THE EIGHT SECOND WEDDING

by Anne McAllister

  Of course it could have been the man wearing them, propped up against the headboard of the bed, his lean, muscular body bared for her delectation, except for what was covered by those white cotton shorts.

  Or not.

  Hers was not to reason why. Hers was simply to trek to the ice machine, bring back buckets of ice, crush the ice and put it in plastic bags, then hand it to him and watch with considerable interest as he lodged it between his legs.

  "Do you need any help?" she asked him in a hopeful tone as she sat down on the bed beside him.

  He gave her a look halfway between a grimace and a grin. "Don't make me laugh, Decker."

  "It only hurts when you laugh?"

  "And when I stand and when I walk and when I move."

  "And nothing helps?"

  "Nothing but ice and rest."

  She sighed and propped herself against the headboard next to him and folded her hands in her lap. "Then I guess I won't offer to kiss it and make it better."

  "Decker!" he groaned.

  * * *

  There were, Chan discovered, certain advantages to a groin pull.

  Not that he would necessarily want to have another one anytime soon. Not that he wouldn't prefer to be the recipient of those advantages for reasons other than that he couldn't move. But having Madeleine Decker hovering over him, granting his every wish – well, maybe not his every wish, but close – was something he could get used to.

  She made his enforced captivity tolerable. Even though she spent a fair amount of time typing her dissertation, she still found time to watch television movies with him and read magazines with him. She went down to the specialty shops and brought him back grisly, fast-paced thrillers and blood-and-guts Westerns to read. She supplemented their room-service menu with treks to the grocery store for bananas and graham crackers and tortilla chips and three kinds of salsa, and she didn't yell at him when he ate them in bed.

  After all, as she pointed out, it wasn't her bed.

  That was the one wish she hadn't granted.

  And damn he wished she would.

  He liked all this time she was spending with him. But at the same time she was tempting as hell. And that made him cranky and irritable. She thought it was because he hurt. Just as well.

  "Can I get you anything else?" she asked him.

  It was late Saturday afternoon. So far they'd spent virtually forty-eight hours in their hotel-room cocoon, except for a trek to the whirlpool this morning.

  Chan, not used to being cooped up in anything unless it moved, knew he would have gone out of his mind if it hadn't been for Madeleine. At the same time he was going out of his mind because of her, too.

  He wanted her. He had wanted her since he couldn't remember when. But the urgency was growing by the minute. And even a pain in the groin didn't seem to be enough to take his mind off it.

  Madeleine seemed oblivious. Oh, she joked with him at times. She even stole or let him steal the occasional teasing kiss when she was bringing him a new ice bag or helping him out of the whirlpool.

  But starting something that would finish with both of them naked in bed was something else entirely different and he knew it. It was driving him wild.

  "Nothing," he said shortly now, which wasn't exactly true. She wouldn't. So he turned his attention back to a baseball game on television. Or tried to.

  "Why don't you go for a swim or something? Aren't you tired of hanging around here?"

  She had just brought him another bag of chips and some salsa and was now spreading her notes on the table to sort through them. Nothing she was doing was particularly enticing, still her very presence was all he needed to start his thoughts going in directions she wouldn't approve of.

  She looked up at him, startled. "Excuse me?"

  "I said why don't you go for a swim?"

  "Trying to get rid of me?" Madeleine said, but she was smiling and her voice was light.

  "Yeah." And if she knew what he was thinking, she'd be glad he was trying to chase her away.

  She looked at him for a long time, as if she was trying to figure out what was going through his head. He hoped she wasn't a mind reader. He met her gaze with as much defiance as possible.

  She began putting her note cards away. "Maybe you're right. Maybe too much togetherness is a bad idea."

  He wanted to tell her that wasn't the point, but he never knew where these verbal chess matches would go with Madeleine. He kept his mouth shut.

  She went into the bathroom and got her bathing suit. "Can I get you anything before I go?"

  He shook his head without looking away from the television.

  "I'll see you later."

  "Don't hurry," he made himself say. Then he stared at the screen and counted the minutes until she came back.

  * * *

  "So, anyway," Madeleine said, "Gil came for a swim after the performance, and I told him I'd have dinner with them. Gil and Dev and some of the others. I didn't think you'd mind," she added almost hesitantly.

  "Why should I?" he said. Just because she'd been gone almost three hours and he'd damned near called the pool to see if there was a lifeguard on duty didn't mean he cared if she was gone again this evening.

  "Exactly," Madeleine said in a tone that proclaimed, I can be testy, too.

  "He said he might take me dancing after. Or to play a little blackjack."

  "Swell," Chan managed before his teeth snapped together.

  "I wonder if I have a decent dress to wear," she mused, studying the contents of the closet, considering the meager wardrobe she had brought. "I saw a really sharp-looking red dress in one of the shops downstairs."

  "Buy it. You'll blend right in with the wallpaper," Chan said sourly.

  Madeleine nodded. "You're right. I didn't think of that. But I don't have anything suitable."

  "Jeans are suitable," Chan said.

  But Madeleine shook her head. "No, they're not. I don't have to leave for an hour. I'll just run down and see what I can find." She started for the door.

  "Hey, Decker? See if you can find me another Western, will you? I finished the Louis L'Amour."

  "I don't have much ti—" she stopped, looked at him lying there, then nodded. "If I can."

  She did. She found him two. And she found a skimpy backless sparkly dress in a deep royal blue. She held it up so he could see it.

  "That? You're going to wear that? Is he going to bring a gun to keep the wolves off you?"

  Madeleine laughed. "You're so good for my ego, Richardson."

  "Ego, hell. You'll get attacked in that." And if she didn't while she was gone, when she got back, he'd see what he could do.

  She obviously didn't take his warning seriously. She went into the bathroom humming and emerged a few minutes later in the dress. She had pulled her hair up into a knot on the top of her head, and only a few curling tendrils escaped down her cheeks. The upswept style accentuated her slender neck and delicate features. The dress hugged every single curve, especially those breasts she'd been camouflaging beneath XLT-shirts.

  "So," she said, pirouetting in front of him so that the dress flared out to treat him to a brief glimpse of long tanned legs. "What do you think?"

  She looked stunningly sophisticated and breathtakingly beautiful. Chan felt his groin tighten and knew it had nothing to do with the muscle pull. He suspected Gil and Dev and every other cowboy in Reno would feel the same way.

  "I don't think you ought—" he started, when there was a knock on the door.

  Madeleine opened it to Gil and Dev and Kevin Skates all dressed up in their cowboy best. One glance at Madeleine and they all looked poleaxed, exactly the way Chan thought they would.

  "Wow," Gil said unnecessarily.

  Kevin and Dev just smiled.

  "Sure sorry you can't come, Chan," Gil said cheerfully as he took Madeleine's arm.

  "I'll bet."

  "Can I get you anything before we leave?" Madeleine asked him.

  Chan couldn't think of a thi
ng that would change the way he felt.

  * * *

  Gil had made the finals. Dev had not. Madeleine supposed that might be the reason for Dev's reticence during the meal. She had no chance to talk to him privately. She didn't know how things were between him and Lily. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. She still felt guilty for having spoken, but still felt that it was something she had to do.

  She'd been almost grateful for Chan's injury, though of course she never told him that. It kept her out of circulation for most of the time they were in Reno, so she didn't have to face whatever she had set in motion. Maybe, she thought, she hadn't set anything in motion. She dared hope.

  The hope, she realized, was in vain, halfway through their meal when Kevin looked over and said, "Hey, here comes Lily and Peyton."

  Madeleine turned to see Lily coming through the dining room, looking stunning in an Indian-inspired dress of pale blue with white leather fringe and trim. At her elbow was a tall, broad-shouldered cowboy as blond as she was.

  "Who is that?" she asked Gil.

  "Michael Peyton. Steer wrestler from Oklahoma. Won the world twice a few years ago. "

  "Hey, Mike, how ya doin'?" Kevin greeted him. "Lily." Michael nodded, smiled, got introduced to Madeleine. Lily smiled, then looked away. Dev didn't say anything. But when they went on to their own table and Kevin was saying what a knockout Lily was, Madeleine saw the white of Dev's knuckles as he held his fork.

  "She oughta wear that dress when she's in the arena," Kevin said. "Bulls would never notice a cowboy in the dirt."

  "Cowboys wouldn't get many bulls ridden, either," Gil said. "She does fine just the way she is."

  "She doesn't do fine," Dev said suddenly, making them all look up. "Didn't you see her this afternoon after Kevin rode. She damn near got gored."

  "It happens," Gil said. "You know that."

  "Is she all right?" Madeleine asked.

  "She's fine," Gil and Kevin said in unison.

  "She's a damn fool," Dev said angrily. "And we all know it. Question is, how much longer till she gets killed?"

  "She won't get killed," Gil said quickly.

  "Course she won't," Kevin put in.

  "And it's her business, anyway." Gil aimed his fork at Dev. "Not yours. You can't stop her."

  "Hell, you're the last person can stop her!" Kevin said emphatically.

  "Haven't you heard? I've been forgiven."

  "She talked to you?" Madeleine asked, concerned at the flicker of pain in his eyes.

  "You could say that. I was waiting to ride at the end of the steer wrestling yesterday, and she came up to me back of the chutes. Said, 'I hear you feel I've been avoiding you. I'm sorry. I just want you to know I don't blame you.' Then she gave me this tight little smile, said, 'Good luck today,' and walked away. Right out into the arena."

  "Oh, Dev."

  "I'm lucky I lasted a second and a half. After, I tried to find her, to talk to her. She skipped out. I rang her room. Left a message. No answer. And today she's been sticking to Peyton." He shrugged and slumped back in his chair. "Ain't life grand?"

  "Did we miss something?" Gil wanted to know. He and Kevin were looking distinctly out of their depth.

  "I'll talk to her if you want," Madeleine said.

  "No."

  "You're right," Madeleine said miserably. "I've said enough."

  And she probably would have left it alone, if later that night she hadn't run into Lily in the ladies' room. Lily gave her a bright smile.

  "How's Chan? I heard he got hurt."

  "He's getting better," Madeleine said. She hesitated, wondering if she dared, then had the decision taken from her when Lily spoke.

  "By the way, I took your advice and told Dev I didn't blame him."

  "I'll bet you made his day, didn't you, Lily?" Madeleine said.

  She saw a flash of anguish in Lily's eyes before the other woman quickly looked away.

  "I need to go," she said. "Michael's waiting." And she hurried out.

  Madeleine stood looking after her, sighed, then shook her head.

  * * *

  It was easy enough to see what Lily and Dev should do or at least try. What was not so easy was to see what she should do about Chan. On the surface everything between them looked fine.

  They weren't bickering … much. They weren't sniping at each other … or only a little. They could almost consider themselves friends … of a sort. That was a surprise in and of itself. And Madeleine knew she should be grateful things had turned out as well as they had.

  Still, there was a problem.

  There was, there had been since Las Vegas, in fact – propinquity. And the most salient thing about propinquity, Madeleine was beginning to discover, was that it wouldn't go away. Not unless she did … or he did. And neither one of them had.

  In fact, they were together more than ever.

  She'd thought that getting a hotel room in Reno would ease things up a little, give them more space, more room to avoid each other. She should have opted for two rooms. But at the time it seemed somehow silly. Hadn't they been sharing a camper no bigger than this hotel room's bathroom for the past few weeks? Why spend the extra money for two, when even a single hotel room would feel palatial?

  Or would have if Chan had ever left her alone in it. Since they had been effectively together twenty-four hours a day, it, too, had become cereal-box size.

  And increasingly there was between them what Madeleine had come to think of as "the physical thing."

  She was an educated woman. She understood about physical urges. She knew that proximity and time spent in each other's company only made it worse. But having him there virtually naked half the time wasn't helping, either. Especially since it was all too clear that he wanted her, too.

  It was why he'd practically thrown her out this afternoon, and she knew it. When she thought about it, she'd been glad to go. And had been even happier when Gil proffered his dinner invitation.

  She was glad the evening lasted as long as it did, glad that Gil and Dev really had taken her dancing. It was nice to get away, let her hair down, metaphorically at least.

  And when she put her key in the lock at one-thirty in the morning, she hoped to heaven he was asleep.

  He was wide awake and glaring at her. He looked at his watch, then at her and lifted an eyebrow. He didn't say a word.

  "I don't need a father, thank you," Madeleine said.

  He muttered something under his breath. "I don't suppose I have to ask if you had a good time." He took in her flushed cheeks and loose hair. She saw his teeth clench.

  "I had a good time," she said. "We danced. Some very drunk lady bumped into me and knocked one of my hairpins loose. Hence—" she shrugged, then lifted her hair with the backs of her hands.

  "Did I ask?" Chan said brusquely.

  "Fine. I won't tell you." She stepped out of her shoes and wiggled her toes. "Ahh." She breathed a sigh of relief, went into the bathroom and changed out of her dress and into the elongated T-shirt she wore to sleep in. She brushed her teeth and washed her face and tried to will herself into a state of calm before she went back into the bedroom. She needed to sleep, not lie awake all night tossing and turning.

  But the dancing had got her blood running hot. And the sight of Chan on the bed hadn't cooled it any. She patted her cheeks with a cold, wet washcloth, then went back into the bedroom.

  Chan was still lying in his bed, hands folded behind his head. The covers were thrown back, giving her a clear view of his almost-bare body, his hair-roughened chest, the white shorts that seemed almost to accentuate his masculinity, his slightly spread legs with the ubiquitous ice pack wedged there.

  "Are you going to be ready to ride tomorrow?"

  "I hope so." He was looking at her from beneath hooded lids. There was a look about him that she had always associated with the aroused male. A sort of urgent, hungry look. She didn't think she'd ever seen a man look more inviting in her life.

  She looked away and
cleared her throat. "Can I get you some more ice before I go to bed?"

  He shook his head. He reached down to remove the pack and handed it to her. She looked at him questioningly.

  "No more ice."

  "But—"

  "I think I need a little heat right about now."

  "It's two in the morning. The whirlpool's closed."

  "Yes." There was a reddish flush along his cheekbones. He shifted his legs, and her gaze moved in that direction. Yes, he was clearly aroused. And so was she. She drew her tongue along her lips. "Do you want to try sitting in the bathtub," she asked after a moment. She thought her voice sounded funny, sort of hollow, a little faint. Would he wear his shorts in the bathtub? she wondered.

  "I'd never get out again."

  "Do you want me to get you a hot, wet washcloth?"

  "It'd soak the sheets."

  "Well, then, what? I mean, this is a hotel room, Richardson. We only have access to certain amenities. And a heating pad isn't one of them."

  "I was thinking more in terms of 98.6."

  "Huh?"

  "Body heat." His lids lifted and deep blue eyes met hers. "How about it, Decker? For the sake of the cause?"

  Her cheeks burned. "You want me to—" She licked her lips again. She took a deep, steadying breath.

  "Just … help me do a little stretching. Then warm me, Decker."

  Warm him? "H-how?"

  "Come here. I'll show you. Stretching first. Take hold of my foot and lift my leg. Slow. Careful." She hesitated, then because he was waiting, she reached for his foot and lifted it. Slowly, carefully.

  "Yeah, now flex my foot. Uh-huh. Like that." She held his ankle in one hand, bent his foot with her other. His leg was heavy. The hair-dusted skin was slightly rough against her fingers. She wanted to run those fingers on up his calf to feel the scratch of the hair there, to learn the contour of the muscles.

  "Yeah." He made a tiny sound in the back of his throat. He closed his eyes, an expression of bliss mingling with pain on his face. "Again."

  She did it again. And again. Holding him as he stretched, bearing the weight as again and again he worked the muscle. Finally he said, "Enough. Now come here. Kneel on the end of the bed."

  Obediently she knelt.