Tall, Dark and Dangerous Part 1

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Cowboy looked at the woman sitting next to him and smiled. “I wasn’t about to go anywhere. In fact, I was planning to knock on your door again first thing in the morning.”

  Brittany took a deep breath. “Good. Okay. I’ll plan not to be home.”

  “And, by the way, since I’m getting a strong hint here that we’re allies, you should know that my friends call me Cowboy.”

  She lifted one eyebrow. “Cowboy. Is that because you’re from Texas or because you’re some kind of hotshot?”

  “A little of each.”

  Brittany laughed. “Doesn’t it figure? Somehow I always imagined Melody spending the rest of her life with an accountant—not one of the X-Men.”

  Cowboy smiled ruefully. He wished he could feel as certain that Melody was going to see things his way. And despite his belief that getting married was the only solution, he wished that the thought of vowing to remain faithful and true to one woman for the rest of his life didn’t scare him half to death.

  He’d been so enchanted by Melody that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her those months they’d been apart. He’d loved making love to her. But she was right. He hadn’t come all the way to Appleton to pledge his undying love. He’d come to renew their affair. He’d come to have sex, not to get married.

  But now he had to convince Mel to marry him.

  That would be hard enough to do even if he didn’t have his own doubts and fears. And he was running out of time. His leave was up at 0900 Monday morning.

  Cowboy closed his eyes at the sheer impossibility of this situation. Compared to this mess, a hostage rescue was a piece of cake.

  6

  Melody was a hostage in her own home.

  Of course, she was a hostage to her own stupidity and foolishness, but knowing that didn’t make it any better. In fact, it made it worse.

  Cowboy Jones had been sitting out on her front porch for more than two hours now. He’d rung her doorbell while she was getting dressed to go to the late service at the Congregational Church. She’d wrapped her robe around herself and rushed into Brittany’s room, intending to beg her sister to tell him she wasn’t home.

  But Brittany’s bed was neatly made. She was long gone. There was a note on the kitchen table saying that she’d forgotten to tell Melody, but she’d promised to work a friend’s shift at the hospital. She wouldn’t be home until late.

  So Melody had hidden from Jones. She’d taken the chicken’s way out and hadn’t answered the door at all. And Jones had made himself comfortable out on the porch, apparently determined to wait all day for her to come back home.

  So if she went out now, she’d be forced to admit that she truly had been home all this time. Assuming, of course, that he didn’t already know that.

  She tried to catch up on her reading, tried not to let herself be unnerved by the fact that this man she had shared such intimacies with was sitting within shouting distance. She tried to convince herself that those twinges of frustration and longing she felt were the result of her being unable to work in her garden. She’d planned to spend the afternoon out in the sunshine and fresh air.

  Instead, she was here. Locked inside her house.

  Melody slowly opened the window in the room she was making into a nursery, careful not to make any noise. It was a glorious day—cool and crisp. She pressed her nose to the screen and took a deep breath.

  There was no way she could possibly have caught a whiff of Harlan Jones’s hauntingly familiar and utterly masculine scent, was there? Of course not. Not all the way up here on the third floor. She was imagining things. She was remembering—

  “Hey.”

  The sound of a voice in the yard made her jump back, away from the window. But it was only Andy Marshall, crossing over from the Romanellas’ yard.

  “That’s not an Army uniform, is it?” He wasn’t talking to her. He hadn’t even seen her, and she moved closer to the window to peer down at the boy. “My old man’s in the Army.”

  “I’m Navy,” Jones replied from beneath the roof of the porch.

  “Oh.” There was disappointment in Andy’s voice. “Then I guess you don’t know my father.”

  “I guess not.” Jones sounded sleepy, his Western drawl more pronounced. Melody could picture him sitting back in one of her lounge chairs, feet up and eyes half-closed, like a lion sunning himself. Relaxed, but dangerously aware of everything going on around him.

  “Looks pretty damn uncomfortable, buttoned all the way up like that,” Andy commented.

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Yeah, well, you look like a monkey. You’d never get me into one of those things, not in a million years.”

  “Probably not. Only the smartest, toughest and strongest men get into the SEAL teams. You probably wouldn’t come close.”

  Out on the lawn, Andy took a step back. “The hell with you.”

  Jones yawned. “The hell with you too. If you don’t want to be insulted, don’t insult me. But the fact is, SEAL training is tough. Most guys don’t have what it takes and they end up dropping out of the program. They run away—the way you did yesterday.”

  Melody winced. Ouch. Jones wasn’t pulling his punches.

  “And you’re like some kind of god, right?” Andy bristled with outrage. “Because you made it through—?”

  Jones laughed. “That’s right. My pay grade is O-2, but my rank is God. Anytime you feel like it, just go right ahead and grovel and bow down to my magnificence. And if you don’t believe me, go to the library and read anything you can get your hands on about BUD/S—the SEAL training program. Of course, in your case, you’re probably going to have to learn to read first.”

  Melody watched Andy, certain that he was going to turn and run away. But to her surprise, the boy laughed and sat down on the steps leading up to the porch.

  “You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you?” he retorted.

  “Hey, I’m a god—I don’t need to be funny. The mortals laugh even when I make a bad joke.”

  “Is it really that tough—you know, the training?”

  “It’s insane,” Jones said. “But you know what I learned from doing it?”

  “What?”

  “I can do anything.” Jones paused and Melody could picture his smile. “There’s no job that’s too tough. There’s no task that’s impossible. If I can’t climb over it, I’ll swim around it. If I can’t swim around it, I’ll blow the damn thing up and wade through the rubble.”

  Melody closed her eyes. Jones had already done the very same thing to her life. He’d blown it up and now was wading through the rubble.

  “So you’re the guy who knocked up Melody Evans, huh?” Andy asked.

  Jones was silent for several long seconds. And when he spoke, there wasn’t even the slightest trace of amusement or laughter in his voice. “You want to rephrase that question so that I’m certain you meant absolutely no disrespect to the woman I intend to marry? You can dis me all you want, but don’t you ever, ever dis Melody. Not behind her back and not to her face. Do you read what I’m saying?”

  “But she doesn’t want you around.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “So why are you even bothering?” Andy asked. “You should be grateful and leave while you’ve got the chance. That’s what my father did. He left before I was born even. I’ve never met him, you know. The closest I’ve ever gotten to him is this stupid watch.”

  Andy’s watch. Melody remembered how carefully he’d checked it after fighting with Alex Parks in the playground. That had been his father’s watch. She had guessed it was important to him in some way.

  Jones’s voice was quiet. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, you know, he probably had things to do. My mother told me he was stationed overseas and she didn’t want to go. He didn’t have a choice, though. When you’re in the Army, you’ve got to go where you’re sent. You don’t have a lot of extra time to spend on having kids.” His words were
almost recited—as if this was something he’d said over and over in an attempt to justify his father’s actions.

  Jones was silent, and Melody knew that he didn’t want to say anything that would contradict Andy.

  But then Andy himself laughed—a scornful expulsion of air. “Yeah, right. I don’t know why I’m sticking up for him. Like he didn’t run to get away from us.”

  Melody’s heart broke for the boy. He was at the age where he was starting to doubt the fairy tales his mother had told him. He still knew all the words, but he was starting to see through them to the truth beneath the surface.

  It was a moment before either Jones or Andy spoke again.

  “Melody’s home, you know,” Andy finally said. “Her car’s in the garage.”

  “I know.”

  Melody closed her eyes. Jones knew.

  “I figure sooner or later she’ll get tired of hiding and she’ll come out and talk to me.”

  “She’ll have to come out tomorrow morning,” Andy pointed out. “She’s got to go to work.”

  “Well, there you go,” Jones said. “Of course, by Monday morning, I’ll be AWOL. Unless I can arrange more leave. Hell, with the amount of vacation time coming to me, I figure I could sit out here on this porch until Thanksgiving.”

  More leave? Melody closed her eyes. Oh, God, no…

  “That would be a stupid way to spend your vacation.”

  “Yeah, it would be,” Jones agreed. “But if that’s what I’ve got to do…”

  “But you don’t,” Andy argued. “She doesn’t want you to stay. She doesn’t want to marry you. If I were you, I’d’ve been out of here a long time ago. ’Cause, like, what do you get out of this anyway? I mean, seven months ago, yeah, she was probably pretty hot. But now she’s all…well, no disrespect intended, but she’s all fat and funny-looking.”

  Melody grimaced in despair. Andy was only a kid—what should she care what he thought of her physical attractiveness? But she did care. She cared what Jones thought and she braced herself, waiting for his response.

  “She’s ‘fat and funny-looking,’ as you so tactlessly put it, because I made her that way,” Jones countered. “I did this, I got her pregnant, and I’ve got to make it right. I don’t deal with my problems by running and hiding like some kind of frightened girl.”

  Melody couldn’t stand it any longer. Not only was she some awful fat and funny-looking problem, but she was cowardly, as well.

  She headed downstairs and threw open the front door before she gave herself a chance to think.

  “I am not hiding,” she announced as she stepped out onto the porch.

  Andy looked startled at her sudden appearance, but Jones just smiled as if he’d been expecting her.

  “I knew that one would get you out here,” he drawled.

  He was sitting back in one of the lounge chairs, legs crossed at the ankles, hands behind his head, elbows out, just the way she’d pictured him.

  “You were listening?” Andy actually had the sense to look embarrassed.

  “Yes,” Melody told him tartly. “I was listening. With my fat and funny-looking ears. I was practicing the age-old Appleton skill of eavesdropping.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “For me to overhear. Yeah, no kidding, Einstein. And you still owe me an apology for making me chase you across the world yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry,” Andy said.

  His quick and seemingly sincere apology caught her off guard. “Well, good,” she said. “You should be.”

  Jones smiled at Andy. “Thanks for keeping me company, but I think you’ll probably understand when I say scat.”

  Andy was gone before Melody could blink.

  Jones sat up, putting one leg on either side of the lounge chair, leaving space on the cushion in front of him. He patted the cushion. “Sit down. You look like you could use a back rub.”

  He was right. The tension of the past few hours had turned her shoulders into knots. But there was no way she was going to let him touch her. That would be sheer insanity.

  “Come on,” he whispered, holding out his hand for her. His impossibly sexy smile almost did her in.

  But she sat down on the other lounge chair instead. “You know darn well where we’d end up if I let you give me a back rub.”

  His smile didn’t falter. “I was hoping we’d end up having dinner.”

  “Right. And we’ve never had dinner without it leading directly back to my bed,” she said bluntly. “Jones, what possible good could come of our sleeping together?”

  The warmth in his eyes got hotter. “I can think of one hell of a reason—to remind you how really good we were together.”

  “When we had sex,” she clarified.

  “The rest of the time, too.”

  Melody had to laugh. “There was no rest of the time. We were either having sex or unconscious.”

  “We spent two days together behind enemy lines and I hardly even touched you the entire time.”

  “That was foreplay,” she told him. “For you, anyway.”

  His smile was gone and his eyes were nearly neon green in their intensity. “You don’t really believe that.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what to believe—I don’t know you well enough to do more than guess. But it sure seemed to me that while I was scared to death, you were having fun.”

  “I was doing my job. And part of that job was to keep you from losing faith.”

  “You did it well,” she told him. “I had total faith in you. God, I would have followed you into hell if you’d told me to.”

  “So where’s your faith in me now?” he asked quietly.

  Without his smile to light him up, Jones looked tired. He looked as if he’d slept about as well as she had last night—which was not well at all.

  “The faith I have in you is still as strong,” Melody said just as softly. “I believe—absolutely—that you think you’re doing the right thing. But I also believe that getting married would be a total disaster.” She sat up, her conviction making her voice louder. “You’d never be happy married to someone like me. Jones, I work with the local Brownie troop, going around picking up trash on the side of the road for excitement. And when I’m feeling really adventurous, I volunteer down at the Audubon Bird Refuge. Believe me, I’m really boring.”

  “I’m not looking to recruit you to join the Alpha Squad,” he argued. “I have six teammates—I don’t need to be married to a SEAL.”

  “And I don’t need to be married to a SEAL, either,” she countered. She leaned forward. “Don’t you see, Jones? I don’t want to be married to someone like you. I want to find a boring, regular, average, normal man.”

  “I’m as average and normal as the next guy—”

  She cut him off. “Oh, please!”

  “I am.”

  “Yeah, I can just picture you in the yard with an edge trimmer or cleaning out the gutters. Or helping me shop for baby furniture—oh, that’s right up your alley! You can ‘take the point’ when we go to the mall,” she said, using some of the military terminology he’d taught her during their brief time together.

  Jones shook his head, trying to hide his smile. “Come on, Mel. You said yourself you don’t know me well enough to—”

  “I know enough to be convinced that you’re the polar opposite of average.”

  “How can you be so sure?” He threw her own words back at her. “We were either having sex or unconscious.”

  Jones stood up, and she knew she was in trouble. She held up one hand before he could move any closer. “Please don’t touch me.”

  He sat down next to her anyway, invading her personal space, invading her senses. God, he smelled so good. “Please don’t tell me not to touch you,” he countered in that slight Western drawl that melted her insides and weakened her resolve.

  He lightly trailed his fingers through her hair, not quite touching her. “We can make this work,” he whispered. His eyes were a very persuas
ive shade of green, but there was something in his face that told her he was trying to persuade himself as well. “I know we can. Come on, Mel, say you’ll marry me, and let’s go upstairs and make love.”

  “No.” Melody pushed herself up and off the chair, desperate to get away from the hypnotizing warmth in his eyes. God, he made her dizzy. She pulled open the screen door and reached for the knob….

  Locked.

  The door was locked.

  She tried it again, praying it was only temporarily stuck. But it didn’t budge. Somehow it had swung shut behind her and now was tightly locked.

  She and Brittany kept a spare key hidden beneath a loose board under the front welcome mat, but when she lifted it up, there was no key to be found. Of course not. She’d used that key the last time she’d locked herself out. And it was sitting where she’d left it—on the foyer sideboard. She could see it through the window, gleaming mockingly at her from among the piles of junk mail.

  She could feel Jones watching as she fought the waves of nausea that hit her one after another.

  She was locked out.

  None of the downstairs windows was open—Brittany had just finished reading a heart-stoppingly scary serial-killer suspense novel and had been making a point to lock the windows at night. Even the mudroom windows were tightly shut. The only open window in the house was the one in the baby’s nursery—the tower room, way up on the third floor.

  She was going to have to ask for Jones’s help.

  She turned toward him, taking a deep, steadying breath. “Will you help me, please? I need a ride to the hospital.”

  He was up out of the chair and next to her in a fraction of a second. “Are you all right?”

  Melody felt a twinge of regret. For the span of a heartbeat, she allowed herself to wish that the concern darkening his eyes was the result of love rather than responsibility. But she wasn’t into playing make-believe, so she quickly pushed those errant thoughts aside and forced a smile.