came. She hadn’t expected the intruder to knock. She waited, but there was another knock, then another, becoming impatient and as hard and dramatic as her beating heart.

  How unlike a window peeper or serial killer to announce his arrival. But who else could it be?

  The sheriff, of course! Why hadn’t she thought of that? She raced to the door, flipped up the lock, and breathlessly flung it open.

  Ty Beaumont was standing on the threshold.

  Sunny screamed.

  Spinning around, she went racing back across the living room, intent on getting into her bedroom, which had a lock on the door.

  She was brought up short when he grabbed a handful of her nightgown. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He whipped her around and brought her up hard against him. “Are you all right? What’s happened?”

  “I’ve called the sheriff,” she said in loud defiance.

  “You have?”

  “Yes. He’s on his way. He’ll be here any minute.”

  “He’s already here.” His lips twitched with the need to smile. Then he mimicked her gape-mouthed expression of incredulity.

  “You’re—”

  “Sheriff Ty Beaumont. Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” he drawled in a broad Southwestern accent. “How can I be of service?”

  “By going straight to hell!”