by Jodi Thomas
His mother had been selling her pottery for as long as he could remember, but she never mixed that money with ranch funds, except once to build on to the house. Which, considering his two great-aunts and two sisters who all came home to roost, hadn’t been a bad idea. She had her studio, a low adobe-style building off the garden, and Hank had his barn out back, far enough away that the ladies didn’t smell his horses.
He’d also closed off one upstairs wing for his bedroom and study. All the women said they understood, but Hank had the feeling that if he ever left the door to his wing unlocked they’d have his socks matched and underwear folded before he was out of sight of the house.
Some years the money from the ranch barely kept the taxes and utilities paid, but Hank knew he’d never sell. In good years he’d buy a new truck, repaint the barn, and improve the stock. In bad years, he’d hang on and hope.
His mother had her business but when Hank got home from college, the ranch was all his. She took care of the house. The aunts managed the flower beds, which grew larger every year. Claire, Saralynn’s mother, painted in the attic, and no one was quite sure what Liz, his younger sister, did. She had two college degrees and had been telling people she was studying to take the bar exam, though Hank had yet to see a law book around the place.
As Hank turned around at the end of town, his thoughts turned dark. Hank liked order. He liked everything to make sense in his life. He liked reason, but this time reason told him that if the arson followed around, closing the circle, his ranch or one close might be the next target.
He laughed without humor. Right now nothing made sense; why should the arson? Hank was crazy about a woman who hated him. His two divorced sisters were settling in, planning to never leave. His niece grew weaker every day. The police thought his good friend was a person of interest.
For a man who liked order, Hank was batting zero.
When he passed the Blue Moon Diner, he noticed Alex’s Jeep parked across the street on the back row of the Buffalo Bar and Grill parking lot. She’d almost hidden it in the trees that lined the alley, but he knew it was hers.
Hank swore and pulled in beside the Jeep. Alex seemed to be determined to make his long day endless. He thought that a minute ago everything that could go wrong already had, but he’d forgotten it was Saturday night.
He walked in the smoky bar and looked around. He was hoping she’d ended her habit of coming here on Saturday nights, but that would be too much to ask. If she was drunk, she’d be wild and hard to handle, but he’d do it. He’d get her home safe, sober enough that he could leave her, and then walk away, cussing himself for caring one way or the other what happened to her.
Saturday night Buffalo’s always had a band playing, and the place was usually packed. Tonight was no exception. The bar smelled of sawdust, sweat, and beer. Lights blinked along the dance floor, offering only flashes of light. The low rattle of conversations blended amid laughter and the sound of bottles clanking.
Alexandra wasn’t at her usual place at the far corner of the bar. In fact, she wasn’t anywhere. When he finished his second lap around the place, Hank wondered if he’d been wrong about the Jeep being hers. A tall blonde wearing a sheriff’s badge wasn’t an easy person to miss.
The thought crossed his mind that she might already have left with someone. He checked his watch. Even if she’d come straight from the McNabb place, he didn’t think she’d had time to get drunk enough to go home with someone yet. Besides, one of the bartenders would have called him if she was acting out, not because they owed him any favors, but because they all respected Alex and didn’t want to see her make a fool of herself.
He spotted her walking out of the ladies’ room. She hadn’t noticed him yet. She walked toward the dance floor, stopping only long enough to gulp down the last half of a beer, and then she stepped into some cowboy’s arms. They began to two-step across the floor. He was dressed western, but not with clothes that had ever seen a day’s work on a ranch. He also seemed far more interested in showing off his dancing moves than in his partner.
Hank watched her for a while. She seemed to be enjoying the dancing, but she wasn’t talking to the guy whirling her around. She wasn’t even looking at him. Her eyes were closed as she moved to the music.
When the song ended and the cowboy stepped away, pointing toward the bar, she shook her head and turned her back to her partner.
Hank’s boot hit the dance floor wood hard as he moved forward.
He saw the anger in her eyes the second she spotted him, but he kept walking straight to her.
“Are you checking up on me again?” she snapped when he was close enough for her words to be private.
“No.” He tried to smile, but couldn’t pull off casual when she was glaring at him. “I came to dance.”
Without giving her time to comment, he circled her waist as the music started.
She didn’t move. “I don’t want to dance with you.”
He tugged her against him and moved her as if she were a mannequin. “Just close your eyes again, Alexandra, and pretend I’m the nobody you’ve been dancing with all night.”
To his surprise she took his suggestion. Her body began to move with his, her hands rested on his shoulders, and they danced.
First one, then another, then another. Hank hadn’t danced except at a few weddings since college, but the good thing about country music was that the dances he’d learned in bars near campus seemed to still fit. As with all bands toward the end of the night, the music got slower.
Alex slid her hands down his back and hooked her thumbs into the waist of his jeans.
When she rested her head on his shoulder and breathed against his throat, Hank drew her closer and she melted into him like warm butter.
He pushed her hair away from her face with his chin. “How about we take a night off from hating each other and just relax? I’m too tired to fight. Why don’t we just pretend we’re strangers?”
“I don’t want to fight anymore,” she whispered. “And I don’t hate you, Hank, I just don’t . . .”
“I know, baby, I’ve heard it all before. All I want to do tonight is dance with you.”
He felt her nod of agreement and moved his hand slowly down her back. He didn’t want to dance at all, but if she’d stay in his arms, he’d give it his best shot.
She felt so good against him. Without the vest he could feel her chest rising and falling against his. She fit perfectly in his arms, just as he knew she would. He rested his hands at her waist and moved his thumbs over her last few ribs. He thought of teasing her about being too thin as he’d done a hundred times when they were growing up, but he didn’t want to tease her tonight. He just wanted to hold her against him.
She was tall and lean and stronger than most men he knew, but right now, in his arms, she was all woman. No gun. No badge. No smart mouth. Just pure woman, leaning into a man.
What he wanted to do with her would probably shock even wild Alexandra. When she’d been sixteen, he’d reminded himself he was four years older and she’d think he was a pervert if he flirted with her. When she’d been twenty and having her fun with every man she liked, he’d reminded himself he was her brother’s best friend. Hank felt like he’d been watching over her and wanting her all his life.
When the band took a break, he closed his hand over hers. “How about I buy you a beer and we split some wings?”
She shook her head. “I want my own basket of wings.”
He smiled, tugging her off the dance floor. “You got it. Find us a table and I’ll order the wings at the bar.”
She looked up at him, her grip tight on his hand. “Before I forget or reality comes crashing in, thanks for the dance. It was nice.”
Before he could react, he tasted the touch of her lips on his mouth, and then she was gone, vanishing into the crowd.
It took all his self-control to head toward the bar. He ordered the wings, grabbed two beers, and went to find her.
The
third time he circled the bar, he accepted the fact the she’d ditched him.
Frustrated, he walked outside to clear his head. He expected to see the empty spot next to his Dodge where her Jeep had been parked. But the Jeep was there.
Letting his eyes adjust to the night, he looked around. The noise of the band tuning up for another set drifted from behind him. It crossed his mind that Alex might be playing a trick, or worse, teasing him, but that wasn’t like her. She hadn’t been drunk enough to pass out in the restroom or think she could walk home, so she had to be somewhere near.
He set the beers on the railing and walked toward her Jeep.
He’d guessed right. She was sitting in the front seat with the door open.
Hank thought he knew women, but Alex was from a planet all of her own. She didn’t get her hair done or her nails painted. Half the time he couldn’t tell whether she wore makeup, but to him she was sexy as hell.
“You trying to run out on your wing order?” he asked as he rested an elbow on her Jeep’s door. “Or maybe me?”
“Neither,” she answered. “I couldn’t find a table so I thought I’d come out here to think.”
“About what?”
She looked up at him with those less-than-innocent blue eyes. “About how we might as well do it and get it over with.”
“What?”
“You know what, Hank. The tension between us is so strong I swear I can see it in the air sometimes.” She stood and tugged her T-shirt free from her pants. “Right here, right now. You’ve got more room in your Dodge than I do in the Jeep, so let’s go there.”
When he didn’t speak or move, she added, “Or we can do it standing. It’s dark enough between the cars.”
She was so close when he inhaled, he breathed her in. He felt her hands brush his middle and move to his belt. She began tugging the buckle loose.
He leaned to kiss her, but she turned away. “Don’t waste time. Let’s get this over with.”
Hank had wanted her so long his brain couldn’t function. After all this time, suddenly, she wanted him, right here, right now.
He dug his fingers into her hair and twisted his hand into a fist, then tugged hard until her face lifted and she met his stare. “Stop it, Alexandra. Stop it right now.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want me, Matheson?”
“You know I do, but not like this.” He realized that like this might have been the only way she’d ever had it.
She pushed away. “Well, if you’re waiting for me to wear a strapless dress and a pushup bra and bat my eyes all evening before I finally surrender, you’re out of luck. I’m not that kind of woman.”
Hank remembered once Warren had slugged a guy in a bar for commenting about Alex. The drunk had said he could tell she was from rodeo people. She wouldn’t let a man stay on her longer than eight seconds.
Hank pulled her head toward him, ignoring her protests, and kissed her hard, then whispered against her lips, “You’re not any kind of woman, Alex; you’re an original, and I wouldn’t want you to be any other way than just how you are.” He kissed her softer, then moved to her ear and added, “We’re not making love for the first time in my truck.”
She pushed on his chest, and he let her go. “What makes you think there will ever be a second time, or a second offer?”
“I’m betting on it.” He buckled his belt, wondering if he wasn’t a fool for turning her down. Half the men he knew had an any-woman-any-time-offered rule they followed, but Hank knew he wanted far more from Alexandra. “Tuck that shirt in and let’s go eat our hot wings and warm beer.”
“You’re not my big brother,” she snapped.
“Damn right about that.” He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her against the Jeep. While she protested, he kissed her again. He tasted when passion sparked once more in her and felt her move against him, trying to be even closer than they had been on the dance floor.
He slid his hand inside her T-shirt and cupped her breast, then broke the kiss and listened to her rapid breathing as he pressed his palm against her soft flesh. He liked the little sounds of pleasure she made as he molded her in his grip.
With his last ounce of control, he pulled away and said in a voice that came out more harsh than tender, “I’m not your brother, Alexandra, and there is going to be a second time, but not here.”
He stepped back from her. “We’re going inside and having a drink like old friends, or half the town will be talking about us tomorrow.”
Alex straightened and said in a low voice, “Have I mentioned lately that I hate you?”
“No, but it’s about time. I thought for tonight we were calling off the war.”
She looked like she might argue, then turned and followed him into the bar. He had no idea if it was the food or the drink that made her return, but he had a strong feeling it wasn’t him.
Just before they reached the door, Hank realized he’d been talking to Alex all her life, but he’d never talked to her like a lover. He risked looping his arm around her neck. “One more thing, Alexandra, I think you’re about the sexiest woman alive just the way you are. If you ever did consider that strapless dress and pushup bra, my heart probably won’t be able to take it.”
She jabbed him in the ribs. “You missed your chance. Now all I want is a meal. And you’d better not drink too much, Chief; you’re due in my office at seven.”
She was letting him know everything was back to normal.
He followed her inside, letting her set the ground rules. They talked about the fire as they ate, and then she walked to her Jeep with her cell phone to her ear. He had no idea who she was talking to, probably dispatch. She climbed in her Jeep, closed the door, and waved as she drove away.
Chapter 28
TYLER WRIGHT PACED THE HALLWAYS OF THE FUNERAL home. He had to try and find a reason that he could accept for his Katherine not answering any of his e-mails in three days.
He could think of none. Depression followed him like a shadow.
He turned the corner and passed down the hall with empty viewing rooms on either side. If he didn’t come up with an answer he could live with, he’d wear out the carpet.
Turning right again, he walked past the offices and copy room, thankful that his grandfather had built Wright Funeral Home in a square. At least he didn’t have to decide which way to go. The brothers who’d built the place had actually been wise: By making the hallways run along the outside frame, they could easily put in private sliding pocket doors between the rooms, allowing them to move anywhere in the building without being noticed. The last thing a grieving family wanted was to have a casket pass by.
On each corner, the hallway widened into a seating area large enough to hold twenty visitors waiting to pay their respects. Tyler now stopped at each corner to catch his breath before storming off down the next hallway.
After he’d passed his office the third time, he gave in and decided to check his e-mail once more. It was almost midnight. He had little hope she’d answer this late, but tomorrow seemed a lifetime away.
He stared as the latest e-mail came up. The subject line read, Sorry.
He hesitated, then clicked.
Sorry, Ty, things are crazy here at work.
He wrote back, I’ve missed you.
I’ve missed you, too. More than you know.
He read the words several times before answering, These last few days have made me realize how thin the thread is between us. If for some reason you didn’t write, I’d have no other way of reaching you. I could lose you forever.
He waited, staring at the screen, wondering if he’d already said too much, been too bold. Lost her. All she’d have to do was click Erase a few times and everything they had would be gone.
I understand, she wrote. Nothing moved for a minute, and then she sent, I suggest a plan. If for any reason one of us disappears and doesn’t answer back, the other agrees to go to Quartz Mountain on the first Monday of the month for three months and ha
ve dinner. If the other never e-mails or shows up to dinner, the one at the dinner table will order a drink and toast what we had with a smile and promise never to try and find the other.
Tyler wanted her to tell him who she was, where she was, any other way to contact her, but he knew if he did, somehow what they had would change, and he couldn’t risk losing her.
You have my word. If you disappear, I’ll go for three first Mondays and have dinner on the mountain. I’ll toast our friendship.
What if it’s you who breaks this off, Ty?
It won’t be.
She didn’t respond. After a minute, he added, Hope all at work is better.
It’s a mess, she answered. Sometimes I wish I could just dig a hole and bury my job.
I know how you feel. He laughed so loud in his study he was glad no one, not even the dead, could hear him.
He then settled back in his chair and told her of a woman he’d met who had a collection of a hundred clothespin dolls with faces all painted and dresses made to fit the wooden clothespin.
She laughed.
He didn’t tell Katherine that the lady’s family decided her collection should be buried with her. Tyler strongly suspected not one relative wanted to continue the hobby.
Katherine told him about having car trouble and having to deal with a mechanic who suggested changes she knew she didn’t need. She described growing up with a father who made her change her own oil and rotate her tires. He ran their house like it was a boot camp. She told of being able to make a bed a quarter would bounce on by the time she started school.
Tyler was impressed. He’d always considered himself being very mechanical when he refilled the wiper fluid, and he’d never made a bed in his life.
They talked for an hour before she wrote, After midnight, have to get some sleep.
Me, too, he answered.
Tomorrow. Good night, dear one. If I ever disappear for a few days, trust that it will not be by choice on my part.