by Sheryl Lynn
A little girl shrieked. Amy jumped and looked around wildly. A pair of children played hide-and-seek around a post. The noise of their laughter seemed to pierce Amy’s skull with needles. Tears glazed her eyes. She wanted her son, she wanted to go home.
Call Susie, a voice whispered in the back reaches of her mind. Susie always knows what to do. Susie will help you.
Amy shook her head in denial. Susie wouldn’t understand. She’d be angry about the Mercedes, now dirty and scratched and dented. She’d be angry about the money and the clothes Amy had borrowed. Most of all, she’d be angry about the gun.
She looked around the lobby, seeking Bradley. Seeking her child. Once she had her son, it wouldn’t matter if Susie was angry. Nothing would ever matter again.
She trudged to the desk and dropped her suitcase on the floor.
“Welcome to Elk River Resort, ma’am. May I help you?”
The clerk’s bright voice irritated Amy. Too loud, too fast. The girl’s white teeth were blinding. “I want a room in your institution.”
“Institution?”
Amy jerked up her head. She needed sleep, she needed food. “Are you full?” Her voice rose in a panicky note.
“Pardon?”
Tears burned her weary eyes anew. “Is this the only Elk River Resort in Colorado?”
The clerk cocked her head. “I think so, but I’d have to look at a map or something to tell. Colorado is kind of weird about names. You know like, there must be a hundred places in the state called Beaver Creek. So who—?”
Amy slapped the countertop. “Is there,” she said, each word clipped, “another resort by this name near Colorado Springs?”
“No, ma’am. Would you like a room?”
Exhausted, Amy barely had the strength to nod. “Yes, please, I should like a room. With a bath.”
“All our rooms have private baths, ma’am.”
“Private. Yes, it must be private. I need sleep.”
The clerk glanced at the lobby where children played and several people sat on lounge chairs. “Would you care for a cabin, ma’am? Our cabins are away from the lodge, but we do have room service. I can guarantee it’ll be quiet.”
Amy murmured assent. She registered under the name Jane Smith. She stared at the phony name, bemused as to why she used it, but pleased because it meant Susie couldn’t call looking for her. She paid with hundred dollar bills. The clerk worked a computer with crisp efficiency and summoned a bellhop.
Following her suitcase, blind to her surroundings, Amy walked behind the young man out of the lodge and along a graveled path to a cluster of four cabins. The bellhop chattered at her, but she shut her ears to his inanities. She needed sleep. She needed to plan.
Tomorrow she would find her son. Tomorrow she would reclaim her child from Bradley, and then, finally, after so many years, her life would be whole again.
“Here you go, ma’am!” The bellhop set the suitcase on the floor and handed a key on an ornate fob to Amy.
She took it with numb fingers. She interrupted the young man’s welcoming spiel and shoved a bill in his hand. “I want to be alone. Go away.”
He gave a start and his smile faded. He eyed the bill uncertainly. “Uh, sure.” He reached for the door.
“Are there any teenage boys registered here?” she asked.
He drew his head warily aside.
“About fifteen? A beautiful boy with the face of an angel?”
“Uh, it’s against policy for employees to talk about guests, ma’am. Sorry.” He glanced at his tip, his young face working in confusion. “Policy, you know?” He edged through the doorway, then caught the edge of the door and pulled it shut behind him.
“Don’t,” she told herself harshly. “Bradley is here, my child is here. We’ll find them soon enough. Be quiet.” She slammed her fist against the side of her own head. “Do you hear me? Be quiet!”
Chapter Nine
From the wide front porch of the lodge, Tristan spotted Megan walking down the road. Even at a distance he recognized her broad shoulders and brown hair shining under the sun. Her determined stride set off alarms. No telling what she’d been doing to rile herself in the last half hour. He put a hand on William’s arm. “Go on into the dining room, son. Order whatever you want.”
William squinted in the sunshine, watching Megan. “Is she mad at you, Dad?”
“Sort of. Go on inside.”
“Are you in trouble with that lady in purple?”
“No. Go on. I’ll be there.” He hurried after Megan.
He caught up to her at the trailhead. The fast pace left him winded, without enough breath to call her name. A branch cracked under his boot heel. She jumped and whirled around, her blue eyes wide and startled.
“Why are you sneaking up on me?” She clamped her hands on her hips.
He dragged in air and worked his mouth against the dryness. “What are you doing?”
She innocently fluttered her eyelashes. “Nothing.”
He raked his gaze over her horsehair-covered jeans. Except for removing the helmet, she still wore her riding clothes. Her face and hands were grimy. “Don’t play games with me, Megan. What are you doing?”
She glanced over her shoulder at a grove of aspen trees where papery white trunks formed zebra-stripe shadows. “All right, if you must know, I’m looking for clues. Daniella is out by herself. She went on a meditative nature walk.” She pointed at the hills. “She could have seen us from up there or from the lodge. She could have ambushed us.”
“Megan—”
“Don’t look at me like I’m crazy. I talked to one of Daniella’s employees. The only thing she has been talking about since she got here is Nicky Alonza. Her family totally disowned her when she married him. She was isolated, in a strange country where she could barely speak English, and he was all she had. Then he deserted her, taking everything she owned. For twenty years she’s been plotting revenge. And she doesn’t care what the sheriff says. She’s convinced you’re Nicky Alonza.”
The indignation on Megan’s dirty face had an odd effect on him. His clothing felt too restrictive, and a wave of dizziness left him light-headed. He stared into her flashing eyes and yearned for the sweetness of her mouth. Grabbing the brim of his hat, he gave it a tug. The action partly brought him back to earth. “So she chucks a rock at me? Some revenge.”
“Fortunately for you, she doesn’t have a gun.” She turned for the trees, picking a sure path over the rough ground.
Tristan hungrily followed the strong movement of her hips. He gave himself a shake. “Even if she threw the rock, there’s no way you can prove it.”
She grasped a tree trunk. “When I took the slingshot away from the McTeague kid, I put it in a drawer at the registration desk. It’s gone now.”
“The kid got it back.”
“A slingshot is a deadly weapon. You could kill somebody with it.”
Stubborn little heifer. He joined her in the aspens and looked around, but didn’t have much heart for the search. Megan distracted him with her brown hair swinging over her shoulders. Glimpses of her trim figure through the trees teased him with memories of holding her. He had some words to say that had nothing to do with Daniella Falconetti or the con artist
He darted around a tree and snagged her hand, hauling her up close.
“Did you find something?” Heat flushed her face, coloring her freckled cheeks an alluring coral.
“Nothing to find.” He kicked at the deep bed of rotting leaves and humus on the ground. “Even if she dropped a slingshot, you won’t find it here. Come here.” He led her to a fallen log. “Sit down.”
She pointed out a marching column of glossy black ants, each one nearly half an inch long. “I’ll stand, thanks.”
“I didn’t finish talking to you back there in the shed.”
She crossed her arms and slumped her back against a tree. Eyes cast at the ground, she reminded him of William about to receive a chewing out He touched his fingert
ips to her chin and urged her to look at him.
“I’m not good at talking,” she said. “I’m good at doing.”
He chuckled. Their telephone conversations had often lasted an hour or more, and he’d seen no sign in person she had a problem verbalizing her thoughts. “Doc running off with you soured the day.”
“It’s not Doc.” She shoved his hand away. “It’s you and me, and I’m kind of confused and pretty much mad, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I apologized for yelling. Why are you so mad at me?”
She tucked even further within herself. “You know.”
He swept off his hat and slapped it against his thigh. He wanted to shake her—he wanted to kiss her. “Doggone it, Megan, I don’t know.”
“You’re still in love with your wife! I don’t know why you even bothered coming to Colorado. You’re never going to love anybody else. Especially me.”
“Where’d you come up with that?”
“You!”
“I never said that.”
“Yes, you did. I asked you if you missed her and you said yes, and how you two always loved each other and you’ll never meet another woman to take her place.”
He gestured time-out She clamped her lips into a thin, angry line. Feisty, he thought, but he admired her passion. No wonder she’d run until her knees were ruined. She was too darned ornery to let anyone tell her no. “That’s not what I said, and if it sounded like that, I’m truly sorry.”
“Then, what did you say?”
Long distance, he’d been able to say almost anything to Megan. In his letters and on the phone he’d shared his innermost thoughts. Face-to-face wasn’t so easy, especially feeling as jumbled up as he did right now.
“I was trying to say I feel like a fool.”
“Why?”
“I’m not so good with this man-woman thing. Tina was the only woman I ever got serious about. After she died, with William and the ranch, I barely had time to think, much less find a lady friend.”
She lifted her head enough to peer from beneath her lashes.
“My life changed after the bull tromped me. Slowing down and meeting you made me see how lonesome I am and how lonely life is going to be. My dad is getting up there in years. William is going to leave me pretty soon. I’ve been looking at my brothers and sisters and their young’uns, and darn it, I don’t want to grow old alone. I have a nightmare about being a crusty old hermit talking to my horses and believing they’re talking back.”
She relaxed her arms. “So you want to get married.”
“It’s like bull riding, just because I can do it, doesn’t mean I should”
“I understand,” she said uncertainly.
“It’s like you saying you fell in love with the idea of me. Maybe that’s what happened with me, too. I got all caught up in the romance of it, but now I have to be practical.”
“And I’m not practical?”
“I mean a practical choice. One where we face facts. Like me being almost forty.” He almost made a comment about her never having had a boyfriend, but caught himself in time. “There’s William to consider. He’s almost grown. A woman’s hand won’t hurt him none, but I can’t be asking you to mother him.”
“Especially since he hates me, right?”
“He doesn’t hate you.”
“I’ve got eyes, Tristan.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Let’s just forget it.”
“I don’t want you hating me.”
She dropped her hand. “You don’t want me loving you, either. So what do you want?”
He recoiled from her anger. Conflicting emotions churned his insides. Love and affection for the woman he’d come to know in their correspondence clashed with his desire to not look like a cradle robber.
“Well?” She clamped her hands on her hips and glared up at him.
Staring into her eyes was his first mistake. Blue-gray pools snared him, trapped his soul and barred the path to reason. Taking her shoulders in his hands was his second mistake. Once he touched her, he didn’t want to let her go.
“Maybe you’re scared of commitment,” she said quietly. “You’ve loved and lost and it’s too painful to repeat. Is that the real problem, Tristan? You’re chicken?”
“Don’t call me chicken.”
She curled her hands over his, her slim fingers pale against the dark oak hue of his hands. “Do you prefer stupid?”
Her eyes were so pretty, big and sweet and fringed by lush lashes. “Don’t bait me, girl.”
“I will if I want to.” The tip of her tongue slid across her upper lip, leaving it glistening. “I’ve waited all my life for you, and now you want to cut me off and you don’t even know the real reason why. Sounds like either scared or stupid to me.”
“I’m warning you…”
She caressed the knobs on his wrists, and her eyelids lowered. Overhead, a breeze rattled the aspen leaves and shifted the shadows. He kissed her, knowing he shouldn’t, and carefully slid his hands down her arms, knowing he shouldn’t do that, either.
She kissed him back, the taste of her like heady wine and having the same mind-muddling effect. The tender, tentative question of her tongue against his lips knocked his reservations loose. He wrapped his arms around her and splayed a hand over the small of her back, reveling in the sleekness of her beneath her jacket and shirt. She pressed eagerly upward.
Arousal hit him hard and fast. The trees disappeared, and the breeze enveloped him as a cool caress, and all that mattered was the lithe, excited girl in his arms making him feel big enough to slay dragons with his teeth and young enough to believe dragons existed.
“Slow down, honey,” he whispered. He thrust his hands through her hair to find her slender nape.
She made a husky noise deep in her throat, a little purrgrowl speaking loudly of hot pleasure. Worry furrowed her brow.
“Kiss me slow. Like this.” He suckled her tongue and tested the slickness of her teeth and breathed in the headiness of her warm scent. She knocked off his hat, and he felt it slide over his ear and bounce off his shoulder. Her fingers worked magic through his hair and played butterfly kisses against his ear.
He wanted her. Simple as that.
His temples throbbed. Her heavy-lidded eyes were black pools rimmed in sapphire, sultry as a summer night, and her lips gleamed wetly.
“Oh, Tristan,” she breathed. “I think you’re scaring me.” She shivered, a light shudder he felt along her spine.
Emotion lodged in his throat. He could love her and treasure her forever and fill his life to overflowing.
“Me, too,” he murmured.
She worked a hand between them and pushed lightly against his chest. He turned her loose, reluctantly, and watched with besotted pleasure as she patted her hair, tugged at her jacket and worked her shoulders. Never once did she break eye contact, and he knew she was rattled. Knowing he’d unnerved her filled him to bursting with pleasure.
“It’s sounds dumb to say so, but no one ever kissed me like that before.”
His chest swelled. “It’s not dumb.”
Frowning, she looked away and kicked lightly at the thick carpet of leaves. “You dropped your hat.”
They reached for it at the same time, and their shoulders bumped. Goosey chills rippled through his muscles, and a vision flashed of her naked beside him, touching him head to toe. One more second and they’d be tumbling around the forest floor…. He grabbed his hat and stood upright, swaying.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Right as rain.” He picked debris off the white straw before settling it on his head.
She giggled and covered her mouth with both hands.
“What’s funny?”
Through her fingers, she said, “Smokey and the Bandit,with Burt Reynolds. That’s the same kind of hat he wore.”
He knew the movie. He remembered the scene where Burt had told Sally Field he only removed the hat for one reason. His face warmed.
She sighed deeply, looking up at the sky. “We were arguing about something. What was it?”
“If I recollect, you were calling me stupid.”
Her grin sparkled. “You are stupid. But I like you, anyway.” Her smile faded and her lower lip trembled. “Can we give our relationship a chance? We could be awfully good together.”
He slid a hand around the back of his neck. Looking at her now, in her dirty jeans, standing comfortably in the forest, strong, wholesome and full of life, made it easy to picture her on the ranch. He held up a finger. “On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“No more talk about anyone trying to kill me. We’ll stay out of Ms. Falconetti’s range and she’ll leave me alone.”
Megan grumbled but agreed. He extended a hand and she took it, nestling her fingers inside his. Hand in hand, they walked down the road to the lodge.
MEGAN WANTED TO TELL every person she passed how much she loved Tristan Cayle. Knowing William would be none too thrilled by her elation, she settled a bland expression on her face before she entered the dining room.
“Looks like no need worrying about him being lonesome,” Tristan said. He jutted his chin in the teenager’s direction.
William sat at a table with Kara. Her sister talked, gesturing in graceful animation, while the boy stared at her with rapt attention. Megan hid a smirk behind her hand. William was obviously smitten, and too young to realize Kara was just being friendly.
“Join him and order some lunch. Order double whatever you’re having. I’m starving.” She turned up her grimy palms. “I need to wash up first. I won’t be but a minute.”
He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. “Don’t be long.”
He couldn’t have spoken more perfect words. Practically floating, she headed for a ladies’ room. She scrubbed her face and hands, and despaired over her messy hair, but didn’t want to take the time to run upstairs for a comb. She settled for fingering the thick strands into a semblance of order, telling herself the windblown look was fashionable.