by Nora Roberts
Phil found the ladder and tested its sturdiness. ' 'What's up there?"
"Hay," Tory said dryly. "Ever seen hay?"
"Don't be smug," he warned before he started to climb. Finding his fascination rather sweet, Tory exerted the energy to go up with him. "The view's incredible." Standing beside the side opening, he could see for miles. The town of Friendly looked almost neat and tidy with the distance.
"I used to come up here a lot." Tucking her hands in her back pockets, Tory looked over his shoulder.
"What did you do?"
"Watch the world go by," she said, nodding toward Friendly. "Or sleep."
He laughed, turning back to her. "You're the only person I know who can turn sleeping into an art."
"I've dedicated quite a bit of my life to it." She took his hand to draw him away.
Instead he pulled her into a dim corner. "There's something I've always wanted to do in a hayloft."
With a laugh Tory stepped away. "Phil, my mother's in the house."
"She's not here," he pointed out. He hooked a hand in the low V where she had loosened her blouse. A hard tug had her stumbling against him.
"Phil—"
"It must have been carrying that saddle," he mused, giving her a gentle push that had her falling backward into a pile of hay.
"Now, wait a minute..." she began, and struggled up on her elbows.
"And the primitive surroundings," he added as he pressed her body back with his own. ' 'If I were directing this scene, it would start like this." He took her mouth in a hot, urgent kiss that turned her protest into a moan. ' 'The lighting would be set so that it seemed one shaft of sunlight was slanting down across here."
With a fingertip he traced from her right ear, across her throat, to the hollow between her breasts.
"Everything else would be a dull gold, like your skin."
She had her hands pressed against his shoulders, holding him off, although her heart was beating thickly.
"Phil, this isn't the time."
He placed two light kisses at either corner of her mouth. He found it curiously exciting to have to persuade her. Light as a breeze, his hand slipped under her blouse until his fingers found her breast. The peak was already taut. At his touch her eyes lost focus and darkened. The hands at his shoulders lost their resistance and clutched at him. "You're so sensitive," he murmured, watching the change in her face. "It drives me crazy to know when I touch you like this your bones turn to water and you're completely mine."
Letting his fingers fondle and stroke, he lowered his mouth to nibble gently at her yielding lips. Strong, self-sufficient, decisive. Those were words he would have used to describe her. Yet, he knew, when they were together like this, he had the power to mold her. Even now, as she lifted them to his face to urge him closer, he felt the weakness come over him in thick waves. It was both frightening and irresistible.
She could have asked anything of him, and he would have been unable to deny her. Even his thoughts could no longer be considered his own when she was so intimately entwined in them. The fingers that loosened the rest of her buttons weren't steady. He should have been used to her by now, he told himself as he sought the tender skin of her neck almost savagely. It shouldn't be so intense every time he began to make love to her. Each time he told himself the desperation would fade; yet, it only returned— doubled, tripled, until he was completely lost in her.
There was only her now, over the clean, country smell of hay. Her subtly alluring fragrance was a contrast too exciting to bear. She was murmuring to him as she drew his shirt over his head. The sound of her voice seemed to pulse through his system. The sun shot through the window to beat on his bare back, but he only felt the cool stroking of her fingers as she urged him down until they were flesh to flesh.
His mouth devoured hers as he tugged the jeans over her hips. Greedily he moved to her throat, her shoulders, her breasts, ravenous for each separate taste. His mouth ranged over her, his tongue moistening, savoring, as her skin heated. She was naked but for the brief swatch riding low on her hips. He hooked his fingers beneath it, tormenting them both by lowering it fraction by fraction while his lips followed the progress.
The pleasure grew unmanageable. He began the wild journey back up her body, his fingers fumbling with the snap of his jeans until Tory's brushed them impatiently away.
She undressed him swiftly, while her own mouth streaked over his skin. The sudden change from pliancy to command left him stunned. Then she was on top of him, straddling him while her lips and teeth performed dark magic at the pulse in his throat. Beyond reason, he grasped her hips, lifting her. Tory gave a quick cry as they joined. In delight her head flung back as she let this new exhilaration rule her. Her skin was shiny with dampness when she crested. Delirious, she started to slide toward him, but he rolled her over, crushing her beneath him as he took her to a second peak, higher than the first.
As they lay, damp flesh to damp flesh, their breaths shuddering, she knew a contentment so fulfilling, it brought the sting of tears to her eyes. Hurriedly blinking them away, Tory kissed the curve of his shoulder.
"I guess there's more to do in a hayloft than sleep."
Phil chuckled. Rolling onto his back, he drew her against his side to steal a few more moments alone with her.
Chapter 11
One of the final scenes to be filmed was a tense night sequence outside Hernandez's Bar. Phil had opted to shoot at night with a low light level rather than film during the day with filters. It would give the actors more of a sense of the ambience and keep the gritty realism in the finished product. It was a scene fraught with emotion that would lose everything if overplayed. From the beginning nothing seemed to go right.
Twice the sound equipment broke down, causing lengthy delays. A seasoned supporting actress blew her lines repeatedly and strode off the set, cursing herself. A defective bulb exploded, scattering shards of glass that had to be painstakingly picked up. For the first time since the shooting began, Phil had to deal with a keyed-up, uncooperative Marlie.
"Okay," he said, taking her by the arm to draw her away. "What the hell's wrong with you?"
"I can't get it right," she said furiously. With her hands on her hips she strode a few paces away and kicked at the dirt. "Damn it, Phil, it just doesn't feel right."
"Look, we've been at this over two hours. Everybody's a little fed up." His own patience was hanging on by a thread. In two days at the most, he'd have no choice but to head back to California. He should have been pleased that the bulk of the filming was done—that the rushes were excellent. Instead he was tense, irritable and looking for someone to vent his temper on. "Just pull yourself together," he told Marlie curtly. "And get it done."
"Now, just a damn minute!" Firing up instantly, Marlie let her own frustration pour out in temper. "I've put up with your countless retakes, with that stinking, sweaty bar and this godforsaken town because this script is gold. I've let you work me like a horse because I need you. This part is my ticket into the big leagues and I know it right down to the gut."
"You want the ticket," Phil tossed back, "You pay the price.''
"I've paid my dues," she told him furiously. A couple of heads turned idly in their direction, but no one ventured over. "I don't have to take your lousy temper on the set because you've got personal problems."
He measured her with narrowed eyes. "You have to take exactly what I give you."
"I'll tell you something, Kincaid"—she poked a small finger into his chest—"I don't have to take anything, because I'm every bit as important to this movie as you are, and we both know it. It doesn't mean a damn who's getting top billing. Kate Lohman's the key to this picture, and I'm Kate Lohnian. Don't you forget it.
and don't throw your weight around with me."
When she turned to stride off, Phil grabbed her arm, jerking her back. His eyes had iced. The fingers on her arm were hard. Looking down at her set face, he felt temper fade into admiration. "Damn you, Marlie,
" he said quietly, "you know how to stay in character, don't you?"
"I know this one inside out," she returned. The stiffness went out of her stance.
"Okay, what doesn't feel right?"
The corners of her mouth curved up. "I wanted to work with you," she began, "because you're the best out there these days. I didn't expect to like you. All right," she continued, abruptly professional, "when Sam follows me out of the bar, grabs me, finally losing control, he's furious. Everything he's held in comes pouring out. His dialogue's hard."
"You haven't been off his back since he came into town," Phil reminded her, running over the scene in his mind. "Now he's had enough. After the scene he's going to take you back to your room and make love. You win."
"Do I?" Marlie countered. "My character is a tough lady. She's got reason to be; she's got enough vulnerabilities to keep the audience from despising her, but she's no pushover."
"So?"
"So he comes after me, he calls me a tramp—a cold, money-grabbing whore, among other things—and my response is to take it—damp-eyed and shocked."
Phil considered, a small smile growing. "What would you do?"
"I'd punch the jerk in the mouth."
His laugh echoed down the street. "Yeah, I guess you would at that."
"Tears, maybe," Marlie went on, tasting victory, "but anger too. She's becoming very close to what he's accusing her of. And she hates it—and him. for making it matter."
Phil nodded, his mind already plotting the changes and the angles. Frowning, he called Sam over and outlined the change.
"Can you pull this off without busting my caps?" Sam demanded of Marlie. She grinned. "Maybe."
"After she hits you," Phil interrupted, "I want dead silence for a good ten seconds. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, slow, but don't break the eye contact. Let's set it up from where Marlie walks out of the bar. Bicks!'" He left the actors to give his cinematographer a rundown.
' Quiet.... Places.... Roll...." Standing by the cameraman's shoulder, Phil watched the scene unfold. The adrenaline was pumping now. He could see it in Marlie's eyes, in the set of her body, as she burst out the door of the bar onto the sidewalk. When Sam grabbed her, instead of merely being whirled around, she turned on him. The mood seemed to fire into him as well, as his lines became harsher, more emotional.
Before there had been nothing in the scene but the man's anger; now there was the woman's too. Now the underlying sexuality was there. When she hit him, it seemed everyone on the set held their breath. The gesture was completely unexpected and, Phil mused as the silence trembled, completely in character. He could almost feel Sam's desire to strike her back, and his inability to do so. She challenged him to, while her throat moved gently with a nervous swallow. He wiped his mouth, never taking his eyes from hers.
"Cut!" Phil swore jubilantly as he walked over and grabbed Marlie by the shoulders. He kissed her, hard.
"Fantastic," he said, then kissed her again. "Fantastic." Looking up, he grinned at Sam.
"Don't try that on me," Sam warned, nursing his lower lip. "She packs a hell of a punch." He gave her a rueful glance. "Ever heard about pulling right before you make contact?" he asked. "Show biz, you know."
"I got carried away."
"I nearly slugged you."
"I know." Laughing, she pushed her hair back with both hands.
"Okay, let's take it from there." Phil moved back to the cameraman. "Places."
"Can't we take it from right before the punch?" Marlie asked with a grin for Sam. "It would sort of give me a roll into the rest of the scene.''
"Stand in!" Sam called.
In her office Tory read over with care a long, detailed letter from an opposing attorney. The tone was very clear through the legal terms and flowery style. The case was going through litigation, she thought with a frown. It might take two months or more, she mused, but this suit wasn't going to be settled out of court.
Though normally she would have wanted to come to terms without a trial, she began to feel a tiny flutter of excitement. She'd been away from her own work for too long. She would be back in Albuquerque in a month. Tory discovered she wanted— needed—something complicated and time-consuming on her return.
Adjustments, she decided as she tried to concentrate on the words in the letter. There were going to be adjustments to be made when she left Friendly this time. When she left Phil. No, she corrected, catching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. He was leaving first— tomorrow, the day after. It was uncomfortably easy to see the hole that was already taking shape in her life. Tory reminded herself that she wasn't allowed to think of it The rules had been made plain at the outset—by both of them. If things had begun to change for her, she simply had to backpedal a bit and reaffirm her priorities. Her work, her career, her life. At that moment the singular possessive pronoun never sounded more empty. Shaking her head, Tory began to read the letter from the beginning a second time.
Merle paced the office, casting quick glances at Tory from time to time. He'd made arrangements for Marlie to meet him there after her work was finished. What he hadn't expected was for Tory to be glued to her desk all evening. No expert with subtleties, Merle had no idea how to move his boss along and have the office to himself. He peeked out the window, noting that the floodlights up the street were being shut off.
Shuffling his feet and clearing his throat, he turned back to Tory.
"Guess you must be getting tired," he ventured.
"Hmmm."
"Things are pretty quiet tonight," he tried again, fussing with the buttons on his shirt.
"Um-hmm." Tory began to make notations on her yellow pad.
Merle lifted his eyes to the ceiling. Maybe the direct approach would do it, he decided. "Why don't you knock off and go home."
Tory continued to write. "Trying to get rid of me, Merle T.?"
"Well, no, ah..." He looked down at the dusty tips of his shoes. Women never got any easier to handle.
"Got a date?" she asked mildly as she continued to draft out her answer to the letter.
"Sort of...well, yeah," he said with more confidence.
"Go ahead, then."
"But—" He broke off, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
Tory looked up and studied him. The mustache, she noted, had grown in respectability. It wasn't exactly a prizewinner, but it added maturity to a face she'd always thought resembled a teddy bear's. He still slouched, and even as she studied at him, color seeped into his cheeks. But he didn't look away as he once would have done. His eyes stayed on hers so that she could easily read both frustration and embarrassment.
The old affection stirred in her.
"Marlie?" she asked gently.
"Yeah." He straightened his shoulders a bit.
"How are you going to feel when she leaves?"
With a shrug Merle glanced toward the window again. "I guess I'll miss her. She's a terrific lady."
The tone caused Tory to give his profile a puzzled look. There was no misery in it, just casual acceptance.
With a light laugh she stared back at her notes. Odd, she thought, it seemed their reactions had gotten reversed somewhere along the line. "You don't have to stay, Merle," she said lightly. "If you'd planned to have a late supper or—"
"We did," he interrupted. "Here."
Tory looked up again. "Oh, I see." She couldn't quite control the smile. "Looks like I'm in the way."
Uncomfortable, he shuffled again. "Aw, Tory."
"It's okay." Rising, she exaggerated her accommodating tone. "I know when I'm not wanted. I'll just go back to my room and work on this all by myself."
Merle struggled with loyalty and selfishness while Tory gathered her papers. "You could have supper with us," he suggested gallantly.
Letting the papers drop, Tory skirted the desk. With her hands on his shoulders, she kissed both of his cheeks. "Merle T.," she said softly, "you're a jewel."
Pleased, he grinne
d as the door opened behind them. "Just like I told you, Phil," Marlie stated as they entered. "Beautiful woman can't keep away from him. You'll have to stand in line, Sheriff," she continued, walking over to hook her arm through Merle's. "I've got first dibs tonight."
"Why don't I get her out of your way?" Phil suggested. "It's the least I can do after that last scene."
"The man is totally unselfish," Marlie confided to Tory. "No sacrifice is too great for his people."
With a snort Tory turned back to her desk. "I might let him buy me a drink," she considered while slipping her papers into a small leather case. When he sat on the corner of her desk, she cast him a look. "And dinner," she added.
"I might be able to come up with some cold cuts," he murmured.
Tory's low, appreciative laugh was interrupted by the phone. "Sheriff's office." Her sigh was automatic as she listened to the excited voice on the other end. "Yes, Mr. Potts." Merle groaned, but she ignored him. "I see. What kind of noise?" Tory waited while the old man jabbered in her ear. ' 'Are your doors and windows locked? No, Mr. Potts, I don't want you going outside with your shotgun. Yes, I realize a man has to protect his property." A sarcastic sound from Merle earned him a mild glare. "Let me handle it. I'll be there in ten minutes. No, I'll be quiet, just sit tight."
"Sheep thieves," Merle muttered as Tory hung up.
"Burglars," she corrected, opening the top drawer of her desk.
"Just what do you think you're going to do with that?" Phil demanded as he saw Tory pull out the gun.
"Absolutely nothing, I hope." Coolly she began to load it.
"Then why are you—? Wait a minute," he interrupted himself, rising. "Do you mean that damn thing wasn't loaded?"
"Of course not." Tory slipped in the last bullet. "Nobody with sense keeps a loaded gun in an unlocked drawer."
"You got me into that cell with an empty gun?"
She sent him a lazy smile as she strapped on a holster. "You were so cute, Kincaid."
Ignoring amusement, he took a step toward her. ' 'What would you have done if I hadn't backed down."