by Thomas, Jodi
The crutch clanked to the floor as he moved his other hand up under her shirt and covered her breast. Her lace bra did nothing to guard against the warm, tender advance.
Ronny moaned in pleasure as he molded his fingers around her flesh.
He swayed slightly as he tightened his grip. “You feel . . . you feel . . .” His words were mumbled between kisses.
She broke the kiss, wanting to see his face as he touched her. All she saw were dark green eyes rolling up in his head.
Austin hit the tile like a falling oak. His whole body seemed to bounce once, and then his head hit for a second time before silence.
Ronny screamed and ran for her phone. She dialed the Delaney place and yelled, “Come quick!” to whoever answered before she dropped the phone and ran to Austin.
Ten minutes later when Abby, Dusti, and Kieran stormed in, Austin was sitting on the kitchen floor holding his head. Ronny had managed to drape a wet towel across his neck and place a pillow under his leg, but she didn’t know what else to do.
“What happened?” Abby asked as she knelt and began running her hands up and down Austin as if looking for a switch to turn on the battery.
“I kissed him and I think he fainted.” Ronny stepped back, letting the others take charge.
While Abby and the Scot helped Austin to bed, Dusti asked Ronny, “You have that effect on most guys or just the wounded?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never kissed a guy like that.”
Dusti moved closer. “Like what?”
“All out. You know, like it’s more important to kiss him than it is to breathe.”
Dusti took her arm. “Maybe you should sit down, Ronny. You don’t look so good yourself.”
Ronny nodded. “I feel all messed up inside. My stomach hurts. I didn’t know kissing could hurt so much. How could something feel so good and hurt at the same time?”
“You’ve got to slow down, girl. Kissing is like eating ice cream, you can’t do it too fast. At this rate, if the kissing knocks him out, the lovemaking will kill you.” Dusti glanced into the living room. “Let me guess. He feels the same way you do. Can’t keep his hands off you. Has to kiss you or die kind of thing.” She leaned closer and whispered, “How many times have you two kissed?”
“Two, no, three. Then I kissed him in the hospital just because I couldn’t think of anything else all night. But that kiss was fast. I just wanted one taste. Only he said he wanted to do it right this time, and it was really right.” Ronny let out a sob. “Or it was until his eyes rolled back and he hit the floor.”
Dusti poured her a glass of tea and stared at all the food on the counter. “Did you two get around to eating first?”
“No.” Ronny shoved her tears aside and smiled. “I guess we had other things on our minds.”
Abby interrupted with her medical report. “He’s got a knot on his head the size of one of our eggs. Probably a mild concussion, so we need to watch him closely. Keep him awake for a few hours and make sure he eats when he takes the medicine.” She spotted the bruise on Ronny’s face. “When did you get that?”
“Before dawn yesterday, when he had a nightmare,” Ronny answered as she moved her hair back over the bruise. She didn’t miss Dusti’s frown.
“Were you kissing him at the time?”
“No. Just spending the night.”
Dusti shook her head. “I never would have thought it of the two of you, but maybe you should think about not seeing one another. This attraction you two have could turn deadly.”
Abby looked from Ronny to Austin and then back at her sister with that my-sister’s-gone-nuts look. Austin looked like death warmed over and Ronny wasn’t the passionate type at all.
Ronny almost laughed aloud. Austin with his unfriendly ways didn’t seem to want to be around anyone, and she knew they all saw her as a lonely lady who wouldn’t know how to handle a man’s attentions. She and Austin were an unlikely pair, but maybe Dusti was right. At this rate, they might kill each other. Even knowing that he was hurt, she couldn’t stop thinking about the way his mouth tasted and how good his hand felt moving across her body.
In fact, if he had a free hand right now and was interested, she had a body waiting to be touched.
Giggling, Ronny realized she’d gone mad.
He was forceful and demanding about wanting her, and gentle, too, like he was afraid he’d hurt her. Strange as it might sound, she wouldn’t have had him any other way. If he’d just lasted a few more minutes there was no telling where they might have gone with one hand on her breast and and the other moving up her leg to—
Austin’s yelling interrupted her hot daydream.
“I’m fine,” he complained. “You guys can go back and finish your game. I promise I’ll stay right here and eat my supper, take my pills, and probably attack Ronny if she comes near again.” He stared at her as if he’d just read her mind.
Ronny laughed but didn’t miss the Delaney girls’ glare. They had no idea Austin was kidding. Or maybe he wasn’t. She could always hope.
Kieran, who’d been standing in the archway between the rooms, looked at the food spread out on the counter. “We’re not leaving you, fella. You’re weak from loss of blood and there is no telling what this neighbor would do to you in your weak state. You need protecting.” The Scot grinned. “In fact, we’re staying for supper. You got any cards around this place? I could finish the lessons while we eat and watch over you so Ronny won’t try having her way with you again.” He didn’t seem the least worried about Ronny, only about the food getting cold.
While Austin complained, Kieran pulled plates out of the cabinet and began to fill one. Ronny giggled when he winked at her. There was nothing else to do but pull the bread from the oven and find napkins. Austin was having company for supper whether he liked it or not.
Halfway through the meal Dusti seemed to notice that Austin hadn’t said a word. She leaned back in her chair and patted his knee. “You know, Austin, you should get out more and let the people of Harmony get to know you. Then they’d have reasons not to like you.”
“Quit teasing him,” Abby snapped. “He must have a terrible headache.”
“It’s what he deserves, attacking sweet Ronny while she was bringing him food. If you ask me, he’s lived out here too long. Gone feral like the wild hogs.”
Ronny’s voice was almost lost in the laughing. “He didn’t attack me,” she said. “I attacked him first. He was just returning the favor.” She moved closer to the couch as if planning to protect him.
He watched her, then captured her hand when she meant to pat his shoulder. “You’re arguing with chickens,” he whispered, “and you can attack me any time.”
Ronny giggled. “Ditto.” It didn’t matter that no one understood what was between them. It was simply between them.
The group calmed as they began another lesson in playing poker. Austin pouted and glared at them, but no one noticed. They ate and talked and laughed like old friends. Austin might as well have been a picture on the wall. He sat on the couch, his leg stretched out on a box.
When Ronny brought the dessert, she sat on the couch beside his good leg and fed him cookies while she pretended to be interested in the poker lesson.
Austin would have complained that he didn’t need help, but every time she reached across for another cookie, her breast brushed against his arm.
No one noticed or paid any attention to his not-so-subtle comments that they should all call it a night. She just kept feeding him cookies and letting her breast move a little slower over his arm with each passing.
For the first time in a long time, Ronny was having fun and getting turned on at the same time. It felt grand to be alive.
At this rate he’d grow fat from eating cookies, or faint again. He looked like he didn’t much care which as long as she stayed close.
Ch
apter 24
THURSDAY, TEN P.M.
DELANEY FARM
DUSTI WAS SITTING OUT ON THE DOCK WHEN KIERAN DROVE down Rainbow Lane and turned into their drive. By the time she noticed him it was too late to slip her jeans back on, so she did her best to act like she wasn’t sitting in her underwear and hoped he wouldn’t notice.
He grinned, reading her mind. “Looks like a grand way to cool off, lass.” He lifted a bag. “I figure I’ve eaten enough of your food, so I brought by ice cream hoping you’d still be awake.”
She started to stand, then remembered that she wasn’t dressed. “Turn around.”
“Not a chance,” he answered.
She stared at him as she stood and tugged on her jeans. To his credit, his eyes never dropped lower than her smile.
“We’re here to play poker,” she said, walking past him. “So as soon as I eat half that ice cream, we’re playing one last time.”
“That’s the plan.”
And surprisingly, that was exactly what they did. He dealt the hands faster, making her think quicker. “It’s got to be almost instinct,” he’d say over and over again. “You have to take it all in and compute what your move is. The longer you think, the more time you’re giving the other players to think.”
Dusti played every hand, barely noticing when he tried to distract her, or bluff her, or force her to respond with emotion and not logic.
Two hours later, when Dusti said good night to Kieran, she knew she might as well have said good-bye. Tomorrow was the big game and both would be playing to win. Neither had mentioned the other half of their bet. He’d said he would teach her to play, and she’d agreed to a date. If she lost, she wasn’t sure she’d want to go, and if he lost, he might be the one to call it off.
For a man who wanted to go out with her and claimed she’d turned him down three times, he didn’t seem all that interested in her now. Most of the times she’d cuddled up to him, he’d reminded her they had work to do if she planned to learn to play in time.
The next afternoon, when Dusti made her twenty-dollar donation to play, she found herself searching the mob for a tall Scot. It seemed everyone in town either wanted to support the library, so they were out on the Truman farm helping out, or had come to play.
While Dusti got her number and rack of chips, Abby whispered, “Where did some of these guys come from?” Men in business suits, cowboys, oil field workers, all ages came to play. Of the two hundred, only ten were women.
Dusti smiled as she and Abby backed to the edge of the crowd. “Remember what Kieran told us. There are all types who play. Assume everyone is already playing you even before you sit down at the table. Like that woman, who looks like she came to pole dance, may be a real pro, and the man in dark glasses may have made millions.”
“Or,” Abby added, “she just woke up from a bender last night and forgot to change clothes, and he is cross-eyed and doesn’t want to confuse people.”
Half an hour later they’d met all types. The flirt. The once-high roller. Mr. Lucky who bragged about all the big games he’d played. The bully who seemed determined to bother as many people as possible.
Then Dusti’s number was called. She ran to her table. She’d decided she wanted to play across from the dealer, and as the second one there she got her pick of chairs.
She was so glad Bill Ottoson from the gun range was the dealer. He seemed levelheaded and not too talky. Dusti had watched a few of the tables that had already started and the dealers weren’t the best. Mrs. McNabb, for one, wanted to know before she started if everyone had washed their hands. George Hatcher, owner of the bookstore, spilled his coffee as he sat down to deal, so his game started late. Most of the people drafted to deal would only have to do the job for the first hour or so. Then the two hundred players would drop down to twenty. Only the winners moved on.
Dusti did what Kieran had told her; she studied every person at the table. Two were already half drunk. Three looked barely old enough to play. One had brought her knitting. Another lady giggled with excitement when she sat down, saying she was happy to be playing with other ladies.
One older man in a battered Stetson took the seat next to the dealer. Dusti had seen him in town but didn’t know his name. He shuffled a stack of chips like they were cards, and she knew he was the man she’d have to beat.
The last man who sat down asked how much each color chip was worth. Dusti didn’t bother to look his way again.
All over the grounds people were sitting down to play. Some were talking, or cutting up. A few were bragging about other games or complaining about the heat, but they’d all come to win. One of the two hundred would go to Las Vegas, expenses and buy-in paid, to a game that would pay out millions.
Music drifted from a wagon-bed stage by the barn. Volunteers rushed to fill drinks and set up the buffet. By seven thirty, a line of those already out of the game was forming for the barbecue.
By eight, several of the poker tables had been converted to dining tables. Volunteers and those who’d already lost were dancing to the music of Beau Yates. Three people remained at Bill Ottoson’s table: Dusti, the guy in the Stetson, and the little woman who knitted.
Kieran’s words came back to her loud and clear. Never underestimate a player. She’d been right about the cowboy, but the knitter was a complete surprise. The woman broke most of the rules Kieran had told her. She counted her chips. She took her time thinking about each hand, and she even asked for advice now and then.
More tables were emptied, yet they played on. The urge to bet big and get the game over climbed along Dusti’s spine, but Kieran’s words in her head kept her on task.
Two tables were roped off near the barn for the next round.
“All in,” the cowboy said, shoving his multicolored chips to the center.
Bill smiled as he waited and said the first general comment he’d made in more than an hour of play. “When I was in the navy, we used to call that ‘betting the rainbow.’ All chips. All colors. I’ve always thought some folks live their lives that way. Playing every day all-out, win or lose it all.”
“Call.” The knitter looked interested for once.
Before Dusti could react, the cowboy stood and walked away, cussing his luck. When she glanced at the cards on the table, she saw he’d been beaten by the knitter.
“Well, I never,” the knitter said. “On the Internet no one ever does that.”
Three hands later the lady folded her knitting and walked away, seemingly in shock that she’d lost.
Dusti thanked Bill and ran to the food. With very few tables still playing the first round, she’d have to eat fast. Soon, she’d be called to the next round.
Two bites later, someone stepped in front of her and said, “Want to dance, lass?”
She forgot the food and jumped off the bench. “I won,” she said, hugging him. “I won the first round.”
“Good.” He laughed. “I’m a great teacher.”
“Or, I’m a good player.” She moved with him to the music. “How’d you do?”
“I won half an hour ago. I’ve had two plates of barbecue already, and one of the Red Hat ladies has tried to pick me up twice. If they don’t start the next round soon, I’ll be too fat to sit in the folding chair and probably married to a woman three times my age.”
Dusti wanted to tell him all about the game she’d played. The way she’d watched every player and read them right. How she’d almost yelped when she won her first big pot.
Only she couldn’t tell him. Kieran was in this as well. Somehow, they weren’t on the same team anymore.
As they two-stepped, she looked around at all the people laughing and talking. “If I had a camera, I’d shoot some shots. This whole night seems magic.”
He leaned down, pushing his chin against her hair. “I got one in the car. It’s an old one my dad had. Still uses fil
m, but I love the pictures I get with it. I always travel with it just in case one day I discover an ounce of talent for photography. My dad had quite an eye for seeing things others don’t notice.”
“Could I borrow it?”
“Sure,” he answered, smiling down at her.
Five minutes later Dusti was shooting pictures. Couples dancing, Beau Yates lost in a song, the Red Hat ladies line dancing. The lanterns in the apple trees. Reagan holding someone’s baby up close to her cheek.
Dusti almost missed the call for the next round.
As she sat down, Dusti set the camera where she could see it and remember what she was playing for. It felt so good in her hands, reminding her of her dream. She had to win. Abby had to finish school, and then it would be her turn. Someday she might just make her living taking pictures. Her mother used to say Dusti could see things through the lens of a camera that most folks go all their lives without seeing.
Kieran sat down at the other table. The second round was starting. He looked calm, but she knew he was already sizing up every other player.
When the dealer called him by name, the cowboy across from Kieran made fun of it.
“Sounds like a girl’s name.”
“It’s not,” Kieran said simply. “It’s a fairly common name in Scotland. Pronounced like ‘Care-an’ with a roll on the R.”
“Oh, you’re a foreigner.”
“No, I’m not. I live in New York.”
The cowboy grinned. “Then you’re a damn Yankee.”
“Let’s play cards,” the dealer interrupted.
Dusti grinned, knowing exactly what the cowboy had been trying to do and also knowing Kieran wouldn’t take the bait. His words drifted in her mind. Play your hand. Never get emotional. Never let another player affect you. Never be out to get someone.
As the dealer at her table started, she was now playing with only men. The game went faster this time. Everyone at the table knew how to play. No one knitted.