The Price of Honor

by Janis Reams Hudson

  It was a simple thing, really. He reached up and stroked his mare’s glossy gray neck. That’s all it took to plunge her deep into remembering how that same hand felt stroking her own neck. Her shoulders, her arms. Her breasts.

  She caught herself closing her eyes while sitting there in the stands and letting the remembered touch of his callused palm and those clever fingers bring her pleasure enough to make her blood race, then, and now.

  With a shudder, she popped her eyes open in shock.

  “Are you cold?”

  Rachel blinked and turned her head slowly toward Belinda, seated next to her. “What?”

  “You shivered. I asked if you were cold.”

  Heat swept up her cheeks. “Uh, just a little.”

  “There’s a jacket or two in the Suburban,” Belinda offered.

  Rachel swallowed. “Thanks, but I’m fine. Really.”

  This wouldn’t do. Hadn’t she told herself over and over that she had to put the past behind her? How was she to do that when her own mind—even her body—betrayed her at every turn?

  Well, no more, she decided. This was the nation’s Independence Day, and it would become hers, too.

  Ace had gone down to the chutes with Jack and Trey to give them some last-minute advice on their roping. As soon as he returned to the stands and Rachel could get away without leaving Belinda alone with four boys, she made her escape.

  She’d been working too hard, that was all. Seven straight years of college—most of it twelve months a year—then home to start work immediately, then Dr. Ray and David’s deaths. Then Grady’s return.

  She’d been seeing too much of him in and around the clinic. She needed to spend some casual time with other people, that was all. Take some time for herself. So she wandered the park in the late afternoon and caught up with a number of old friends whose friendships she had, of necessity, neglected since high school. She met spouses and children she’d only heard about in passing, and it felt good to reconnect with familiar people from her childhood and teen years in a new, adult way and to meet their families.

  When a little voice in the back of her mind whispered that all her old friends were married and had children, and that time was passing her by, she moved from group to group faster to flee it, laughed a little louder to drown it out.

  She found her family again in time to share the barbecue dinner for which the Flying Ace had supplied a whole steer.

  It wasn’t quite sunset when the country band, hired from Laramie, started tuning up for the street dance. The city had blocked off the park’s north parking lot, just a few yards from the Wilders’ picnic spot, for the night’s dance.

  Before heading that way Rachel noticed Trey’s cup was only half full of beer. She snagged it when he wasn’t looking and took it with her. But she didn’t go straight to the improvised dance floor. Instead, she spent the first few songs wandering around again, saying hello, watching small children fall asleep in their suppers from playing so hard all day long.

  On her way back toward the parking-lot-cumdance-floor, she paused at a trash can, drained the last swallow of beer from her cup, and tossed the cup in.

  Now, she thought, dusting off her hands and heading for the music. Who’s the best dancer in town?

  The band was between songs and Grady was talking to Danny Warden when a sudden tingling swept down his spine.

  Rachel.

  Somehow, he knew she was there behind him. He could feel her, sense her, just like in the old days, and it shook him. He didn’t want to be that aware of her.

  He saw Danny’s gaze stray, his eyes widen. “Hi, Rachel. Hey,” he said, his gaze darting from Rachel to Grady. “Are you two back together? Man, that’s—”

  “No,” Rachel and Grady said together.

  Danny blinked. “Oh. Uh, well, whatever you say.” He was grinning like a chicken-eating possum. “I see my wife flagging me down. I’ll just be running along now so the two of you can, uh, not be together.”

  Slowly, so as not to aggravate the knee he’d wrenched during the team roping event, Grady turned to face her.

  With her hands planted on her hips, Rachel smirked at Danny’s hasty retreat.

  Grady couldn’t help but take the time to notice that nobody, man, nobody filled out a tight pair of jeans better than Rachel Wilder. Most of the time since he’d been back she’d worn her clothes more loosely, or had on that white lab coat that covered her to her knees. But not tonight. He’d been trying not to notice all day, but now he let himself look.

  “What are you staring at?” she demanded.

  “Uh, nice…boots.”

  Her face brightened. “You like them?” She stuck one foot out and turned it this way and that, showing off a pair of hand-tooled goatskin boots that looked as if they’d cost a month’s pay.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Nice.”

  “Thank you.” The band started up again with a rousing country two-step. “Do you still remember how to dance?” she asked over the blare of guitars blasting from the huge speakers.

  “Is that your way of asking me to dance?” he asked back, surprised.

  “No, it’s my way of asking if you remember how.”

  Chagrined, feeling as if he’d been tricked—which he had—he said, “Yeah, I remember how.”

  “Good. This is my way of asking you to dance.” She snared him by the arm and started toward the mix of couples two-stepping around the edges of the parking lot.

  It was nearly impossible to hold a woman close during a fast-paced two-step—especially when he was trying to baby his bad knee—but the dance did give Grady the right to hold her hand with one of his and place the other at her waist. At least, that’s the way it was supposed to go.

  But Rachel obviously had other ideas and looped her arms around his neck. “Now,” she said, leaning closer than was practical for the dance. “Do you want to dance with me, Grady?”

  He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Good. I’m celebrating,” she said emphatically.

  Something wasn’t quite right here, Grady realized. Her smile was too smug, her eyes just a little glazed, and her breath hinted of something other than barbecue. “You’re plowed.”

  She reared back and missed a step. “I am not.”

  Grady threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, yes you are. You never could hold an ounce of liquor. You’re drunk as a skunk.”

  “I only had half a cup of beer.”

  “Rach, a half a cup of beer used to be enough to knock you on your sweet little rear.”

  Her fingers crept up into his hair. “You think my rear’s sweet?”

  “You are definitely wasted.”

  “I’m not wasted. I told you, I’m celebrating.”

  “What are you celebrating?”

  “It’s Independence Day.”

  “That’s right. July Fourth.”

  “No, my Independence Day.” Clasping her fingers together behind his neck, she leaned back so that he carried her weight. “I’m celebrating my independence from you, Grady Lewis.”

  Maybe she had the right idea in getting drunk. He could use a beer, or something stronger, himself. “You’ve been independent of me for a long time, Rach. Five years, in fact.”

  “Nope.” She shook her head so hard that if he hadn’t had a good hold on her, she would have fallen. “I thought so, too, but s’not true.”

  “S’not?”

  “No, s’not, snot.”

  The old joke should have made him laugh. Instead it made him ache.

  “But s’gonna be. I’m gonna be independent of you. From now on.”

  Grady kept his mouth shut and went on dancing her around the lot. There wasn’t much he could say to a statement like that, and he figured the less he said, the less she’d have to get mad about tomorrow when—if—she remembered this conversation.

  Hell. Half a beer.

  “Oh, Grady.” She stopped dancing and pressed herself full ag
ainst his chest. “I don’t wanna be independent from you.”

  Before his feet stopped along with his heart and they got trampled by the other dancers, Grady wrapped both arms around her waist and, staggering slightly because of his knee, carried her onto the sidewalk and out of the dancing.

  “Come on, honey, let’s get you back to your family so they can take you home.” He knew she was going to regret this, big time, come tomorrow.

  They must have looked like two drunks, instead of a sober man trying to help a tipsy woman, he thought wryly as they staggered across the grass together—she impaired by an ounce of beer, he by his bum knee. His rodeo days, he feared, were over, thanks to that knee.

  It wasn’t quite dark yet when they neared the Wilders’ picnic site, but the three oldest kids, which included Cody, were sprawled on a blanket, dead to the world. The youngest slept soundly in Ace’s arms.

  But having his son asleep in his arms didn’t prevent Ace from snarling at Grady. “Dammit, Lewis, look at her. She’s drunk.”

  “Don’t I know it. Somebody give me a hand, will you?”

  Rachel beamed at her brothers. “Oh, he doesn’t need a hand. He’s got two very nice ones of his own.”

  “This is low, Lewis,” Jack told him coldly, “even for you.”

  “What?” Grady protested. “I didn’t—”

  “You didn’t get her drunk so you could take advantage of her?” Trey demanded.

  Grady rolled his eyes as he struggled to get Rachel to the folding chaise lounge beside the tree. “Great. This afternoon you were taking up for me, now you’re ready to kick my teeth in.”

  As Ace passed the sleeping Grant to his wife, he growled, “It’s not your teeth you’re going to lose, Lewis.”

  Rachel fell onto the chaise lounge and giggled. “Silly brothers. Why would he want to take advantage of me? I’m the one he walked out on, remember?”

  Trey glared at Grady. “Oh, we remember, all right. So she’s still not good enough for you, is that it?”

  Belinda watched, startled, as her husband and brothers moved in on Grady. “Idiots,” she hissed. “First you’re mad because you think he’s taking advantage of her, now you’re mad because he’s not. Here.” She thrust Grant into Grady’s arms and shoved him toward the chaise next to Rachel’s. “Sit.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Grady never argued with a woman with that particular look in her eye.

  “What are you doing?” Ace demanded.

  She hissed in irritation. “You can’t hit him when he’s holding your son.”

  Grady was just fond enough of his teeth—and whatever other parts they were threatening—to appreciate the wisdom, and the humor, in her reasoning. He sat.

  “He doesn’t need to hold my son.”

  “Need I remind you that the sheriff would just love an excuse to haul all of your sorry rears to the county jail? A nice friendly fight in front of all these witnesses would be just the excuse he’s looking for. Now, back off,” she snarled to her husband and his brothers.

  “Yes, ma’am,” they muttered.

  “Now, you—” She jabbed Ace in the chest with a forefinger. “Help me get Rachel home and put to bed.”

  Grady glanced over at Rachel to see how she was taking all of this. She was out cold.

  Chapter Nine

  It was pitiful the way a half cup of beer could do such damage to the human mind and body. First the embarrassment of getting drunk, then the pain and humiliation of the hangover the next morning. Rachel had showered, then downed three cups of coffee before she dared to look at herself in a mirror.

  She should have made it four cups. Not that the extra caffeine would have helped the bags under her eyes, but maybe it would have cleared her vision enough so she could appreciate them more fully.

  She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten that she had no tolerance for alcohol. None. Zero. How could she have forgotten?

  And how, she wondered frantically, had she gotten home? Her car was in the driveway, but she hadn’t driven it yesterday. Had she walked? Had someone brought her? Grady? It was all so fuzzy.

  Had she undressed herself and put herself to bed? She seemed to recall…no, she seemed to recall having help getting undressed!

  Grady was in the tack room in the barn when he heard a car pull up out on the gravel drive. It was Sunday, barely noon; he wasn’t expecting anyone, so he stayed put.

  Not that he had much choice in the matter. Damned knee. Gingerly he shifted his weight and leaned against the table to peer around the open door.

  Ah, hell. What was Rachel doing here? He wasn’t ready to see her again after last night at the park.

  But ready or not, here she came. Like a bloodhound, she’d sniffed out his lair and made straight for the tack room.

  “Hi.”

  The dark glasses couldn’t hide the pallor of her skin. “Hi, yourself. How are you feeling?”

  She swallowed. “Like the entire parade ran over me. I, uh, I’d like to apologize.”

  Grady kept his hands busy rubbing saddle soap into an old set of reins. “For what?”

  “For…for whatever I did last night.”

  He smirked. “Don’t remember, do you?”

  “It’s…a little fuzzy. I think we danced?”

  “We danced.”

  “Is there…anything else I need to apologize for?”

  “My virtue’s still intact, if that’s what you’re worried about. Take off those glasses.”

  “Oh, uh, no, that’s all right.”

  “Coward.”

  “All right, but it’s not a pretty sight.” She slipped off the dark glasses.

  Grady let out a low whistle. “Nice set of Samsonite you’ve got hanging there.”

  “Samsonite?”

  “Bags, Rach. You’ve got bags under your eyes. And the whites are full of interesting little red lines. Like a road map of Georgia.”

  Her jaw flexed in irritation. “Thank you. I hadn’t noticed.”

  Grady kept working. A silence built, and not a comfortable one. He finally broke it. “You really don’t remember asking me to dance last night?”

  “I asked you?”

  “Well, not really. You dragged me out into the thick of things and said you wanted to dance. Said a few other things, too.”

  “Dare I ask what?”

  He put the reins down and turned toward her.

  He shouldn’t have. The incautious movement sent shards of agony stabbing through his knee, and from there, down to his foot and up to his hip. Red spots of pain danced before his eyes.

  “Grady!” Rachel was at his side in an instant, placing her shoulder beneath his arm to support him.

  “I’m all right,” he managed after a hiss of pain.

  “Like hell you are. What is it, your foot? Your knee? Hold on.” With the toe of her sneaker she caught the leg of a tall wooden stool and dragged it closer. “Sit down.”

  He didn’t have the breath to argue.

  “You idiot. Look at that knee. Your jeans are so tight around it, it’s a wonder you got them on at all.”

  “It wasn’t that bad when I got dressed.”

  “What did you do to it?” She probed gently and set his teeth on edge.

  “Easy,” he barked.

  “Don’t be a baby.” She knelt before him and put her palm to the knee. “If you can walk around on it, I can touch it. It’s hot, and about three times its normal size. You need to pack it in ice.”

  “You’re only licensed to work on animals,” he said tersely.

  “That’s right. And right now I’m checking out a stubborn mule. Or a jackass, maybe. You banged it up good yesterday, didn’t you?”

  “I guess.”

  “And before that?”

  “Some. Stop fussing, will you?” he said irritably.

  She looked up at him. “Somebody needs to fuss over you. You must have hidden this pretty good from Alma. She wouldn’t have let you out of the house on a knee like this.”
/>   “She’s not my keeper, and neither are you.”

  “I’m going to assume it’s the pain that’s making you testy.”

  “Hmph. You’re what’s making me testy. I’m getting tired of being jerked around.”

  She pushed herself to her feet and balled her fists at her waist. “You want to explain that remark, buster?”

  “You know what I’m talking about.” He eased himself more fully onto the stool. He’d be damned if he’d give her the satisfaction of seeing him fall on his butt. “Ever since I’ve been back you’ve been jerking me around.”

  “I have not,” she protested.

  “First you want to be friends, then you don’t. Then you want your independence from me, whatever the hell that means, then you don’t. Just what do you want from me, Rachel?”

  She stared at him blankly for a moment, then lowered her hands to her sides and relaxed her fists. “I want you to kiss me.”

  Stunned, shocked, Grady gaped. “You want what?”

  She gave him a fleeting smile. “I guess that’s my answer, huh?” She turned toward the door.

  “Rachel, wait.” He lunged to his feet and reached for her. His knee gave again, and again, she caught him.

  But he caught her, too. Caught her, wrapped his arms around her, and held her close. Maybe, he thought, if he obliged her, if he kissed her, he could get her out of his head once and for all. The mind had a way of remembering things better than they really were. The reality of kissing Rachel couldn’t be nearly as staggering as his memories.

  An instant later, when his mouth settled on hers, he knew he’d been wrong. On both counts. Kissing Rachel was even more staggering than he’d remembered. And it wasn’t about to get her out of his head. Not now, not ever, he realized as he sank into the kiss and drank in her welcoming response.

  Wants and needs bubbled up from the deepest part of him and became part of the kiss. With one hand, he cupped her head. With the other, he relearned the feel of her, the shape, every curve and dip, every swell of muscle that he could reach.

  It wasn’t enough. Would never be enough. And it was the biggest mistake of his life, kissing her. He knew that even as he demanded more from her. She gave it and demanded her own share back.