Raising the Stakes

by Sandra Marton

  “Don’t have to prove it,” Jonas said softly. “Most times, a man knows all he needs to know about a woman without her telling him.” Minutes passed. The old man gave a deep sigh. “I told you this girl was my old friend’s granddaughter. Well, that’s maybe the truth…and maybe it isn’t.” He looked at the railing, ran his hand back and forth over the smooth wood. “Ben Lincoln and me were partners, same as I said, but we didn’t stop working together because we found out it would cost more to get the gold out of that jungle than it was worth. It was because I slept with his wife.”

  Jonas stood straight, his eyes fierce as a hawk’s. The years seemed to drop away until he was as he’d been in his youth: tall, strong and arrogant in his conviction that he was lord of his universe.

  “I didn’t just sleep with Nora, I fell in love with her. She was a gentle woman with a kind heart and Ben—well, he just had no time in his life for what she needed.” His voice lowered. “She wouldn’t leave him. She said he was a decent man and that it was bad enough she’d broken one vow… Anyway, he found out. He came at me and I couldn’t blame him, so I didn’t do much to defend myself and he beat me up pretty bad. I didn’t want to leave without Nora but she begged me to go. She said she’d make it up to Ben, that he was her husband…but I could see the truth in her eyes, that she loved me, not him, that saying goodbye was going to break her heart but that she was a strong, decent woman and she’d do the right thing.”

  Both men were silent, Jonas recalling the past, Gray recalling the picture of Nora Lincoln, the sad eyes and the resolute tilt to her chin. After a while, he touched his uncle’s arm.

  “Jonas?” he said softly. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure.” The old man swallowed hard. “It didn’t do her any good. Ben couldn’t forgive her. He divorced her. I didn’t know about it. Nora had written me off as a bad mistake and I suppose I was.”

  His uncle stared over the meadows and gardens beyond the deck but Gray knew he didn’t see them. He was seeing another time and place, and a memory he’d carried inside him all these years.

  “A few months ago, I heard from an old buddy. He talked about Nora, told me she’d had a baby after the divorce. Right after it, I mean.” Jonas looked at Gray. “And I need to know, son. Was that baby mine—or was it Ben’s?”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Gray said softly, and his uncle laughed.

  “Exactly. This girl in Las Vegas may be my granddaughter. If she is, I got to make it up to her. To her mama. To her grandma, too. Mostly to her grandma. You understand? If Dawn’s my flesh and blood, Graham, I got to do the right thing.”

  * * *

  The right thing, Gray thought hours later, as he stepped out of the airport at Flagstaff. What the hell was that?

  He knew what it wasn’t.

  Pretending he could just walk away from Dawn wasn’t the right thing. It was the biggest lie he’d ever told, even if he’d only told it to himself. She’d said she didn’t want to see him anymore and he’d let his ego do his thinking instead of his head.

  She wanted to see him. It was in her eyes, even as she’d told him to go away. There had been something else in those haunted eyes, too.

  Fear.

  Dawn was afraid, but of what? Harman? That was a good bet. But of something else, too. He’d bet on it. Was her fear connected to the child she was supposed to have abandoned? He had to know the answer and she wasn’t going to tell him. But Harman would, he thought grimly, as he drove east from the airport at Flagstaff toward Queen City. He’d beat the answer out of Kitteridge, if he had to.

  A hum of pleasurable anticipation raced through his blood at the thought.

  He reached Queen City in late afternoon but he didn’t bother phoning Harman. Not this time. Instead he drove his rental car to that same gas station he’d stopped at before, bought a couple of bucks worth of gas he didn’t need and stood around talking with a kid working on a truck that looked more like an ad for chrome accessories than a usable vehicle until a fat man with a greasy bandanna tied around his neck came out of the back and told the kid to keep his mind on his work. After that, he drove across the street, went into the diner and ordered a cup of coffee and a piece of apple pie. The coffee was as bad as he remembered and the pie was worse, but the waitress—a younger one than before—was bored and friendly, and more than happy to gossip while she chewed a wad of gum and blew big pink bubbles.

  Then he got back in his car, took Main Street to the end and followed a dirt road all the way up the mountain. Gray figured the man at the gas station might phone Harman to warn him he had a visitor after talking with the kid, so he wasn’t surprised to find him waiting on the sagging porch of a dilapidated-looking shack that gave cabins everywhere a bad name.

  Dawn had lived in this place, he thought, and felt that knot of tension forming in his belly again.

  He got out of the car, slammed the door and wasted no time on preliminaries.

  “Kitteridge. You remember me?”

  Harman’s sly grin curled across his face. “How could I forget you, Baron? It ain’t often we get such classy visitors in these parts.”

  “I have a question.”

  “Bet you do.” Harman strolled down the steps, thumbs looped in the waistband of his jeans, and spat on the ground. “You had questions last time, too.”

  “You said your wife ran off and left you.”

  “Yeah.” Harman gave a deep sigh and transformed his expression from sly to despairing. “She sure did.”

  “And that she left her son.”

  “That, too.”

  Gray knotted his hands into fists. “That’s strange, because people in town say she took the boy with her.”

  Harman spat again, closer to Gray’s feet. “People in town lie.”

  “You’re the one lying, Kitteridge.”

  “Get off my property.”

  “Was it to impress me? Did you think I’d hand over Dawn’s inheritance to you if you gave me a sad story?”

  “Dawn, is it?” Harman’s eyes narrowed. “And why would I give a crap about some old music box?”

  “You used to beat her, didn’t you?” Gray could feel the heat rising within him. “Did it make you feel big, to lay your hands on her?”

  “I guess you found my wife, Baron. I can tell by that look in your eyes. She’s good at dazzling a man, don’t you think? At makin’ promises she ain’t going to keep?” Harman took a step forward. “Where is she? Where is that whore hiding from me?”

  “Tell me the truth, dammit. Did she take the boy? Or did you do something to him?”

  Harman laughed. “You think I…? I’m sorry to disappoint you, Baron, but I never laid a finger on the kid.” His mouth twisted. “But I will, I promise you that. Once I find him, I’ll teach him to be a man, not a sissy. And when I’m done with my wife, she ain’t never gonna run away again.”

  “You touch her,” Gray said, very softly, “and I’ll kill you.”

  “Don’t you go makin’ threats, city man.” Flecks of spittle flew from Harman’s mouth. “I’ll get that whore bitch an’ my son back. Ain’t you or nobody else gonna stop me.”

  Gray moved forward, grabbed Harman by the shirt and pulled him forward so their faces were only inches apart. “Remember what I’m saying, Kitteridge. You touch Dawn or her son and I swear, I’ll never rest until you’re dead.”

  He let loose of Harman’s shirt, got into the car and slammed the door. The car shot forward. He could see Harman in the mirror, running after him, his fist raised to the sky.

  Gray jammed his foot to the floor. The car shot forward and he drove fast, too fast, down the mountain. Dawn, he thought, Dawn.

  Flagstaff was too far. He drove one-handed, pulled out a map, saw that Winslow was much closer. It was a small airport, meaning it was a good bet he could hire a small plane to take him to Vegas. A couple of calls on his cell phone confirmed it. He gave a guy at the charter service one hundred bucks to take his car to Flagstaff and return it to the rental o
ffice.

  Half an hour later, he was airborne.

  It was dark when he pulled to the curb in front of an old Victorian house with an indigo bush out front. He recognized it from the photo Jack Ballard had faxed him. Impatiently he rang the bell and when there was no answer, he went to the window that looked out on the indigo and shouted Dawn’s name.

  The curtains fluttered. Her face appeared behind the glass.

  “Dawn,” he said softly, even though she couldn’t hear him, and later on he figured it was the way he must have looked when he said it that made the difference because the next thing he knew, the door was open and Dawn, crying and laughing all at once, was in his arms.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “YOU came back,” Dawn said, “Gray, you came—”

  He kissed her with the urgency that came of knowing how close he’d come to losing her. It wasn’t what he’d intended to do. Go slow, he’d told himself. Ask her to forgive you for being such a fool this morning, and that sounded fine until he pulled up outside her house and saw those dark windows. What if she wouldn’t let him in? What if she wouldn’t even talk to him? What if, what if, what if?

  More than one prosecuting attorney—with a rueful touch of admiration—had referred to Gray as “arrogant.” A couple of women had accused him of it, too. Holding Dawn, feeling the race of her heart against his as he kissed her, he wondered what any of those people would think if they saw him, wondered, too, what was happening to him, and then he told the lawyer inside him to shut the hell up and let the man emerge. This soft, sweet, incredibly courageous woman was all that mattered.

  “I thought I’d never see you again,” she whispered between kisses. “I thought you’d gone away.”

  “I almost did.” Gray cupped her face in his hands and lifted it to his. Her eyes were enormous, shining with tears, but a tremulous smile curved across her mouth. He bent to her, brushed her lips with his, lingered to taste their sweetness. “I was such a fool, sweetheart. If I could take back the things I said this morning…”

  “You were angry. You thought I’d stood you up—”

  “No. Not angry. Not at you. Never at you. It was just a cover for the truth. I was angry at myself, for wanting you so badly—”

  “Shh.” She put her fingers across his lips. “You mustn’t say that. You don’t—you don’t know—” She took an unsteady breath. “There are things about me…”

  “There are things about me, too.” He closed his hand over her fingers, kissed the tips, then pressed his mouth to her palm. “None of it matters. Not anymore.”

  “It does.” Her voice trembled. “Gray, you don’t understand. It’s complicated—”

  He kissed her, threaded his fingers into her hair, tilted her head back and kissed her again, and when she parted her lips, let the tip of his tongue slip inside her mouth, he groaned with pleasure.

  “Then let’s uncomplicate it.” His words were a low, rough whisper in the darkness of the narrow hall. “Come to bed with me, Dawn. Let me make love to you and you’ll see, baby, you’ll see how simple it can become.”

  She put her hands against his chest. It almost killed him but he gave her the space she needed to take a step back.

  “I’m married.” She took a deep breath. “I left my husband long ago, but I’m still—”

  “I know.”

  She blinked. “You know?”

  Gray cursed himself for a fool. This wasn’t the moment to tell her why he’d come to Vegas. He had to show her how much she meant to him before he admitted that he’d deceived her from the beginning.

  “I know the kind of woman you are, sweetheart. You said you’re married, and that means you still believe in the vows you took.”

  “I did, for a long time, but—”

  He drew her into his arms again and moved his mouth over hers in a soft, silken caress.

  “Kiss me back,” he whispered.

  She told herself not to, that this was a mistake, but his mouth was hot on hers, his arms strong, and every beat of her heart whispered yes, yes, yes.

  “Dawn.” He pressed his open mouth to her throat, to the pulse racing in its hollow. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Let me hear you say it.”

  No, she thought. Oh, no. This was nice but she didn’t ever want to be with a man again. She didn’t want sex, didn’t like it, didn’t need to lie on her back, staring at the ceiling, while somebody grunted and sweated and buried himself inside her…

  Gray brushed his hand across the front of her T-shirt. Her nipples rose, stabbed the soft cotton fabric and she caught her breath, stunned by pleasure that swept through her, pleasure so intense it verged on pain. He dipped his head, kissed first one straining patch of cotton and then the other. Dawn rose toward him, head back, and buried her hands in his hair. Somebody moaned. Was it she? She knew the sounds men and women made. They were ugly. They weren’t sounds like—

  Yes. Oh, yes. Her breath hissed as Gray slid his hands down her back, inside her underpants. His palms curved over her bottom; the tips of his fingers sought more, almost found it, drew back. Don’t stop. Don’t stop, she thought, and then she was saying the words, sobbing them…

  “Tell me you want me,” he said thickly, and she wound her arms around his neck, pressed her mouth to his and answered with her body, her heart, her soul.

  Gray swept her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom.

  The room was dark, the curtains drawn tightly against the night and the street, the only illumination a soft light seeping from the half-opened bathroom door, but even that felt harsh against her closed eyes. Without warning, the old, familiar panic began rising in her throat and she waited for the pressure of the mattress against her buttocks, against her back, for the smothering weight of a man’s body bearing her down onto the bed.

  “Wait,” she said quickly. “Gray? Maybe we should wait. Maybe—”

  He kissed her, his hands in her hair, his mouth warm and soft and gentle on hers as he lowered her slowly to her feet. She felt the quick, potent kiss of his erection against her belly and the flutter of panic became more insistent. He was so hard. So big. He didn’t want to hurt her, she knew that, but he would. She knew. She remembered. Oh God, she remembered…

  “Dawn.” Gray put his hand under her chin and lifted her face to his. “Sweetheart?”

  She shook her head and kept her eyes downcast, as shamed by her fear as she was filled by it.

  “Baby, please. Look at me.”

  His voice was soft, and she loved the sound of the names he used with her. Sweetheart. Baby. Such soft, loving words—but they wouldn’t change anything. No matter how he tried, this would be—

  “Look at me, Dawn.”

  It was a plea, not a command, and maybe that was the reason she finally lifted her lashes and did as he’d asked. Their eyes met and what she saw in his stunned her. She’d expected the hot blaze of conquering passion but what she saw was tenderness and concern…and a banked anger that she knew, instinctively, had nothing to do with her.

  “Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?” He traced her cheekbones with his thumbs. “I won’t. I promise.”

  “Thank you.” She swallowed dryly, then gave a hollow laugh. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t the way it should be.”

  “There’s no script, baby. This scene belongs to us. We get to write it any way we want.”

  “You must think I’m such a fool—”

  “What I think,” he said gently, “is that it would be nice to find out what’s under that amazing T-shirt.”

  She looked down at herself. A scowling Wonder Woman flew across her breasts in red, white and blue glory, ready to defend the world from evil.

  “Oh,” Dawn said foolishly, “this.”

  “Yeah. That.”

  There was a smile in his words and, when she looked at his face, a hint of one on his lips. She’d never imagined people could joke about sex. It was nice that he could, even if he was impatient. He was waiting for her to get ou
t of her clothes. Harman had always just shoved up her nightgown. Or ripped it off, if he was drunk and angry and—

  Gray’s hands closed on her wrists as she reached for the hem of the T-shirt. “Don’t think about him,” he said fiercely. “He isn’t here. This is our world, yours and mine.” His voice softened. “And I don’t want you to take that shirt off.” Slowly his eyes never leaving hers, he slid his hands under the shirt, trailed them up her bare skin. “I’ll do it.” He bent to her, nipped lightly at her throat. “I want to unwrap you.”

  Unwrap her? What did that mean? She wasn’t a gift he’d found under the tree on Christmas morning, except—except that was how he was looking at her, as if she were a present, one he couldn’t wait to…

  Her breath caught.

  He touched her. Brushed the tips of his fingers up her spine. Just that. Only that. It made her knees buckle and she reached out, grasped his shirt and curled her fingers into the soft cotton.

  “Your skin is like satin,” he whispered. “Soft. Smooth. Warm.”

  A moan rose in her throat as he put his mouth against her skin again. Her head fell back; she felt the brush of his lips, the hot touch of his tongue, the quick, faint nip of his teeth.

  “I love the taste of you. Sweet. Like cream. So rich and smooth…”

  His hands slid down her spine, brushed lightly over her buttocks and she braced herself, waited for him to pull down her panties and push inside her. Instead he swept his hands up again, his fingers dancing lightly over her hips, her waist, her nipples. Oh God, her nipples. There. Just there. The lightest whisper of sensation over her nipples…

  She moaned, and he kissed her while he touched her, stroked her, feathered his thumbs over the aching centers. When he clutched the hem of the shirt and drew it up, she lifted her arms to help him and swayed, unsteadily, after he’d bared her to his gaze.

  “Dawn.”

  He wanted to say more, tell her how beautiful she was, but his tongue was thick in his mouth. Besides, beautiful didn’t half describe her. She was everything he’d ever dreamed a woman could be, and more.