by Reece Butler
She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Maybe she needed to breathe deep. Her breasts were sure rising and falling quickly.
“What are you saying?”
If she wanted to know the grist of the matter, he’d give her both barrels.
“If you’re pregnant, and you and Matt get along, you should marry him. Our son would then have a name. The same one as his fathers.” The more he talked, the more right it seemed. “You, me, Matt, and our children would be a family. Just like what your sister has. We’d have a boy to take over the ranch. If he wanted to. One of them is bound to be tied to the land.”
Nikki blew out her breath. She turned her back to him, crossed her arms, and dropped her head. Why did his words make her look so sad, tired, and alone? He hadn’t seen this woman before. Did she hide this part of herself from everyone? If so, he should be honored she trusted him. He wanted to protect her, so she’d never feel like that again. But he had no right. Not until she married Matt.
“If I am pregnant,” she said in a sad monotone, “you will be far, far away when I find out. I have no intention of marrying anyone. And if I have a child, she will have a name. Mine!”
She threw back the sheet. He released her, watching her climb out of bed and dress. He’d never realized how erotic the view when a woman bent over to place her breasts in her bra. It was almost as sexy as watching her take it off. She stepped into her long, black skirt and zipped it up. No panties. She grabbed her shirt and stuffed her arms into it.
He expected her to say something at that point, but she stormed out. She was walking out on him? That was not happening! He threw off the covers and went after her.
“Just a damned minute!” he yelled. He stomped down the hall to the top of the stairs. She was just opening the front door. “If you’re having my baby, it will have my name. Frost.”
She gave him a look about as pleasant as Mrs. Perkins on a bad day.
“If I have a baby, it will be mine!”
The slam of the door echoed throughout the house. He’d never noticed that heavy silence before. Then he heard the rumble of his truck.
“What the—?”
He clattered down the stairs. By the time he hauled the door open all he could see of his truck was tail lights heading away.
“Well, hell!”
He slammed the door, harder than Nikki had. This time the echoes mocked him. He’d left his keys in the truck, which Nikki had just driven away.
The woman certainly had balls!
Did he call her bluff and have her arrested for stealing his truck? That would bring her down a few notches. But did he want to haul her down? He hadn’t felt so alive since…he couldn’t remember. She challenged him, on every level. With a woman like that, he wouldn’t mind spending more time in Climax. More time having climaxes!
A grin near split his face. Matt already wanted to marry her. If she didn’t want him, all he had to do was have Nikki fall in love with his brother. If she wasn’t pregnant already, Matt would get on it as soon as they got engaged. At their age it was best to get the woman preggers first, and think about it second.
Was that what they’d both done, unconsciously?
He trudged back up the stairs, thinking of a cute, too-big-for-her-britches little girl sassing him, just like her mama.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Screams filled his ears. Screams and pain and—
“Eric!”
Something hit his face. He flailed out, fighting it.
“Wake up, for God’s sake. Eric!”
Chest heaving from near-suffocation, he fought free of the men holding him down. He rolled to his knees, too unsteady to stand. A shadowy figure moved and he tensed, fists ready.
“Whoa, you’re having a nightmare.”
The screams were gone. The men fighting him were gone. The only sound was harsh breathing. The figure moved. A light blasted. He winced, half-shutting his eyes in the sudden glare. He saw a uniform coming at him.
A cop!
His heart pounded. He’d killed someone, and was going to jail! The walls started to close in on him. Something moaned in pain.
“You’re safe,” said a calm, deep voice. “Safe at home. It’s me, Max. Max Gibson.”
The figure moved and something came at him. He blocked the…pillow? He looked down. Sheets wrapped tight around his legs. He wasn’t in chains. Wasn’t going to be thrown into a concrete and iron box for years.
“Max?”
“You awake now, buddy?”
Eric exhaled, shuddering. “Max.”
“Yep.”
“Who was screaming?”
Max walked closer. He was in full cop gear. Eric wanted to stand so he didn’t have to look up but he didn’t think his legs would hold him.
“You were the one screaming. Care to tell me why?”
“I get this nightmare whenever I’m home.” He shoved his straggly hair out of his eyes. It was damp from sweat. He had to cut the damn stuff before he ripped it out in frustration. “Unless Matt’s in the house with me, I get this dream when I’m here. Every. Damn. Night!”
“That why you don’t stay?” Max set his feet, crossed his arms and looked down. “How long’s this been going on?”
“Don’t remember. After high school.” Eric unlocked his muscles and sat. “If I’m home, alone, I get this nightmare. Nowhere else.”
“Tell me about it. Sometimes it helps to get it out.”
“How the hell will that help?”
Max shrugged as if he didn’t care one way or another. “Humor me.”
What the hell, it was only Max.
“It’s dark, I’m in a fight, I’m found guilty of murder, and I’m locked up.” He made it sound simpler than it was.
“I should’ve told you years ago. I thought you forgot all about it.” Max grimaced, shaking his head. “Maybe you didn’t forget, but blocked the whole night.”
The sweat that covered him from the nightmare turned cold. Goose bumps rippled.
“What are you talking about?”
Eric swallowed, trying to ease the pain in his throat. He must have done a hell of a lot of screaming this time. Max moved to the wall. He leaned a shoulder against it and got comfortable. The twin laser beams of his eyes would take in everything, including what Eric didn’t want seen. His chest got tight.
“Tell me everything about that dream,” asked Max.
Eric shook his head. “I want a shower and a cup of coffee.”
“Tell me or I’ll haul you to jail for disturbing the peace.” This time Max spoke like a cop with a gun, a nearby jail, and a determination to use both.
Eric swore under his breath. Max was a friend, and an officer of the law. He could also be a stubborn son of a gun when he wanted to. That made him a good rancher, a great bronc rider, and a tenacious cop. He had no doubt that Max would arrest him. The judge was already pissed off at Eric for losing the fight, as well as past deeds from decades ago.
Had he unconsciously left the windows open, hoping someone would hear, and call Max? Whatever, there was a cop ordering him to unburden himself. So be it.
He took his time punching his pillows into place before leaning against the headboard. Usually the dream was gone when he woke and he only had bits and pieces. This time he had more. He closed his eyes and thought back.
“I hear a woman screaming in the night. I run over and then I’m fighting two guys, or maybe it’s three. I beat the guy up and get thrown into a cop car. Next thing, I’m in prison, guilty of murdering the bastard.”
He clenched his fists, staring at them to avoid Max’s disgust, pity, or contempt.
“That’s when I wake up screaming. I can’t stand being locked up. Don’t know why, but small spaces make me squirrely. It’s not too bad when I’m working because I know I can get out. But if I think I’m stuck in there, I go nuts. Overnight in your jail isn’t a problem. I trust you’ll let me out.” He took a chance, and found Max’s face showed nothing but bland disi
nterest. “Prison’s something else. They’ll have to lock me in a chair, gagged and drugged, or I’ll rip apart anyone standing between me and freedom.”
Max rubbed his jaw with his hand. “That have anything to do with the time my dad locked you in the shed?”
“Locked me in the…?”
Memories attacked him like a tsunami. He shivered, feeling the cold of the night and the stench of his fear. Rattlers loved sheds because rodents loved them even more. He respected the snakes as they had helped keep the destructive pests down. He’d never go in a shed without making sure it was empty. But that time he had no choice…
“I’d forgotten about that,” he said, his voice harsh. “We were six or seven. We’d done something, I don’t know what, and your dad got really mad. It was fall, so it got dark early. He threw me in the shed and latched it. I knew not to say boo. After a bit I heard the sound of something whistling, then hitting flesh. Somehow, I knew he was using a switch to whip you.”
He remembered having to fight to keep from losing his supper. He’d heard rumors at school about what happened when a father got really mad and took it out on his child. He’d never seen the result when skin was slashed. But what they’d done was his idea. It was his fault that Max was being whipped.
He had to unclench his jaw before he could speak.
“I counted two before you started making noise. You were screaming at six. I knew you were one hell of a tough kid, and if you screamed that loud, there was a damn good reason. It scared the hell out of me.” He frowned at Max. “What the hell did we do that was so bad you deserved that?”
“Abso-fucking-nothing!”
Eric couldn’t remember ever seeing Max lose his temper. He’d often wondered if it was because of so many years of putting up with his father’s temper. The senior Max Gibson was a good sheriff, but he was different at home. Eric’s friend was always calm, helpful, and didn’t judge without a good reason. He was no Pollyanna, and everyone knew if they broke the law he’d treat friends and family as harshly as a stranger. That was small-town life, where you knew everyone and were related to most of them.
“Mom asked us to pick beans. We were lugging pails of them back to the kitchen. We closed the gate to the vegetable garden, but one of us left the main gate open. Something got into the flower garden and munched on the ones Mom was going to use for church that Sunday.” Max ran his hand over his eyes. “After whipping me, Dad hauled me in the house and told me to tell my mother what I’d done. I was crying and blubbering. She told me to show her. I dropped my pants, just enough to give her an idea. Her face got all tight. She got out the witch hazel and told me to make sure I got all the welts. I went upstairs slowly, trying not to cry so I could listen. I heard her tell Dad if he ever hurt one of her children like that again, she would move out. He never did.”
“Whoa, your dad whaled on you after that. He did it to me, too.”
Max shook his head. “Never like that. Never with a switch. From then on he used his belt, which didn’t cut the same.”
“Big diff. It hurt like hell. I remember having to stand up to eat, courtesy of that belt.”
“Believe me,” said Max with feeling, “there’s a difference.” He paused. “Because of the whipping, I forgot about you. I was lying on my stomach on the couch, feeling sorry for myself, when I heard Mom answer the phone. It was your pop, asking if he should come pick you up. Mom said she thought Dad had sent you home before supper. I heard Dad swear, then say you were still locked in the shed. Mom dropped the phone and ran out. I heard Dad calling for her to put on her shoes because of the rattlers.”
“I heard her screaming my name,” said Eric. “I’d kept quiet because I didn’t want your dad to hear me and make me scream like you. When your mom opened the door and called to me I broke down. She held me, rocking me, until my mom took over.”
He’d allowed himself to cry because he felt safe with Mrs. Gibson there. He knew she’d protect him. The way his mother and father were, he’d hadn’t realized adults couldn’t be trusted. A part of him had been wary ever since. He hadn’t let his guard down with anyone but family and close friends, until Vivian. And look how that turned out!
“Dad slept over at the jail for weeks,” said Max. “Mom wouldn’t have anything to do with him. I didn’t have to do chores, and got extra dessert. He apologized to me, and said he’d never, ever hit someone in anger again. He never did, either.” Max barked a sarcastic laugh. “It didn’t stop him from whaling on us. But at least from then on we knew how many we’d get, and could count them down.”
“Why didn’t I remember that before?” asked Eric. It all made sense. He’d panicked when he was locked in that shed. He got the same feeling in any small space. He avoided elevators and small offices unless they had a window. “That must be why I hated airplanes even before Viv—” He caught himself and snapped his mouth shut.
“Before?” urged Max.
“Hell, man, do you want all my secrets?”
“Nope. But I’ve got a few to tell you.” Max turned abruptly and strode toward the door. “Grab a shower while I make coffee.”
“What? Why can’t you tell me now?”
Max paused, keeping his back to Eric. “I’ve waited too many years for you to ask me about that night. I can wait another ten minutes.”
“What night?”
“You never found out what happened after we left.”
“Left what?
“Just like your fear of being locked up, your nightmare has a basis in fact. See you downstairs.”
It was more like fifteen before Eric, wearing jeans and a shirt, put down his coffee and hauled out a fry pan. Whatever Max had to say, Eric would hear it better while moving, and with food in his stomach.
“You had breakfast yet?”
Max shook his head. “I was on my way to the diner when I heard you screaming.”
Eric slanted him a speaking look. “This place isn’t on the way to anything.”
“I saw your truck parked at the clinic beside Nikki’s little Ford. You weren’t inside so I decided to drive by your house. Good thing I did,” he added.
Eric bent over to get a chopping board out of the lower cupboard. He set it on the counter and went to the fridge. “Start talking.”
“Only if you’re listening.”
“I can’t listen without moving right now. You talk, I’ll chop.”
The fridge was well stocked, just the way he liked it. He pulled out a couple of sweet onions, a green pepper, and a tomato and set them on the counter.
“What are you making, anyway?” asked Max.
“Breakfast.” He went back for eggs and bacon. “I figured out while showering that this has something to do with that rodeo we went to twenty years ago. Ever since, I’ve had nightmares if I’m here in Climax, alone. So start talking.”
“I’m off shift. I need something stronger than coffee.”
Eric pointed over the fridge with the tip of his chef’s knife. “Should be whiskey in there.”
Max shoved back his chair and walked over. “Why didn’t you drink it instead of buying a bottle of Jack?”
“It’s there for medicinal purposes only.” Max raised an eyebrow at him. “You know, snake bite, antiseptic,” Eric paused. “Nightmares.”
Max put a dollop in his mug. He held the bottle up, but Eric shook his head. He’d had enough booze to last a while. Max screwed the top back on and returned it to its place. He strolled over to the kitchen window and looked into the side yard.
“Maybe with the doc living here that garden will get weeded now and then.” While Max said it as if to himself, Eric got the hint. “Sherry Dixon spent hours on it after Greg built this place.” He took a slug, swallowed, and exhaled loudly. “Now that is a great cup of coffee. You single guys can afford the good stuff.”
Eric finished chopping the bacon in one-inch pieces. He dumped them in the hot pan, where they sizzled. He grabbed the onion next.
“You’re st
alling,” he said.
“You’re right,” replied Max. “That was one hell of a night.” He shuddered, and took another gulp. “There were two men. I was the third one you fought.”
Max was talking about his nightmare as if it was real. Eric’s hand slowed.
“It really happened?”
Max snorted a laugh. “Did you damn near kill two men? Yep. Did they deserve it? Hell yeah!”
“Why didn’t I go to jail?”
“You chop, and I’ll talk,” said Max. He waited for Eric to get back to work. “You freaked out that night. Totally berserk. I thought you’d kill both of them. It scared the hell out of me.” He sat back in his chair. “We had to finish our chores before heading to the rodeo in Dillon, so didn’t get much sleep the Friday night. Saturday we did well, then we had a bit of a party after. We were too tired to drive home, so we stopped at a park. It was late in the year, so we figured it would be empty. We pushed the seats back and fell asleep.”
Eric imagined it as Max spoke. Bits and pieces of memories or dreams meshed together. “Her screams woke me,” he murmured.
Max nodded. “We hauled ass out of the truck to see what was happening. A skinny guy about our age was on the ground. A man in his early twenties was kicking him while the other attacked the girl.”
“You went for the girl and I went for the asshole kicking the kid.”
“Right. We took them by surprise. You booted the kicker in the nuts and he went down.” Max grinned. “You wore your fancy boots with the pointy toes, not your ropers. He screamed like a stuck pig. It took both of us to slow down the bigger guy. We used some rope from the truck to tie his hands behind his back.”
“She was what, fifteen?”
“And the skinny one was seventeen. Cousins. Their car had broken down and these two stopped to help. Only, the bastards grabbed them and threw them in the car.” Max tilted his chin toward Eric. “That enough onions for the both of us?”
Eric looked down. He’d chopped up three onions. He shrugged and scooped up a handful. They joined the bacon. The rest he’d toss in the fridge for later.