ONE SILENT NIGHT

by Debra Cowan

  Sam didn't seem bothered by their closeness. Dallas wrapped her fingers tighter around her stick and released a shuddery breath.

  He smiled at her over his shoulder and she smiled back, her throat dry, her heart racing. His gaze dropped to her lips and for an instant, she saw heat, response. Then he shifted, still close, and yet not close enough. "I always said this room was too small for a pool table."

  Was his voice shaking? Or did she imagine that because she was?

  He made the shot cleanly, sharply, betraying not one iota of the turmoil she'd glimpsed in his eyes. He punched a fist in the air. "Yes!"

  Dallas smiled, knowing he'd have to move to the opposite end to sink the six ball. And she was glad of it. As he walked around the table, she rubbed her shoulder, which was suddenly one big aching knot.

  Sam studied the table from the other side, his gaze hooded and avoiding hers.

  Mace glanced at his watch. "We've just got enough time for this game before the food's ready. Finish Kittridge off, Sam."

  Sam's gaze locked with hers. In the span of a heartbeat, she read frank hot interest before reserve slid in. "Hmm."

  A slow heat suffused her veins. She shifted, clenching her fist tighter around her cue stick.

  Mace's gaze skipped from her to Sam, turned speculative. Dallas licked her lips and fought to keep her features schooled.

  Sam missed the next shot and Mace stepped up for his turn. She kept her gaze on Sam's brother and away from him. Mace sank the six ball with a fairly difficult shot and leaned forward to line up for his next one. He was going to try and bounce the seven off one corner and into the diagonal pocket.

  Dallas felt Sam's gaze, but didn't look at him. Restless and unsettled, she absently stroked the long shaft of her stick. Sam made a choked sound beside her and she looked at him quickly.

  "You all right?" Mace asked his brother, staring as if Sam had suddenly appeared in a dress.

  A flush colored Sam's neck, but he nodded. "Sure."

  He glanced at her, then at the stick. For a moment, their gazes met. She felt electricity arc between them. Despite the wariness in his eyes, she knew what he was thinking and her face heated.

  He tore his gaze away and a muscle worked in his jaw.

  Pursing her lips, she forced her attention back to Mace, though she couldn't ignore Sam. Anticipation fired her nerve endings, set off a flutter in her stomach. She quashed the feeling. Sam had made it perfectly clear there would only be friendship between them. And even that had been hard to come by.

  They were good as friends, she told herself. They should be friends. Just friends.

  Something about that chafed at her. More and more often, she found her gaze wandering to him. Memorizing the way faded denim gloved his strong legs, cupped him the way she longed to do. And he looked just as good from the back; tight butt, long legs, broad shoulders. She wanted to feel him against her, inside her.

  Struggling to keep her mind on the game, she tried to snuff out the desire flaring to life inside her. Mace missed the eight ball so it was up to her.

  Sam laughed at something his brother said and Dallas's stomach curled. Hot, edgy need spiked her frustration higher.

  This was ridiculous! Just looking at him made her all soft and trembly. She needed some distance from him or she was going to do something stupid. She set her jaw, lined up her next shot and took it. The cue ball cracked against the eight and it torpedoed cleanly into the pocket.

  For the last shot, she had to move over next to Sam again. This time, she stopped about six inches away. She leaned forward and he stepped pointedly back. Far away from her.

  Heat burned her cheeks and she sternly ordered herself to concentrate. She easily picked off the nine ball.

  Sam and Mace groaned.

  Dusting off her hands, she walked over to put her cue stick back in the rack. She swallowed the hunger carving a hole in her gut and grinned. "Fifty bucks ought to cover it, guys."

  Mace turned to Sam. "Can I borrow—"

  "You still owe me for that poker game at Greg's bachelor party." Sam whipped out several bills and laid them on the table for Dallas. "I knew I should've stopped while I was ahead."

  She instinctively knew that he wasn't talking about pool. She'd felt the need humming between them. She'd tried to ignore it, because he was.

  "I'll owe you, Dallas." Mace replaced his stick and headed for the door. "Whew, it's steamy in here," he said, and chuckled.

  Sam followed his brother out, scowling. Dallas stuffed her winnings into her jeans pocket, her cheeks flushed.

  As the three of them went to join the family for dinner, she knew with a sinking heart that this "friends" thing wasn't going to work. At least not for her.

  She'd agreed to be friends. Heck, she'd proposed it. And it had lasted less than a day.

  While she liked the new ease between them and the new unity, something deep inside—something she'd tried to deny—wanted more. She wanted him as a lover. She knew he wasn't unaffected by her. But she also knew he didn't trust her not to hurt him. At this point, she didn't know if he would ever trust her again.

  She wanted to patch up their friendship, but she shouldn't allow him to get closer. She didn't really belong here anymore. When this case was over, she planned to head back to Denver. Trouble was, she didn't feel she belonged there, either.

  * * *

  Sam had never played a game of pool like that in his life. What they'd just done amounted to foreplay, pure and simple. At least for him.

  His skin burned as if she'd had her hands all over him. She'd teased and tormented him and he wasn't sure if she'd done it on purpose or not.

  If she'd dragged her hand down that stick one more time, or touched the tip while wetting her lips, or stroked that cue ball with her thumb again, he would have had to excuse himself. As it was, he hadn't been able to control the immediate and fierce hardening of his body. And even now, his arousal throbbed painfully, but at least they were sitting at the table and he could corral his raging hormones while his family distracted her.

  A fine sweat peppered his neck and his chest. Hell! He hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her. Mace knew it. She knew it.

  Maybe he was sick in the head. Maybe he'd finally gone over the edge. What else could explain him wanting her like this after the way she'd hurt him?

  Friends? What the hell had he been thinking, to agree to that?

  During that pool game, mild panic had set in. Now, with the width of the dining table between them, he was calming down. He still felt the buzz of need, but he could control it. It would fade.

  Every so often, Mace would look at him with that knowing smirk in his eyes. Even Linc's gray eyes would settle contemplatively on him, but Sam ignored both his brothers. He focused on his roast beef and homemade bread with gravy, listening as Devon and Jenna peppered Dallas with questions.

  "How long have you been a marshal? What kind of training do you need for that?"

  "You carry a gun, don't you?"

  "How's your family? Are they still in Texas?"

  "Do you like Colorado? I think it would be too cold for my liking."

  His father dished more food onto her plate. "We miss you, girl. Ever think about coming back here? This is where you belong. Come down this summer and I'll take you to Broken Bow. We'll catch a fine mess of largemouth bass."

  As Sam let the conversation flow around him, his blood pressure receded. His groin still ached, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. He took a big gulp of iced tea, urging it to cool the sizzle in his veins.

  His mind taunted him, flashing pictures of her in those tight jeans, leaning over the pool table. The overhead light in the dining room shimmered off her blouse, drawing his eye. Dark cranberry silk flowed over her breasts, caressing and curving, making him want to rip off those buttons and see what, if anything, she wore underneath.

  He'd invited her to dinner on sheer impulse. Swift, Garrett. Real swift. It had been an increasing agony for him, b
ut it had been good for her. She enjoyed his family and it was mutual, he thought irritably.

  He told himself that it was Christmas, her family was in another state, and she needed this. She really did. And he wanted that to be what he cared about, instead of this selfish, aching need in his body. But he couldn't dismiss what she was doing to him.

  Watching her smile and laugh with his family, he realized how rarely she did either of those things with him. It hit him how well she fit in with his family, how right and natural it felt that she was here. Which frustrated the hell out of him.

  He did want to be friends with her, but he wasn't sure he could pull it off. He was thinking distinctly un-friendlike thoughts. And he was determined not to. After all, when they wrapped up the case, she'd head back to Colorado. She had a house there, a life there. He wanted to move on with his life. That meant he had to start thinking of Dallas Kittridge differently. As a friend. As a cop, a partner.

  All he wanted to do was stroke that velvet skin, taste the warm sultry surrender of her kiss as he had the other night, so he made sure not to get within three feet of her.

  After the meal, everyone cleared their plates from the table. The women offered to clean up so the guys could go into the living room. Sam suspected his mother and sisters-in-law wanted to engage Dallas in a little "girl talk."

  As he followed his father out of the kitchen, he could already feel his blood pressure returning to normal. His dad and Linc sat down to play checkers at a card table in the corner. Mace picked up today's newspaper.

  Sam was digging through some Christmas CDs to put on the stereo when the women entered the room about thirty minutes later. Dallas laughed at something Jenna said and his gut knotted up all over again.

  The smooth sounds of Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" filled the room and Sam turned, catching Dallas's solemn gaze on him. She gave him a funny little half smile and went back to her conversation with the other women, but Sam wondered what she'd been thinking.

  He moved to the couch and sat beside Mace, talking to his brother about the state's college football teams and their chances for a bowl win. The women settled diagonally across the coffee table from Mace and him.

  From the corner of his eye, Sam could see Dallas sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Jenna. Dallas asked questions about the veterinarian's family, how she'd met Linc, how long they'd been married. Devon and his mom sat in chairs close by, his mom holding a bowl of pecans to shell. Bonnie never "just sat" anywhere; her hands were always moving.

  "I knew Linc was a goner the first time I heard about Jenna," Devon teased, throwing a glance at Sam's middle brother.

  Linc looked up from his checkers and grinned at his wife. Her beautiful blue-green eyes twinkled as she smiled serenely.

  Sam glanced over and saw a look of intense longing flash across Dallas's features, then disappear quickly. Her voice was steady as she asked Sam's mom how she'd met his father, but that one instant of pure need on her face shook Sam.

  Was she missing Brad? Her family? Or was she hurting as much as he was, wanting him like he was wanting her? Don't go there, Garrett.

  He and Mace engaged in a spirited discussion about the football teams of Oklahoma University and Oklahoma State University, but he never could shake the awareness of Dallas that stalked him like a shadow. He could hear the rise and fall of her voice as she chatted with the other women, the husky sound of her laughter. And he swore he could catch an occasional hint of her spicy scent, despite the cinnamon smell of potpourri bubbling from the kitchen.

  His mom rose, taking the shelled pecans and walking toward the kitchen. "Let's break out the cards, boys. I'll get the snacks. Sam, could you help me?"

  While Mace and Linc moved to set up two card tables behind the sofa, Cliff carried the checkerboard over to the bookcase, leaving the pieces intact and ready to pick up the next time.

  As Sam disappeared into the kitchen, Dallas walked behind him, helping Mace carry folding chairs. Mace said something and she laughed. Sam's muscles tightened.

  In the kitchen, he opened packages of snack mix and dumped them into two large bowls while Bonnie filled glasses with ice and soft drinks. He caught her as she tilted the bottle over the last glass.

  "Dallas will probably want water. She's not much for pop." Bonnie set the bottle on the countertop and filled the glass with water. Her soft gray gaze honed in on him. "She looks wonderful. How's she doing?"

  "Pretty well. She's very strong."

  "Yes." His mother patted his arm. "And she has you."

  "Not really—"

  "Together, y'all could probably be quite a team, and I don't mean as cops." She gave him a sassy smile, her eyes twinkling, and carried a tray of drinks into the living room, leaving him there with a protest dying on his lips.

  Didn't his family even care about the way she'd betrayed him? Of course, his rational mind pointed out, they didn't know about that, but he didn't care at the moment. He just wanted to get rid of this sly, insidious awareness of her that was eroding his resolve to stay clear of her.

  Of course, no one else felt that way. They all acted as if she were a member of the family. In all fairness, he shouldn't feel this bubbling resentment. She and Brad had been friends with his family and they all still cared about her.

  "Hey, Sam, come on!" Mace yelled from the other room.

  "Coming." Seething, he reached for the bowls of snack mix.

  Mace and Linc appeared in the doorway.

  "Hey, Ever Ready, why're you hiding in here?" Linc asked. "Where's the food?"

  "The cards are set up," Mace added. "Of course, Dad wants one of the women, so he's with Devon. Dallas and Jenna are a team. You're with Mom and I'm with Linc. Winners switch tables."

  "Yeah, yeah," Sam grumbled, covering his relief over not being paired with Dallas.

  His brothers exchanged looks and both stepped inside. Linc lowered his voice. "So, how's it going?"

  "Are you two—"

  Mace wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  "Give me a break." Sam pushed past them and went into the living room, ignoring their laughter behind him.

  He took his place beside his mother and across the table from Devon and his dad. At the next table, Dallas smiled tentatively—a benign, friendly smile—and he forced himself to return it.

  He was damned if he was going to give in to this need. It was lust. It was trouble. He wasn't having it. Even though his muscles bunched beneath his shirt, he tried to appear relaxed. He joked and laughed with his parents and Devon, but every second he was aware of Dallas's movements, her laughter when she bested one of his brothers. The tension slashed tight across his shoulders, deep in his belly.

  His gaze never left his cards, yet he could hardly concentrate on his hand. Twice, he almost blew the set because of the husky sound of her laughter.

  Frustration chewed through his control. He wanted to get her alone and tell her to stay away from him, tell her they weren't picking up where they left off. They played for over two hours and twice Dallas and Jenna moved to their table. He managed to laugh and joke and annihilate their hand, but he was about to lose it.

  Christmas music from Harry Connick, Jr., played in the background. In the near corner, the tree sparkled with multicolored lights and silver icicles. A sense of peace and cheer permeated the air. Yet Sam felt as if he were being held hostage. Nerves twisted tighter. His concentration fragmented.

  He'd been so proud of himself for inviting her; so smug, telling himself he'd done the "friendly" thing. It had felt good when they'd first arrived. Now he was in agony.

  He and his mom won another hand.

  Cliff tossed his cards on the table. "Devon, why are you letting them do this to me?"

  His petite daughter-in-law laughed. "Maybe we should play something else, like charades."

  Everyone groaned.

  Bonnie chuckled. "You boys are hopeless. Every time Devon looks at Mace, he grins like an idiot and tosses out any old card with
out even looking. And I think Linc and Jenna are talking in some kind of secret code. Sam and Dallas are the only ones trying."

  For some reason, Mace and Linc thought that was hilarious, and they both laughed—too long and hard for Sam's liking. Jenna and Devon exchanged small smiles and his dad hooted, slapping his thigh.

  Sam didn't see what was so funny, but he'd had about all he could stand of watching the flush of joy on Dallas's face, watching her push those slinky cranberry sleeves up her pale, strong forearms. He wanted to get her alone in a dark room and—

  "We've got to get an early start tomorrow." He stood abruptly, looking at his watch and glancing at Dallas. "Ready?"

  "Oh, not yet!" his family cried.

  "It's only nine o'clock," Linc protested.

  "Sorry." He shrugged, stepping away from the table and going after his and Dallas's coats. If he didn't get some air soon, he was going to suffocate. All he could smell was Dallas. Her tantalizing scent invaded his senses, wrapped around his gut like velvet tentacles. He needed some space.

  When he returned to the living room, she rose, as well. Her eyes glowed and a faint blush of pleasure suffused her cheeks as she took her coat, careful not to touch him. "We really do have to go. Thanks so much for having me."

  After a round of hugs and "Come backs," they were finally on their way. Just stepping into the expanse of the outdoors gave Sam some relief. But it only lasted until they climbed into his truck.

  As they pulled out of the gravel drive, Dallas thanked him and said she'd had a great time.

  His tongue felt thick and clumsy in his mouth, making him sound harsh. "You're welcome."

  She grew quiet then, saying nothing more. She simply stared out the window and a sense of isolation pierced the silence.

  Sam didn't know what to say. He didn't want to talk about the case. He felt caged, his nerves shot like he was about to shatter.

  One minute, he wished the case were over so she would leave. The next minute, he found himself wanting her to stay forever. It was no wonder his head was pounding. He scrubbed a hand across his eyes and stepped on the gas.