by Nina Bruhns
“You don’t know it will. And keeping secrets like that—big secrets—will always lead to much greater heartache.”
The red glow from the disappearing sun cast his features in an eerie collage of shadows and light. He looked almost threatening. And so serious. Like he knew exactly what he was talking about. She supposed he did with all those things about his father coming out years later.
But it was easy for Philip to sit there and talk. He was braver than she was. Plus he wasn’t the one staring down the barrel of a frightening, uncertain fate. He already knew who he was and where he wanted to be.
She was just struggling to stay afloat among all the doubts. Fighting the urge to run as far and as fast as she could. Because suddenly her whole life seemed like a sham.
Deep down, had she always known it was her birth family she’d been searching for? Not chasing after some ethereal good thing she assumed was just on the other side of the mountain?
She closed her eyes again. “Have I finally reached the other side of the mountain?” she whispered.
Philip reached over and gave her knee a squeeze, and whispered back, “I hope so.”
Despite not being hungry, Luce let Philip feed her. It was something he seemed to need to do, so she indulged him.
He really was the most amazing man. A big, tough cop, macho to the max, but not afraid to show his feelings or take the time to make her feel safe and pampered.
He’d make a hell of a husband for some woman one day.
The thought that the woman wouldn’t be her made Luce’s chest squeeze so tight, for a minute she couldn’t breathe.
“You okay?” he asked, refilling her iced tea.
She nodded, unable to actually say it aloud. Because it wasn’t true. She doubted she’d ever be okay again.
What was she doing? She was so confused she didn’t know which way to turn.
All her life she’d been afraid to face the truth about her so-called restlessness, unwilling to acknowledge, even to herself, it was the family who abandoned her she’d been seeking. Even now she was petrified to face the results of her DNA test, terrified that when they learned she was alive, they would once again reject and abandon her.
But had she also been avoiding love in her relationships with men because of the same deep-rooted fear?
“You look exhausted,” Philip said. “Why don’t we have an early night?”
Her pulse skittered.
She didn’t know if she could take another night in his arms. Another night of his hot and tender lovemaking. Another night to remember him by when she was back in St. Louis, kicking herself for letting him go.
“Okay,” she said, and for the first time she thought to herself, maybe, just maybe, she didn’t really have to let him go.
“Let’s grab a shower first.”
Thoughts of their shower last night sifted through her memory, and she shivered. “Together?”
He glanced over at her, obviously remembering, also. “Listen, about last night. I’ve been meaning to tell you I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
She watched as he put out the fire in the fireplace and closed the glass doors. “I was trying to pretend I didn’t care about you. More than casually. And I maybe came off a bit…callous.”
“Why would you do that? Pretend?”
“It seemed to be what you wanted. Someone cool and casual.”
“That’s not how you feel?”
“No,” he said. “It’s not.” But he didn’t elaborate, he put an arm around her and led her into his bedroom, propelling her toward the bathroom. “You start the shower. I’ll stoke up the woodstove so it’s nice and warm when we get out.”
She did as she was told, shedding her clothes in a pile like yesterday and stepping under the hot spray, hoping it would soothe her frazzled nerves.
“I’m feeling a bit shell-shocked,” she admitted when Philip joined her.
“I’ll take care of you,” he said softly, and he did. He washed her and rinsed her and stood stoically as she lost herself in the hard geography of his body with the shower gel. She didn’t know how something so powerful and muscular could be so comforting to touch and caress.
She especially liked touching the taut iron velvet of his masculinity. He seemed to like it, too. But after a minute he grabbed her wrist, turned off the water and suggested they get out.
Then he dried her with a soft towel, carried her to his bed, and made achingly sweet love to her, until all she could see, all she could hear, all she could feel, everything she knew, everything she would always know, was Philip.
Only Philip.
Luce woke the next morning with a sense of impending dread. She knew this could be the most momentous day of her life. But she didn’t want to face it. All she wanted was to huddle close to Philip’s strong body and hide there under the covers forever.
She’d changed her mind. She didn’t want to know the results of the DNA test. She liked her family just fine the way it was.
She snuggled closer, stroking her hand over Philip’s chest and abdomen, and lower.
“Mmm,” he purred sleepily, stirring to life. “I could get used to waking up like this.” He smiled up at the ceiling, but didn’t open his eyes. “Your turn to be on top.”
“Lazy bones,” she chided softly. Not that she minded a bit when he rolled her onto his chest.
“You wore me out last night,” he protested smugly, hooking her knees down beside his ribs so she straddled him. He grasped her hips and in two swift motions, he was inside her.
With a gasp of pleasure, she settled down harder and pushed him in deeper. He groaned and arched his back, hilting inside of her.
Suddenly she remembered, and gave a moan of distress. “We forgot protection.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He pulled her back onto him when she made to withdraw. “Don’t go.”
“Philip, I don’t want to get pregnant.”
“Too late,” he murmured, running his hands along her thighs.
She frowned. “What?”
He didn’t reply, just continued smoothing his hands over her nakedness. When he drew his fingers lingeringly over her belly, shivers of warning tingled through her.
“What do you mean, too late?”
He looked up at her with an expression somewhere between defiance and guilt. They were still joined, and she could feel him pulse within her, hot and huge. “I’ve been meaning to tell you this, but I wanted to wait until—”
“Philip, please what are you talking about?”
“One of the condoms we used, the first night, it ripped.”
His words spun through her in slow motion. Like in a kung fu movie where the guy was doing one of those jumping kicks and the film slows down to show every inch of his windup and its impact in vivid detail.
“It ripped?” she managed to squeak through the ton of bricks that hit her square in the gut. “It ripped?”
“I don’t know how. It’s never happened to me before.”
Not to her, either, on the few occasions where it might have.
She stared down at him, trying to gauge her own reaction, but feeling strangely…disoriented. “You lied to me?”
“I didn’t lie to you,” he said calmly. Calmer by miles than she felt. Calmer than she would ever feel again. “I just delayed telling you because—”
“How could you do that?” She couldn’t believe it of him. Him, of all people. “You lied to me!”
She could be pregnant. With Philip’s baby.
She had to get out of there. Had to think. She wrenched off him and scrambled from the bed. Headed for the bathroom. Slamming the door, she locked it and pulled on the shorts and T-shirt from yesterday that still lay on the floor.
“Luce!” He yanked repeatedly on the door handle, trying to get to her. “Listen to me!”
“No.”
“I was going to tell you, obviously. I just wanted to wait until—”
She jerked open the door and wre
stled past him. “Until what? I was gone and you could get an unlisted phone number?”
“What? No! Luce, wait!” He grabbed her as she grappled with the strap to her suitcase, which was still sitting next to the hall door. His fingers dug into her upper arms, but she hardly noticed the pain. “I wanted you to stay for me. Not the baby. Not because you had to stay, but because you wanted to.”
She stared at him, his words slowly penetrating the haze of anger and confusion.
She burst into tears.
She didn’t know who was more surprised, him or herself.
“I have to get out of here,” she hiccoughed. “Let me go.”
It was probably the flood of tears, but his hands dropped to his sides and he just watched as she snatched up her suitcase and ran for the front door.
“Keys are on the kitchen table,” he called after her.
She grabbed them, and somehow navigated the Jeep down the long driveway to the highway, found the village and the Lakeview Motel where her own car was parked. She didn’t know where she was going, she only knew she had to get away from Piñon Lake. And Philip. At least long enough to sort through the avalanche of feelings that plowed through her each time she thought about what had just happened. And what he’d just said.
Tossing her suitcase into the passenger seat of her Volvo, she revved up the motor and squealed out of the parking lot.
It was when she swerved to avoid mowing down the row of mailboxes across from the Shamrock Slipper that she realized she had no brakes.
For the twenty-seventh time since Luce had stormed out of his house, Philip started counting the knotholes in the cedar beams holding up his bedroom ceiling. So far he’d only made it to thirty-eight knots—about a third of the beams—before the thoughts and recriminations took over his consciousness, forcing him to start counting over.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Why hadn’t he told her about the condom right away? He should listen to his own advice. Keeping secrets only led to disaster. Would he never learn the lesson of his father’s example?
Now he’d lost her. The only woman he’d ever loved so much it made his very soul ache to contemplate a future without her.
He’d tried everything to make her love him back, but in the end his love hadn’t been enough to tempt her to stay. And the thought of having a child with him had made her run like the devil for the hills.
The phone rang but he let the machine pick up in the kitchen, preferring to stay in bed and stare at the ceiling. He listened impassively to the barely audible drone of his own voice giving the usual instructions. Then a man came on the line, saying Philip’s name. Ted maybe?
He didn’t feel like talking to Ted.
He heard his name again, louder this time. Yeah, yeah. Hell, Ted probably wanted to talk to Luce, anyway. Let him call her cell phone. Unless there was blood involved, the chief of police was taking the day off.
“Philip!” he heard Ted yell distinctly over the line all the way from the kitchen. “Pick up the goddamn phone! Now!”
“Jeez. All right, already,” he muttered. The man obviously had a bug up his nose about something he considered important. Philip grudgingly picked up the phone, just to get rid of the bastard. “What?” he growled in what he hoped were icy tones.
“I don’t want you to get all upset or anything. Everything’s fine,” Ted assured him. Great. Then he could hang up. He was just about to do so when Ted said, “But Luce has been in an accident.”
Philip desperately searched the kitchen table for his keys. They weren’t there for some reason, and he had to find them fast. Luce had been in an accident. He plowed through the odds and ends on the counter, scattering them to the four corners of the room.
Damn!
He went for his spare keys in the bottom drawer and stormed out to the parking area, only to find the Jeep missing.
Damn! Luce had taken it. She must have been in the Jeep for her accident. That was good. The Jeep had a roll bar that would protect her. If she’d had her seat belt on.
He sprinted to the garage and fired up the Harley, making it to town in about half his usual time.
The Slipper, Ted had said. She’d crashed into the Slipper’s patio. How the hell could she have done that? She must have been really upset with him. Really upset.
He groaned, roaring around the final curve like a madman.
What he saw made his heart stall.
“About time the local constabulary showed up.”
Betsy sniffed at Philip and put a shielding hand on Luce’s shoulder. Luce was sitting at a back table, holding her head in her hands and ignoring him. Betsy glared at him as if he were a serial killer, not her old friend.
“What happened?” he demanded, with perhaps a bit too much vehemence. “Luce, talk to me.”
“I crashed,” she mumbled under her hands. “And I don’t want to talk to you.”
“That’s too damn bad,” he said, endeavoring to keep his temper under control. “Because I’m the law in this town, and you have no choice.”
“You can talk to me,” Betsy interjected. “I saw the whole thing.”
“Well?” he asked, planting his fists on his hips. “What happened?”
“She said you had a fight and she didn’t notice her brakes weren’t working right. She crashed into the patio. Luckily it was between breakfast and lunch rushes.”
“Her brakes weren’t working right? Did you tell Ted?” Ted had been outside examining the wreckage of Luce’s car and the remains of the Shamrock Slipper outdoor patio dining area when Philip had pulled up. He hadn’t stopped to chat.
“I told him,” Luce muttered.
“What were you fighting about?” Betsy asked, condemnation dripping from her voice.
“She’s pregnant,” he said evenly, making Betsy gasp and Luce finally drop her hands to glare at him.
“I am not,” she seethed.
“Prove it,” he dared. She just set her teeth.
“Well, that didn’t take you long,” Betsy declared with a huff and marched away. No doubt to spread the word among the townsfolk drifting into the restaurant because of the excitement.
Ha. Suited him fine. He wasn’t the one running away.
“How dare you tell everyone our personal business!”
“How dare you run away from me?”
“I wasn’t running away.”
“You were doing a damn good imitation.”
Ted strode up, angrily wiping his hands on an oil-caked towel. “The brake line was punctured.”
“What?” he and Luce said in unison. Then Philip swore, and she muttered, “My insurance rates are going to go through the roof for this. Must have run over something really sharp.”
“No,” Ted said, a nasty look on his face. “You don’t understand. It was deliberately punctured.”
Her face went whiter than a sheet. “You mean someone wanted me to crash?”
Philip let out another oath. “That’s it.” He pointed a finger at her. “You are not going anywhere, do you understand me? You do not leave my sight. Not until all of this, and I do mean all of this, is straightened out.”
She jumped up, and for a second he thought she was going to take a swing at him. Then she turned green, slapped a hand over her mouth and ran for the bathroom.
He stalked after her, bracing his hands on the frame when she slammed the door in his face and locked it. “Luce, are you all right?” He could hear the stifled sounds of her being sick. “Luce, let me in.”
Her muffled answer made his brows hike.
“Sweetheart, I know you’re mad, but—” He heard her throw up again. He rattled the handle. “Luce. Is this…morning sickness or are you scared? I know you’re upset—”
The door flung open.
“Just. Shut. Up. Please,” she said through gritted teeth.
The door slammed again, and he stepped back to avoid a broken nose. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he turned to find Ted and Betsy sta
nding there watching, along with about ten other customers behind them. None looked happy. In fact, the term lynch mob came to mind.
“Oh, stop it,” he said with a grimace. “She’s the one who was leaving town.” He banded his arms over his chest and stared at them till they all went away. Except for Ted, who motioned him over to the nearest table.
“Leave her be for a few minutes,” he said. “We need to talk, anyway.”
Reluctantly, Philip left his post at the rest room door and went to straddle a chair at the table. Facing the bathroom.
“The brakes were deliberately tampered with?” he asked.
His friend nodded. “A hole poked in the line. Must have happened a few days back because most of the brake fluid had already leaked out. Good thing. Otherwise she’d probably gone over the side of the mountain farther down the road.”
Red-hot anger seared through him, then he got dead calm. Nobody messed with his woman. Nobody who wanted to live.
“Who?” he asked.
Ted searched his face. “Don’t forget you’re a cop, O’Donnaugh. Murder is frowned on in these parts. Even if the bastard deserves it.”
“Who?” he repeated.
Ted shook his head. “Don’t know. My money is on the same person or persons who tossed her room at the Lakeview.”
“Ever get any prints off that?”
“Yeah, about five dozen. Still eliminating previous motel guests.”
“Any matching prints from the plane wreck yesterday? Or the military cache?”
“I’ve got a deputy coordinating that. We’re dusting the car right now. By the way, we got the prelim back this morning from the M.E. on Clyde Tafota.”
“And?”
“Clyde was shot.”
Philip felt his blood stall in his veins. “Shot?”
“Yep. And you’ll never guess with what.”
Ah, hell. Hell and damn. “What?” he asked.
“The same gun that was used twenty-eight years ago to kill Peter Santander.”
Right in front of him he heard a gasp.
Luce! She started to fold like an accordion. He lurched from his chair and caught her just before she hit the floor.