by Roni Adams
In the parking lot, he still didn’t speak as they reached his pickup truck.
“What the hell am I doing?” He dropped her hand and stepped back. He shook his head and gave a humorless short laugh. “What am I doing?”
She turned back toward the Blue Bug as her heart sank. “Don’t worry about it.”
But he reached out and grabbed her hand before she could walk away. “Carrie, I...” He searched her eyes before he pulled her into his arms. His hand cupped the back of her head as he brought his mouth down to hers. She fell against him, clinging to him as he pushed her lips open and swept his tongue through her mouth. His hands tangled in her hair, and he shoved his leg between hers. She whimpered at the rush of heat that exploded inside her. Her body responded to his urgency with no hesitation. Dusty’s kiss was rough and his hands on her were impatient and she thrilled to all of it. When he backed up a few steps until the truck door was at his back and took her full weight against him, she settled between his legs with his erection bulging between them.
His hands roamed from her hair down to her backside and back up again. Dusty tore his mouth from hers and buried it in her neck and Carrie gasped for air. Her hands skimmed up his shoulders to his hair and tangled in the thick softness before pulling his mouth back to hers. When his hands slid under her loose top and scooped up both breasts, she cried out with pleasure. His thumbs brushed the sensitive peaks and rubbed across the lace of her bra, sending heat and need to her center. She pressed against him, twisting her body into his and wantonly rubbing against him. He flicked the snap on her bra in the back and her bared breasts spilled into his hands.
She ached to make love with him, wanting nothing more than to have him take her to heaven and back, but she knew this wouldn’t resolve anything between them. This part of their relationship had never been a problem. “Dusty,” she whimpered.
“Hmmm?” He lifted her shirt and she knew if he pressed that amazing mouth of his to her breast, she’d be begging him to take her right there in the parking lot.
She pushed her hands against him. “Stop.”
“In a minute,” he murmured, trailing a hot moist kiss down her throat.
She closed her eyes and her legs trembled as his fingers continued to tease her nipples and ready them for his mouth. She knew him. Knew what he was going to do to her. God, she wanted him. “This isn’t a good idea. We need to stop.”
“Yeah, we will, after.”
After what? After he’d had his fill of her. She wasn’t some cheap bimbo like the blonde he’d dumped in the bar. The knowledge that he thought he could have her tonight no matter what else was between them spurred her to push hard against his chest. “I said stop, Dusty.”
He lifted his head and looked at her face as if to assure himself that she was serious. Her body went cold when he took his hands away and set her away from him. “Okay, sorry. I read the signals wrong.”
Carrie raked her hands through hair and stared back. “You didn’t get any signals wrong. There’s nothing more I want right now than for you to make love with me.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “So what’s the problem?”
She stared back at him. “You can’t possibly think it’s a good idea for us to…do that.”
He shrugged. “Well, I figure you owe me. I had another offer, but I had to rescue you from the slimeball, so…”
Her hand reached out and cracked him across the face before he could finish his sentence. “You son of a bitch,” she snarled.
Dusty rubbed the sting in his face, but he didn’t say anything and he didn’t bother to try to keep her from walking away.
He watched her half run across the parking lot and disappear into a car he didn’t recognize. It wasn’t her usual prized sports car. This was an inexpensive, nondescript car that was serviceable, but not flashy. She pulled out and spun the tires—to get away from him.
What an ass I am. She didn’t deserve that kind of disrespect. Yes, she’d been a spoiled princess when she left him, and yes, she’d hurt him, but she had more class in her pinky finger than any woman he’d ever met. He was a louse, and he’d be embarrassed if anyone knew how he’d just treated her. With a sigh, he climbed into his truck and followed as fast as he dared to see if he could see what direction she headed. He had no clue where she lived—in town or out of town or where?
He lucked out when an accident slowed down traffic, and he was able to spot her. In fact, the wonderful sheriff was leaning in the window of her car and pointing with his hand. Dusty couldn’t see the accident, but when the sheriff straightened, he kept his eyes on the beige car.
Dusty followed her down a side street and then another before circling back to the main drag. She pulled down another side street and then into what seemed to be a back parking lot for the Wayback Diner. He kept back a ways and watched. The diner was closed, and he wondered where she was going. Moments later, he saw lights come on up above the restaurant. She must be living in the apartment above it.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. If he knocked on her door, would she let him in? If she did, what did he want to say to her? Anything? Or did he hope they’d continue what they’d started? Was that why he was here? He pulled the truck into the parking lot next to her car and cut the engine. She must have to go through the restaurant to get to the apartment. He tugged on the back door, but it was locked up tight. That was good. At least she was safe, but now he had no way to get to her. As he began to turn away, he spotted a small button with the simple word “Apartment.”
Doorbell, maybe?
Dusty slid his finger over it, hesitating before pressing. She would probably slam the door in his face. He stepped back and shoved his hands in his pockets. As he waited, he thought about leaving, and then he wondered how long he should wait. Should he ring it again? He was just turning away when he heard her or someone coming from inside.
The inside door opened. From the other side of the storm door, she glared at him. She had on a robe, but her legs were bare. Images of her glistening and naked caused him to swell and harden behind his fly once more. He lifted his hand in a wave, but she continued to glare.
“Can we talk?” he finally said.
Her well-sculpted eyebrow rose. “No, I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”
She began to close the heavy door and he stepped up and tried to open the storm door, even knowing it was locked. “I’m sorry. I was an ass. Let me make it up to you.”
She laughed harshly, but at least she hadn’t shut the door completely yet. “I don’t think so.”
He frowned. “Not like that. That’s not what I meant. I just want to talk. Come on, you said you wanted to talk.”
She nodded. “Yep, and you didn’t. You’re not coming in here.”
He stepped back and put his hands up. “Okay, no problem. You come on out here, and I won’t come near you.”
She shook her head and pulled the robe closer around her. “I don’t have anything on.”
He tossed his head back and groaned. “You’re killing me here.” He swallowed and tipped his head. “Come on, Carrie, get dressed and come talk to me. Please?”
She wet her lip and pulled it into her mouth. Dusty watched her chew on it like she always did when she couldn’t make up her mind.
“I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
She closed the heavy door. What if she didn’t come back down? He couldn’t really blame her if she left him standing there.
Several long minutes later, she opened the door and then flipped the lock to the storm door and pushed it open. “We can talk in the restaurant kitchen. You’re not coming upstairs with me.”
“Great. I’m starved.” He slapped his hands together as his stomach remembered the crappy dinner he’d tossed out hours before.
“I didn’t say I was cooking you anything. I said you could talk to me.”
“Maybe you could find some leftovers or something we could heat up,” he cajoled.
He foll
owed her into the kitchen. She didn’t turn on the big overhead light. Instead, she flipped a switch over the sink and a soft glow illuminated the room. “I don’t need anyone seeing lights on back here,” she explained.
He wondered if she meant the sheriff. Chances were if she lived above the restaurant, the smitten lawman made it his job to keep an eye on the place.
She turned around, crossed her arms over her chest, and stared. “So talk.”
She’d slipped into pink lounging pants and a matching sweatshirt that zipped up the front. Pink-tipped toes peeked out from her slip-on sandals. A memory of her painting her toes while she sat on the tiny couch in his RV flashed through his mind. He dragged his gaze away to stare at a spot over the wall. “I owe you an apology.”
She didn’t say anything.
He spied a stool and sat down. “I shouldn’t have said what I did in the parking lot.” She still didn’t say anything and he cleared his throat. “What are you doing in Wayback?”
“That’s your apology?”
He whipped his gaze back to her. Her finely-sculpted eyebrow arched upward. He hated having to say the words. In fact, he never had said them, ever, but there she stood expecting him to. “I told you I shouldn’t have said what I did.”
She dropped her arms and walked across the room. “Forget it.”
He watched as she pulled a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. She opened the drink and took a long swallow. His gaze locked on her mouth wrapped around the plastic opening and his groin twitched. Dancing with her, kissing her, had left him frustrated and wanting more.
He looked away. “Why are you working here, living here?”
She shrugged. “I like it here.”
“How did you end up coming to Wayback?”
“I knew you’d show up for the rodeo sooner or later, so I decided to get here first.” She tipped her water up once more as if that explained everything.
“You’re not making any sense. You left me and...”
“I didn’t leave you.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No. I. Didn’t. You made the decision.”
Was she serious? He glared at her. “What decision? You mean your ultimatum? The one where you said ‘Quit doing what you do for a living or be with me?’” He snorted in disgust. His anger began to rise the same way it did that day they had the same idiotic conversation. “Okay, so either way you say it, we were through. Which brings us back to the question, why are you here?”
She studied her nails and her cheeks grew pink, but she tossed her head and looked him in the eye. “I had this crazy idea that maybe you missed me and would be glad to see me and...”
“And what? Nothing’s changed, Carrie. I’m a bull rider and you’re a socialite. We’re like a bad movie—The Cowboy and the Princess—but this is life and there’s no way we can make it work.”
Hurt filled her eyes, but he couldn’t afford to let her sway him. It had taken him months just to be able to think about her without his guts aching.
“I’m not a princess and I’m not a socialite. I’ve moved on from that life. I’ve moved here.”
“What are you talking about?” He lifted his hands in frustration and let them fall again. “You came here for nothing. Now you can just go back again.”
She leaned back against the counter. Her movement caused the zipper of her sweatshirt to strain against her chest and it drew his attention. God, he hated how much he wanted her. She was like poison to him. He couldn’t afford to weaken and let her get under his skin again.
“I can’t go back.”
“Sure you can. You turn your sports car around and go back the way you came. It’s real simple. In fact, you plug it into the fancy GPS system in your car...”
She slowly shook her head. “I sold the townhouse with most of the contents in it...and I sold my car.”
His jaw dropped and he stood up. “Why would you do something like that?”
She shrugged.
He narrowed his eyes. “You were so convinced that I’d welcome you back with open arms that you...” He raked his hands through his hair. Was he happy that she wanted him that bad or furious that she thought she could quirk her little finger and he’d come back?
“You said we couldn’t make it work because of my lifestyle so I changed it. I got a reliable car, a real job, and moved to a small town.” Her voice quivered.
Dusty scratched his head. Was she crazy? Or serious? He wasn’t sure which. “Look, Carrie, I’m sure if you just go back home and...”
“No.”
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
She pushed away from the counter and headed toward the door. “No. I came out here originally to wait for you, but now I like it here. I have friends and I’m content.”
He twisted his mouth. “Living above a diner? Being a waitress? This is your life?”
She slammed her hands on her hips and stopped in her tracks. “Now you’re telling me this isn’t a good enough life?” She crossed the room and slapped both her palms in the middle of his chest, and he stumbled back a step.
“First, you tell me I’m a princess, you joke and tease about how I’ve never done a lick of real work in my life. It doesn’t matter that I sat on charity boards and volunteered and helped people. That was fluff stuff.” She waved her hands in the air and looked as if she wanted to strangle him.
She shoved at him again with the flat of her hands. “My car was girly and my things were materialistic, and now I’ve given up all that and work twelve-hour shifts on my feet all day, and that’s a joke, too?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” He caught her hands. When she struggled to pull them free, he held tight. “You have to admit, though, it’s not like you have to wait tables for a living. Hell, Carrie, you could buy the damn diner and two more just like it if you wanted to.”
She twisted her hand and dug her fingernail into his skin.
“Hey!”
He released her and she scooted away. “No one around here knows that I have money, and I want it kept that way. I want to be like everyone else.”
He glanced at his hand, noting the trickle of blood she’d drawn. “But you’re not like everyone else. You’re the daughter of a millionaire, for crissakes. What do you think these new friends of yours will think when they find out that you aren’t a struggling working girl, and you’re just slumming it for a while until you get bored.”
Carrie walked to the door and put her hand on the light switch. “Get out. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”
He frowned and stared at her. Grabbing a napkin off the table he pressed it to the scratch on his hand and walked across the kitchen. He stopped when he was next to her. “Go home, Carrie. There’s nothing in Wayback for you.”
She lifted her chin and glared back at him. “Go to hell, Dusty.”
He snorted. “As long as you’re not there, I’ll be happy to.”
****
“Well, don’t you look like something the cat dragged in?”
Carrie pulled a face at CoraBeth as she tied her apron around her waist. “That’s what’s great about you, always so complimentary.”
CoraBeth picked up the full coffeepot and moved it to the back burner before starting a new pot to brew. “If you want someone to fill your head full of nonsense, take the sheriff his coffee. You want the truth, that’s what you got me for.” The older woman shrugged and pushed the kitchen door open.
Carrie picked up the coffeepot and glanced across the diner where Sheriff Dan was reading the morning paper. He’d already had his poached eggs and a look at the clock showed he’d be leaving soon to start his shift. After a night of tossing and turning and crying, she’d fallen asleep close to dawn and slept through the first hour of breakfast. When CoraBeth had called to wake her up, she’d lied and told her she had a migraine and the medicine had knocked her out.
“You okay?” The sheriff folded his paper and pushed his empty coffee cup over to the edge o
f the table.
Carrie picked up the mug and refilled it without meeting his eyes. “Not feeling too good this morning, that’s all.” She forced a smile and set his coffee down while picking up his empty plate.
“You should stay in bed if you’re not feeling good. Although I know you probably don’t get paid for sick days or anything like that.”
Dan looked so concerned she felt like a heel for lying to him. “I’ll be okay. It was just a bad headache and I didn’t sleep well. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
She turned to walk away, but Dan caught her free hand. “Come out with me tonight. Please. I want to spoil you, Carrie. Let me buy you dinner somewhere other than here, and we’ll have some wine. I think your headache is from stress and worry.”
She half smiled and slipped her hand free of his. “Why would I be stressed?”
Dan looked embarrassed. “I don’t mean to pry, but it’s gotta be tough. A single gal living on her own, trying to make ends meet. You work a lot of overtime down here—I’m sure it’s not because you love the work.”
Carrie quirked her eyebrow. “You work double shifts all the time, too.”
He nodded. “You got me there, but I do it because I’m a workaholic. I find it hard to believe that’s your situation.”
She shrugged. “Actually, I work because it fills the time.” Even as she said the words, she regretted them. Dan would definitely take it as an invitation to entertain her.
“That’s what I mean, you need to get out and have some fun. Now I’m done taking ‘no’ for an answer.” He picked up his coffee and drank it down. “When’s your next night off?”
Carrie frowned. “Tonight, but...”
He picked up his hat and plunked it on his head. “Good. I’ll be back here at seven to pick you up. Don’t eat dinner. I’m taking you somewhere fancy.” He handed her the check along with way too much cash for breakfast and a tip. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Carrie let her breath out on a sigh. The last thing she wanted to do was encourage him to think there was a chance at a romance between them. Her heart ached thinking of all the months she’d wasted waiting for Dusty only to have it all blow up in her face. Nope, she definitely wasn’t ready to start something with someone else.