“Maybe not clear enough. Just because we’ve decided to be cordial doesn’t mean this is anything more than two colleagues—”
“It’s just wine, Callie.”
She caught herself. Smiled. “I guess I’ve always been too serious for my own good. I’ll get the glasses.”
She dropped the pillow and blankets on the sofa, then disappeared into the kitchen as Harlan found a corkscrew and opened the bottle.
A moment later she came back and held out the glasses as he poured, a little more generous with the liquid than he needed to be. Truth was, Harlan was disappointed by her insistence that this meant nothing, even though he’d suspected as much. He couldn’t stop staring at her, thinking about her body, the way she carried herself. Remembering the things they used to do together. Alone. On his bed.
Maybe the wine would dull his senses a bit.
“To tracking down bad guys,” he said, punctuating the words by touching his glass to hers, marveling at how beautiful she looked in the growing firelight.
She stood only inches from him now and he wanted so much to lean forward and kiss her, to taste her lips. But he knew that would be a serious mistake. Instead he drank his wine, nearly downing it in a single gulp.
Callie said, “Slow down, partner, that isn’t grape juice.”
He finished it off and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I guess I needed that more than I thought I did.”
Then he looked into her eyes again and thought he saw a flicker of desire there. A look he’d seen many times before.
But he couldn’t be sure. Especially now that the wine was flowing through his bloodstream. He hadn’t been lying about the transparency of her emotions, so maybe what he saw was only the flicker of the fire playing tricks on him. Or his own desire getting the better of him.
He poured another finger of liquid and downed it, then turned and set the glass and bottle on a nearby end table. The wood in the fireplace had caught now, and he crossed to the gas valve and shut it off.
“Guess we’d better get some sleep,” he said. “Thanks again for putting me up.” He smiled. “And for putting up with me.”
“Not so hard,” she said. “I deal with criminals for a living, remember?”
Then she finished her glass, set in on the table next to his and bid him goodnight as she left the room.
Harlan didn’t think he’d ever been so sorry to see someone go.
IT WAS CLOSING IN ON THREE o’clock when Harlan heard the sound.
The sofa was comfortable enough, and although the fire had died down quite a bit, he could feel its warmth. But he’d slept fitfully through the night, still thinking about Callie and his desire to kiss her. To take her in his arms.
He couldn’t decide if what he was feeling was real and immediate, or simply the residue of a past that hadn’t been completely scrubbed away.
Get a grip on yourself, moron. You’re here to do a job and nothing—
The sound came from a hallway on his left—the faint padding of footsteps on wood, and he realized he had dozed off for a moment.
He turned now and saw her silhouetted against what was left of the fire, and in the faint light could see that she was wearing an oversize University of Colorado sweatshirt. Probably the same one she used to wear in the old days. It cut high on her thighs, her smooth bare legs exposed to the night air.
She looked as if she hadn’t aged a day since college, and if he wasn’t mistaken, there were tears in her eyes.
“I can’t sleep,” she said softly.
“Neither can I.”
Without another word she climbed onto the sofa next to him, pressing her warm body against his, leaning in to kiss him.
As she opened her mouth, the faint smell of her breath wafted past him—a uniquely Callie scent that he would know with his eyes closed. Their lips touched and he drew her tongue in, the taste as sweet and inviting as he remembered.
And as they kissed, she snaked a hand down past the blankets, sliding her fingers across the fabric of his boxers until she found him and gently squeezed.
There are those who think that sex is just sex for a man, that he’ll sleep with any women he finds remotely attractive. But this wasn’t true for Harlan. He wasn’t a monk, that was certain, but in all the years they’d been apart he had never found a woman who excited him the way Callie did. He instantly grew hard against her hand, the sudden need to be inside her nearly overwhelming in its intensity.
He wanted to feel her heat envelope him, the memory of it quickening his pulse. He rolled her over onto the cushions and pressed himself against her. Pushing her sweatshirt up, he gently took hold of her right breast and ran his thumb across the nipple, feeling it harden at the touch. Then he lowered he lips to it and she arched her back slightly, pressing into him, her hands searching again, reaching past the elastic of his boxers until she found him.
And he knew that she was feeling the very same overwhelming need. The all-consuming desire. It was as if they had been in a constant state of foreplay ever since he walked into that conference room. He wanted to take his time to please her, but she seemed to be well beyond such concerns, the urgency of her breathing telling him that she was ready for him. Now.
Moving her hands to his waistband again, she pushed his shorts down to free him. She was wearing a pair of silky panties, but she didn’t bother to remove them. Instead she pulled them to one side and guided him into her, kissing him, whispering in his ear, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“No,” he said. “It’s my fault. It was all my fault.”
And he thrust forward like man possessed, electric heat radiating through his body as she writhed beneath him, mewing and moaning with each powerful thrust. He scraped his teeth across her shoulder, her neck, then found her mouth and her tongue again, her quickening breaths in perfect counterpoint to his moving hips.
And just as he thought he couldn’t take any more, as if his mind were about to succumb to an explosion of ecstasy, she suddenly looked up at him and said, “Wake up, Harlan. We need to get moving.”
Harlan blinked, opened his eyes. Found himself alone on the sofa, his legs tangled in the blankets.
Callie was standing across the room in the kitchen doorway, dressed and ready for work, a cup of coffee in hand.
“You seemed to be having a heck of a nightmare,” she said. “You want to share?”
Harlan blinked again, trying to get his bearings. “Did we…? Did…”
“What?”
And then the realization that it had all been a dream came crashing in on him.
“Never mind,” he croaked.
“Are you okay?” Callie asked.
Still trying to get his bearings, Harlan nodded. “Fine… I’m… I’m fine.”
“Then hurry up and shower. I want to swing by and see Nana before we meet Rusty and Mercer.”
Harlan shifted uncomfortably on the sofa.
Easier said than done, he thought.
It would be a while before he could stand up without embarrassing himself.
Chapter Fourteen
“You sure you’re okay?” Callie asked.
Whatever Harlan had seen in his dream must have rattled him. He’d been acting funny all morning.
They had been waiting near the charred remnants of the Pritchard house for a good fifteen minutes now, and he’d barely said a word to her since they’d left the house.
“Harlan?”
“Sheriff’s here.”
He nodded to a truck pulling a long horse trailer as it turned into the drive, Mercer behind the wheel, Rusty riding shotgun. Mercer brought it to a stop and they climbed out, greeting Callie and Harlan with grim nods.
Nobody was looking forward to this ride.
“You try Landry again?” she asked Mercer.
“I would have if he was still around.” Mercer dug into his shirt pocket, produced a wooden matchstick, and stuck it between his lips. He’d been trying to quit smoking for weeks. �
�Hank over at the Cottonwood says he checked out first thing this morning. No mention of where he was headed.”
“He didn’t look too happy when we left last night.”
Mercer chewed on the matchstick as he moved around toward the rear of the horse trailer. “Can’t say I blame him. He’s known Meg since the day she was born, so I can understand why he’d be reluctant to help us.”
Landry was too loyal for his own good. Callie figured he’d spent all these years tending to Jonah Pritchard’s every wish, and what had he gotten out of it? She couldn’t imagine that he was in Jonah’s will. The ranch and the Pritchard fortune would undoubtedly be inherited by Gloria and Meg, and Landry would be left out in the cold.
But Mercer was right. The poor smiling fool felt indebted to the Pritchards and it had been a stretch to think he’d help any more than he already had. Mapping out the trail to the Pritchard gang’s old hideout was enough of a betrayal to last him a lifetime. And Callie wouldn’t be surprised if he was busy getting an early-morning drunk on.
Mercer took a mobile GPS device from his pocket. “We get up high enough in those mountains, this thing won’t be worth squat.”
“Terrific,” Callie muttered.
The world had grown dependent on satellites and electronic gadgets, and map or no map, she knew this trek wouldn’t be an easy one.
Mercer had initially considered attempting an all-out assault, using every deputy he had available to him, but before they’d left the library last night they had decided to keep the team lean and mean. The less manpower involved, the faster they could move.
So it was just the four of them.
This particular stretch of the Bighorns, however, was known to be treacherous territory, which was why a band of outlaws had been attracted to it over a century ago. That it hadn’t changed was a testament to how dangerous it could be.
“The main thing we have to remember,” Mercer continued, “is to stick together. I don’t want anyone getting lost up there.”
“Maybe we should try a little harder to find Landry,” Rusty said. “Appeal to his sense of civic duty.”
“Good luck with that.”
Fortunately, they were all experienced riders. Landry had furnished them with plenty of landmarks and both Rusty and Callie had done group hikes in these mountains. But today they’d be going well beyond the established trails and once they got into no-man’s-land, they’d have be doubly careful.
The only Bighorns virgin in the group was Harlan, but he had assured them he’d be able to hold his own. And despite his odd behavior this morning, Callie didn’t doubt it for a minute. She might have her issues with the guy, but he’d always been strong and capable and smart.
“We’re wasting time,” he said. “What do you say we saddle up and get moving?”
Mercer unlatched the gate of his trailer. The horses—four Morgans from his personal stable—were huffing and shuffling restlessly inside, anxious to be let free. It was a breed Mercer had always sworn by, telling Callie that they were the best trail mounts a man could ask for.
“I think these gals kinda like that idea,” he said.
THE BIGHORN MOUNTAINS were a stretch of the Rockies that spanned two states—north-central Wyoming and southern Montana. The range was a well-known tourist destination for campers, hikers and riders alike, and there were lodges and trails and campgrounds available to anyone with an adventurous streak.
The trail Callie and company were following, however, was not one that was often used. The late Jonah Pritchard had seen to that. It started at the northern part of his property and snaked a good distance up toward Cloud Peak, through what was commonly known as the Cloud Peak Wilderness. The area was controlled by the National Forest Service, but never tell a Pritchard that. Their sense of entitlement stretched well beyond the boundries of any federal mandate.
Robbers Canyon was hidden deep within that wilderness, beyond what anyone familiar with the Pritchard gang legend called the Lost Woods, where the gang had outmaneuvered and sometimes outgunned many a posse.
Callie and the others rode single file along the winding trail, Mercer in the lead, consulting his GPS for as long as it would let him. They all had compasses and photocopies of Landry’s hand-drawn map, in case one of them got lost, but so far they were relying on modern technology to get them there.
That would change soon enough, but for the first few hours of the ride, Mercer had shown the way.
As the day wore on, Callie’s seat bones started feeling a little sore. It had been a good year since she’d ridden a horse, and not only did she feel it in her butt, she knew that her thigh muscles would pay for it dearly. The ache would set in the minute she dismounted.
Which was bound to be soon, she thought. They’d been riding for over half the day now, mostly uphill, and the horses needed some rest.
As if reading her mind, Mercer called back to them, “There’s a creek just around this bend. Might be a good time to water the horses.”
“Can’t that wait?” Rusty asked. “The sooner were get there the better.”
“These gals may be tough, but they need their rest, and I don’t figure our fugitives are going anywhere. We’ll get there soon enough.”
A moment later they rounded the bend and crossed toward a narrow creek that wound past a steep, rocky hillside. They cued their horses to a stop, then dismounted and led them to the water, Callie feeling a burn in her thigh muscles that she knew would be even worse tomorrow. Her legs were trembling slightly, as if she’d just spent the past couple hours making love.
If only.
As Mercer tended to the horses, Rusty found some shade under a nearby tree, then sat down and leaned his back against it, fanning himself. “Could anyone else go for a nice cold beer right now?”
Harlan was still uncharacteristically silent. Unslinging his backpack from his shoulder, he reached inside for a bottle of water and tossed it to Rusty. “It isn’t beer, but it’ll keep you hydrated.”
“Thanks.” Rusty uncapped it, then took a long swig and closed is eyes. “Much better.”
Callie watched the exchange, noting that Harlan seemed to be doing his best to avoid talking to her. Unable to take it any longer, she said, “So you ready to tell me yet?”
Now came the innocent look. “Tell you what?”
“What’s been eating you all morning.”
He faltered. “Is it that obvious?”
She glanced at Rusty, then took hold of Harlan’s arm and pulled him closer to the hillside. “I haven’t forgotten how to read you, Harlan. I know when something’s up.”
“I guess you would, considering we used to be connected at the hip. Although I’d think you’d be a little out of practice after all these years.”
“Like riding a bicycle, I guess. Or a horse.” She thought about her aching butt and wondered if there was a suitable analogy there. “So are you gonna tell me, or keep avoiding the question?”
“You may not want to hear it.”
She frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“Because it’s about you.”
She hesitated, but now she was really curious. “A statement like that certainly won’t discourage me,” she said. “So you might as well spill.”
Harlan looked down at his boots now, as if what he was about to say was both embarrassing and a little perplexing. Then he said, “I had a dream about you. About us. So real I could’ve sworn it was actually happening. That’s why I was so flustered when you woke me this morning.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. She thought she knew where this was headed, but wanted to make sure. “What kind of dream?”
“The kind of dream you don’t want me having anymore. You came to me on the sofa wearing that oversize UC sweatshirt you always used to—”
“All right,” Callie said. “I think I get it.”
“That makes at least one of us.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought I was past all that. Yet her
e we are, together for less than twenty-four hours, and I’m already having dreams about you. I think that says something, don’t you?”
Callie was surprised to discover that her heart had kicked up a notch. She tried to shrug it off. “Like what? That you’re a man?”
“Come on, Callie, this isn’t about sex and you know it.”
“Oh? Then what’s it about?”
“Forget it,” he said. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
Too late, she thought, as a bucketful of images tumbled through her head—exactly the wrong kind of images. She was supposed to be focusing on this manhunt and all she could see were Harlan’s lips and tongue and hands and…
Not about sex, huh? Then why couldn’t she scrub these images from her brain? Now the damage was done and she realized her legs were trembling again. Only it had nothing to do with the long ride.
Calm yourself, Callie. For all your talk of forgiving and forgetting, this isn’t really what you want. You’ve moved on. So stay moved on.
But had she? Really?
And if Harlan was having dreams like this, maybe he hadn’t, either. Maybe they should both be paying close attention here.
But no, there was always that one thing that came between them. That one wedge that she just couldn’t seem to shake loose.
Treacher.
Poor dead Treacher.
And the thought of him and everything that had happened that night always had an instant sobering effect on her. Instead of seeing Harlan’s lips and tongue now, she saw Nicole Bittenger’s lips and tongue, doing unspeakable things to Harlan. It was a part of this whole sordid mess she hadn’t thought about in a long, long time, but she knew it was the glue that kept that wedge firmly in place.
Harlan had been with someone else when Treacher was killed.
He had always denied that anything had happened that night, but Callie hadn’t been able to allow herself to believe him. To trust him. And if you can’t trust the man you love, what’s the point?
“I think you’re right,” she said. “You shouldn’t have told me. Some things should remain unspoken.”
“That’s always been the problem, hasn’t it?”
A_Wanted Man - Alana Matthews Page 9