Her Colton Lawman

by Carla Cassidy

  “Nothing,” she replied. “Everything is fine. I had Charley fix us some to-go food for the night. Let me grab it from the kitchen and I’m ready to go.”

  With every step she took, her depression deepened. The last thing she’d expected was for valued members of her staff to let her down on her special day. “Beef tips and noodles, corn and a Jell-O salad,” Charley said as he handed her the large take-out bag.

  “Sounds perfect. Thanks, Charley, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” She returned to where Flint awaited her by the door.

  It wasn’t until they were in the car and driving toward home that he cast her a quick glance. “What’s going on? I don’t see my happy Nina anywhere on that face.”

  Once again, she felt the sting of tears burn her eyes, tears she quickly held back again. “I’m just not feeling very optimistic or happy right now.”

  She told him about how her wait staff had wigged out about working Thanksgiving Day and her concern that the experience she wanted her customers to enjoy that day would be compromised.

  “I know I’m being a big baby, but I had a vision of what the day would be like, and suddenly the vision has changed, and I can’t seem to find anything good about it.”

  “You aren’t being a baby,” Flint protested. “You’re disappointed by some of the people you thought you could depend on.”

  “The story of my life,” she muttered beneath her breath. By the time they reached the house and had dinner on the table, her mood hadn’t lightened, but rather had grown darker.

  Her mind cast her back to her childhood, one of broken promises and violence, of holidays ruined and distrust born of circumstances beyond her control.

  She rarely allowed herself to dwell in those painful memories, but she couldn’t seem to pull herself from the black hole of depression that had sucked her in.

  She was quiet through dinner, and she felt Flint’s concern for her, but didn’t have the energy to attempt to put on a fake happy face even for him.

  He filled the quiet with conversation about his day, sharing bits and pieces that had nothing to do with crime or sickness, but rather stories about his coworkers and funny incidents that had happened in the past.

  She recognized that he was working hard to cheer her up, and she appreciated his efforts, but by the time they’d finished eating and had gone to the living room with a glass of wine, the press of tears was once again hot in her eyes.

  “Come here,” he said and patted the space next to him. She rose from her chair and joined him on the sofa. She leaned into him and released a deep sigh.

  “I think maybe my mood isn’t just about Thanksgiving,” she said as she burrowed into his side. “Maybe I’m having a little meltdown about everything that’s happened to me, to my life. I’ve just always been able to bounce back, and tonight I don’t feel like I have any bounce left.”

  “It’s okay to be discouraged. I hate to see you like this, but you’re allowed an off night.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and toyed with a strand of her hair.

  It was as if his words allowed her emotions to tumble out of her. The tears that had been so close to falling all evening began to trek down her cheeks.

  “Hey, don’t cry,” Flint said, pulling her closer against him.

  She angrily swiped at her cheeks. “I never cry unless I’m scared,” she said at the same time a deep sob ripped up and out of her. “And I’m not scared so I shouldn’t be crying.”

  “Tell me what to do. Tell me what to say,” he said. “I can’t stand to see you like this.” He stroked down the length of her hair and looked at her with helplessness.

  She shook her head and buried it in the front of his shirt and began to weep in earnest. He wrapped both arms around her and just held her.

  She cried for the house she had lost that had been burned to the ground. She grieved the child she had been who had never known safety, a child who had grown into a woman who would never know how to trust. She wept because the joy from a day of giving had been stolen from her and finally she was finished, her well of tears finally gone dry.

  He continued to hold her in his arms, his hands stroking slowly up and down her back in a soothing rhythm. She became aware of his heartbeat against hers and a new emotion growing inside her.

  His body tensed, as if he sensed a different mood emanating from her and wasn’t sure what to expect.

  She raised her head to look at him. His eyes shone an intensive green that made her want to fall into their depths, to lose herself in the flames that danced in the very centers.

  He cleared his throat. “Better?” he asked, his voice slightly husky.

  “Much better,” she replied.

  “Are you ready for more wine?”

  “No. I’m ready for you. I want you to make love to me, Flint.”

  His eyes widened, and he released his hold on her. “Nina...I...”

  She reached up and placed her index finger over his mouth. “I want you, Flint. I’ve wanted you since the night we shared that kiss, and I know you want me, too. We’ve both been fighting against it, but I’m ready to stop fighting it. I want you.”

  “Nina, I think I’ve wanted you since the first day I walked into your diner and saw you standing behind the counter, but I don’t want to be your escape from your sadness.”

  “I don’t feel sad anymore,” she replied. “And you aren’t an escape. You’re a desire that I want, that I’ve wanted.” She stood and held out her hand to him. “No promises, no regrets, Flint, just this moment together.”

  * * *

  Flint could think of a million reasons why making love to Nina wasn’t a good idea, but he rose from the sofa as if in a trance and took her hand and allowed her to lead him down the hallway to her bedroom.

  The window blinds were pulled, and the only illumination in her room was that which drifted from the night-light in the hall, just enough to lend a silvery glow to the room.

  He took off his holster and gun and set them on the nightstand, even as he told himself he should stop this before it ever began, but then she was in his arms, and his mouth was on hers, and he knew he didn’t want to stop this from happening, not now...not ever.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and melded her body into his, and he was overwhelmed with the scent of vanilla and peaches, undone by the intimate curves of her body against his. She fit so neatly against him, as if they’d been made to match perfectly.

  While they kissed, he tangled his hands in her hair, loving the silky feel of the strands on his fingers. He had fantasized about making love to her for so long, had wanted her soft and yielding in his arms for what felt like a lifetime.

  She unwound from him only long enough to sit on the bed and pull him onto it with her. They tumbled backward, arms and legs entwined as their lips sought each other once again.

  He had no idea how long they kissed, but it didn’t take long for him to want more. He wanted to feel her skin against his, he wanted to make her moan with pleasure.

  She pulled his T-shirt from the top of his jeans, and her hands were hot and feverish against his bare chest. He wanted to feel her bare flesh, and he plucked at the bottom of her sweatshirt.

  She broke their kiss and moved away from him to the side of the bed. His heart nearly stopped as he thought that perhaps she had suddenly changed her mind about the whole thing.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m not into the awkward wrangling off of clothes in bed.” She stood and pulled her sweatshirt over her head and threw it toward a chair in the corner.

  It took Flint a mere heartbeat to get out of bed, shuck his shoes and socks, his jeans and T-shirt, leaving him clad only in a pair of boxers.

  When he gazed at her again she was naked except for the hot-pink panties that had given him such vivid fantasies.

&nbs
p; “Wait,” he said as she grabbed the sides to pull them off.

  She paused, standing perfectly still as he approached her. She was so beautiful with her long, slender legs, her willowy waist and perfectly proportioned breasts.

  “Those hot-pink panties have tormented me since the moment you bought them,” he said. “All I’ve been able to think of since then is you wearing them and me taking them off you.”

  Her eyes glowed a brilliant gold. “Then what are you waiting for?” Her voice was half-breathless.

  He felt as if his heart was about to pound out of his chest as he stepped closer to her, close enough to cup her breasts with his hands, close enough to claim her lips with his own. But he stayed focused on the panties that fit so perfectly and rode low on her slender hips.

  He looped his thumbs on either side of the silky material. As he began to slide them down, she shivered and whispered his name. When she was completely naked, she quickly got back into the bed. Flint took off his boxers and joined her there and pulled up the sheets that smelled of her around them.

  They began the sensual exploration of each other. He trailed kisses down her throat, nuzzled the hollow of her neck and then moved down to her breasts, where he licked and sucked first one pebbly tip and then the other.

  She was certainly not a passive partner. Her hands stroked fire down his back as she pressed her lower body intimately against his. He had been fully aroused from the moment she’d told him she wanted him to make love to her.

  He was ready to take her now, but he knew his limitations. It had been so long since he’d been with a woman, he knew that if he wasn’t careful, this experience would be over almost before it began.

  His goal at this moment was to bring her as much pleasure as physically possible and to make her want him again and again. He didn’t want to think about the possibility that this was a one-time event driven by her discouraged mood and the fact that she’d had a bad day.

  When she reached down to stroke his turgid length, he stopped her. “No,” he whispered. “Right now I want this to be all about you.”

  He maneuvered her onto her back and then rose up beside her as he splayed a hand and caressed it slowly down her stomach. He wasn’t sure whose breaths were louder, hers or his own, but they mingled together with the sound of passion unleashed.

  He stroked her lower stomach, lightly touched and teased her inner thighs, tormenting her by touching her everywhere but where he knew she wanted him most.

  She lifted her hips and moaned impatiently as he found her center, and a deep moan escaped her as he used his fingers to stoke her pleasure higher.

  Her eyes widened and then closed and she once again whispered his name as he quickened his movements. He knew the second she spun out of control, her eyes flickered open and closed, and she stiffened and then shuddered in utter release.

  He gave her no chance to catch her breath, but quickly donned a condom and moved between her thighs and eased into her moist heat. He fought for self-control as she lifted her legs on either side of him to allow him to go deeper.

  Drawing deep, slow breaths in an effort to maintain control, he stroked slowly at first, but it wasn’t long before he was lost in her, lost in the exquisite moment of being inside her. They moved in a frenzy and despite his desire to make it last as long as possible, his climax rushed up and drowned him in a sea of pleasure.

  She cried out his name, and he realized she’d climaxed once again when he had. Good, he wanted her to remember this night with him no matter what happened in the future.

  He collapsed at her side, his heart trying to find a normal rhythm. She rolled over on her side and placed a hand on his beating heart.

  “You might not be able to cook, Flint Colton, but you sure know how to please a woman,” she said.

  “Trust me, the pleasure was all mine,” he said with a half laugh.

  “Now it’s time for the awkward after-sex talk.” She rose up on one elbow and gazed down at him, her hazel eyes glowing gold in the dimness of the room. The sheet slipped down, exposing her shoulder and half of her breast.

  “Do we really need to go there?” he asked, wondering what on earth there was to talk about while they still basked in the warmth of utter fulfillment.

  She reached out and shoved a strand of his hair back from his forehead. “I don’t know. You tell me. I certainly don’t want this to change things between us. I mean, we’re here now but we both know that once Hank Bittard is back in custody, I’m back in my own life, and as I’ve told you before, it’s a solitary life.”

  She looked so beautiful in the faint light, with her hair tousled and her lips slightly swollen from his kisses. She also looked achingly earnest, as if it was important to her that he understand that this had been about sex and nothing more.

  It had been about so much more than mere sex to him. He’d not only been physically involved but emotionally, as well, but he knew she had enough burdens at the moment, and that the best thing he could do was simply agree with her.

  “Nina, nothing has changed,” he assured her. “Except I’ve just had a bout of amazing sex with the most beautiful woman in town.”

  She smiled in obvious relief. “So, we’re on the same page. This was definitely amazing, but it’s probably best that it doesn’t happen again.”

  “I’m not so sure that I’m exactly on that same page,” Flint replied teasingly. He sobered and reached out to stroke a finger down her cheek. “One day at a time, Nina. You decide what you need and don’t need from me and that’s exactly what you’ll get.”

  He slid to the side of the bed and stood. Although there was nothing more he’d like to do than spend the night in bed with her, he also knew this moment of intimacy was over.

  He was aware of her gaze lingering on him as he gathered up his clothing and his holster and gun. “Pancakes for breakfast?” she asked.

  “Sounds perfect,” he agreed. “Good night, Nina.”

  She murmured good-night, and he headed for the hallway bathroom, where he quickly cleaned up, folded his clothes and put on his boxers for the night on the sofa.

  He settled in on the sofa cushions, gun nearby and mind racing. His head wasn’t filled with thoughts of criminals running amuck in the town like it should be; but rather his thoughts were completely consumed by the woman whose bed he had just left.

  If anything gave him hope and confidence that he’d get Bittard in custody and find Jimmy and the Colton heirloom ring, it was Nina and the idea of her always being at his side.

  It was a foolish thought, but the truth was he was precariously close to being heart and soul in love with Nina Owens. Just his luck to fall in love with a woman who had made it clear in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t wife or mother material.

  What he’d like to know was who or what had happened in her life to make her come to that decision? She was a loving, caring individual and seemed meant to love and be loved by somebody special.

  She’d shared with him a lot about the time after she’d left her home in Casper and before she had arrived in Dead River, but she’d spoken almost nothing about her parents or her childhood.

  He wouldn’t press her to share as it was obvious she didn’t want to, or didn’t trust him enough yet to give him more pieces of herself. He had a feeling pressing her on the issue would only drive her away from him.

  He frowned and closed his eyes. He couldn’t make her be what he might want her to be. He couldn’t make her love him in the way he might want her to love him.

  He couldn’t make her be the special woman he wanted to fill his days and nights. The kind of love he wanted for himself couldn’t be forced or pressured.

  One day at a time, he reminded himself, and his ultimate goal where she was concerned had to be her safety from the killer who wanted her dead.

  * * *<
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  Dr. Lucas Rand stared at the three syringes loaded with a faint amber serum he hoped desperately was the cure he had sought since his ex-wife had died of the Dead River virus.

  The syringes were on a stainless-steel tray in the isolation room that held three patients, Dottie Colton, teenager Tyler Miles and Wylie Simms, a man in his mid-forties. They were three of the first people in town who had gotten sick and still managed somehow to cling to life.

  All three of them were unconscious with high fevers and labored breathing, and every day Lucas feared that he’d come into the isolation room and find one of them gone.

  There had already been too many deaths to this horrible scourge. He couldn’t allow another person to die. He couldn’t wait for CDC expert Colleen Goodhue to eventually arrive. Something had to be done now to save the sick and dying.

  This was his clinic, the patients were his townspeople and he couldn’t just sit idly by while more and more of them got sick and wound up in yet another isolation room.

  He was a smart man, some would say a brilliant doctor.

  He’d spent the past week in the lab, studying blood and tissue samples, everything that couldn’t be sent out for further study by others because of the quarantine.

  He once again stared at the three syringes, hoping against hope that they contained the cure he so desperately needed to stop this plague.

  He could be a hero. If he’d managed to find the right mix of ingredients and medication that would not only save the sick, but also make sure that nobody else got ill, then he would be hailed as the hero who had saved the entire town.

  Right now all he cared about were the three patients before him. He couldn’t save the entire town unless he could save the three of them with what he hoped was the magic serum in the syringes.

  Drawing a deep breath, he picked up the first of the three syringes and carried it to the IV line for Wylie Simms. With a steady hand he injected the serum into the line that would carry it into Wylie’s blood. He stood for a moment and stared at Wylie’s pale, thin face, waiting to see if there would be any instant adverse reaction. There appeared to be none.