Between Midnight and Morning

by Cindy Gerard

“Social life? In Sundown? Isn’t that a bit of an oxymoron?”

  “Good point,” he agreed with a quick flash of beautiful white teeth, “although you’d be surprised in the ways we find to have fun around here. I was thinking more about when you were in Kansas City.”

  “I had a social life,” she said.

  “So…you dated?”

  It was another fishing expedition and she wasn’t going to take the bait.

  He must have read the warning look in her eyes because he was quick to clarify. “All I was going to say was that I can’t believe a woman like you didn’t have a string of men falling in line to go out with you.”

  “No string. No line,” she assured him.

  “Amazing. Are all the men in K.C. crazy? Blind? Gay?”

  His persistence made her laugh. So did his flattery. But no matter that she’d started to like him a little, no matter that she was unexpectedly attracted to him, she really could not let this get out of hand. “John—J.T.,” she amended when he slanted her a pointed look, “you are a really nice guy…”

  “Oh, boy. Here comes the big but. That’s my cue to leave before I get shot down again.”

  “This isn’t a question of shooting you down.”

  “So how come I feel like I’ve got a hole in my heart the size of Montana?”

  She shook her head at his pained and completely staged expression. “Don’t you ever stop?”

  “Stop? I’ll let you in on a little secret. I haven’t even started yet.”

  When he winked, she groaned. Which made him laugh.

  “You’re tired,” he said, standing abruptly—an effective end to any discussion she might want to launch about why he should just forget about any scenario with him and her as the focal point.

  “Get some rest, okay?” He settled his Resistol on his head. “And think ’bout that social life you don’t have.”

  Then he said his good-nights and headed out the door before she’d barely had a chance to thank him for the work he’d done.

  Well, she thought, watching his taillights disappear into the night. So much for nipping it in the bud.

  And so much for thinking she was dead inside.

  As unsettling as it was, from the moment she’d looked down from the ladder and seen him standing there, she’d felt very much alive. Lying alone in bed later that night with no one and nothing running interference, she admitted that when John had held her in his arms and she’d felt all the sinewy male strength wrapped around her…well…it had been incredibly arousing.

  A tear trickled down her temple as she lay on her back and stared at the ceiling fighting it, but aching for the touch of a man.

  Aching for David, who was gone.

  For the first time in a very long time, she cried herself to sleep. Missing her husband. Missing the love they’d shared. And feeling a fear that shook her to her very core. A fear that warned her she might be forgetting little things, important things that she’d wanted to hold onto forever.

  Things like how it had felt to be kissed by her husband. Things like the intricate and beautiful color of his eyes when he’d made love to her.

  When she finally slept, she dreamed. Of David in the far, far distance. Of John…so close and real and vital. Of herself, weeping over the two pieces of her heart that she held, beating and vulnerable, in the open palms of her hands.

  “You people sure know how to throw a party.” Ali leaned into Peg, shouting to be heard above the steel guitar, a fast fiddle and the wail of the lead singer putting his all into a Toby Keith drinking song.

  “Great band, huh?” Peg yelled back and shoved a glass of draft beer into Ali’s hand.

  The crowd gathered Saturday night for her official “Welcome to Sundown” party at the Dusk to Dawn sure seemed to think so. The dance floor was packed—so was the bar and all the tables that were filled with dwindling amounts of snacks and empty glasses. Colorful helium-filled welcome balloons swayed on equally colorful ribbons; a huge banner proclaiming WELCOME DR. SAMUELS in rainbow colors hung over the bar.

  “Would you just look at her,” Peg said, beaming at Shelby as she danced with her daddy, her red boots flying across the floor.

  “She’s having a good time.”

  Everyone was. Or at least they seemed to be. Ali had balked at first when Peg had told her the Sundown Chamber of Commerce, led by Peg’s friend Crystal Perkins, was planning this welcome get-together in her honor. She just wasn’t into parties. Hadn’t been for quite some time.

  But maybe she’d been taking life too seriously for too long. And as she stood in the midst of this laughing crowd, she was glad she’d agreed to let them go ahead with their plans. It was good for them. And it was proving to be good for her.

  She’d met more people in the past couple of hours than she could have met in a year. Everyone in Sundown, as well as everyone within a hundred-mile radius, turned out for a party, it seemed. Many of them had said they’d be bringing their business her way.

  Yeah, she thought, telling herself she wasn’t searching for the one someone who hadn’t shown up. Everyone had made the party but John Tyler.

  She told herself she felt relieved, not let down, over his absence. It made things a lot easier on her tonight. She didn’t want to have to deal with his outrageous flirting.

  And yet…this was so hard to admit…she felt a little disappointed that he wasn’t here. Figure that one out. Maybe the reason she was feeling disappointment was rooted in plain old-fashioned vanity. It had been a long time since a man had looked at her the way John did. And even though she’d known nothing was going to happen between them, his interest had been a bit of an ego boost. To think she still had what it took to attract not only a man, but a younger man at that… Well, it was a surprise, was all. A nice one. And there was nothing wrong in that line of thinking—as long as she recognized it for what it was.

  And that little side trip she’d taken into hormoneville—well, it just proved she was human, that was all.

  “Hey there, Doctor Dish.” Sam Perkins, Crystal’s husband—a big, perpetually grinning bear of a man—wrapped a burly arm around her shoulders. “How’s it goin’? You havin’ a good time?”

  “Doctor Dish?” Ali repeated, gaping in disbelief. “Is that what you called me?”

  “Honey, it’s what all the guys call you,” Sam said easily, his face cast in half shadow below the brim of his tan hat. “Dr. Sebring was a great vet, but he didn’t fill out a pair of jeans like you do. No disrespect meant.”

  “None taken,” Peg chimed in on Ali’s behalf. “Ali knows you’re all a bunch of clod-kicking yokels who don’t know any better than to judge a woman by the way she looks over the way she performs her job. She’s just too polite to say it.”

  “I think I’ve just been insulted,” Sam said, his grin never fading over Peg’s good-natured ribbing. “So…Doc. Wanna dance?”

  Laughing, Ali shook her head. “Thanks, but I don’t dance.”

  “Well that’s about to change, darlin’.”

  “Strut your stuff, Ali,” Peg said with a laugh. “Show ’em what you got.”

  “I’ve got nothing,” Ali called over her shoulder, panic mixed with amusement as Sam swept her out onto the dance floor. These people were fun. Warm, caring and outrageous fun.

  Tonight, for the first night since she’d driven into town, green to the gills about the world of the wild Montana west and wondering ever since if this had been the right thing to do, the right place to be, she felt the first faint stirrings of belonging.

  John hunkered down on a bar stool in a dark corner and nursed his beer, trying not to be too obvious over his fascination with the guest of honor. But…hell. He was fascinated. Part of it was because she really didn’t dance, he thought, unable to stall a grin. It was so cute. She didn’t have a lick of rhythm and to say she had two left feet was like saying his herd bull had balls.

  Unbelievable. He hadn’t known women came that way. She could…not…dance. And he
ought to know. Since he’d slipped into the party half an hour ago, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the good doctor.

  Her lack of expertise on the dance floor, however, was just for starters in the fascination department. She hadn’t gotten any uglier since he’d seen her last week, that’s for sure. He’d kind of been hoping she would. Or that when he saw her again he’d discover that he’d been remembering big. Realize that she wasn’t nearly as pretty as his mind had set her up to be or that he wasn’t nearly as attracted to her as he’d originally thought. And seeing her again would not only prove it, but might get her out of his system because she just kept insisting that she wasn’t interested.

  There was just one little problem with that. He was interested. Interested enough that he’d told her more about himself than he’d intended the other night at her house. He was still trying to figure it out. Oh, it wasn’t that he’d spilled his guts about Afghanistan. That wasn’t ever going to happen. It was just…well, he’d talked a lot and it had surprised him, was all.

  Surprised him that he hadn’t minded talking to her about himself as much as he’d thought he would. Might have told her more if he hadn’t realized what a motor-mouth he’d become and put a plug in it.

  She, on the other hand, had been pretty tight-lipped about herself.

  Still, as often as she said no to the idea of them getting together, there were too many other indicators that said she wanted to say yes—she just didn’t want to admit it. As far as he was concerned, figuring out a way to get her to come to terms with that interest made things more interesting.

  For the moment, he was content to drink his beer and watch her. She was knockout gorgeous in a soft flowing skirt that swung around the tops of a brand-new pair of butterscotch-colored boots when she moved, and a pale yellow top that left her shoulders and arms bare. She’d worn her hair down—it was the first time he’d seen it that way. And he liked it. Hadn’t realized it was so long. The fine blond mass of it trailed midway down her back, turned under at the ends in a soft upside-down question mark of a curl.

  It wasn’t that her clothes were all that sexy, either. She could have been turned out for church. It sure as the world wasn’t church that he thought about, watching her though. Oh, he thought about going down on his knees for this woman, but it wasn’t to pray.

  When she threw back her head and laughed at something Virgil Watson whispered in her ear, he just plain stopped thinking. She’d never laughed that way for him. And that just didn’t set well. It didn’t set well at all.

  Gaze locked on her, he drained the last of his beer, walked across the dance floor and tapped the man lucky enough to be holding her in his arms on the shoulder.

  “I’ll be cutting in now,” he said, trying to get a read on the doc’s face when she realized it was him.

  “Well, hell, J.T.,” Virgil sputtered, a sour frown turning his mouth into an inverted U. “We was just getting started.”

  “I’ll be cutting in,” John repeated, never taking his eyes off Alison’s face.

  He was peripherally aware of the brash cowhand sputtering as he sauntered away toward the bar. He was hyperaware of the color of her eyes. Russian sage, he thought again, as he’d thought he first time he’d seen them. Silver-blue with shades of gray. And right now, they were watchful and surprised and just a little bit nervous. The good kind of nervous. The kind that said she was glad to see him but didn’t want to be.

  “Hey, Doc,” he said, flashing his warmest smile.

  She smiled, too, kind of tight and uncertain. “Hi.”

  And then they just stood in the middle of the dance floor while all around them couples moved to the music of a lively Brooks and Dunn song.

  “Umm,” she finally said, “Did you want to dance?”

  “With you?” He grinned, shook his head. “No ma’am. You are, for a fact, the worst dancer I’ve ever seen.”

  Her eyes widened in shocked surprise and then she laughed, as he’d hoped she would, and the tension dissolved like an ice cube in boiling water. “Then why did you cut in?”

  “Because it was just too painful to watch any longer. Come on,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the back door, “there’s something I want to show you.”

  “Oh John, I don’t know. I shouldn’t leave. The party’s for me after all.”

  “It’s okay. It’ll only take a minute. We’re just stepping outside. I’ll have you back before you’re ever missed.”

  “Okay, what?” she asked a little breathlessly after he’d led her outside through the back door. “What, exactly, did you want to show me?”

  “The sky,” he said, lifting a hand.

  “The sky? Yes. Well.” She looked up, looked at him. “There it is, all right. Complete with a moon and stars.”

  “And way too good to waste.”

  He watched her eyes as he turned her toward him. Watched the way the moonlight played across her face as he pulled her into his arms. Watched her expression transition from surprise to wariness to—thank God above—anticipation.

  “John.”

  Even though he kept trying to get her to call him J.T., he loved how she said his name. Loved the little tremor in her voice, the breathlessness. And instead of heeding the slow shake of her head, he played to the anticipation instead and wrapped her tighter against him.

  “You do that a lot, you know?” She felt slight and soft and incredibly warm against him. “You say no in a hundred different ways. But your eyes…they always say yes. It’s been driving me crazy.”

  So did the sweet press of her breasts and the rapid-fire beat of her heart against his chest.

  “Sorry, Doc. But I’ve just got to do this,” he said and lowered his head.

  He hadn’t planned this when he’d come into town. Hadn’t even planned it when he’d tugged her off the dance floor. He’d just known he wanted to see her again. And when he finally had, all he could think of was getting her alone. And now that he had her where he wanted her, the only thing he could think about was kissing her.

  And man, oh, man, once his mouth touched hers, all he could think about was why had he waited so long. As he covered her lips with his, felt her stiffen, then soften, then open in response, he knew it was exactly the right thing to do.

  She was too honest to fake resistance. Too much woman to ignore her own need. And while he was the one who’d initiated the kiss, she was the one who took things to another level and damn near brought him to his knees in the process.

  Her fingers tightened on his biceps where at first she’d pushed away. Her body melted into his, pressed against him as she stretched up on her tiptoes, deepening the kiss, increasing the contact. The urgent upward slide of her body against his created the most incredible friction as her breasts brushed his chest and her stomach slid against an erection he didn’t even attempt to hide.

  With a triumphant groan, he lifted her off her feet and pinned her up against the wall of the building, wild to get closer, crazy to experience all that pliant heat. When he felt her hands in his hair, a moan rumbled up from deep in his chest. He slid his tongue inside her mouth. And damned near went up in flames.

  Hot, wet silk. Honeyed and sweet. The taste of her was enough to make a strong man weak. And when her tongue darted out to meet his, the flames licking through his belly sparked an air-stealing inferno of need.

  Sweet, sweet heaven. He felt consumed by her. Her heat. Her taste. Her reckless response that sent his heartbeat off the charts and pumped the blood from his head to his groin. He ground his hips against her, slid a hand down her bottom and lower, to cup the back of her knee and lift until her calf hooked his thigh and his hand slid up and under her skirt.

  He heard her gasp, felt her shudder as he found bare skin, the bottom edge of lacy panties—then head-clearing pain as her fingers fisted in his hair and jerked his mouth away.

  Five

  Oh my God, Ali thought as she leaned back against the outside wall of the building, br
eathing hard, tugging down her skirt. John Tyler loomed above her, his face contorted in pain.

  “What in the hell did you do that for?” he ground out as he rubbed his scalp.

  “I wanted—I wanted you to stop.”

  At least she should have wanted him to stop. And that’s why she’d pulled him away. Because she hadn’t wanted him to. She’d wanted his kiss to go on and on and it had scared her.

  “Well, hell, darlin’. One simple word would have done it. You didn’t need to scalp me.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassed, breathless. But mostly turned on. And that was the part that alarmed her the most.

  “I—I’ve got to go.” With a frantic punch of panic, she hurried back into the Dusk to Dawn. And headed straight for the “Mares” room.

  She turned on the tap, ran cold water over her wrists, then rubbed a wet, cold hand over the back of her neck. Finally, she let out a breath, faced herself in the mirror.

  She looked like a woman who had been well and truly kissed. Her lips were swollen. Her eyes looked a little out of focus. And her face was flushed all the way down to her breasts—like a teenager who’d been making out in the backseat of a car.

  She felt like a teenager—all raging hormones and fluttering heart.

  What on earth was wrong with her? It was one thing to let him catch her off guard and kiss her. It was another to kiss him back. With enthusiasm.

  And, oh, could that man kiss.

  A sharp, electric ache spread from the tips of her breasts to low in her belly at the memory of his fingers on her bare thigh, under her skirt, rimming the edge of her panties.

  She braced her hands on the edge of the sink, hung her head and rode through the rush.

  This wasn’t her. She didn’t kiss men in the dark.

  But she just had.

  She shouldn’t want to.

  And yet…she did.

  The unsettling knowledge that she’d wanted to do a whole lot more—might have done a whole lot more right there against the wall of a bar if she hadn’t experienced a random moment of sanity—absolutely mortified her.