Bad Girl Bill (Atlantic Divide)

by Diane Saxon

He was leaving. He must have known earlier but hadn’t told her. They were over. Their damnable agreement was terminated, and he hadn’t had the decency to tell her privately.

  Her heart stuttered, her lungs backed up, and she could hardly breathe, his cruelty her undoing. She stepped forward, blurted out, “I have to go. I have things I need to do.” Her breath heaved through her lungs as everyone stared at her with varying degrees of confusion.

  “Please excuse me.”

  She grabbed her keys from the kitchen counter and rushed out the back door firing her Harley Davidson, forgetting her helmet, her pride, her safety she rushed away as fast as her motorcycle would take her.

  *

  “Oh my God, Michael. What have you done?” Kate asked in the ensuing silence.

  “I thought that this was the best way. Dammit, we had an agreement.”

  Jack’s iron fist slammed into his chin. Michael hit the floor and stared up at his audience. Lydia anxiously chewed the side of her thumb. Kate stood with her hands on her hips and her eyebrows raised into her hairline, Sam leaned against the counter, calm and serene, and Jack stood above him, fists still clenched, eyes hard, like he was about to hit him again.

  He rubbed his chin, lifted himself to his feet, and stretched a placating hand out to Jack. He really didn’t want to hit him back. He’d deserved it.

  “I have to go after her. She’s going to kill herself.”

  “That girl will never kill herself. She’s too good, and she’s too proud. She’ll make for her house eventually. Go and wait for her. Be prepared to grovel.” Jack took one of his wife’s hands, kissed her fingers, smiled into her eyes. “You might just find she’s worth it.”

  * * * *

  The pain in her heart was enough to override exhaustion, and she rode her Harley for as long as she could. She had no idea how far she had traveled, she just knew she couldn’t go back. If she did, she was going to knock his teeth down his throat for being so damned stupid.

  She pulled over to a deserted picnic area. The cool air made her shiver. She’d hardly come prepared for an all-night ride, and here she was sitting on her own in the middle of nowhere with the stars gleaming bright above her, and the cold seeping through to her bones. If he was there right now, she’d blacken his goddamn eye for him. One of his goddamn beautiful green eyes.

  She stood up and paced across the small green patch of land, rubbed her fingers through her short, black hair. Anger burned her chest, bubbled through her belly. She paced back again and looked at her bike. She wanted to scream and shout and stab the man in his heart. Like he’d stabbed her. He’d ripped out her heart with one swift move as though he had thought it would be less painful doing it that way. Like he’d taken out those men in the pool hall, quick, clean, cold.

  With a low animal growl, she kicked the front tire of her Harley as hard as she could, and then shrieked in agony as the bike started to fall over. Grabbing it, she leaned back, used her whole body weight to wrestle the heavy vehicle upright. Stupid thing to do with a machine of that size, she chided herself. She should know better. What the hell had he brought her to?

  Winded, she slumped on the grass beside the Harley, took off her boot, and stared at her throbbing foot. It wasn’t broken, but it hurt like hell. Goddamn him, she hated his guts.

  She leaned forward and massaged her foot, running her hand up and down in a brisk, rough movement to rub away the pain. She wished she could do the same for her heart.

  She breathed, long and slow calming breaths, raised a hand to touch her wet face, and realized she was crying. For the first time in sixteen years, she was crying, and she was never going to forgive the bastard who was responsible for her tears.

  Chapter 17

  As the freezing-cold wind bit deep into his bones, Michael hunkered down into his threadbare blanket and stared out into the pitch-blackness of the Afghan hills.

  Muffled movements came from all around him as the men settled down and waited. Waited for the culmination of reconnaissance work carried out by combined British and U.S. Special Forces.

  The last five months had been misery and deprivation as they physically infiltrated the network of terrorists.

  He’d been in among them. He ate with them, drank with them, and stole all their information. Now he was back with his own guys. His team that he hadn’t seen in the past couple of months, only in passing as he handed on the intelligence he’d stolen. He was sick of it. Sick of it all.

  He sighed as a deep, bone-weary tiredness took a hold. He closed his eyes for a moment, knowing what he would see, what he always saw—Bill. Bill, who occupied his every thought, teased his mind until he feared for his sanity.

  He’d decided if he ever got out alive, he was going back to get his girl. She’d waited twenty-four years for the right man to come along, and when he did, he’d made a complete balls-up of everything. Well he was going to put it right.

  She loved him. He knew that.

  After this operation he was going home. After all, who wanted to be a fucking hero! This was his last operation, and he was going home, and home was wherever Bill was.

  She’d marry him. He’d give her no choice. His only worry was she could have met someone else in the five months he’d been away. It would be nearer to six by the time he got back. If he got back.

  She’d said she loved sex. In fact it was blatantly obvious she did. What if she’d discovered it wasn’t only him she loved having sex with? What if she’d realized it had been just physical with him, and she didn’t really love him? What if she’d found someone else?

  Another thought had seeped into his mind. They hadn’t used protection. Just once they’d forgotten, on her porch when she’d jumped him.

  He was driving himself crazy second-guessing all the time. He loved her. He was going back for her. Nothing was going to get in his way. Not this mission. Nothing.

  As the wind whipped sand up into his face, he blinked his sticky eyes waiting for his brown-colored contact lenses to settle. He scratched his itchy head with its dyed-brown hair and peered into the distance to see the headlights of dozens of vehicles coming toward them. Here we go then. One last time, and then he was going home…and with that, the sky lit up like a firecracker.

  Chapter 18

  Sitting up in the bleachers as she waited for the first softball game of the season to start, Bill squinted as she scanned the field for miniature thugs and mad mothers. Chilled, she sat huddled at the top of the seating in her usual place, with a takeout coffee cup to warm her hands and the best view of the field.

  Kate, Lydia, and Sam were farther down, so they could attend to scraped knees and black eyes. It could be the kids who got damaged, or more likely, it was going to be one or two of the mothers. As the kids got older, the mothers got fiercer. Personally, Bill was sick of the hair pulling and wished to God she could just pop ’em one on the chin once in a while and show them what respect was about. Lately she hadn’t been quite as tolerant.

  Jack had been summoned to the mayor’s office, probably to change the toilet paper again. He could have been lying, though, just so he didn’t have to put up with the biting-cold wind and the bitching. He was probably sitting with his feet on his desk and a doughnut in his mouth.

  Whenever she thought about Jack, it gave her a warm, slushy feeling to think he had smacked Michael in the mouth for her. He’d never know warm and slushy was how she felt. She’d simply slapped him on the back with gratitude and a huge grin when she’d found out. Not a single one of them would ever know how much her heart hurt.

  The game was almost at a close when Jack walked through the gangway, side by side with a tall, English god. Short, shiny, blond hair, clean-shaven, and wearing what looked like a plaster on his left arm, supported by a black sling around his neck, Michael looked straight up the bleachers at her and pierced her soul with his clear green eyes.

  Bill’s breath clogged in her chest as unreasonable panic set in. She would have recognized him anywhere. His ar
m may have been injured, but he carried himself with such arrogant maleness, he couldn’t be missed, and that damned glowing hair of his made him look like he’d just dropped in from the heavens for a quick visit. Probably every mad mother in the stadium had their eye on him.

  He was skinny again, like the first time she’d seen him, as though he’d been living rough, his face more angular, and his eyes sharp.

  As his attention was grabbed by both his sisters launching themselves into his arms, fast as a shot, Bill threw herself over the side of the bleachers, holding on to the scaffolding as she scrambled down and lowered herself to the ground, her heart stuttered, breath heaving.

  It didn’t take her long to fire up the engine of the Harley and shoot down the road like the hounds of hell were on her heels. She was going to catch shit when Jack realized she’d deserted her post. She didn’t care. There was no way she could face Michael again. He’d made her cry, and if she faced his cold aloofness, she might just cry again. Or she might just blacken his eye for him. Whichever course of action she took, he was going to know he’d hurt her. He was going to know she still cared, and she was damned if that was going to happen again. So avoidance was the best tactic.

  Panic made her feet fly as she raced into her house, stripped clothes and gun, threw on shorts and T-shirt, charged down the porch steps and along the road in a flat-out run, Bruno and Ralph close on her heels. By the time she got back it would be almost dark, and she would probably take herself straight off to bed, where she could curl up in a ball and hide until tomorrow.

  He was probably on a quick visit. If she could avoid him for a few days, she was home and dry. After all, he’d made it clear he was never coming back for her. It wasn’t like he would come looking for her.

  *

  He was seated in the twilight on her porch swing when she got back. Relaxed and comfortable, his legs stretched out in front of him, his arms across his chest, and his eyelids at half-mast.

  Her dogs trotted over and sat like traitors at his feet.

  Bill pulled up at the bottom of the porch steps, bent over from the waist to breathe deep, her hands resting on the top of her thighs. Her face was flushed, her hair sweat-soaked.

  She desperately needed a bottle of water, but it would mean going past Michael to get one, and she seriously doubted she could manage that at present. It took all of her effort to stay still and not take off back down the track again.

  His face was in shadows, so she squinted up at him.

  “Well hi, long time no see.” She didn’t sound casual, she sounded winded.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for ages.” He sulked, and she thought, Not as long as I’ve waited for you!

  “How did you get here?” She glanced around, noted the lack of vehicle in her driveway.

  “Jack dropped me off.” He raised his broken arm slightly. “I can’t drive yet.”

  “Well, you better give him a call and tell him to come and pick you up.” Her voice broke as unshed tears choked her, and she gulped down the bitterness before it overwhelmed her.

  “I’m back for a while. I wanted to check on you. We parted on uneasy terms.”

  “Uneasy terms.” That bitterness welled up and spewed forth. “You walked out on me, and you call it uneasy terms.” Her voice raised on the last two words. Despite her resolution to keep control, it seemed to be slipping quicker than she had thought possible.

  Astounded he had the gall to turn up at her house, she realized she needed to get away from him before she screeched at him like a hysterical banshee. She could feel it swelling, a lump in her chest, burning its way in rapid bursts up her throat, through her voice box and lodging behind her clenched, grinding teeth. Someone was going to die.

  She stalked past him into her house, allowed the door to slam shut behind her. She took a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and headed for a long, cool shower. Perhaps he would get bored and simply slink away into the night like he had the last time.

  Not really believing that, she dressed and headed back to the porch, past him again to sit on the top step looking out over her front yard.

  “Still here I see. I thought you might have crawled back under the stone you came from.”

  “Still childish, Bill.”

  Ralph and Bruno settled by her side in a show of unity she hadn’t expected and brought another lump to her throat. She waited—and waited. Until his soft, quiet voice came from behind her.

  “I always knew it would be hard when I had to leave, but I never realized until that night how much I could hurt you. I’m sorry.” His voice was gentle, appeasing. She was having none of it.

  “And I didn’t realize until that night what a supreme asshole you were.”

  He sat back abruptly in the swing, making it groan. She heard his long, irritated sigh.

  “At the time I thought it was the best way, a clean break. We had an agreement,” he defended, sounding petulant.

  “Yeah, well your moronic state of mind induced you into denial. There were feelings between us, even if you hadn’t spoken them. I told you I loved you.” Her voice hitched slightly, but she continued, “You broke my heart, you bastard, and then you stomped on it.”

  She gently rubbed Ralph’s ear, taking comfort in the warm silkiness.

  Michael murmured, “I knew you loved me. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  “Yeah well, that was a long time ago, I’m over you now.”

  “Are you saying you don’t love me anymore?”

  She peered at him sideways, her elbow on her knee, her hand on her forehead, and drew in a slow breath. How could she deny him the truth?

  “No, Michael. I love you. I will always love you. My heart still breaks every minute of every day because of you, and some days I wonder how I can still breathe.” Her throat clogged, but she pushed the words out, “But I don’t want you here.”

  He stood up and walked over to the top step, sat down with Ralph between them, and he reached for her hand.

  “Bill, I can’t bear to think how much I’ve hurt you. I promise you I’m going to make it up to you.”

  She snatched her hand away from his with a sullen jerk and stood up with a flick of her head. She strutted down the steps to stand with her back to him. The dogs followed stoic and faithful.

  A small, bitter laugh escaped her as she wrapped her arms protectively around her raw, aching stomach.

  “It’s too late. I don’t want you to make it up to me. I gave you my heart and soul, God knows, and my virginity, and you wouldn’t talk about how I felt.” She glowered at him over her shoulder as she thumped her chest with her knuckles till it vibrated. “I never said what I wanted. The only time I did, you threw it back at me. Your job was more important to you, and you made damned sure I knew that.” She rammed her fists against her hips, temper revving, her chin jutting. “You stopped me from saying I loved you. You thought if I didn’t say it out loud, it couldn’t be true. But it was.” She whirled around, poked her finger toward him, and shouted, “I loved you!”

  She stalked toward him with fire burning her soul, any evidence of her love wiped out by fury.

  “You don’t get a second chance. That agreement was two-sided. You weren’t supposed to come back.” Vicious, she wanted to rip his heart out, she spun on her heel, stomped away, stopped dead, and turned back. An evil thought formed in her mind that she might feel better if she did rip his heart out. She stamped her foot like a petulant teenager as she imagined the organ splattering underneath her heel.

  A lopsided smile started to spread across his face and anger seethed through her.

  “You can’t put me through this. You’ll only leave me again.” A small sob escaped, but she hauled it back in with a sharp breath. “You just take yourself off to your sister’s and keep out of my sight.” She flung her back to him again as though she truly expected him to leave.

  *

  He came up behind her, silent as a Special Forces operative. He lifted his good h
and to touch her shoulder. Her body stiffened. How could she endure his touch, his closeness and still remain resolute?

  “I still want you. I’ve come back for you, Bill.”

  “You made me cry, you bastard!” She whirled to face him, a one-fisted strike flew toward his face, and he dodged it just in time. Sobs heaved through her chest. Tears streaked down her face. She broke his heart. He’d broken hers first. He closed his eyes, confident she wouldn’t pull another punch. She loved him.

  “Bill…”

  “You can’t do this to me. I can’t take it again. I want more, Michael…I need more.”

  His heart steadied as he realized they both wanted the same thing. His smile spread wide across his face.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me, you shit-eating, fu—”

  Fusing his mouth over hers was his only means of defense. The woman never stopped talking unless she was making love. He kissed her until he felt the give in her. He tasted her tears and knew he would never walk away from her again, not if World War Three broke out, or the earth exploded. He was going nowhere.

  “Tell me what you want?” He stroked her jet-black hair back from her forehead, ran his thumb across the wing of her eyebrow.

  “I want you to love me.” He kissed her sullen mouth, wiped the tears from her cheek. Felt his heart warm.

  “I do. I love you…what else?”

  She swallowed hard, blinked her tears away, and shook her head at his stupidity.

  “I want to get married before I’m too old.”

  His smile widened. “Are you proposing?”

  She swiped the back of her hand across her cheeks, scrubbed at her nose, and made his heart lurch.

  “Anything else?”

  “I want babies. Lydia’s pregnant. I want to be. I want lots of babies!” Scary, but he thought he could handle that.

  “How many?” He took her left hand in his, kissed her fingertips.

  “Six. I want six.”

  “Bloody hell, woman.” He growled as his knees went weak, and he staggered back a step. “That’s a little excessive! It’ll be more of a war-zone than Afghanistan.” He stared into her face, and her huge, velvet eyes gazed back, filled with tears that hovered, about to spill over. His chest ached, his throat tightened. He’d give her anything, anything to keep her, anything to stop her from crying.