The Last Chance Cafe

by Linda Lael Miller

  He enjoyed her with an exuberance that made her hips dance on the mattress, then reached down to tease her into an even greater frenzy. She had gone a long time without sex—much too long, her senses said—and when he put two fingers inside her, all the while caressing her most sensitive place with the pad of his thumb, she came, in a quick, dizzying spin. When she’d stopped gasping and crying out, she tugged at his hips with both hands, urging him to enter her.

  “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that,” he told her, in a rumbling voice, and he began kissing his way down over her rib cage.

  A sense of delicious dread overtook Hallie. With Joel, lovemaking had always been over quickly. Chance’s approach was clearly different. “You mean—you’re not—”

  He reached her belly button, and explored it with the tip of his tongue. She knew for sure, then, that things were going to get a whole lot more intense, and she trembled with reluctant anticipation. “I mean,” he drawled, “that you’re going to give up a lot more than one little squeak before I get through with you. That was”—he moved lower, tasted her—“just the beginning . . .”

  He parted her, touched her with his tongue, and she jumped as if she’d just straddled an electric fence. “Chance—” she gasped.

  He tongued her, holding her hips, positioning her for pleasure. Her pleasure.

  By now, satisfied that she’d had a climax, Joel would have been mounting her, rocking on her, his husbandly duty fulfilled, pleasing himself. Chance, on the other hand, seemed committed to driving her crazy, brain cell by brain cell, and he was in no hurry to accomplish the purpose.

  “Oh, God,” she said again.

  He pushed her knees apart, and fell to her in earnest, suckling, now softly, now demandingly. She began to toss her head back and forth on the pillow, breathless, dazed with sensation. A senseless, urging litany fell from her lips, and he cupped his hands under her, and lifted her, the way he might make a chalice of his hands beside a stream. “Sweet,” he murmured, between forays, “sweet and warm and wet—”

  She sobbed as another orgasm seized her, deep inside, fairly tearing her asunder. She knew she was shouting, knew also that Chance had laid a gentle hand over her mouth, catching her cries, absorbing them into his own flesh.

  It seemed an eternity before he allowed her to settle, shivering, to the blanket underneath them, the one he’d cosseted her in earlier.

  “N-Now?” she asked, eager to have him inside her. Desperate for it. She was sure she couldn’t bear any more waiting.

  “No way,” he answered, and began, methodically, to kiss her all over. He kissed the backs of her knees, the arches and insteps of her feet. He turned her over and kissed her shoulder blades, and the small of her back. Then he lay back on the pillows and settled her astride him, not of his hips, but his head. When she felt his tongue again, she grasped the headboard in both hands, threw back her head, and gave herself up to the wildest ride of her life. If she cried out, she had no memory of it.

  Finally, when she was utterly spent, or thought she was, Chance relented. He arranged her in the middle of the bed, with two pillows propped beneath her backside, and gently lifted her legs, laying one over each of his shoulders. His erection was huge against the inside of her thigh, and she was amazed to find herself climbing the peak again, from the moment he slipped inside her.

  “Yes,” she whispered raggedly, as he took her, inch by jubilant inch. “Oh, God, yes— yes—”

  Even now, when she knew he’d nearly reached the limits of his control, Chance moved slowly, deliberately, every stroke long and hard and hot. Only when she tightened her legs around him, and raised herself, pleading, did he finally let go. He was fierce then, slamming into her, and she gave a low, keening sound as he sent her soaring, once again, over yet another pinnacle. Then, at last, at last, she felt him stiffen, pouring his seed into her. She hoped, wildly, foolishly, that they’d conceived a child, even as she prayed they hadn’t.

  When it was over, they lay holding each other, their breathing fast and shallow, their bodies wet with perspiration. Even when he rolled onto his back, he kept an arm around her, pulling her close against his side.

  A long, long time had passed when he gave a raucous chuckle. “Were you trying to kill me, or what?” he asked.

  Hallie twirled an index finger in the rich nest of hair matting his chest. “Me?” she countered. “You were the one who—”

  He turned onto his side, grinned wolfishly when she fell silent, suddenly overcome with a strange, virginal shyness. “Yes?” he prompted.

  Her face was hot. “Nothing.”

  “It didn’t sound like nothing to me.”

  Her eyes widened with alarm. “Oh, my God, do you think the girls heard?”

  “No,” he said. “They’re clear upstairs.”

  “How do you know they didn’t hear?”

  “Because I used to sleep in this room once in a while, when I was a kid. Sometimes, very early in the morning, a certain male friend of Jessie’s would sneak out, whistling under his breath and grinning like an idiot.”

  “Your point is?”

  He began caressing one of her breasts, idly. She trembled.

  He bent, tasted her nipple. “The point is, Miss Hallie, that I never heard a thing, the whole night through.”

  She wasn’t entirely reassured. “What are you doing?”

  He took the time to suckle. “Based on prior experience,” he teased, “what do you think I’m doing?”

  Hallie was already responding, her blood heating, her body writhing a little. She was exhausted, spent. She had nothing to offer. “Not again?” she whispered, her breath catching as she spoke.

  He moved to her other breast, had his way with the nipple until Hallie was half delirious. “And again,” he promised.

  Her protest was lame, and she knew it, but pride compelled her to take some kind of stand, even if it was a hopeless one, utterly lacking in conviction. “We need to sleep.”

  “We need this a lot more,” he said.

  Damned if he wasn’t right. Within five minutes, she was bucking beneath his tongue again, like some shameless tramp, and then under his hips, and then his tongue again. He was relentless, wringing every last sigh and sob and gasp of response out of her. The sky was turning pink before he kissed her, one last time, dragged himself out of bed, pulled on his jeans, and left the house.

  She lay boneless, right where he’d left her, smiling up at the ceiling.

  In time, she heard his truck start, knew he was driving away, going home. She missed him sorely, but she was relieved, too. One more sky-splitting orgasm and she would probably have lapsed into a coma.

  When she heard the twins in the kitchen, she sat up, pulled the robe around her, and stepped on a pair of boxer shorts. She kicked them under the bed, with one graceful motion of her foot, and joined her daughters.

  “You slept downstairs?” Kiera asked, when she appeared in the kitchen.

  Apparently, her darling daughters had been planning to make breakfast on their own. They’d gotten out the flour and a dozen eggs, and now they were scrounging for pans.

  Hallie nodded.

  “How come?” Kiley wanted to know.

  She shrugged, looked away, through the window over the sink. The sun was high, and there was a feeling of fall in the air, crisp and somehow festive. “I guess I was too tired to climb the stairs,” she said. In a way, it was the truth. Her knees had turned to water after the encounter with the cougar, and she probably wouldn’t have been able to make it to her second floor bedroom under her own power.

  The answer satisfied the girls, thank God. They didn’t ask about Chance, and Hallie, who had sorrowed when he left the bed and, subsequently, the house, blessed him for it now. It would have been impossible to explain his presence, had he remained.

  “What are we making?” she asked, indicating the flour and sugar with a nod while she started the coffee brewing. Lord, she needed a little tension, a littl
e starch in her muscles and bones; Chance had all but melted her in bed the night before.

  “Pancakes,” the twins answered, in chorus.

  “I was really scared last night,” Kiera confided, a few minutes later.

  “Me, too,” Kiley said. Both twins were covered in flour.

  “Hmmm? Why?” Hallie asked, taking over the pancake-making, praying they hadn’t heard her carrying on while Chance made love to her.

  “Because of the cougar,” Kiley said, with exaggerated patience. “He almost ate you.”

  Hallie let out her breath. “Yeah,” she said, knowing it would do no good to minimize the experience. After all, the twins had witnessed most of the drama. “That was pretty scary, all right,” she admitted. “But it’s over now, and we’re safe. All of us.”

  “What if it comes back?” Kiera asked.

  “What if it comes in the house?” Kiley added.

  Hallie glanced at the gun Chance had left behind, still resting on the rack over the door. “If it comes back,” she answered calmly, “we’ll deal with it. It won’t come inside the house.”

  Reassured, at least for the moment, the girls ate quickly, and made a joint project, with their mother, of the cleaning up. Hallie donned jeans and a T-shirt, along with Jessie’s coat and barn boots, and went out to feed the animals.

  It wouldn’t take long; the stalls were pretty clean, and the feeders were nearly full of hay. Hallie took a moment to chat with each of the horses, stroking their necks. Trojan, the miniature, seemed to need extra attention, so she opened his gate and took a step inside.

  Rearing, Trigger-like, the little bugger made a run for it, practically trampling her in the process. She leaped to one side, landed in a pile of horse poop, and came up shouting the only horse-word she could think of, which was, “Whoa!”

  Trojan loped around the yard, like Seabiscuit taking the track for exercise before a big race, and then stopped, tossed his shaggy head, and nickered, for all the world as if he were laughing at her.

  Hallie was frustrated, bruised and smelling of manure, thanks to her crash landing in the stall, but she couldn’t help laughing back. The sweet fog Chance had left her in was a thing of the past— this was real life. She held out a hand and walked slowly toward Trojan.

  “Come on, Snippet,” she said. “Your excellent adventure is over for now, but I get the message. You need some range time, even if it’s just pretend. So I’ll put a lead rope on you later, and walk you like a big dog.”

  Trojan appeared to be considering the proposition, withholding judgment.

  Hallie spread her hands. “I know, I know,” she cajoled. “You’re not a dog, you’re a horse, and you ought to be treated like one. But there’s a cougar out there.” She paused, gestured for emphasis toward the fields and the timber in the distance. “You don’t want to end up as an appetizer, do you?”

  “Mommy?” It was Kiera, standing a few feet away, without her coat. “Are you talking to the horse?”

  Hallie smiled, shrugged, slapped her hands against her sides. “Yes,” she said.

  “You need a halter if you want to lead him,” Kiley put in. She wasn’t wearing a coat, either.

  “Feel free to fetch one,” Hallie said cheerfully, carrying on her stare-down with Trojan while her daughters ran to fetch a pony-size halter from the barn. She took it, moved slowly toward the horse, chattering all the way, and managed to slip the thing onto his head and fasten the buckle. “Bet you shop in the petite section of the tack store, don’t you, buddy?” she asked conversationally, as she led the runaway back to his stall.

  Later, while taking a hasty shower, she remembered that she’d promised to have lunch with Katie Stratton. She and the girls would stop by the library first, and she’d get them started on a reading project. They’d have to go along on the lunch date, but that shouldn’t be a big problem, since they were usually well-behaved.

  Looking forward to a busy day, Hallie was able to put the events of the night before out of her mind.

  Mostly.

  9

  F eeling a little daring, even reckless, Hallie made an impulsive stop at the Corner Thrift Shop, in town, settling the twins on the couch at the front of the shop, with their coloring books, while she flipped through the racks of consigned clothes. She found two gossamer skirts, one in aquas and darker blues, one in earth colors, accented in crimson, and tops to match. The garments were in good condition, and clean, but it was the price that pleased Hallie most. She’d left behind all but the clothes she was wearing at the time when she fled Arizona, and bought as little as possible for herself in the subsequent Wal-Mart foray, choosing to outfit the kids instead. Now, she found herself craving something cheerful, something pretty to wear, and it was no mystery why. Making love with Chance Qualtrough the night before had awakened parts of her spirit that she hadn’t known were sleeping. “Good choices,” remarked the woman behind the counter, indicating the clothes in Hallie’s arms. She was short, definitely a “plus” size, and wore tiny half-glasses on the end of her nose. Hallie remembered her vaguely as a member of the canasta group stranded at the Last Chance the night of the blizzard, and a plastic tag pinned to her ample bosom read, Hello, My Name Is Doris.

  Doris dropped her voice, although she and Hallie were apparently the only people in the shop. “We get a lot of things in from wealthy ladies up at Lake Tahoe, since we’re a nonprofit organization. Some of them are even famous. And they spend a pretty penny on their clothes, let me tell you. They like to get a tax write-off.” Doris fluttered a plump hand. “Rich people!”

  Hallie smiled, certain that nobody ever had to “let” Doris tell them anything; it was a verbal flash-flood. She rummaged in her fanny pack for cash.

  “Don’t you want to try those things on?” Doris asked.

  “They’ll fit,” Hallie answered. Some women are born with curly hair, some with fast metabolisms or a talent for piano. She could buy her size off the rack, and always get it right.

  The saleslady seemed disappointed, as if she’d hoped to keep the transaction rolling a while longer. “You’re the new waitress, over to the Last Chance Café, aren’t you?”

  Hallie nodded, resisting an urge to glance at her watch. The girls, still seated on the couch, were behaving themselves. “Sort of,” she clarified. “I’m just filling in until Bear’s girlfriend gets here.” It wouldn’t hurt to say that out loud every once in a while, so she wouldn’t forget and get too comfortable in Primrose Creek.

  “Well, Bear and Madge can sure use the help,” Doris said, folding each item as though it were haute couture, worthy of tissue and gold seals. She dropped her voice to a confidential whisper, shooting a glance at Kiera and Kiley before she went on. “You know about Bear, don’t you?”

  Bear was a fry cook, and part owner of the Last Chance Café. That was the extent of Hallie’s knowledge where he was concerned. “Bear?” she echoed, and then wished she hadn’t left an opening.

  Doris jumped right in, a little flushed with the importance of the revelation she was about to make. “Killed a man. Bashed in his head with a crowbar.”

  Hallie needed to sit down, but that would mean staying longer, so she gripped the edge of the counter instead. Bear, a murderer? It wasn’t possible. She glanced back at her children, to see if they’d heard, but they were still coloring industriously. “No,” she said.

  Doris bagged her purchase and reluctantly surrendered it. “Yes,” she insisted.

  “Why?” Hallie asked. After all, she spent time around Bear almost every day, and so did her daughters. “Why did he kill the man?”

  Doris was on a roll. “He did fifteen years in the state penitentiary for it, too. I don’t mind saying, there were those of us who figured that old coot needed killing.”

  Hallie waited, bracing herself against the counter. A conversation with Doris was like one of those wild carnival rides; no matter how scared you were, once it got rolling, all you could do was hang on until it was over.

/>   “I’ve said too much,” Doris announced, leaving Hallie hanging, and clammed up just like that.

  Hallie suppressed an urge to lean across, get the woman by the throat, and shake her until she agreed to finish the story. “Is he dangerous?” she asked. “Bear, I mean?”

  “Depends on who you ask,” Doris replied. Her mouth was in a tight line, as if Hallie had been prying, and she was having none of her gossip-mongering.

  Thoroughly alarmed, as Doris must have intended her to be, Hallie headed for the front of the store, beckoning to the girls. At the door, she waved as cheerfully as she could and fled, shooing Kiera and Kiley ahead of her.

  Doc showed up just as Chance finished grooming the Thoroughbred stud. Smoke and Magic greeted the newcomer with a chorus of cheerful yips, and Doc spoke to them as lovingly as if they were children, stopping to pat each of their heads as he came down the center aisle of the barn. “Well,” Chance commented, with a half grin, “look who came calling. Business most be slow.”

  Doc sighed and shook his head. “Unfortunately, business is anything but slow. I just came from the Rogers place—they lost a cow to that damn cougar last night.”

  Chance winced, stepped out of the stall, carrying the brush and curry comb he’d used to spruce up the horse after a long morning ride. “Shit,” he said. “They need to put a bounty on that cat.”

  “You know how it is,” Doc said ruefully. “There are those who want to see the cougars protected.”

  It was an old argument, with the ranchers and farmers on one side, and the animal rights people on the other. Chance could see both sides of the controversy, but in this particular instance, he sided with the stockowners. “It’s only a matter of time before that cat takes down a human being,” he said. “But that isn’t what you came here to talk to me about, is it?”

  Doc cleared his throat. “No,” he admitted finally, with a shake of his head. He took off his worn-out hat, put it on again. “It’s about Jessie.”