After Darke

by Heather MacAllister

  She could hardly wait to find out what would happen there.

  FOR TWELVE HOURS, he’d jounced around in buses, trains and taxis. After reluctantly agreeing to go to Cooper’s Corner with Bonnie, he’d insisted that they take an indirect route. So they’d been to Atlantic City, Philadelphia and then some town in Massachusetts. At least they were in the right state now. They’d paid cash, and each time Jaron had felt as though he were sinking deeper and deeper into the world of people who operated in the gray areas of the law.

  The first ticket agent had met Jaron’s eyes as he’d handed over money for their fares. Jaron had actually sweated for a few moments in case the guy recognized him. After that, Bonnie bought their tickets, delighting in the fact that Jaron never knew where they were headed.

  The closer they got to her little village, the brighter and happier she became, and the more morose he got. Jaron was not a country person. The country was fine when he was a houseguest for an occasional weekend, but he’d seen way too much of it today.

  The last stop was a bed-and-breakfast in New Ashford. They’d wangled a ride on the private shuttle from Pittsfield. It was dark, which appealed to Bonnie, who had taken this business of outwitting the bad guys very seriously. He should be glad, but now he was just tired. “Is this it?” he asked.

  “No, this is New Ashford. We’re going to Cooper’s Corner.”

  “I was hoping Cooper had a corner here.”

  “Nope.” She walked off.

  There was nothing much down the street that he could see. “Where is Cooper’s Corner?”

  “A couple of miles north of here. We can walk.”

  Walk? Two miles? At night? In the country? “Bonnie, wait.” He jogged to catch up to her. “Why don’t we pay the driver to take us?”

  “Jaron! What he doesn’t know, he can’t tell. Besides, I don’t want anyone in town to know I’m back.”

  True, but she wasn’t the one going hiking in shoes that were too big for her. “I understand being careful, but we shouldn’t go to extremes.”

  The lights of New Ashford—and there weren’t that many—were already behind them when Bonnie whirled to face him. “Extreme? I consider being shot at extreme.”

  “No one shot at us.”

  “They wanted to and that’s close enough. Look, Jaron. I’m cold and tired and cranky and in no mood to argue. We’re following a bike trail that I’ve ridden about fifty bajillion times. Just pretend you’re on a treadmill at some fancy club and walk!”

  She marched off.

  Fine. Whatever. They trudged in the eerie silence. Jaron had always found country silence unnatural. The only noise he heard was the occasional car that passed. And the cars never honked. Now that was unnatural.

  At one point, he saw Bonnie rub her arms, and he dug his black jacket out of the plastic bag with the rest of his clothes. She took it with a gruff, “Thanks.”

  He decided to count that as a conversational opening. “What’s the plan for when we get there? Where do you live?”

  “In about thirty seconds, I’ll show you.”

  They’d been gradually climbing uphill, and now reached the crest where the bike trail curled toward a scenic overlook. Bonnie headed for the railing. Jaron wasn’t into scenic overlooks that added extra steps to their journey, but knew better than to argue.

  “There.” She swept her hand and indicated a small collection of lights.

  A very small collection. It looked like someone had taken Monopoly houses and hotels and scattered them in a valley.

  “There’s the church.” Bonnie pointed to the far end. The building was easily the largest structure and had a narrow, sharply pointed steeple. Landscape lighting illuminated the arched windows and the bridge behind it. “And there’s Main Street. The big two-story building in the second block is my parents’ store. I live in one of the cottages on the street right behind it, next to the village green. The cottages were originally intended to be part of a hotel, but the builder ran out of money in the land bust of the eighties.”

  Jaron couldn’t make out much in the dark, but he’d heard the word cottage. That meant small. And Jaron had already done small with Bonnie. He wanted to avoid it again, if at all possible. “Are you planning for us to go there? Won’t your neighbors notice?”

  She sighed. “No. I rented it out for the leaf season. We’re going there.” She pointed to a large farmhouse up on a rise overlooking the town. “Twin Oaks Bed and Breakfast. I’m doing a remodel of the attic and I was going to stay there for the next few weeks anyway.”

  “I’m supposed to hide out in an attic?”

  Bonnie gave him a cool look and started back toward the trail. “You can if you want to. Or not. Frankly, I don’t care what you do, Jaron.”

  He was taken aback by her hostility, which was a huge contrast to the softly pleased expression she’d worn when pointing out her picture-postcard village. He caught up with her and pulled abreast instead of walking behind, as he had during most of their nocturnal hike. She walked faster. He did, too. They were practically jogging down the gentle slope.

  “Hey.” He took hold of her upper arm.

  She snatched it back. “What?”

  “What’s this all about?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “All day you’ve been bossy—which I’m willing to think of as ‘self-assured’—as well as snippy, prickly and curt to the point of rudeness. There’s an all-purpose word that covers that, too.”

  “And that’s the word you use to describe women who are immune to the Jaron Darke charm?”

  Jaron stared at her profile. “You’re still mad that I kissed you, is that it?”

  Bonnie made a noise. “I’d forgotten all about it.”

  “Shall I remind you?”

  He heard her breath whistle between clenched teeth. “That is such a lame response. I expected better of you.”

  “I might say the same.”

  She stopped and stared up at him, and though her face was softly illuminated by moonlight, her expression said she wanted to strangle him.

  “Okay. We need to hash this out if we’re going to be cooped up together.” She drew a breath. “I don’t like being kissed the way you kissed me.”

  Ha. And they said men didn’t understand women.

  “Oh, and it wasn’t anything technical,” she continued. “Your technique is fine.”

  “Thank you,” he said dryly.

  “But kissing is more than a technical exercise. It’s supposed to mean something. Yours didn’t. You don’t even like me.”

  “I do like you.” He realized it was true. “Surprises the hell out of me.”

  She looked down at her toes. “Well, me, too—when you’re not being a jerk.”

  He knew how she felt. He wasn’t her type and she wasn’t his. But when they weren’t annoying each other, each thought the other was okay. The problem was, they were usually annoying each other. They might even be semi-attracted to each other, but that was no doubt due to the circumstances.

  And lighting, Jaron thought, as Bonnie raised her head and the moonlight created those magic shadows on her face. “I’m sorry if you felt...”

  “Used.”

  “Ouch. That makes me feel about two inches tall.”

  “Good. You should.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “We’re going to go through the fields.”

  “Wait a minute, we’re not through here.”

  “Why not? You apologized. I accepted. Let’s move on.” She stepped off the bike trail.

  “I want to kiss you again.”

  She froze, one foot on the trail, one foot off. Without turning around, she said, “I thought I made it clear that I don’t go in for meaningless kisses. Or meaningless anything elses
, for that matter.”

  He took a step toward her, encouraged when she didn’t start tearing across the field. “This will mean something.”

  “Something more than assuaging your masculine ego? I don’t think so.”

  “You used ‘assuaging’ in a sentence. Very good.” He took another step. “I hardly ever hear that word used in conversation.”

  “We are not having a conversation!” she said irrationally. But she still hadn’t moved.

  “Bonnie.” One more step and Jaron took hold of her shoulders, slowly turning her around to face him.

  “What?” She glared up at him. “You still want to kiss me?”

  “I still want to kiss you.” A lot, he discovered. He probably shouldn’t tell her that. Wouldn’t tell her that.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m sorry you didn’t like the other kiss. I want another chance. And I’m glad to be away from the bad guys. And I’m glad you aren’t the type to crumble in a crisis. And you’ve got quite a mouth on you, which I’ve discovered I like. You aren’t intimidated by me. And...” he drew her closer “...you look damn good standing in the moonlight.”

  Bonnie hadn’t blinked. “Okay.”

  Ah, victory. He lowered his head as he asked, “And what will your kiss mean?”

  “I want to compare how it feels to kiss you without your goatee.”

  Couldn’t leave well enough alone, could he? Jaron mused. Not only was he not victorious, he’d lost an important battle. He might have salvaged a little pride by making her admit that she wanted to kiss him, too.

  And he would have, if she hadn’t stood on her tiptoes just then, bringing her mouth within kissing range. Suddenly, making her admit anything seemed unimportant.

  So he kissed her. Not too hard, not too soft. Not too long, not too short. He was aiming for something meaningful, something that conveyed emotion. Mostly the emotion was a we’ve-been-through-some-major-stuff one, but he was also careful to work in a hint of apology and an echo of the technique she’d admired, if admired wasn’t too strong a word. Since she’d mentioned his technique, he’d take the compliment.

  He most definitely avoided any you-turn-me-on emotions, while still letting her know she was being kissed. Quite tricky. There was a very narrow line between passionless and passionate.

  This morning had been pure adrenaline-fueled desire. He saw, he wanted, he took.

  Banked passion. That was the tone he was going for now, though with the feel of her softness against his newly shaved skin, things wouldn’t be banked for long.

  All in all, Jaron was very proud of this kiss. First, that he was kissing her at all, and second, that he’d figured out what she wanted. Yes, he was the man.

  It was tough, but he avoided pulling her full lower lip into his mouth. He felt it beneath his lips and mourned the lost opportunity, but virtuously ended the kiss before any passions became “unbanked.”

  Bonnie blinked up at him.

  Look at that. She was dazed and he hadn’t even given it fifty percent. How would she respond if he unleashed a full one-hundred-percenter on her? Maybe he’d find out. Not now. He’d make her wait for it. And just when she couldn’t stand—

  “That’s the kiss you want me to remember?”

  Now he blinked. “Yeah. You wanted meaningful.”

  “That dry little pucker was your idea of an emotional communication?”

  “Yes.”

  “So with you, my choices are hot and meaningless or aridly emotional?”

  He was becoming...no, there was no becoming about it. He was seriously annoyed, a familiar emotion where she was concerned.

  “Maybe I was wrong about meaningless kisses,” she mused. Turning, she stepped off the path and kept walking. “Makes me wonder if I’ve been wrong about meaningless sex, too.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JARON WATCHED AS BONNIE used her key to open the back door of Twin Oaks Bed and Breakfast. “We’ll go up the service stairs.”

  She sounded very matter-of-fact—”professionally pleasant,” he believed, was the tone she used. But he knew she was enjoying this, enjoying being the one who called the shots.

  He should never have kissed her—either time. By revealing that he’d regretted hurting her, he’d shown weakness in the face of the enemy. Instead of kissing her, he should have told her to get over it.

  As they climbed the two flights of stairs, he kept telling himself the same thing.

  Bonnie pushed open the attic door and felt for the light switch. After flipping it on, she stepped into the attic. “Seth’s been busy while I’ve been gone. There was only one light up here when I left. I brought my things and a sleeping bag before I went—oh, Maureen, you sweetie.”

  Jaron had been only half listening as he looked around what was a partially demolished attic. It was cold in the room, so he shut the door. The light was dim in spite of the extra bulbs strung across the roof beams like mutant Christmas lights.

  Bonnie was making cooing sounds, so Jaron turned his attention toward her. In one corner, a quilt was tacked up over the insulation on the walls, with a cot set up in front of it. A piece of blue toile covered a crate on which sat a small Tiffany-style lamp that was hooked up to a yellow extension cord that followed the outer wall until it plugged into a nasty-looking exposed outlet with multiple adapters. Jaron hoped this Seth person knew what he was doing.

  When Bonnie turned on the lamp, a small warm pool of red, gold and green light spread over the cot, which was covered with another quilt, and the rag rug next to it. “Look what she did—isn’t that sweet?” Bonnie was beaming.

  “Very sweet,” Jaron agreed, keeping an ear out for suspicious sizzling electrical sounds.

  “I was going to sleep on the floor in my sleeping bag. Now you can.” She handed him a dark green roll that had been sitting next to a suitcase.

  Jaron had slept in sleeping bags before. Sure, they looked cushy, but he knew from experience that his hip and shoulder would be sore by morning.

  Well, so what? He should be grateful he was in a safe place that was not in the same room as Sorenson. Jaron did feel safe here and thought he might even be able to sleep tonight. “Could I borrow your rug for some extra padding?”

  “Sure. I’ll go raid the linen closet for quilts and blankets.”

  After she left, Jaron dropped the rolled sleeping bag on the floor and sat on it. He was worn-out from being on constant alert. Now that she was in her element, Bonnie looked bright and cheerful. He felt old and creaky.

  Why shouldn’t she be happy? She had her life back. This was exactly where she’d planned to be, just a couple of days early. In contrast, Jaron’s life was blown to bits. A little over twenty-four hours ago, he hadn’t even met Bonnie Cooper. Now he was hiding out in a town named after one of her ancestors.

  He’d missed his column deadline and had left Angela, his editor, hanging. His mother was probably sick with worry. He visualized her opening the morning newspaper and seeing his picture. His friends would be calling her. His enemies would be gloating.

  Not that his picture looked anything like him now. He was wearing plaid, for God’s sake. He’d shaved his beard just after he’d paid seventy-five dollars to have it professionally trimmed. He stared at his shoes, then untied the laces. His feet were swollen enough that they weren’t flopping around in the shoes anymore, but he had blisters on his heels.

  And he’d thought he was in shape. It was too much fresh air, that’s what it was. He heard Bonnie’s footsteps on the stairs and went to open the door for her.

  She bustled in, looking all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. “Here you go.” She handed him a stack of blankets and quilts that smelled like pumpkin-pie spice, then dragged the rug by her bed over a few feet. Then a few feet more.

  Jaron pulle
d it toward the wall so that her crate table was between them, and began making his pallet.

  Bonnie started working on the knots in the string wrapped around the sleeping bag.

  “You realize that at some point we will have to contact Captain Quigg,” Jaron said. “And your aunt must be frantic.” Not to mention his mother.

  “I already called my aunt.”

  “Just now?”

  “No. Hours ago at some bus station. She’ll call your mom. I said we’d explain later.”

  “You...and you didn’t think to call Quigg?”

  “I didn’t want to call Quigg!” She jerked on the knots.

  “We have to! We can’t hide here for the rest of our lives. I can’t believe this.” Jaron stood. “Is there a public phone downstairs?”

  “Can’t it wait until morning?”

  “We have no idea what went on today. For all we know, Sorenson was just dazed or faking it, and single-handedly captured the baddies and is now basking in glory. They might have brought in Sonny what’s-his-name. We might be free and clear.”

  “Or not.”

  “Or not,” he acknowledged.

  Bonnie stared at him, then heaved a great sigh. She reached for her purse and unzipped it. “If you really insist on calling Quigg—here.” She handed him a cell phone.

  Jaron stared at the phone as though he’d never seen one before. Then he looked at her in astonishment. “You’ve had a cell phone all this time?”

  She nodded.

  He couldn’t believe it. She’d had a frigging cell phone the whole time and she’d never said a word. “Why didn’t the police take yours away?”

  She shrugged. “I leave it turned off. It’s only for emergencies.”

  “This is an emergency, Bonnie.” Jaron turned the phone on and listened as it chirped to life.

  “Not now.”

  “Back in New Jersey—that was an emergency! You don’t get much more emergent than that!”

  “I know, but there would have been roaming charges.”

  “You mean you’d rather be thrifty and dead?”

  “Of course not! But you would have called Quigg and he would have told us to come to the station and we would have gone through everything all over again! Besides, you’re one of those people who uses a cell phone all the time. You would have called your editor and who knows who else, and by the time you’d finished it would have taken me three months to pay the bill.”