Men Made in America Mega-Bundle

by Gayle Wilson, Marie Ferrarella, Jennifer Greene, Annette Broadrick, Judith Arnold, Rita Herron, Anne Stuart, Diana Palmer, Elizabeth Bevarly, Patricia Rosemoor, Emilie Richards

  There was a muffled sound, almost like a sob.

  “I’ve never lost anyone I was that close to,” she continued, her heart going out to the man. “I’d be kidding if I told you I know just how you feel, but I think I know a little of what you’re going through.”

  Sam’s hand tightened on her arm, as if he couldn’t bear to hear her express her sympathies so genuinely.

  “Go away! Leave me alone!”

  Without thinking, Antoinette tried to step closer to the door, as if by doing so she could give comfort, but Sam pulled her back. “Mr. Fauvier,” she said, trying to shake off Sam’s hand, “I know you loved your wife. When she died, you must have been devastated. Then Omega fired you after you’d given them all those years of your life. You’re entitled to be upset and discouraged.”

  The voice that answered was thick with tears. “I have nothing left. Nothing!”

  Antoinette wondered if she would ever be hardened to the sound of human misery. What had begun purely as an attempt to get the man to give up his gun was now an emotional drama. Her intuition told her that Mr. Fauvier, like many people who are swept along on the tide of emotion, wanted someone to lead him away from the path of self-destruction. She searched for a way to do just that.

  She tried to put her feelings into her voice. “Let me tell you what I think. I think you’re a man who’s never hurt anyone. All of a sudden, life takes a big swat at you, and then, before you’ve gotten back on your feet, it takes another one. That’s enough to make anybody feel angry.”

  “I’m not angry,” he said in a voice that was strangely like a plea. “I’m a killer. Didn’t they tell you that before they let you come near me?”

  “No. No one here believes you’re a killer. I believe you were a loving husband and a good employee. I think you’re fighting fate in the only way you know how, but I’m here to tell you there are better ways.”

  “There’s nothing left for me,” Mr. Fauvier said in a broken voice.

  “Do you remember how you felt before all this happened to you?” she asked. “Can you remember what it was like to feel at peace with yourself, to feel good about waking up in the mornings?” Out of the corner of her eye, Antoinette saw the cynical set of Sam’s mouth. She knew he thought she was wasting their time on pie-in-the-sky philosophy.

  “I remember.”

  “If you get help, you’ll feel that way again,” she promised. “I’ve seen it happen more times than I can count. With help you can start over. Your life will be different, but you can be the man you used to be.”

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Something’s wrong with me, and I don’t know what it is.”

  “Mr. Fauvier,” she said in her most soothing voice, “I don’t know you at all, but just from talking to you this little bit, I can tell that you can be helped. Every one of us has to keep fighting when life gets us down. It doesn’t take courage to take out a gun and kill yourself or someone else. But it does take great courage to admit you need help.”

  She continued in the same vein, reassuring him about his basic worth and promising him that, if he let them help him, he could begin to feel better. Sam’s hand no longer punished her arm, although he didn’t remove it. He continued to stand beside her, his body fitting even closer against hers, and she felt its reassurance all through her. Endless minutes passed as she played the desperate game of cat and mouse with the man who was only a heartbeat away from ending his life.

  Finally there was a ragged sob from behind the door and a voiced fear. “If I come out now, the police will shoot me.”

  “No. No one wants to shoot you,” she reassured him. “A friend of mine is standing right here with me. He’s a policeman, and when you’re ready, he’ll tell you what to do to stay safe. I’ll stay right here to make sure no one hurts you.”

  “The world would be better off without me.”

  “I believe the world would have lost someone very special.”

  There was another long silence. Antoinette leaned forward a little and held her breath. Beside her, Sam tapped his foot impatiently.

  “I need help,” Mr. Fauvier said finally.

  She relaxed a little. “I promise you’ll get the help you need,” she told him.

  “I want to come out.”

  “I know you do. Are you ready to talk to Sergeant Long about the best way to do that?”

  “Will you be there when I come out?”

  “Right here.”

  Sam stepped in front of the door, still shielding Antoinette with his body as he did. “We’ll make this simple,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “You put your gun on the floor and then unlock the door. Crack it a little and then slide the gun out onto the stoop with your foot. I’ll come in to get you with my hands empty. That way neither of us can get hurt.”

  There was another long silence. Finally they heard the sound of a lock turning. The door opened a little, and a moment later a small handgun, pushed by the toe of a scuffed Loafer, appeared on the floor in front of Sam’s feet.

  Antoinette let out the breath she had been holding as spontaneous applause sounded from the crowd behind them.

  “I’m coming in now,” Sam told him. “Just put your hands on top of your head so I’ll be sure everything’s okay. We’ll have this over within a few seconds.” He pushed the door open.

  Antoinette waited, but there was no sound from inside. Finally she stepped into the doorway, just in time to see Sam putting handcuffs on a small older man with a receding hairline.

  “Is that necessary?” she asked Sam softly.

  “Absolutely.”

  “You’ll get the help you need,” she told Mr. Fauvier, eyeing the handcuffs distastefully. “You did exactly the right thing.”

  Mr. Fauvier sniffed, turning his face into the sleeve of his shirt to wipe his eyes.

  “Sam, he needs to be in a hospital. Can’t we bypass the police station?”

  Sam shook his head. “You should know better than that.”

  Antoinette knew he was right. There was a procedure for dealing with cases like this. As other police officers began to straggle into the bar, she rested her hand on Mr. Fauvier’s shoulder, surprising him with her touch. His head snapped up at the same moment that Sam narrowed his eyes at her gesture. “You’re going to make it,” she told the man in handcuffs. “It’s not going to be easy, but you’re going to make it. This is a beginning for you.”

  He turned his head away, and Antoinette could see tears rolling down his cheeks. She removed her hand. “I’ll come see you when they get you settled,” she promised him.

  “Come on,” Sam said, his hand on Mr. Fauvier’s arm. “I’m going to read you your rights and take you down to the station.”

  Antoinette watched them go. It was only when the Tadlows patrons began to swarm back into the bar that she went to find Joshua and Skeeter to say goodbye.

  “Hey, Toots!” Antoinette ignored the fact that her suit was going to be quickly covered with dog hair. There were those who said that sheepdogs who were groomed regularly didn’t shed. She agreed and lived her life accordingly, brushing her clothes every morning as payment for the small fantasy.

  Now she knelt and braced herself for Tootsie’s onslaught.

  “Did you miss me? Did Carly take you for a walk?” She suffered the dog’s wet caresses, remaining on the floor until Tootsie regained her canine poise. Then she stood and checked the kitchen to be sure that the teenager who lived next door had been in to feed Tootsie and give her a late-afternoon walk as promised.

  Later, settled on the sofa in a long, plum chenille robe with Tootsie’s head on her lap, Antoinette shut her eyes and commanded her body to relax. It had been a long day, the kind of day best ended with a cigarette and a loving back rub. It was just over a week since she’d had the former and too many weeks since she’d had the latter. Years would be more like it.

  She was feeling sorry for herself. She could write a scientific paper on nicotine withdrawal and
its correlation to self-pity, all based on the experience of one subject. Herself.

  She opened her eyes and regarded her faithful pet. “Tootsie, we need someone else to share our lives with. This you-and-me-against-the-world stuff isn’t working.”

  Tootsie’s ears perked up and then flopped close to her head again.

  “Does that mean yes or no?” When no answer was forthcoming, Antoinette shut her eyes again. She rarely carried her work home with her. One of the things she had learned to do in the first year of her practice was to say goodbye to her caseload when she walked out of her office and hello when she walked back in. She did not shoulder burdens she couldn’t handle; she did not take responsibility that belonged solely to the people she was trying to help. Tonight, however, she could not get Howard Fauvier off her mind.

  She was still sitting exactly the same way a half hour later when her doorbell rang.

  “Answer the door, Toots.”

  Tootsie wagged the stump of her tail but did not move any other part of her furry body.

  “Some watchdog you are.” Antoinette pushed Tootsie’s head off her lap and went to the door herself. Pulling her robe tighter and retying the knot in its sash, she peered through the window. Sam Long stood on the front porch, surrounded by her potted jungle of tropical plants. He was still wearing the blue sports coat, but the shirt beneath was unbuttoned several new inches, and his hair was ruffled by the chilly March wind. If she could have put all her longings into one image, they would have looked surprisingly like the man in front of her. Antoinette unlocked the door and beckoned him inside.

  He didn’t smile. “Were you asleep?”

  “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep for hours.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Is Mr. Fauvier in jail?”

  “Until tomorrow. They’ll decide what to do with him then.”

  Antoinette turned. She knew that Sam was following her by the sound of his footsteps. In the living room she faced him. “Can I get you something? Coffee? A drink?”

  “I’ll take a beer if you’ve got one.”

  She returned from the kitchen with a glass and a Dixie longneck to find Sam pinned to the couch by Tootsie’s rag mop body.

  “If you let her, she’ll smother you.”

  His mouth curled up in a half smile. Until tonight he had never seen a woman who could still be called beautiful wearing a fuzzy robe and no makeup. He realized that pretending he’d come to thank Antoinette again was really just that—pretending. He might convince her, but he knew better himself. He’d come because he hadn’t wanted the evening to end on such a bitter note. He’d come because he wanted more of her than the scene at Tadlows had allowed him to have.

  He reached for the beer and caught her hand instead. “Sit with me.”

  Antoinette felt the touch of his fingers in parts of her body far from his reach. She was exhausted, lonely, sad. She wanted to give something of herself to someone whole and strong. She realized just how vulnerable she was to the man in front of her. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said honestly.

  He didn’t question her. He just pulled her toward him. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea, either,” he admitted.

  Tootsie seemed to understand that her presence on the sofa was no longer desirable. She jumped to the floor and meandered toward the kitchen. With such an obvious cue Antoinette knew she could do no less than submit to Sam’s invitation. She set the beer and glass on the coffee table and allowed him to pull her down beside him. When his arm came around her, she rested her head on his shoulder. She could feel his fingers brush lightly across the top of her head.

  She had been aware of Sam Long the man right from the beginning. She had related almost exclusively to Sam Long the policeman, but under all their interactions had been the twanging string of sexual attraction. She had pretended that it was just comfort or sincerity that made her want to touch him so often, but there was no pretending now. It had been the kind of day that needed to be ended with comfort, with sincere sharing. Now, mystifyingly, she found herself inclined to want neither. She wanted the feel of Sam’s arms around her and the taste of his mouth on hers. She wanted a wildness that would blot out all thoughts of anything except him and the world they could make together.

  “I must be losing my mind.” She pulled away, just as he was turning her head to his.

  “I know the feeling.”

  “I don’t know you.”

  “I thought we were about to take care of that.”

  “See? I didn’t even know you had a sense of humor.” She tucked her knees under her and moved so that her head rested on the inside of his arm.

  Sam curved his arm behind her head and began to stroke her hair once more. “Did you know I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day I found you talking to a pack of cigarettes?”

  She’d had no doubt the attraction she felt was mutual, but it was nice to have it confirmed so openly. “I’m glad.” She tried to lighten the tone of their exchange. “Crazy ladies turn you on?”

  “Only if they have black hair and blue eyes.” His hand touched her cheek. “And skin soft enough to get lost in.”

  She turned her face into the palm of his hand, appreciating the feel of its callused hardness. “It’s been a long time since anybody kissed me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I haven’t wanted anybody to.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I do, only I don’t know the man at all. He’s a cop. He acts like a cop, talks like a cop, thinks like a cop. Underneath all that’s a man I get little glimpses of now and then. He loves kids, hates to see anybody hurt, believes in justice to the point he’ll put his life on the line for it. Other than those few things, I don’t know him.” She shifted so that her eyes met his. “I want to know him.”

  “You need all that information before a kiss?” Sam let his hand travel to her back. He pulled her closer.

  “I think,” she said softly, “that with this man a kiss would only be the beginning.”

  “Shall we see how accurate your prediction is?” His other arm closed around her until her mouth was only inches from his. He watched her close her eyes and he felt her relax against him. It was only when he felt the willingness in her whole body that his lips met hers.

  It took him one full second to realize how he’d been deluding himself. He’d wanted to kiss her, to hold her, as much to convince himself that she was like any other woman as for the pure pleasure of it. But she wasn’t like any other woman. No one else had made him question the decisions of a lifetime. No one else had eased past his defenses as if he hadn’t spent a lifetime fortifying them.

  Antoinette sighed and let the last remnants of tension drain from her body. She was right where she was supposed to be. She was too good a psychologist to believe that everything in life had to be understood completely. She had a feeling she would never understand this attraction to Sam. She didn’t care.

  When he deepened the kiss, she was grateful. There was no need for hesitancy, no place for doubt. She shifted her legs to bring herself closer, balancing with her hands on his shoulders. He settled her across his lap, never taking his lips from hers. His hands tangled in her hair, his thumbs caressed her face. She heard a low moan and knew it was her own. She felt the caress of his tongue against her lips and opened her mouth willingly.

  Sam let the black silk of her hair slide through his fingers. There was nothing of her that wasn’t an explosion to his senses. Her hair, her mouth, her skin. He didn’t trust the feelings she engendered. He could make love to a woman and still keep most of himself inviolate. With Antoinette, he couldn’t even risk a kiss without feeling as if the most elemental parts of him were exposed. And worse, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting more.

  Antoinette was the first to break away. She pulled back with regret, reclining in his arms to search his face. One hand lifted to caress his cheek, then smoothed over his chin, resting for a moment in the
deep cleft. She drew her fingers up to his mouth and traced the curve of his lips before she spoke.

  “That felt like a beginning.”

  “Do you analyze everything?” Sam parted his lips to pull one of her fingers into his mouth, nipping it lightly.

  “Do you ignore everything?” She leaned forward, brushing kisses as weightless as butterflies across his forehead.

  “Was I ignoring you?” He turned her so that she was more solidly against him. He could feel the softness of her breasts through the chenille robe, and his body responded in such a way as to make the question foolish.

  “Your beer is getting warm.” Antoinette tried to pull away, but Sam anchored her against his chest.

  “If you leave now, the beginning will be an ending.”

  “I’m going just far enough to keep us from doing anything stupid and staying just close enough to keep you from forgetting what we’ve already done.” This time when she pulled away, he let her go. She settled on the sofa beside him, leaning over to pour the beer and hand it to him before she made herself completely comfortable.

  “So what now?” Sam asked, toasting her with the glass before his first swallow.

  What now? Her head was spinning, and her body felt like every ounce of will had drained out of it. She had been in enough trances to recognize the feeling. She was completely relaxed but, oh, so suggestible. And under all that giddiness was an awareness of the man beside her that was so strong she could almost believe they were one being.

  “Tell me about you,” she said after a long pause.

  “How much do you have to know to be sure what’s happening is really all right?”

  “I’ll just know.”

  He fingered a dark lock of her hair, bringing the ends of it to his cheek in an unconscious caress. “I’m from here, Irish Channel born and raised. Joshua, Skeeter and I grew up together. I was what they call uncontrollable. My father spent all his time in bars. My mother spent all the hours she wasn’t working to feed us on her knees in church. I spent my time on the streets getting into trouble.”

  Antoinette put her hand on his shoulder and moved a little closer.