by Sharon Sala
Before she knew it, she’d rolled from her bed and torn the offending gown over her head, sending it to the same place that she’d sent her sheet. The floor. But the moment cool air hit her skin, she shuddered. It was too much like a man’s breath upon her body to bear.
“Damn you, Lane Monday,” she groaned, and threw herself back onto the bed, naked as the day she was born. “Damn you for not being worthless enough to use me. Damn you for having morals. Any other man would have been at this door days ago, whether he liked me or not, just because he could.”
She closed her eyes, doubled her fists and resisted the urge to cross the hall on her own. But she would not stand naked before a man who did not want her, no matter what. Bearing the rejection from that encounter—and she was certain that there was bound to be one—would be impossible for her to endure.
And so she lay, and finally slept while Lane fought devils of his own.
Since the crash, his body had healed in so many ways. Seven days had passed and he was almost as good as new. And yet the scars he still bore from his first wife’s death were as sore as they’d been five years ago. He couldn’t get past the thought of loving like that, then losing again. It had nearly destroyed him. Lane knew himself well enough to realize that he would not survive a similar loss a second time.
And while common sense might dictate that falling in love did not go hand in hand with dying, Lane’s heart was too scarred to trust what his mind might say. All he could do was hope to hell that morning came before he lost all sense of reason and took what he knew Toni would give.
* * *
The sun was up, which was more than could be said for Lane or Toni. It was the telephone that woke them, and sent them dashing into the hall on reflex to answer.
It was hard to say who was more stunned, Lane for seeing her wearing nothing more than a robe that she held together with the clutch of one hand, or Toni for having to endure one last sight of all that man wearing nothing but a pair of white cotton briefs.
“The phone’s ringing,” Lane said as he realized that answering a phone in a house that didn’t belong to him was overstepping his bounds.
Toni’s voice shook as she turned away. “I hear it,” she muttered, and yanked the receiver on the fifth ring.
“Hello!”
“Toni, this is Dan Holley. Did I wake you?”
She didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, because Lane was on his way back into his room, probably to get a pair of pants, and she was too busy watching him leave.
“Toni?”
She jerked, and then stared at the receiver. She’d forgotten that it was in her hand. “What?” she asked.
“If Lane is up, I would like to speak to him. I have some news he’s been waiting for.”
Toni pressed a finger across her lips to keep them from trembling before she spoke. She took a deep breath, and when she was certain that she had her emotions well under control, she spoke. “He’s up. Hang on.” She let the phone drop on the table without saying goodbye to Dan.
“It’s for you,” she shouted in the direction of Lane’s room, and then went back into her room, slamming the door behind her.
Lane left his room and grabbed the phone, then balanced it against his ear with his shoulder as he finished buttoning his jeans. He didn’t have the guts to get caught that near-naked around Toni Hatfield again. The next time, he would not be able to walk away.
“This is Monday,” he said.
Dan Holley spoke. “They pulled a rather badly decomposed body out of the Pigeon River right after daylight this morning.”
Lane felt a grin coming. He’d waited a week to hear this news. And the fear that he’d refused to name began to disappear. At least this part of his worry was over.
“Thank God,” Lane said, and leaned against the wall.
“They're doing an autopsy as soon as possible,” Dan told him. “Although down here, that may take anywhere from a week to a month. But it was a white male, and he was big. Really big.”
“It’s Rice. It has to be. He’s the only whale we have on the missing-persons list.”
Dan laughed aloud. “There sure wasn’t any love lost between you two, was there?”
Lane closed his eyes, and thought of the hatred that he’d seen on Rice’s face. “No. He was bad all the way through. I can’t say I'm sorry he’s dead.” He paused, pushing himself away from the wall to stare at the door between him and Toni before he thought to add, “Sheriff, thank you for calling. And when you get it, I’d like a copy of the autopsy report to close out my file.”
“It’s already yours,” Dan said. “Have a safe flight.”
Lane nodded as the line went dead. The sheriff hadn’t needed a response to his request for Lane to have a safe flight. They both knew all too well how difficult it would be for Lane to take that first step onto a plane, and how much Lane was counting on a smooth, uneventful trip.
And then Toni’s door opened. She stood, waiting for him to confirm the bits and pieces of what she’d overheard. But he was looking at her too intently for her peace of mind, and so she spoke first.
“They found him, didn’t they?”
Lane nodded. “It looks like it,” he replied.
“That’s good,” Toni said. “It’s been bothering you, hasn’t it?” And when she saw the way he was studying her face and the way her clothes fit her body, she prodded him back to the conversation at hand. “Not finding Emmit Rice, I mean.”
Lane nodded again, and thought that if he looked hard enough, he would remember how long her legs were, hidden beneath her well-worn jeans, or how the fullness of her breasts coerced the knit on her shirt to give way.
The nervous swipe of her hand across her hair made him remember how thick and soft the curls were to the touch. And when she gave him a nervous look, he got the full force of eyes so dark that they seemed black.
“A lot of things have been bothering me since the crash. That was one of them.”
Now! Say something now! But Toni couldn’t find the words. Lane walked back into his room to finish dressing, and the moment was lost.
“Stupid,” she muttered beneath her breath, and stalked toward the kitchen to prepare breakfast. “It was a stupid thought. I can’t ask it, and that’s that.”
But the idea wouldn’t go away, and Toni had to face the fact that her dream hadn’t died a full death. It was still lingering in her mind. Obviously, she was reluctant to give up what life it still had.
* * *
Lane was halfway through his second cup of coffee when Toni put down her spoon, replaced the lid on the jelly and pinned him with a bottomless gaze and a question he couldn’t ignore.
“Are you packed?” she asked.
He froze with the cup against his lip. It hurt to hear the words, but the look on her face was more difficult to bear. He set the cup down without taking a drink, then folded his hands in his lap to hide the fact that they shook. It was nearly time to leave and he hadn’t reconciled himself with the knowledge that when he awoke tomorrow, he would be thousands of miles away from Toni Hatfield and Chaney Creek.
“No,” he said.
“You don’t want to miss your plane,” she reminded him, and began stacking dishes into the sink.
Oh, yes, I do. But he didn’t say it. Instead, he stood and walked from the room without further comment. He didn’t have it in him to debate.
When she could no longer hear his footsteps, she went limp and grabbed on to the sink for support.
“Oh, God,” she pleaded. “Just get me through this.”
Half an hour later, she was still saying prayers and begging for a reprieve that hadn’t come. And Lane was walking toward the door with suitcase in hand, a well and whole man compared to the one she’d dragged into her house during the night of the storm.
“Take care,” she said. “Drive safely.”
He turned at the doorway, almost hating her for being able to maintain composure now when his was nearly nonexistent. And
then he looked into her eyes and saw that her misery so nearly matched his own that it made no difference.
“Come here,” he said, and held out his arms.
She didn’t mean to, but resisting his offer was too difficult. With a soft sob, and then a quiet sigh, she walked into his embrace and settled her cheek against his chest. It was like being wrapped in steel, then cushioned by the promise of gentleness waiting.
“I will miss you, even though you are one bossy man,” Toni said, trying to make a joke out of it, but failing miserably.
Lane tightened his embrace and felt her willingly readjust herself to the lack of space. Just as with everything else she did, she gave without asking for anything in return. And yet, if she were to ask a favor, he knew what it would be. Just don’t say it, love. Don’t say what I see in your eyes.
“I'll miss you, too,” he told her. “More than you'll ever know. And I don’t know how I'll ever be able to thank you for saving my life.”
Toni went still. Even her heart forgot to beat. This was it. He’d given her an opportunity that she couldn’t ignore. What he did when she asked was another thing entirely. But at least, she told herself, she would have made the effort.
“I do,” she said.
He grinned and moved back far enough to see her expression. He should have known that she would still be trying to take control. It was the Toni he knew and loved.
Loved? Impossible! Where had that thought come from? I haven’t fallen in love with her, damn it! he thought. But the shock of his realization was nothing compared to what she said next.
“You could make love to me. Just once. Just for fun.”
Chapter 9
She kept talking because she knew that the silence that was bound to ensue would destroy her. She’d seen the shock on his face and felt the tension in his body increase tenfold.
“It’s no big deal,” she said, trying to smile. “Everyone does it, all the time. It’s what they call recreational sex, right?”
Oh, hell, Lane thought. How do I answer and not lie? My God, I would like nothing more than to take you to bed, woman. But walking away afterward might kill us both. He heard himself mouthing a platitude that even he didn’t believe.
“Now, Toni, you haven’t thought this through. You're not the kind of woman to have casual sex.”
“Oh, but I have thought it through,” she said brightly. “And I'm not a virgin, you know. I've already tried it. Sex, I mean. Twice. In high school. It wasn’t much, but I thought I might give it another chance.”
There was too much effervescence in her voice. She could hear it and hated that it almost sounded like begging. Damn you, Lane. Either tell me no, or shut the door.
My God! She tried it twice? Lane pondered in awe.
The implications were nearly staggering. She was as near to a virgin as a woman could be and still call herself experienced. Lane fought the urge to take her in his arms. As badly as he wanted to comply with her wishes, doing so would only end up hurting them both. And then something occurred to Lane that he figured would end this conversation before it brought them to their knees.
“I don’t have any protection with me.”
Toni swallowed a lump in her throat. The last obstacle in the conversation had just been broached. It was up to her to get past it without giving away her intentions.
“Oh, that! I'm prepared to handle that on my own.” She held her breath, hoping that he would assume what most men would, that she was taking, or using, something that would prevent pregnancy. What she’d meant, though, was that she was prepared to handle whatever came of their union on her own.
Damn you, woman. When will you stop? I haven’t got it in me anymore to say no.
“I don’t think I've ever had a better offer,” Lane said, and cupped her face with his hands, branding her cheeks and mouth with short but gentle kisses that said what he could not.
Toni laughed through her tears. She knew it had been a long shot, but she’d been willing to give it a try. Now there was only one thing she could do to save face—for herself as well as for him.
“But you'll pass, right?” She laughed again, and spun out of his arms, certain that if he touched her again, she would start screaming and never stop. “It’s no big deal,” she said. “It was just an idea. I thought if you were willing, I would get in a little practice for the next man I fish out of Chaney Creek. But...” She shrugged. “As my daddy used to say, 'that’s life.'”
Lane hurt for her in so many places that he wasn’t sure he would be able to walk away. The tears in her eyes were vivid. The laughter on her lips was a sham and he knew it. How had he let this happen?
“You aren’t a woman for one-night stands, Antonette. You deserve better, and you deserve a better man than me. Don’t give up on yourself. You're a hell of a woman.”
“Thank you, Mr. Monday. You're the first man to say so, but I'm sure you won’t be the last. Take care, and drive safely.”
She shut the door in his face before it was too late to hide her shame, and did not watch as he drove away.
* * *
As Lane drove, the miles passed without notice. He was vaguely aware of obeying traffic signals and the laws of the road, but all he kept seeing was the pain on Toni’s face. And all he could feel was the way she’d spun out of his arms with a smile on her face that he didn’t believe.
That memory blended with the past into a collage of the days and nights that he’d spent under her roof and under her care and attention, until he couldn’t separate the good from the bad. He couldn’t remember her laughter, for seeing the tears he’d left in her eyes. He couldn’t remember a single thing that had given her joy, for thinking of what had hurt her.
Sick with guilt, he kept remembering the way her brother had belittled her womanly traits, as well as the times that Lane, himself, had told her no, or turned her away, when every indication she’d given had said that she wanted more. What must she think of herself if every man who knew her took and took, but was unwilling to give?
“That was damned noble of me,” Lane muttered as he continued driving toward the Knoxville airport and the airplane that would ultimately take him home. “But just what did I prove? And worse yet, what did my behavior prove to her?”
He swerved to miss a dog that had run across the road, swearing as he came to a shaky halt at the side of the road. Either he got his focus back on the trip, or he would wind up going home the same way that Bob Tell and the rest of the passengers and crew of the plane had done. In a body bag.
Just once. Just for fun.
With one eye on the time and the other on the intermittent cars on the road, Lane tried to ignore the haunting voice and pulled back into the traffic flow, doing everything that he knew how to do to concentrate on driving, not on the woman he’d left behind.
I've tried it twice. It wasn’t much.
He groaned. How could a woman get to be twenty-nine years old and stay that...the only word that came to mind was untouched? And as soon as he thought it, he knew the answer. He’d been a witness to the reason more than once himself.
She’d been the baby of her family, the one who had stayed behind to care for the aging parent while everyone else had moved away, married and set up separate households of their own. She’d been insulated from social contact by life itself. Add to that the constant feedback from one brother, maybe more, who’d reminded her continuously that it was her size and her capability that were the worthy traits, not the fact that she smelled good, had soft skin and a pretty face.
“Then I come along, after God knows how many other men who’d shunned her,” Lane mumbled, “full of myself and with all the right answers for all the wrong reasons and finished the job that they’d started.”
He laughed bitterly, then stopped, startled by the ugliness of the sound within the quiet interior of the car.
Practice for the next man who comes along.
“Like hell!”
It was hard for a man lik
e Lane to face the fact that he didn’t want her practicing on anyone but him. Then how did he reconcile his decision to remain unfettered by emotional relationships to the fact that he wanted to make love to Toni Hatfield in the worst possible way?
In his mind there was only one logical answer. He owed her. The least he could do was pay his damned debt. And maybe in so doing, get her out of his mind once and for all. With that thought fixed firmly in his mind, he drove onto the shoulder of the road, and when the way was clear, headed back the same way that he’d come. Back to Chaney.
Back to Antonette.
* * *
It was nearly dusk when he turned down the long, winding road leading to her house. A red haze hung over the treetops, and the sun was all but hidden by the gathering clouds. It was fitting. He’d arrived on the day of a storm. He’d come back to her in the same fashion.
His stomach twisted, a nervous reaction to the fact that she just might pull that mud-dauber-packed shotgun on him again and this time pull the trigger. Why hadn’t he thought about what this could do to her before returning to the scene of what might be a crime?
But he was too close to walk away, and too much in need to ignore the pull of knowing that the woman he wanted was only yards away on the other side of four walls.
He parked, then headed for the house with single-minded intent. He was as hard eyed and focused as he’d been on the day that they’d loaded three federal prisoners into a plane on a runway in Tallahassee, and almost as nervous as he’d been until he’d learned of Emmit Rice’s demise.
He cleared both steps in one leap and made it to the front door in two. Without knocking, he hit the door with the flat of his hand, relishing the sharp bang it made against the wall before swinging shut behind him.
The sounds he heard in the back of the house suddenly stopped. He knew that she’d heard the door. If he’d frightened her, it was nothing compared to the way that he felt, waiting for her to appear. But when she came into the room, the expression on her face said it all.
She’d thought that it was Justin. It was always the way he entered the house. Loudly. Without knocking. So she wasn’t prepared for the shock, or the man who was waiting for her.