“Ranching is his life.”
Sam recalled Lori had three daughters. “And your girls. They must be getting so big.”
“Are they ever. The twins are growing so fast that I can hardly believe it. I’d like to spend more time with them.” Lori pulled a face. “But we don’t have hoards of money like some people.”
Sam raised her eyes from the dark brew in her coffee cup. What was that about?
“I heard you’re working for the Montgomerys now.”
First Lori had mentioned money, then the name Montgomery. Sam understood now. This conversation was about who she was working for. “It’s a temporary position. Max Montgomery had a car accident and suffered a broken arm and amnesia.”
“Amnesia? That’s…that’s awful, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I don’t think it’s easy for him.”
“You know the reason I mentioned the Montgomerys is because I had something to do with his sister.”
Sam paid attention. Where was she going with this conversation. “Rachel?”
“Oh, no.” Lori hunched forward toward Sam and spoke conspiratorially. “The other one. Christina.”
“What do you mean, you had something to do with her?”
“That’s what the police wanted to know,” she said in a tone that indicated she was inflated with self-importance because of some information she had. “That’s where I just came from—the police station. The police wanted to talk to me about Christina Montgomery.”
Impatience rushed Sam suddenly. She wished Lori would tell her whatever it was that made her think she was an authority about Christina Montgomery.
“She was pregnant, you know. I examined her. I knew she was.”
Since Rachel had the baby, Sam found nothing news-breaking about Lori’s words. Everyone knew by now that Christina had been pregnant. When a baby had been left with Rachel, gossip had been rampant that the baby must be Christina Montgomery’s. The father’s identity remained a secret. But Sam had learned like everyone else that Rachel had had the baby tested and the DNA proved it was Christina’s.
In town, speculation had risen. Was the pregnancy—that precious child—the reason Christina was murdered? Had some man wanted his identity kept secret and killed her to prevent her from naming him?
“Why did the police call you in?” Sam asked. “Did Christina tell you the name of the baby’s father?”
“They didn’t call me. I volunteered.”
For Max’s sake, Sam thought it best to learn all that she could. If some new development existed in solving his sister’s murder, Sam believed he needed to hear about it from someone mindful of his condition, someone who cared. “Did she tell you the name of the baby’s father?”
“Well, no, she didn’t, not exactly.”
Sam’s patience waned. Perhaps Lori knew nothing and was simply on a self-importance kick. Annoyance and exasperation welling up within her, Sam looked away, ready to end the conversation and to make an escape.
“I think—” Lori leaned in and whispered, “I think he’s a Native American.”
Sam wondered if Lori had some facts or was just voicing her opinion.
“Why?” a male voice suddenly asked.
Like Sam, Lori jerked toward the sound.
Max stood beside the booth and eyed Lori with wariness.
“You’re done already?” Sam questioned.
“The appointment was postponed for half an hour,” he answered, but hadn’t looked away from Lori. “Why did you say that?”
Concern for him rushed through Sam. When had he come in? How much had he overheard?
“What did Christina say?” he prodded.
“Oh, Mr. Montgomery, I didn’t know you were here.”
Max cut her off from saying more. “What did she say?” he asked again.
He could intimidate with a look, Sam acknowledged, and wondered if she was catching a glimpse of the man who’d earned a reputation as unyielding.
From an adjoining table, he swung around a chair, then straddled it. “Tell me,” he insisted.
In a small show of nerves, Lori curled her purse strap around several fingers. “When I was done with the examination and confirmed that Christina was pregnant, she laughed.” Lori’s brows bunched. “No, that’s not right. It wasn’t really a laugh. ‘Daddy won’t be happy,’ she’d said.”
Sam imagined that was true. With his campaign ahead of him, Ellis would have viewed his youngest daughter’s pregnancy, especially without benefit of marriage, as untimely.
“I said that being a grandpa might change his mind. You know, I was trying to make her feel better. Once he sees the baby, he’ll be happy, I’d said.” Lori turned from Max to Samantha then. “I’ve seen that happen before. Everyone is upset, but sometimes when they see the baby, no one cares if the girl was married or not. A baby makes everyone feel good.”
“Did she feel better then?” Sam asked, wondering about Christina’s state of mind.
Distress deepened the lines bracketing Lori’s mouth.
“I don’t think so.” She glanced Max’s way. “I’m sorry. But she acted as if I’d given her really bad news, though she laughed. Not a funny laugh. It was one of those high-pitched ones that sound more sad than happy. And she said more to herself than me, ‘Daddy will never welcome this grandchild with open arms.’”
Across the table, Max’s eyes met Samantha’s before he asked Lori, “Why? Did she explain what she meant?”
“Ellis—” Lori paused and focused on Max. “She used the name Ellis, not daddy. ‘Ellis Montgomery never took kindly to Cheyennes,’ she said.” Lori nodded her head as if confirming her words. “That’s what she said. That’s what I told the police. And I heard they’d questioned Gavin Nighthawk.”
Expressionless, his head bent, Max kept his gaze fixed on some youth’s initials etched in the table.
“Guess, I’ll go.” Lori stood and waited a second.
As if lost in deep thought, Max didn’t look up.
“’Bye,” Sam said to urge Lori to leave.
“I believe her,” Max said softly when they were alone.
Sam swayed closer to keep their conversation private. “What do you believe?”
“About Ellis. More than once, when he’d talked about his campaign, he’d made comments that sounded prejudiced.”
“If that’s true, then do you think what else she said is true?”
“Seems likely.” Max frowned. “Who is Gavin Nighthawk? Do you know?”
“He’s a resident at the hospital.” Sam couldn’t give him more information. “I don’t know him personally. I only know what I’ve heard about him.”
“And that’s what?”
“I know he left the Laughing Horse Reservation for college and medical school. He’s conscientious, determined to make a name for himself as a surgeon.”
“Was Christina involved with him?”
“I don’t know who she was seeing.” She hated gossiping about Christina. It seemed wrong. Christina could hardly defend herself, but Sam answered what was public knowledge. “She had a reputation as a flirt, Max.”
With her words, Sam became aware of whispering at the next table. She made a half turn and saw the source. Lily Mae’s mouth flapped away to Janie. She’d heard too much. Soon everyone in town would hear the latest about Christina. “Lily Mae will spread Lori’s words all over town,” Sam warned Max.
“I don’t care. What difference does it make?”
“I think your father will be upset by the gossip.”
Max merely shrugged. Appearing indifferent, he said no more and left for his doctors’ appointments.
Unlike Max, his father and sister would be affected by this latest news, Sam believed.
Later that afternoon, as she was driving through the gates outside Max’s home, she considered his quieter mood. The moment they’d gotten into the car, he’d switched on the CD player. For most of the ride, he seemed content to pass time listening to saxophone music. Sam
didn’t intrude until they neared the house. “Did the doctor say you’re doing well?”
“Uh, huh.” He answered in a distracted manner.
Sam saw why as she spotted a man and woman standing on the driveway. “Those are your neighbors. The Crowleys.”
“Neighbors?”
“They’re really nice, Max.” Since grumpiness came easily to him, she hoped he acted civil. Perhaps if he developed a friendship with them, it would remain after his amnesia was gone. She stopped near the front door. Instead of waiting for Max, she bounded from the car to greet Joe and Barbara. With some reluctance, Max joined them.
Barbara delivered a weak smile in his direction. “I brought you something,” she said to Sam. “Joe—” she motioned with her thumb at her husband “—ate every single tamale you brought over, Samantha.” Affectionately she touched Sam’s arm. “So I brought you my lasagna. Everyone says it’s really good. I hope you like it.”
Sam accepted the dish from her. “How sweet of you.”
Barbara eyed Max then. “We heard you hit your head. We hope you feel better soon, Mr. Montgomery.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Barbara responded with an uncertain smile.
Joe hooked his hand under his wife’s elbow. “Let’s go now.” He propelled Barbara away from them. “Hope it knocked some sense into him.”
“Apparently I’m not his favorite person,” Max said when the Crowleys were out of hearing range.
Sam didn’t buy his indifferent act. She’d seen his frown. He could be stoic and blasé with others, but she’d noticed the discomfort, even pain and embarrassment in his eyes whenever someone revealed a past incident and a less than sterling image of him. Not wanting him to be alone to brood, Sam followed him into the den. “Max, you’re upset, aren’t you?”
“About me,” he answered simply.
If only she could make this easier for him. “Max, don’t be hard on yourself.” Tenderly she caressed his cheek. “It’s who you are now that’s important.”
She saw what looked like sorrow in his eyes. “And who’s that?” he asked.
Sam’s heart ached for him. Always he faced the emptiness of his own mind. “I like him. A lot,” she said softly. No, she felt more. Consequences suddenly didn’t matter. She was, she realized, her mother’s daughter, after all.
A hint of a smile crept into his eyes. In a loverlike way, he placed a hand at the curve of her waist. “Was that said as nurse to patient?”
Sam’s heart thudded harder. No amount of resistance worked. She was falling in love with him, rough edges and all. Tilting her face up to him, she welcomed his embrace. “Woman to man,” she said quietly. With a gentleness that was so light she barely felt it, his hand roamed over the curve of her breast.
“I love the perfume you wear.” He kissed the throbbing pulse at her throat. “You put it right here. Where else?”
Sam couldn’t talk. In what seemed to take effort, she looked down and saw her partially opened blouse. With one hand he’d deftly opened the top two buttons. “Max,” she said, breathless.
He kissed her cheek, the bridge of her nose. Slowly he rained kisses over her face. “Do you want me to stop?”
Of course, she didn’t.
She clung to his shoulders and responded with a tease. “Sometimes you talk too much,” she murmured.
Eight
His laugh answered her. His hand at her face, he kissed her with a feather-light seduction. It was a deliberate move, she guessed. An enticement. And it worked. She was dying inside for a fuller taste, for another deep, stirring kiss, for the heat and wildness she’d felt in his last kiss.
Desire hummed through her as his hand skimmed beneath her blouse, cupping her breast again. She framed his face with her hands. She needed him. He was the one who’d make her feel complete. He was the one.
When his mouth captured hers, pleasure instantly exploded within her. As if to stamp his mark on her, his lips pressed harder on hers. Eyes closed, she absorbed his taste, drifted beneath the magic of the kiss. This seemed inevitable to her. To him, too? she wondered. Had they been marking time until this moment?
Sam wedged her hands between them, fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. As it parted, she splayed her fingers over the sleek smoothness, glided them up from the hard plane of his stomach to his chest.
What sounded like a laugh edged his voice. “We’ll never make it to the bedroom.”
“We could stay here,” she said unevenly as she dragged the shirt off him. She’d seen him naked before, but this moment was different. When the shirt fell to the floor, she gripped his bare shoulders, let her fingers dance across the hard contours, the tautness of his flesh.
Beneath her hand on his chest, she felt the quickened beat of his heart. She had no thought but of the moment. She answered the play of his lips, the moist touch of his tongue. Her mind emptied to everything else. Not wanting to think of anything but his taste, she invited his seduction, the madness it could sweep her toward.
The coolness in the den rippled across her bare back when he eased her blouse off one shoulder, then the other. She felt such gentleness in his touch, in the kiss on her collarbone.
Her heart pounding, she yanked at the buttons on his jeans. With a long, low moan, she pushed at the denim and felt him quiver in response to the brush of her knuckles on his belly. Even before they stood naked, before he pulled her down to the rug with him, she was lost in him. Warm pleasure kindled within her. She felt the beat of his heart against her, heard the soft, intimate tone of his voice enticing her.
Eyes shut now, she fed on his urgency, on the sensations slithering along her flesh. She shifted to her side to give him room to explore. He scooted down, his lips trailing the length of her ribs to the curve of her hip.
She sprang alive beneath his kiss at her navel and sucked in air as his breath, hot and quick, fanned the inside of her thigh. Nothing existed except her body, the warmth of his mouth. With each exquisite stroke of his tongue, pleasure skittered through her, stole the breath from her, hurled her into a world of ecstasy. There was only him. She called his name while the sensation, the swift head-to-toe shudder, swept through her. Had she ever longed this much? she wondered. She wanted to rest, to catch her breath, but she didn’t want to let go of him. On a moan, she clung to him as if he were her lifeline.
Breathless, hot, her skin damp, she slowly opened her eyes. He was face-to-face with her again. For one heart-stopping second, his gaze met hers. Trust. Need. Desire. She saw all of that in his eyes.
“In my wallet,” he said in a husky tone, and started to pull away from her. He swore, hindered from movement by his cast.
Just as impatient, Sam took over. She reached for his jeans and in the wallet, she found the foil package.
“Here, give it to me.”
Anything, she thought. But not yet. She slowed the moment, nudged him to his back. Braced over him, Sam kissed his chest, let her tongue circle a nipple, roam the rock-hard surface of his belly, seek the heat and hardness of him.
She wanted to please him. She wanted to flirt with his control. She traced her fingertips along the curves of his arms, along his ribs. She kissed, she tasted. She loved.
His fingers grabbed a handful of her hair. There was no pull. He simply held on as if he needed to grip something to keep from falling. She taunted him, raining kisses over his body, memorizing every inch of it until she felt his muscles quiver. With his low moan, she rose above him.
Her eyes never left his as she straddled his thighs. With trembling hands, she rolled the protection over him, then inched forward. Head back, she slowly took the length of him into her. There was him, only him, the warmth and fullness of him, the strong feel of his hand gripping her hip now. Waves of sensation flooding her, she moved with and against him. A fire for him burned within her.
She heard another low moan—this time her own. Then his arm pressed against her back, tightened her to him as if he’d nev
er let her go. It didn’t matter if that was true or not. For a little while, she wanted to believe it.
Her body damp and flushed, she listened to his breathing, as harsh and quick as her own, and lay still on top of him while her heartbeat slowed to a normal beat.
Beneath the darkness in the den, she could see his face, his features less fierce now, almost serene. “I’ll move,” she said as she felt him shift slightly beneath her.
“Stay.”
Content, she rested her cheek against his chest and shut her eyes. She had one thought then.
One night was not enough.
Slowly Sam opened her eyes. The faint light of dawn flowed into the den, but she wasn’t ready to get up. Aware of the warm body beside her, she closed her eyes and curled in the crook of Max’s arm, absorbing his scent with every breath she took. She had no regrets, never expected to have any. She might seem spontaneous, but she tended to mull over notions almost endlessly before taking action. To be with him had been no spur-of-the-moment decision. She’d fantasized about it overlong.
Her fantasies had paled in comparison. She’d always thought she had an amazingly fertile imagination. But she’d never have conjured up such a wonderful night with him.
It had been perfect, and she hoped he wouldn’t want to talk about it, wouldn’t spoil the memory for her. She wanted this day with him. No explanations. No questions.
Shifting, she propped her chin on her hand and took her fill of his sleek, muscular body while he slept. Was such thinking head-in-the-sand mentality? Probably. But what her head knew hardly mattered. He’d touched her heart.
Feather-light, she kissed his shoulder. Though tempted to stay beside him, to curl into him, she eased from the sofa bed they’d opened during the night. On her way to the door, she snatched up clothes that had been discarded in haste last night, and carried the bundle up the stairs to her room, aware she’d have only a few moments before he would be up. Usually he didn’t laze around. He showered, dressed, drank two cups of coffee and a glass of juice and usually devoured the newspaper from front to back in the first hour.
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