by Gina Wilkins
Polly preened. “People say I got a good sense of humor,” she admitted, fluffing her lacquered black hair.
“You really do. Your baby’s going to have a wonderful time with you for a mother,” Dallas dared, watching for a reaction through her lowered lashes.
She got even more of a reaction than she’d expected. Polly’s smile vanished and her dark eyes went flat and dull, all the life and sparkle leaving them. Her face seemed to age several years in an instant. “You want some more coffee?” she asked abruptly, effectively changing the subject.
“I’d better get home,” Dallas said with a faint sigh, knowing Polly wouldn’t say anything more about the baby. For now, anyway. “Sam will be back soon. If I’m not home, he’ll be mad—er, I mean, he’ll be worried,” she corrected herself hastily.
Polly shook her head. “Why do you put up with that jerk?”
Dallas widened her eyes. “I love him,” she said fervently, then mentally winced at the breathless sincerity in her voice. Okay, so she was a good actress. So good she’d almost convinced herself. But there was no need to get carried away with this thing, she warned herself sternly.
Polly snorted indelicately. “Love,” she muttered. “The word makes me sick. Nothing turns a woman into a spineless victim faster than thinking she’s ‘in love.’”
“Haven’t you ever loved anyone, Polly?” Dallas asked ingenuously.
Polly blew a sharp breath out her nose and raised a hand to the scar on her cheek. She dropped it almost immediately.
Dallas wondered if the gesture had been involuntary.
Before Polly could answer Dallas’s question, they were both startled by a heavy pounding on the door.
“Dallas!” Sam’s voice roared from the hallway. “Are you in there?”
Dallas drew in a quick, frightened breath. “It’s Sam,” she whispered unnecessarily.
“That does it,” Polly said, slapping a hand down on the tabletop. “I’ll be damned if I’m letting him come hammering on my door like that. I’ve got friends who’ll make him wish he weren’t never born. They’re gonna start with his balls and work their way outward. Nobody, but nobody, uses his fists on my door!” She was already headed for the living room, her voice getting louder with each word, her swollen body quivering with outrage.
Dallas hurried after her would-be champion. “Polly, no!” she said, pleadingly. “I’ll handle him. You’ll only make him angry if you start threatening him.”
Polly tossed a scornful look over her shoulder. “You think I’m scared of him? I got friends that make him look like an underdeveloped kindergartener.”
Dallas had to admire the woman’s nerve. Knowing full well that Polly didn’t have any big friends, she still found herself almost believing that Polly was perfectly capable of taking care of one enraged male. “I don’t want Sam hurt,” she said, quickly trying another tactic. “Please, let me handle this.”
Polly grudgingly stood aside as Dallas opened the door, right in the middle of another series of blows. Sam nearly stumbled through the doorway. Dallas would have found it quite amusing if he’d landed on his nose, but he managed to steady himself with one hand on the doorframe. “What the hell are you doing over here?” he bellowed.
“We were just having coffee,” Dallas assured him in the meek “little-woman” voice she’d adopted for this role. “I was just coming home to start dinner. Anything you want.”
“Get your butt home,” Sam said viciously, reaching out to grab her arm and all but drag her into the hallway. He made the motion look realistic enough that Dallas knew she would have marks on her arm where he’d taken hold of her. Not that she blamed him, of course. He was just doing his job.
“Hey, you get your hands off her,” Polly said, lurching forward.
Sam stopped her with a finger poked in her shoulder. “You,” he said, his voice laced with distaste, “stay away from my woman, you hear? I don’t want her hanging out with the likes of you.”
“But, Sam, we were just talking about our babies,” Dallas lied, looking at Polly to back her up. “We’re due at about the same time, and—”
“I don’t want to hear about her bastard kid. Or yours,” Sam added cuttingly.
Dallas gasped, wilted, and allowed her eyes to fill with huge, pitiful tears. It was a talent she was quite proud of, actually. She could cry at the drop of a hat when she wanted to. It was only when she really needed to that Dallas was usually unable to shed a tear.
“Hey,” Polly said, sounding a bit appalled, herself. “That was uncalled for. Ain’t no need to hurt her like that.”
“You keep your nose out of our business. I’m warning you,” Sam added, then reached out and gave Dallas another less-than-gentle shove in the direction of their apartment.
“I got friends, you know,” Polly called after them. “Big friends,” she added loudly, just as Sam slammed their door closed behind himself and Dallas.
Dallas stood in the middle of the living room, unmoving, her head cocked as she listened. A moment later, Polly’s door slammed with enough force to rattle their own. She blew out a breath and made a show of mopping her brow. “Whew! That was certainly interesting.”
“You don’t think I overdid it, do you?” Sam asked, frowning.
She shook her head. “You did just fine. You play the jerk very well, Perry. Must be a natural talent.”
He didn’t smile at the tentative joke. Instead, he reached out, took her hand and examined her arm. “Did I hurt you when I grabbed you back there? I wanted it to look real, but I didn’t want to hurt you.”
She shook her head again. “You didn’t hurt me, Sam,” she assured him. “I thought it came off very well.”
He was frowning at the faint red marks on her inner arm. He traced them with one finger, then bent his head and touched them quickly with his mouth before stepping back. “If I ever find you with that slut again, I’m gonna beat the living daylights out of you, you got that?” he shouted.
Her arm still tingling from the all-too-brief contact with his lips, Dallas promptly feigned noisy tears and yelled back at him.
The “fight” progressed to more shouts, foot stamping, plate throwing and door slamming before they finally judged it was time for it to end, some two hours after they began.
“Don’t want anyone calling the cops,” Sam whispered with a faint smile.
Dallas made a rueful face, knowing exactly how most of their neighbors felt about the police.
Tired from their energetic performance, she dropped onto the couch, hitched the harness higher in her lap, and propped her feet on the wobbly coffee table. “So, what did Brashear tell you this afternoon?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
Sam turned on the television for background noise, selected a noisy shoot-’em-up movie, then plopped down beside her. “He says it’s time for me to come in out of the sun.”
Dallas felt her heart sink, though she’d been expecting this. “You’re moving out?”
“No one’s going to approach you about the baby if I’m still around. I figured I’ll manage to get myself fired from the job tomorrow, then you and I can have another row and I’ll move out. You know what to do from there.”
“Yes. I’m to grieve myself half sick over you, and blame the baby for coming between us and ruining our beautiful relationship.”
Sam nodded. “You got it. If Polly knows anything, she’ll tell you.”
Dallas thought of the starkly sad look that had crossed Polly’s face at the mention of her child. “I think you’re right about her, Sam. I think she’s already made arrangements to get rid of the baby. I don’t know whether she’s going through legitimate adoption or selling it, but I don’t think she has any intention of raising it.”
And Dallas suspected that Polly was already mourning the loss of that child, though the woman hid her pain behind the tough facade she had probably developed years ago.
“Oh, she’s selling it,” Sam said certainly. “Women like Polly don�
��t give anything away for free.”
Dallas sighed, wishing she could disagree; knowing he was right.
“By the way, Pennington said to tell you hi.”
Dallas was surprised. “When did you talk to Brenda?”
“I didn’t. She was with Marty when I called. She sent the message through him.”
“Brenda was at Lieutenant Brashear’s house?”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm.” How very interesting, Dallas silently mused with a faint smile.
“I’m getting kind of hungry. Any of that spaghetti left from lunch?”
“Yes. Or I can make something else if you like.”
He shook his head. “Leftovers are fine with me. I’ll start warming it up.”
Dallas looked thoughtfully after him when he left the room. Sam was acting rather strangely this evening. She wondered why he seemed to have erected an invisible barrier between them, when they’d been so close only hours earlier.
Was he preparing himself to leave? Or was he subtly signaling that the affair was coming to an end, along with his part of the assignment?
She bit her lip and concentrated on the action movie unfolding on the fuzzy television screen. It helped her take her mind off the drama unfolding in the tiny, shabby apartment.
* * *
SAM’S EMOTIONAL DISTANCE continued throughout the evening. Dallas climbed into bed beside him in a state of uncertainty. Should she turn to him, as she had the past two nights? Should she ask him if anything was wrong? Or should she leave the first move up to him?
For once, the apartment above them was silent. Ms. Oh-my-God-yes! must be out for the evening, Dallas thought as she settled into her pillow. Thank goodness. She really wasn’t in the mood to be an unwilling audience to someone else’s sexual escapades tonight.
Sam cleared his throat. The sound was so loud in the quiet room, so unexpected, that Dallas jumped.
“Sorry,” he said. “Did I startle you?”
“A bit. Er, did Brashear have anything more to say this afternoon?” She couldn’t think what else to say at the moment.
“No, not really.”
“Oh.” She squirmed against the pillow, then asked, “So how are you going to get yourself fired tomorrow?” Not that she particularly cared; she just felt a strong need to make conversation. Anything rather than lie in silence beside him, wondering why he was being so careful not to touch her tonight.
“I dunno. Probably pick a fight with one of the guys or something.” He didn’t seem particularly interested, either.
“Better make it a small guy,” Dallas offered, hoping to make him smile.
“You saying I can’t handle a big one, Sanders?” he asked, falling in with her teasing cooperatively enough. But the humor was forced, very different from the laughter they’d shared the day before.
“I don’t think I’ll touch that line. You make it too easy.”
“Someday, Sanders...” he growled softly.
She was glad it was too dark for him to see her pathetic attempt at a smile.
She wriggled again on the pillow. Her bare leg brushed Sam’s. She jerked away as though she’d been burned.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Can’t get comfortable?”
“No.”
“Would a back rub help you relax?”
Relax? With his hands on her? “No!” she said, too quickly.
“Okay, take it easy. It was only a suggestion.”
“Sorry. Thanks for the offer.”
“Yeah.” He lay quietly for another few minutes—long enough that she began to wonder if he’d already fallen asleep. She didn’t expect to get a wink of sleep herself; she was too busy wondering what the hell was going on between them.
And then Sam broke the silence again. “Dallas?” His voice was quiet.
“Yes?”
“You seem very far away tonight.”
“So do you,” she whispered.
His hand touched her shoulder. A moment later she was in his arms, her mouth crushed beneath his.
* * *
A LONG TIME LATER, Dallas lay limply against Sam’s chest, her body sated, her eyelids heavy. Even as she drifted into a restless sleep, she reflected wistfully that, though they couldn’t be any closer physically, Sam still seemed very far away.
Sam was gone when Dallas woke the next morning. Not surprising, since she hadn’t slept at all well. It had been sometime around dawn the last time she’d managed to sleep.
Sam had seemed to rest just fine, damn him. He was probably looking forward to getting out of here. Going back to his own clean, comfortable apartment. Going back to work with their friends. Leaving her here alone in this dump, alone in this big, lumpy bed. Damn him.
And then Dallas, who could never cry when it mattered, found that there were real tears rolling steadily down her cheeks. And it suddenly mattered very much.
Sam was back by three that afternoon.
“What are you doing home so early?” Dallas asked clearly when he let himself into the apartment. Just in case anyone was listening.
“I got fired, damn it. And it’s all your fault!” Sam yelled.
“My fault? How could it possibly be my fault?”
“You kept me up whining at me half the night and I couldn’t concentrate on the job today. You’re ruining my life!”
Dallas broke into noisy tears again—completely phony tears this time. She was satisfied that Sam would never know she’d shed any real ones over him. “Why don’t you just leave me, then?” she wailed loudly.
“Sounds like a hell of a good idea to me!”
“Fine! Then leave.”
“Fine! I think I will.”
There were more shouts, more noisy sobs, plenty of door banging as Sam shoved his things into a ragged duffel bag. Dallas followed him to the front door, suddenly, shrilly begging him not to go.
“Just shut up! I’m leaving. That’s all there is to it.”
“Sam, please...please...”
He hesitated with one hand on the doorknob. Without smiling, Sam Perry looked directly at Dallas Sanders, the roles dropping for a moment. And then he reached out to snag a hand around the back of her neck and pull her to him. The kiss was long, hard, thorough. “Be careful,” he whispered when he released her.
“I’ll be in touch,” she murmured back.
“Do that,” he said, then jerked the door open. “Get the hell out of my way!”
“Sam, please...please...don’t go.”
“I’m already gone. You know what to do if you want me back,” he said with a quick glance at Polly’s closed door.
He was just disappearing into the stairwell when Polly’s door opened. Dallas broke into noisy, body-shaking sobs.
“What the—” Polly stepped out into the hallway, staring at Dallas, who huddled miserably against the filthy wall. “Hey, are you okay? Did that bastard hit you?”
“He—left me,” Dallas replied in a rush of heartbroken words. “He’s gone, and he said he—he’s not c-coming back.”
“Look, kid, I’m sorry, but maybe it’s for the best, you know?” Polly offered awkwardly. “I mean, he really didn’t treat you too good. You got your kid to think about.”
Dallas sobbed harder. “I want Sam,” she wailed. “I only want Sam. If it wasn’t for this baby, I wouldn’t have lost him. It’s all my fault.”
“Your fault? Honey, you’re crazy. The kid’s half his.”
“But he didn’t want it. If I—if I’d only been more c-careful,” Dallas cried, hiccuping. She mopped at her wet face with the back of one trembling hand. “Now he’s broke and out of work and discouraged and I’ve lost him. I’m all alone. Oh, why did this have to happen to me? Why, why, why?”
Careful, Sanders, she warned herself. Don’t overdo it.
But Polly seemed to be falling for the charade without question. She patted Dallas’s shoulder, roughly, self-consciously, obviously uncertain about how to offer comfort. “You’ll be okay,�
�� she said. “Women like us, we’re survivors, kid. We don’t need anyone to take care of us. We take care of ourselves, you know? And besides, you ain’t all alone. You got friends, you know? Like me.”
“I—I have to be alone for a little while,” Dallas whimpered, groping for her doorknob. “I have to think about what I can do to get him back. I’ll talk to you later, okay, Polly?”
“Yeah, sure, kid. And you just say the word and I’ll have my friends track that guy down for you, okay? Maybe they can convince him to do his duty by you, you know what I mean?”
Dallas shook her head, hiding her face behind her hair, as if she were too overcome by emotion to speak. And then she stumbled into her apartment and closed the door behind her, aware that her noisy sobs filtered through the thin barrier.
She ran heavily into the bedroom, as though to throw herself on the bed and dissolve into tears. Only when the bedroom door had slammed behind her did she allow herself to relax. She went into the bathroom to repair the damage her crocodile tears had done to her face. She patted her face with a worn hand-towel, ran a brush through her tangled hair, then walked back into the bedroom. The very empty bedroom. The very quiet bedroom.
She sighed, her gaze focused on the lumpy bed.
She really was going to miss Sam.
9
“GIRL, YOU LOOK LIKE hell. You are going to have to start taking better care of yourself.”
Dallas sighed dispiritedly in response to Polly’s critical words. She knew exactly how she looked. Like hell, just as Polly had said. And it wasn’t all pretense, damn it.
It was Thursday, three days after Sam’s dramatic departure. Dallas couldn’t believe how much she’d missed him. The apartment had seemed smaller, dirtier, grimmer, uglier since he’d left it. Only by concentrating intently on her job had she been able to keep herself from climbing the grungy walls.
It hadn’t been hard for Dallas to pretend that she’d lost her appetite, and any concern about her appearance. In fact, it had been all too easy.
Polly had become her frequent companion. Dallas had sensed the other woman’s loneliness from the beginning, but now she knew that Polly had craved companionship. Those “big friends” she’d bragged about had been conspicuously absent during the two weeks Dallas had known her.