One Night At A Time

by Christa Conan

  “I’ll tell you when to follow me.”

  She took strength from his quick smile, from his attitude Glancing skyward, she offered another brief thanks that he’d accepted the assignment. Without him, she didn’t know where she’d be. More, she didn’t want to find out.

  He closed his hand around the doorknob and slowly turned it. Her heart raced, the muscles in her legs weakened. Soundlessly he pushed open the door, then eased himself inside.

  Arielle clenched her hands, her pulse pounding. The couple of seconds when she lost sight of him seemed the longest she’d ever endured. She wanted to burst in behind him see if he was okay. Reminding herself of the promise she’d made, she waited.

  He reappeared a couple of seconds later. “Clear so far Let’s go.”

  At the door to Rhone’s office, Doug paused to check the alarm there, then silently advanced into the house.

  Arielle followed, her senses strung taut. “Doug?” she whispered.

  He hesitated without turning back to her.

  “Your coffee cup is gone.”

  He nodded curtly then continued. At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped and swept his gaze across the landing gun poised.

  Her heart continued to jump, and she wiped her palms on her jeans.

  Near the kitchen, Doug halted. After making sure she was behind him, he nudged the door open.

  Then he sighed. “Is it Wednesday?”

  She nodded. Then, realizing he couldn’t see her, she forced out a soft “Yes.”

  Motions controlled, he sank the gun back into its leather nest. “The second Wednesday of the month.” Slowly he turned toward her.

  “Doug?”

  “It’s not nice to point weapons at the cleaning lady.”

  “Cleaning...”

  The sudden absence of adrenaline had her leaning against the wall for support.

  “Could have done with a reminder from Rhone.”

  Her breath rushed out with relief, leaving her lungs burning.

  “You’ll like Betsy,” Doug assured her.

  Arielle’s head swam. He switched gears effortlessly, leaving her to feel like a stalled clunker next to a sleek sports car.

  “Honey, I’m home!” Doug called out, then pushed the door open the rest of the way.

  Arielle’s first glimpse of the older woman would stay with her a long time, she knew. Betsy’s eyes were open wide, and her hands were closed around a butcher knife. The breaths she drew came in labored bursts, reminding Arielle of herself.

  “Put down your weapons and come out with your hands up,” Doug said easily.

  Betsy’s features were transformed, and a broad smile chased across her face. “Douglas Masterson, you rascal, you. You scared me to pieces. Rhone didn’t tell me you were coming to Colorado.”

  “Just as he neglected to remind me you’re here every other Wednesday.” Closing the distance, he reached for the knife’s handle. He slid it onto the counter, to safety. “Glad to see me?” he asked.

  “‘Bout as glad as I am for my gout.”

  “She loves me,” he said with a boyish shrug in Arielle’s direction.

  “They all do,” Betsy said, nearly scooping him up off the ground and pulling him against her ample form in a bear hug. “When I heard whispering, I knew it wasn’t Rhone and Shannen. Those little ones, bless their tiny hearts, can’t keep quiet when they come home. No siree. Lordy, Lordy, Doug, you gave me a fright. Thought for sure someone was coming after me.”

  “Only me sneaking up on you,” he assured her. “I’ve been trying to catch you for years, but you keep up this talk about your husband.”

  This side of Doug enchanted Arielle. She’d seen him serious and sarcastic, but never carefree. She. realized that no matter how deep his scars ran, he wasn’t a man to let them ruin his life. He’d faced his torment and beaten it. Now if only she could do the same.

  When Betsy released Doug, her wide grin encompassed Arielle.

  “Why, you really are a rascal,” Betsy exclaimed. “You finally brought a girl to meet me. I’m Betsy, honey,” she said, pushing Doug aside and advancing on Arielle. “Glad to see you caught this wily guy. He swore he’d never be getting with no woman ever again—’cept for me of course—but I just knew otherwise. Mark my words, I told him.”

  Before Arielle could explain about the relationship, she, too, had been caught up in the whirlwind that was Betsy.

  “And what’s your name?” she finally asked.

  Arielle labored for a breath, after nearly having her ribs crushed.

  “Arielle,” Doug supplied. “And she’s my client.”

  “Your—”

  “Client,” he said again.

  “Not your wife?”

  Doug shook his head, and Arielle did the same.

  “Child, what is wrong with you?” Betsy demanded of Arielle.

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Now that you’ve got him, you’re not going to let him get away, are you?”

  Arielle never stammered, not when facing angry parents, a frustrated principal, or a demanding school board. But there was something about the directness with which Betsy made her statement that seemed to cut through everything and go for the guts. “I hired Doug to...” She trailed off. What else could she add? Save her from an assassin’s bullet?

  “Keep her out of harm’s way,” Doug supplied.

  Betsy frowned. “That don’t mean you can’t keep him after you’re done being his client. Good-looking man like that.”

  “Show some mercy on the woman,” Doug said easily, moving across the kitchen and helping himself to a cup of the coffee Betsy had made.

  Betsy folded her arms across the stretch of her chest and said, “And you could do worse yourself, young man.”

  Doug choked on his coffee, and Arielle didn’t try to hide her triumphant smile. He always seemed so strong and secure. Yet this large, grandmotherly woman made him fight for balance.

  “You’re enjoying this,” Doug said to Arielle.

  “Yes.” She poured herself a cup of coffee.

  “You’re not getting any younger, you know,” Betsy supplied.

  Arielle wrapped her hands around the cup and rested her hip against the countertop. She wasn’t getting any younger, either.

  For a few seconds, a few stolen seconds, Arielle allowed herself to imagine Doug in the role of husband and father. Friend and lover.

  Her lover.

  Wants and needs, basic and vital, surfaced in a rush, at once clearly defined.

  She shifted away from the counter, placing distance between herself and her tormentor, only to find no relief—there was no escaping her imagination.

  “And this house is a great place for a honeymoon,” Betsy added with a wink.

  Doug slipped his cup onto the table and ran his fingers through his hair, dislodging strands. They fell forward, dancing with his eyebrows. Arielle struggled with the impulse to reach out and finger back the hair, wanting to feel the texture against her skin.

  She sipped from her sweetened black coffee, needing the distraction more than the dark liquid.

  Doug wasn’t a man she should fantasize about, not even for a few seconds. She had old-fashioned values, believed in the sanctity of marriage and children.

  Doug didn’t.

  Plain and simple, he was a man with a mission. He was her reluctant protector, saddled with her more as a favor to a friend than from anything else.

  And after the pain she’d endured twice before with other men over the same issues, she had no desire to subject herself to it again, even if Doug was interested.

  “There isn’t going to be a honeymoon, Betsy.”

  “No?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “Sorry,” Doug said.

  “If there ain’t gonna be a marriage, how come you’re both sleeping in the same bed?”

  Doug closed his eyes for a second. The nighttime arrangements had been Doug’s idea, so Arielle left the awkward explanations to him.<
br />
  “We’re not sleeping together.”

  Her eyebrows knit together. “Only one bed has the covers mussed. How you gonna explain that?”

  Doug’s smile lacked enthusiasm, his frown better expressing the internal argument he obviously waged—about whether to explain or to bluntly tell Betsy it was none of her business.

  “We’re not...involved. We’re sharing a room for her protection,” Doug said.

  “You really believe that? A lovely single woman in bed with a gorgeous man? Only a matter of time.” Betsy tutted.

  This time. Arielle choked on a sip of her coffee. Heat crept up her neck as two sets of eyes focused on her. “I, um... It’s only a business arrangement. Really,” she managed.

  “Uh-huh. Well, as I been telling you, a man don’t take care of a woman by sleeping with her, ‘less they’re married, of course.”

  “Of course,” Doug echoed in a dry tone.

  “I just don’t know what this world is coming to anymore.” Betsy shook her head, gazing into the distance. “These days, people sleep with anyone. Me and Harry, we waited till we were married, you know. Not that we weren’t tempted, mind you. But that’s the way we did things back then,”

  Arielle met Doug’s gaze. He seemed torn between laughter and frustration. Another new side of him. How many more were there?

  “So,” Doug interjected helplessly, “how about a game of cribbage?”

  Tall, jagged, snowcapped peaks obscured the sun as it moved from its afternoon position to early evening.

  Despite the fact that he’d been planning an extended vacation, inactivity was weighing on Doug.

  “I’ll be back,” he called to Arielle, grabbing his jacket and disarming the alarm. Once he was outside, the cool Colorado air cut through his jacket. After resetting the code, he swept a cursory glance around the area, then started toward the back of the grassy area that had been painstakingly sliced from the forest.

  A wooden swing set sat in the middle, next to an empty sandbox. Dump trucks, along with pails and plastic shovels, decorated the area, testimony to the Mitchell family’s shared happy times.

  It was a place to heal, or so Rhone said about the land.

  It had been successful for Rhone and Shannen. Maybe the magic would work for Arielle, also. Doug hoped so. She deserved peace. Hell, didn’t everyone?

  He found the crude trail that led deep into the forest. Tall pines protected the path and the vegetation that would soon lie dormant under blankets of snow until spring. How long had it been since he traveled these woods with Rhone and Shannen, on a desperate search for their baby son? And, more, how long had it been since these trees were the only thing solid in a world gone crazy?

  On his last trip here, he’d screamed his grief to the sky, learned to mourn in the answering silence.

  Why, Doug wondered, at this point, did he no longer feel whole? He’d thought he’d healed. Was it an illusion? Like the Bahamas?

  He carefully looked at the trees, searching for any sign that there’d been visitors since his last check, earlier this morning. Instinct told him there was nothing out of the ordinary, but that didn’t encourage him to return to the house.

  Nearby, water that he knew would soon ice over flowed with a lazy constancy. The river rushed in spring, ambled in summer, trickled in fall. Seasons changed. So had he.

  He laughed a lot, joked often. But standing near the stream, he realized the truth. It was a cover. And Arielle had seen that which he tried hardest to hide. He didn’t have half the energy he used to. Brevity cloaked, but didn’t eliminate, the dark lurking inside him.

  He’d thought he’d faced up to his guilt and responsibility in Kerry’s death. He’d railed at God and the universe, his enemies and fate. Colorado had been a last-ditch effort. A place to heal.

  Until now, he’d thought he had. Until now, he’d believed he was whole. Until now. Until Arielle.

  She hadn’t hidden from her pain. She’d cried, confessed her fear, trembled in his arms. Through it all, she’d remained steadfast in her belief. She’d walked into his office, confident of his ability not only to save her, but to stop the hit she’d hired.

  They’d talked of trust, and she’d said it was a two-way street. Funny, till now he hadn’t thought of that. He’d demanded her blind faith, and even though she’d said trust had to be earned, she’d placed it in him.

  Her honesty and openness humbled him.

  Their lives were a study in contrasts, light and belief against shadows and secrets. Which, he wondered, would prevail? Which, when pitted against the other, was stronger?

  He released a heavy sigh. He’d wanted to turn down the assignment, give it to Brian. A part of Doug wished he had.

  But then he thought of the feel of her against him, soft and feminine. She’d kissed him, drawing a reaction he hadn’t known he was capable of. It went beyond physical, bordered on something more—

  Doug silenced the thought, picking up a rock and hurtling it into the water. The stone splashed, then sank, sending skitters to the shoreline. Much like the ones Arielle had sent through him last night.

  Somehow, she was starting to get to him. Even when they played cribbage earlier, he’d been unable to concentrate. What was it about him? What was it about her?

  After concluding his perimeter check, he returned to the house to find Arielle staring out the back window. She’d been watching him, he knew. But just how much did she see? And why did the thought of her looking past the facade he presented to the world terrify him?

  “I made hot chocolate,” she said. “And we have some marshmallows.”

  Hot chocolate. How often had he had that fantasy as a child? That he’d walk in the door after school to a warm house, a hot drink and a caring mother.

  But it had never happened. By the fourth grade, Doug had realized that it probably never would. His mother had never been there. He’d rarely had a hot meal, let alone a cup of cocoa. Still, that hadn’t stopped him from hoping and wanting, the same way he had for birthday presents and parties.

  “Would you like some?” she asked.

  He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it across the back of the chair. Steam wafted from a pan on the stove, and Doug remembered his first trip to the grocery store as an adult. He’d bought a box of instant cocoa mix, boiled some water and burned his tongue. The taste hadn’t lived up to his expectations, but then, life rarely did.

  “Doug?”

  “Sure,” he said. He’d had enough coffee, and the wind’s chill had seeped beneath his skin. “I’ll take a cup.”

  She poured him a large, frothy mug, then dumped two puffy marshmallows on top. He accepted the mug and looked at the drink. It didn’t look watered-down and tepid. Couldn’t be hot chocolate.

  He took a long sip, amazed at the richness and creaminess of the texture. Slipping past his guard, it warmed him in a way only his fantasies would understand. “No artificial favor and preservatives?”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never had real hot chocolate before?”

  “Where’s the little packets you rip open with your teeth? You already put them in the trash?”

  She smiled, shaking her head. “I remember calling Mom from college after our first snowstorm. I wanted some of her love, even if it was long-distance. More than anything, I wanted some of her hot chocolate.”

  Arielle’s eyes took on the same mist they always did when she spoke of her parents. What was it like? What would it have been like to sip from the cup of parental love and kindness, even once?

  It made him that much more aware of the magnitude of what she’d done, of how devastated Arielle’s parents would be if anything happened to their remaining child.

  “The next day I received a care package, sent overnight and costing Mom a small fortune. And she shared her recipe.”

  “So did my mom.”

  “Boiling water and artificial ingredients?” she asked incredulously.

  “Nothing but the best for her son.” The
bitterness of the words slammed against the sweetness of his cocoa as the past collided with the present.

  She reached for him, cradling a warm hand around his wrist. A bolt of something suspiciously like lightning charged through him, settling in an unnameable place. Lord, the power she possessed over him. A potency stronger than gunpowder, and just as explosive.

  “Doug, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. She never was much of a mother. I interfered with her plans in life.”

  Even as the confession rolled from his tongue, Doug wondered what was wrong with him. He had never shared such thoughts before, not even with Rhone. And Rhone knew Doug better than anyone.

  His words hung between them, an uneasy shroud to cover an already uneasy day. Betsy’s words had loomed between him and Arielle, making him question the solo course he’d charted for the rest of his life.

  Being alone and lonely no longer held any appeal. Until he met Arielle, he’d had no idea he was a lonely man. But her hand touched him, offering reassurance. He realized that, having experienced its wonder, he didn’t want to give it up.

  Their gazes met, then ricocheted off each other. She slowly released his hand, then turned over her own to study it. Looking for...what? Did she feel it, too? The warmth... the sunshine?

  Telling himself that his reaction was normal—a natural male response to a desirable female—didn’t seem to help. Having once had a taste, he wanted more. A touch wasn’t enough. A kiss wasn’t enough. A glance that measured 8.5 on the Richter scale wasn’t enough. He wanted her light, her energy.

  Just as surely, though, he couldn’t have it. He’d consume her, stomping out the very things he sought. He could look, but not touch. Unfortunately, he was a very tactile person. Furthermore, he’d never been good at following rules, not the ones made by others and not the ones made by himself, either.

  “She has a secret ingredient.”

  He heard the whisper, and felt its sensation across his chest, settling in his heart. He shouldn’t ask. He knew better. Meeting the honesty her gaze offered, he couldn’t stop himself. “And what’s the secret ingredient?”

  “Love.”

  He turned away. He fixed his gaze out the window and into the distance. A place to heal? Sure. If that was the case, why did he feel broken?