Lawman's Redemption

by Marilyn Pappano

  “Okay.” She let a few minutes pass in silence before slyly glancing his way. “But I’d win.”

  “Darlin’, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”

  She kept the truck’s speed five miles an hour above the posted limit. Even so, it seemed to take forever to get to Buffalo Plains. When she turned into her driveway, she gave a soft, weary sigh of relief. It was after 4:00 a.m., and she was fairly certain she would be able to sleep now.

  “You don’t have to put us up,” Brady said, rousing as she shut off the engine. “We can stay at the motel.”

  She paused in the act of removing the keys from the ignition. “I’ll take you there if that’s what you want, but…you’ll be more comfortable here, and I…I would be more comfortable with you here.”

  After a moment, he reached across to open his door. Hallie leaned between the two seats to give Lexy a shake. “Come on, sweetie. We’re home. Let’s go in and get to bed.”

  As soon as they got inside, Lexy collapsed on the couch and started snoring again immediately. Hallie removed her flip-flops, lowered her backpack to the floor, slid a pillow under her head, then covered her with a sheet from the hall linen closet.

  “The guest room is here,” she said, leading Brady down the narrow hall to the left of the fireplace, “and my room is right here.”

  “Are you giving me a choice?”

  She kicked off her shoes and left them just inside the door, then met his gaze. “Why would I do that? You haven’t been exactly eager to repeat our encounters of those two nights.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Hallie. You know I want you.”

  “But…?” Hugging her arms to her chest, she smiled tautly.

  “There’s always a ‘but.’ But it would be wrong, but I might expect something from you, but you don’t want to complicate things.”

  When he continued to look at her but said nothing, she shrugged and reached past him to turn on the guest-room light. “Come on. I’ll help you get settled.”

  The only furniture she’d bought for the guest room was a small table and a bed—not because she’d expected actually to have a guest in her few weeks in town, but because she’d found a great iron bed in one of the shops. Someday she would have her own house again, and surely at least once in her lifetime she could count on someone coming to visit.

  She turned on the lamp on the night table, then folded back the covers and plumped the pillow. When she glanced back at Brady, she saw that he hadn’t moved from the hallway. “Well?”

  Slowly he entered the room, going to stand on the other side of the bed. “I’m a big boy. I can undress myself.”

  “You’ve got a broken wrist. Besides, I’ve seen you naked before.”

  He shook his head. “No, you haven’t.”

  “Okay. I’ve touched you naked. I’ve been naked with you. Whatever, there’s no reason for false modesty.”

  He ignored her remark and changed the subject. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

  Her breath catching in her chest and her palms growing damp, Hallie chose to misunderstand. “I bet. Lexy said if they were going to burn the place down, it was a shame they didn’t do it before you guys spent all those hours cleaning up. I don’t blame her—”

  “I’m talking about what I said to you.”

  “Oh, that.” She reached out to smooth a wrinkle in the sheet as if the conversation was no more significant than that. “Don’t think you’re the first man who’s told me to go to hell. I’m used to it.”

  “Stop it, Hallie.” His tone was rough, harsh. “I never should have said it. I just thought…I thought you knew me better than that. I was…disappointed.”

  She could certainly sympathize with that. She’d had her share of disappointments, plus several other people’s. “I shouldn’t have said anything. After all, Lexy’s your daughter. I’m just…nobody.” Smiling brightly in spite of the tears that blurred her vision, she headed for the door. “I’d better let you get to bed. I know you must be exhausted.” She turned off the overhead light and ducked through the door into her own room.

  She’d made it halfway to her bed when Brady caught hold of her arm and swung her around and hard against his body. “Damn it, Hallie, no more putdowns. You’re the most important person in our lives.”

  Don’t believe him, her little voice warned. You damn well better not believe him. She had no doubt he meant it at that very moment, but moments didn’t last. Heartache did. Pain. Sorrow.

  Forcing herself to lift her head, she met his gaze. “If you’re not planning to sleep with me in that bed for what’s left of the night, would you please leave my room?”

  Slowly he released her and took a step back, then another. “I can’t stay.” His voice was low, heavy with regret, and created a dull heaviness inside her.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s almost dawn.” He gestured toward the window, then offered the weakest of smiles. “I’m like a vampire. I only do it at night. In the dark.”

  “Why?”

  As he stared at her, she identified a number of emotions flitting through his eyes—anger, frustration, pain, fear. He was a big, strong, brave man who carried a gun and could intimidate most people with no more than a look. What could he possibly be afraid of?

  After a moment, he turned away. He leaned against the edge of the dresser, and his left hand clutched the curved edge as if the contact might somehow give him courage. He opened his mouth several times without getting any words out, grimaced, then, striving to sound casual, blurted out, “Did I ever tell you that my parents’ favorite pastime was beating the hell out of my brother and me?”

  Through sheer will, Hallie kept a low moan inside. She wanted to be shocked and disbelieving. She wanted to think that he’d had a relatively ordinary upbringing…even though she’d already known that wasn’t true. A father who left him to drown and a mother who didn’t kill the bastard for it—there was nothing ordinary about parents like that. And that was only one incident. She didn’t want to know that his entire life had been filled with such incidents. She didn’t want to imagine the horror he must have lived with all those years.

  She just wanted to kill his parents.

  Though she felt queasy with anger and the fierce need to protect him, she made an effort to keep it from her face as she sat primly on her bed. Her hands were folded in her lap, her bare feet propped on the side rail. “No, you didn’t,” she said evenly. Judging by the panicky undertone to his voice and the desperation he was trying so hard to hide, she would bet he’d never told anyone but Sandra.

  “Yeah, well…it was, and I’ve got the scars to prove it.”

  So that was why he shied away from being touched. Why he only made love in the dark. Why he hated his parents and never wanted to set foot in Texas again. Why he didn’t let people get close. With such a betrayal in the most fundamental relationship a child ever had, it was a wonder he’d been able to fall in love with Sandra—and then she’d betrayed him, too. If Hallie ever had the opportunity, she swore she would make the woman wish she’d never been born. “And you think if I see or feel these scars, I’ll find them repulsive.”

  “Repulsive. Sickening. Grotesque.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

  Just as he wasn’t the first to underestimate her.

  “I snore,” she said, her tone conversational, “and if my nose is the least bit stuffy at night, I drool, too. I have a scar here—” she pointed to a spot on her leg “—where I fell off my bike when I was eight. I only eat the cream centers of Oreos and throw out the chocolate cookies, and I pick all the nuts out of caramel corn. My little toes are crooked, I never can remember to put the little twistie thing back on the loaf of bread, and I hide my chocolate kisses if anyone else is around. Though I haven’t told Lexy yet because I don’t want to encourage her, I’ve got a tattoo right here—” turning, she tugged the shoulder of her jumper down to reveal the moon, star and fairy on her left shoulder �
��—and I also wear a small, tasteful sapphire in my navel.

  “I always read the ends of books first. I can’t carry a tune. I have a birthmark shaped like California on my right hip. Yogurt makes me sick, and the mere thought of exercising makes me feel faint. My left breast is smaller than the right one, I have a tendency to carry ten extra pounds on my hips, and I haven’t been fashionably thin since I was ten. The last time I voted was for senior class president and Marcy, the head-cheerleader twit, won in spite of my campaigning for her opponent. I’m not—”

  “What are you doing?” he interrupted, sounding seriously bewildered.

  “I’m listing my flaws for you. You told me yours. It’s only fair you should know mine.” She watched him, holding her breath. His reaction would determine how this conversation—and this relationship—would go. If he responded with the seriousness the subject deserved, they had problems he might never get over. But if he could treat it more lightly…there was hope for him—for them—yet.

  As much hope as a short-term relationship could afford.

  He scowled at her. “Those aren’t flaws. They’re personality quirks and superficial imperfections, and they hardly compare to scars.”

  “Superficial only if you’re not the one sleeping beside me when I’m snoring, or the one who always has to eat sandwiches on stale bread, or the one who likes the nuts in caramel corn, too. And if ten pounds sounds superficial to you, that’s because you’ve never had to escort me to the Oscars in front of the whole world when I looked like… What was the word Max used? Oh, yes. A cow.”

  He stared at her a long time, his brow knitted, his narrowed eyes making him look lethal…and wickedly sexy. Finally, his mouth barely moving under his mustache, he asked, “Want me to punch him?”

  Relief whispered through her. “You might break your other hand.”

  “It would be worth it.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but Max is so insignificant in my life now that he’s not even worth punching.” As she said it, she realized it was true. She still had plenty of heartache, insecurities and regret, but none of it was over Max. That was over and done with. Finished. On the cutting-room floor.

  “So…” She rose from the bed, closed the blinds and shut off the overhead light, then tugged the jumper over her head, careful not to catch her chemise, too. “Back to my original request. If you’re not going to sleep in my bed—and it can be nothing more than sleep; I know you’ve been through a lot—will you please leave my room?”

  His gaze moved over her, from her uncombed hair to her toes curling on the rug next to the bed. Though she knew she didn’t look her best, the warm, appreciative look in his blue eyes suggested that he didn’t particularly care.

  Then he swallowed hard and pushed himself away from the dresser. “Remember that saying—be careful what you ask for?”

  “Because you just might get it,” she finished for him. Which part might she get? Him in her bed? Or another lonely night alone?

  He bent and turned off the lamp on the table behind her, then his sleeve brushed her bare arm as he started toward the door. Holding her breath, she followed his movements by the whisper of bare feet on wood, then disappointment sank like a rock to settle in the pit of her stomach as he closed the door quietly.

  Well, that answered that. Just another night alone.

  In a life filled with them.

  Chapter 10

  Brady stood at the door, palm pressed flat against the wood, forehead resting there, too. After his experience with Sandra, he had sworn he would never tell anyone about his parents beating him as long as he lived. Though he’d felt sick when he was trying to get the words out, it hadn’t been as hard as he’d expected. That was to Hallie’s credit. Maybe it was because she’d been through some tough times herself, or because she didn’t make a big deal over things.

  Or maybe it was because he trusted her more than any woman he’d ever known.

  Wanted her more.

  Cared for her more.

  But telling was a big step from showing, and showing was where it would make a difference…or not. He really wanted to hope it would be not, but he couldn’t shake the fear that it would matter. She was accustomed to beautiful people with perfect bodies, and his was damned imperfect.

  At times he could acknowledge that it was a stupid insecurity. He was thirty-five years old. He knew not everyone judged people on the way they looked. He knew he amounted to a hell of a lot more than a mass of scars. But at other times…. Sandra had done such a number on his ego. She’d thought the scars were ugly and repulsive, and she’d made him feel that way, too.

  But Hallie wasn’t Sandra.

  Slowly he turned from the door. Just enough illumination from the lightening sky filtered around the blinds to allow him to see the big oak bed and Hallie standing beside it, her back to him. Part of him wanted desperately to run, but he’d spent his whole life running from one hurt or another, and what had it gotten him? Nothing but a desperate longing to be part of something, part of someone.

  From across the room came a whisper of sound. “Damn, damn, god—”

  “You know, I wasn’t kidding at the wedding reception about Oklahoma having a law against swearing. It’s called outraging the public decency.”

  She whirled around in a rustle of satin. For a moment there was such emotion in her expression—sadness, disappointment, surprise—then it disappeared behind a cool smile. “But I’m not in public, and you don’t look outraged.”

  He shrugged. “Hey, any excuse to put a beautiful woman in handcuffs.”

  After a minute or two ticked by in silence, she gestured. “I thought you’d gone.”

  “If you want me to, I will. But if you don’t mind, I’d rather stay here. There’s just one catch.” While she waited, he tried a smile that was a miserable failure. “You’ll have to help me with my clothes.”

  She tossed her head. “I thought you were a big boy who could undress himself.”

  “You know I’m a big boy…but I need your help.” And you.

  She took a few steps toward him, then stopped and waited for him to close the distance. When he did, she took hold of his shirt hem and peeled it up, over his head and free of his left arm, then carefully slid it over his cast. She tossed the shirt aside, and he shifted uncomfortably. He’d never felt so exposed, so much at risk. Facing armed killers and almost certain death at Reese’s house a few months earlier had been easier than standing without the protection of his shirt in front of this woman.

  She smiled provocatively. “If I were a cruel woman, I could take great pleasure in dragging this out.”

  He moistened his lips, cleared his throat. “Yes, you could. But you understand that one day soon my wrist will stop hurting, and then turnabout is fair play.”

  Hooking her index finger in the waistband of his jeans, she slid it from side to side. “How bad does it hurt?”

  “Not much at all.” Truth was, the throbbing was almost completely blocked out by the panicked urge to grab his shirt, her quilt, anything to wrap around himself. “I’m a superhero, remember? Broken bones don’t faze me.” After a pause, he swallowed hard, then continued. “However, show me a belt….”

  Through no more contact than her fingertip rubbing against his belly, he felt the tension streak through her. “Was that their weapon of choice?”

  “My father liked his fists. My mother preferred a belt. More pain, no broken bones requiring trips to the emergency room. A kid can only fall and break so many bones before the doctors start to suspect either abuse or some rare medical disorder.”

  “My friends from the great Lone Star State tell me Texas has a he-needed-killin’ defense for murder. Sounds as if that would apply here.”

  “I’ve wished them dead many times, but I never had what it would take to kill them.” He smiled faintly, or at least he meant to. It felt more like a grimace. “I used to think that was some kind of failing in me.”

  “No. It just meant they c
ould beat the hell out of you, but they couldn’t take away your honor, your decency or your humanity.”

  She undid the button on his jeans, then unzipped them before sliding her hands inside to guide them down. She did it efficiently, modestly, which didn’t stop him from responding as if she’d boldly caressed him. After discarding the jeans, she raised one brow. “Boxers on or off?”

  “I’m not making love to you with them on.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  He slid his fingers into her hair and tilted her face to his. “Yes, I do. I need you, Hallie. I need to feel you under me—well, on top of me. I need to hear those little noises you make when it feels so good you can’t stand it anymore. I need to kiss you and taste you and smell you and feel you…” He brushed a kiss to her lips, took a breath that smelled sweetly of her, then kissed her again, sliding his tongue into her mouth. She opened to him immediately, slid her arms around his neck and clung to him as if she couldn’t bear to let go.

  The bed was only a foot behind her, but it took them forever to reach it. He lay down first, easing back into the center of the mattress. With her blond hair tumbling around her face, she knelt beside him and slowly inched his boxers down, then gave him a tantalizing smile as she removed her gown. For a moment, all he could do was stare—not at her body, though that was well worth ogling, but at her. Her lovely, delicate face. Her lazy, sexy smile.

  How could any man willingly give her up? Choose to live life without her?

  How could he give her up?

  And why in hell should he have to?

  “Brady?” A shy look came over her as she knelt there, naked, before him. “Are you okay?”

  He drew a deep, shuddering breath. He hadn’t been okay, not for more years than he could recall. But at that moment, damned if he didn’t feel about as okay as a man with a broken wrist who’d just lost everything in a fire could feel. “Once you quit tormenting me and come over here, I’ll be perfect.”

  For a moment she studied him, as if torn between continuing the torment or obeying. Then, as pure sensual sultriness replaced the shyness in her manner, she shifted to kneel astride him, reaching between their bodies with her long, delicate fingers to guide him inside her. Then she did exactly what he’d requested of her. She came over…and over…and it was perfect.