Stevie Lee

by Tara Janzen

  “Hal!” Stevie whispered under her breath, not believing a word of it. Neither could she believe her father was giving him the keys to his new truck. Hal must have scored a grand slam on her father’s character scale.

  “Tsk, tsk, Stevie Lee.” Nola crooned softly, running her fingers over the piano keys to keep anyone else from hearing. “Didn’t he test your waters first?”

  Stevie opened her mouth to protest, but her never-subtle sister forged ahead. “Doug told me all about your little tête-a-tête in the office at the Trail. Sounds like fun,” A bar of the wedding march slipped in under a lightly played hymn.

  Panic urged Stevie to her feet. “I have to leave,” she blurted out.

  “Yes, dear, you should be home in bed.” Elizabeth stood up, absently arranging the muscle-bound, plastic figures in her apron pockets to keep them from falling out. “Let me get you a quart of soup out of the freezer.”

  “Are you sick, Stutz?”

  “No, Dad, I’m . . . fine.”

  “I don’t know, honey. You are looking a mite peaked. Hal, why don’t you give my girl a ride home? I’ll walk up and get the truck in the morning. Elizabeth,” Richard called, following her mother out of the room. “Why don’t you get a quart for Hal too. The boy’s been living on raw fish. . . .” His voice trailed off as he entered the kitchen.

  The evening’s good-byes proved to be a drawn out affair. John and Diana bundled Josh into their truck for the short haul home up the meadow. Nola and her husband, Bob, rounded up their eight-year-old son, Ryan, and brushed a ton of hay out of his hair before settling him into their car for the ride into town. They didn’t get ten yards before Nola jumped out of the cab and returned one of Blue’s puppies to the barn. Gene, the bachelor sheriff, walked home.

  Long after they’d all left, Hal and Stevie were still loading food into the back of the truck.

  “I never cut ’em less than an inch thick. Not even in the lean times, did I, Mother?” Richard handed Hal a bundle of T-bone steaks wrapped in butcher paper.

  “Never, dear. Hal? Did you say you liked cherry pie or apple pie best?”

  “Apple, ma’am, but—”

  “Save your breath,” Stevie said with a sigh, standing by his side. “They won’t be happy until you’re pushing the scale at two hundred pounds.”

  At his look of alarm, she found a smile. “Hey, don’t blame me. You brought this on yourself, talking about raw fish and coconut milk.”

  “Yeah, but I was good at getting both of them. I didn’t think I looked underfed.”

  “It has nothing to do with how you look. You look great. . . .” Oh, brother. Stevie dropped her head into her hand, mortified to the pointy toes of her boots.

  “Thanks.” He leaned in close and whispered in her ear. “I think you look great, too, and I can’t wait to get you alone so I can—”

  “Now you bake this at four hundred degrees for about fifteen minutes or so, then finish it off at three fifty,” Elizabeth came around the side of the truck, carrying a homemade frozen pie. Stevie took the opportunity to slip away from him, for all the good it did her. The inside of a truck’s cab, even a king cab, didn’t allow for much of an escape. There seemed to be no getting away from Halsey Morgan.

  Elizabeth continued her instructions. “I’m going to set this on the seat so it doesn’t get banged around. Then you kids better get going. A little cheese is always good on apple pie, Hal, ups the nutrition. Don’t put it on all at once, though. Melt a bit on a piece just before you eat it.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I will,” Above her mother’s head, Hal caught Stevie’s eye and slowly smiled, one of his heart-stopping, midnight smiles, the kind that always reminded her of his kisses. A flash of warmth raced across her cheeks and down her body, and Stevie prayed, Dear God, let me get home without making a fool of myself.

  His whispered promise and the smile were enough to keep her well to her own side of the seat as they rumbled along the rutted road leading from the ranch to their cabins. Tiva paced the bed of the truck, her muzzle pointed into the night air, her nails pitter-pattering over the metal. Inside the cab, her mistress performed her own version of nervous pattering. She smoothed her damp palms over her skirt, flattening all the wrinkles out of the black cotton. She tucked a few straying tendrils of hair behind her ear. She reached to straighten the collar on her jacket.

  “You’re fidgeting.”

  Her fingers froze on the lamb’s wool lapel. “No, I’m not. I’m—”

  “Fidgeting.”

  Slowly she uncurled her hands and forced them to relax in her lap. “I’m warm, that’s all. I was just . . . warm.”

  “Right,” he said in a slow drawl, shooting her a wry glance. “We’re having a regular heat wave.”

  Even as he spoke, a light skiff of snow began falling from the sky, winding its way through the trees, drifting past the headlights, and blowing across the road. She couldn’t win.

  “Yessiree, a regular heat wave.” The fact that the weather was making a fool of her brought a smile to his mouth. “Stutz, huh? Where did he get that?”

  “Bear cat.”

  “I should have guessed.” he chuckled softly, obviously agreeing with her father’s summation.

  Squeezed up close to the door, Stevie hazarded a quick glance at him from beneath her lashes—and found her gaze lingering long after the word “quick” lost all meaning. Moonlight streamed through the windshield, turning his hair into a mane of silver-gold and casting the broad features of his face into soft shadow. Unaware of her surreptitious fascination, he leaned back in the seat and tightened his large, calloused hands on the steering wheel. The action reminded her of the night they’d met, the ease with which he’d used one punch to free her from Kong. The big man hadn’t been back to his favorite watering hole since. Stevie figured he probably was more embarrassed than afraid, but she’d also heard he’d stayed in bed for two days trying to recover. Certainly no one else in town had even made a peep at her since Halsey Morgan had shown up.

  How long would she miss him when he was gone? she wondered, already feeling the beginnings of loneliness. How long would she remember the wild mélange of colors streaked through his hair, the way his eyes turned from a dark slate-blue to almost aqua in the sunlight, and the way they darkened again when he smiled his midnight smiles?

  Forever. The answer came quickly and easily with the sudden memory of his kisses. Each and every one played across her mind, teasing her body with forbidden fantasies. Stevie tried to dampen them, but they insisted on feeling real—the touch of his mouth softening hers, the caress of his lips as he whispered sensual promises in her ear, the hardness of his body beneath her hands.

  She clenched her fingers and forced her gaze away from him. Regardless of the effort, her imagination continued heating up to the point where she really was warm—warm, dismayed, and ready to run. After Kip had left, she’d rather forgotten about sex. There had never been time to worry over her lack of a physical involvement, nor had anyone in Grand Lake brought it to mind—until Halsey Morgan. His presence shattered her sterile existence and filled her with all kinds of longings, not only for his stories of adventure and travel, and his laughter and the niceness of just having him around, but for his body—every muscled inch of it.

  Okay, Stevie. Get a hold of yourself. Calm down, she silently commanded. There was a world of difference between the relatively chaste mess she’d landed her heart in, and the potentially devastating pain of giving herself completely away to him. For he wanted her completely, of that she had no doubts. Every time he touched her, his message and intent were crystal clear.

  The truck rounded the last bend into her driveway, revealing a three-quarter moon hanging in the cloudy night sky. Stars were scattered across the heavens, mixing their light with the falling snow. Hal slowed the truck, coming to a gradual stop, but before he could turn off the engine, Stevie opened the door.

  “Thanks. Thanks for the ride.” The words came quick and
breathless on the tail end of her decision to make a run for it. The instant she found a firm footing, she bolted.

  Hal didn’t waste a second on his confusion. He slammed on the parking brake, jumped out of the truck, and caught her on the back porch.

  “Hey, wait a minute . . . wait a minute. Please.” His chest heaved beneath his sweater. His breath vaporized into cloudy puffs in the air.

  “Hal, I have to go.” Stevie fumbled with her keys.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I have to work in the morning.” The ring of keys jangled and jumbled in her hands, none of them looking even vaguely familiar.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I have to—”

  “Stevie.” His patient tone put a halt to her fumbling. “All you have to do, all you’re going to do, is tell me what’s wrong. You hardly touched your dinner, and what you did to your mother’s pecan pie was sacrilege, mashing it around like mud.”

  Wide gray eyes lifted to his, sparkling in the moonlight, and telegraphing a confusion that put his to shame.

  “What’s wrong?” he demanded softly, his hands gripping both of her arms.

  “I’m in love,” she choked the words out, making the condition sound like the voice of doom. Lying to him never crossed her mind. She’d been moseying around and backing away from the truth all night, and it hadn’t done her a darn bit of good; she’d still run smack-dab into love.

  Her confession stopped Hal’s heart cold, a feeling he’d had many times when hanging from the end of a rope or facing a bevy of suspicious border guards, but never when standing on firm ground with only one, harmless woman. The realization hit him with the impact of a gale force wind. Sweet Stevie Lee Brown had gotten to him, really gotten to him, and while he’d been fooling around, she’d gone and fallen in love with somebody else.

  “Who is he?” The harshness of his voice echoed the sudden, awful emptiness he felt.

  Without replying, she bowed her head. A cascade of honey-brown hair fell out of her french braid, obscuring her face from his searching gaze.

  “Dammit, Stevie. Tell me.” His hands tightened around her arms, pulling her up and closer. “Tell me.”

  “You.” The merest breath of a whisper carried the word through the night air, so quietly Hal was sure he’d heard wrong.

  “Who?”

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  Nodding in confirmation, she turned her head sideways, avoiding his eyes.

  Hal held her, staring down at the snow-dusted cap of silky hair streaming around her face, and slowly his anger melted into wonder. “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure,” she murmured, a forlorn sigh trembling her shoulders.

  He felt the tremor beneath his fingers; he heard the sadness in her voice, and they left him at a complete and total emotional loss. The wind blew around them, gusting up the snow and creaking through the trees, the only sound breaking the silence until he found the courage to speak, ever so softly.

  “Is it that terrible? Being in love with me?”

  “Yes.” The quietest whisper she’d made yet gave him the answer he didn’t want to hear.

  “Ah, Stevie,” he said, moaning, pulling her into the warmth of his arms. He buried his head in the curve of her neck. Under her jacket, his hands spread across her back and drew her even closer. She loved him, and it was breaking her heart—nothing in his lifetime of experiences had prepared him for the bitter sweetness of such a love. So he held her, gently, feeling benighted and bewildered.

  Stevie sunk against his chest, resting her cheek on his sweater, allowing herself one moment of weakness. She felt so awful.

  Hal struggled with the temptation of having her close, her heart beating next to his, her scent filling his mind and body with desire, her softness pressed against his hardness. She loved him, he wanted her, a seemingly simple combination—but nothing he came up with in his mind could bridge the gap between the two.

  He’d been ready to take her into his bed since the first night they’d met. He was ready now. His body ached with the want and need to have her beside him, to run his hands across the silkiness of her bare skin, to follow those sentient movements with his mouth until she touched him in return.

  “I have to go,” he said abruptly, quietly, interrupting the erotic drift of his thoughts. The softness of her neck beckoned to his lips and tongue. She was so close, only a slight movement would bring him into contact and destroy all his good intentions. “I have to go,” he repeated louder, hoping to break the lethargy invading his limbs.

  “Yes.” She took a step backward, and Hal released her, reluctance making his hands linger on her waist.

  This time she had no trouble finding the right key. He watched her leave him and waited until he heard the click of the lock falling in place, all the while fighting the urge to pull her back into his arms. She loved him; it would be so easy—and so wrong.

  From the darkness of her living room, Stevie watched him walk down the meadow, a strange tightness in her chest increasing with each step he took. Light from the moon fell upon his swept back, shaggy golden hair and glittered across the diamond pattern of his parka.” Tiva followed him down to his cabin, the white underside of her tail flashing like a flag in the night. Even her dog had deserted her. Letting out a pained sigh, Stevie forced herself away from the window.

  If he was doing the right thing, why did he feel like the world’s biggest fool? Hal shoved the last of the steaks into his freezer and hung on the refrigerator door, pondering the question. The answer he came up with made no sense. If he loved her, wouldn’t he be the first to know?

  Maybe not, he silently admitted. Love wasn’t exactly his area of expertise. He’d never stayed in one place long enough to fall in love with anybody. Another moment of thought showed him the faulty logic behind his line of reasoning. After his months on the island, he’d seen lots of women in Hawaii, California, Nevada, Utah, but he hadn’t gotten turned on until he’d walked into the back room of a shabby bar in Grand Lake, Colorado. What had it been? A minute, maybe two? And he’d been ready to make love to a complete stranger. A stranger with wild eyes and a ton of dynamite packed into a red shirt and a pair of jeans.

  “Cripes,” he muttered under his breath. If love felt wonderful and awful at the same time, if love was sleepless nights and waking fantasies, then this was it. No wonder he’d felt turned inside out and upside down every time he looked at her. No wonder he could do little else but look at her constantly. And when she wasn’t with him, all he did was think about her.

  “Por Dios.” He needed to think, to find an angle on this new and amazing situation. Grabbing a couple of beers, he headed for the front porch. He always thought better with nothing but the sky above him. His good friend Mother Nature had given him most of his answers to life’s deeper questions. He hoped she wouldn’t let him down tonight.

  Stevie tossed and turned in her bed in a vain attempt to find comfort. She refluffed her pillows with a vengeance, but all they did was fluff right back at her, refusing to become the sanctuary she needed for her aching head. Finally, beaten by her own inner turmoil, she flopped back on the sheets and stared at the ceiling.

  Subdued light from the cloud-covered moon tracked the curved pine boards and became lost in the high arch, but no more lost than she was in her loneliness. Halsey Morgan was alive. The sight and scent and feel of him resonated in her every pulse. They suffused her veins and filled her mind with his presence. Yet her arms remained empty.

  Weakly, she pulled a pillow across her chest and hugged it tight. What would she do now? Tiptoe around him until he left? For leave he would, she’d never doubted or underestimated his yen for wandering. The faraway places of the world pulled him like a magnet. They pulled her, too, but for whatever reasons, she had feet of clay compared to his nomadic ways. He got up and left when the next port called; she got up and went to work every day. Day after day after day.

  She sighed and rolled over onto
her stomach, propping her chin up with a pillow. The headboard of her bed proved as boring as the ceiling. She would fire him, she thought, then immediately discarded the idea. He was much too valuable to her bottom line for her to throw him away. Hiring him had been her only smart move since she’d met him. And could she really keep her sanity, knowing he was in town and not where she could see him every day?

  “No,” she whispered forlornly, rolling to her back and taking the pillow with her.

  Somewhere off in the night a coyote yapped its freedom at the moon. The clear, wild call broke the stillness of the sky, echoing through her room and catching at her dreams. She tilted her head up off the pillow and held herself quiet, waiting for the answering call. When it came, it was much closer and much more familiar. Before the cry died out, she was on her feet. Tiva had enough wildness in her to run after her feral brothers, but she didn’t have the sense to find her way home. Stevie had lost enough of her life in the last few weeks; she wasn’t about to lose her dog too.

  Clutching her flannel nightgown up off the floor, Stevie took the stairs two at a time and raced across the living room. Halfway to the door, a third voice joined the others and stopped her dead in her tracks. The last song rose in a long howl, deeper and rougher and infinitely more emotional than those that had gone before. The sound curled around her heart and sent a tremor down her spine. She stood in the darkness, listening as the three animals called to each other in a repeating chorus of “Oy, oy, oyuuuuu.” One coyote, one dog—and one man.

  On quiet feet, Stevie moved toward the window. She touched the cold pane of glass with her fingertips, listening to the sonorous refrains fill the air, her eyes finding him without err. Sitting on the edge of his porch, knees splayed, his head thrown back, Hal howled up at the stars. One of his arms rested across the husky’s back. He held a bottle of beer in his other hand, wetting his throat after each encore. Tiva went next, picking up the song as Hal finished, adding her soprano to his tenor. Then they both waited, heads cocked, and soon the coyote’s voice cut through the night, echoing off the mountains and hills.