“Stop talking like that,” she snapped. “I think you’d better know, cowboy, I’m the chief of police, and you’re under arrest.”
“Arrest?” He tilted his head and smiled, never loosening the grip he had on her arm. “Well now, darlin’, we seem to have something of a problem here. Who’s got who?”
“It’s whom, and don’t call me darling.”
“Fine. I’m an agreeable fellow. What shall I call you?”
“Chief Fleming will do. Now, take your hand off me. It’s you who has the explaining to do.” She crossed her arms defiantly across her chest and stretched herself to her full height. “You’re wrinkling my uniform.”
“Uniform?” His gaze left Andrea’s face and skeptically studied the blue oxford fabric bunched up between his fingers. He swung around, turning her toward the fire.
As soon as the light touched her face, Sam Farley knew he’d made a mistake. He’d crossed paths with the law often enough during his travels to have overcome any fear of an officer in blue. It was the woman who caught him by surprise.
Sam felt his mouth tighten. She was standing there, returning his stare with a cool challenge that intrigued him. She looked like a cat who’d dropped down from the top of a fence and bristled her hair in warning to an intruder in her territory. A drop of rainwater rolled down her face and fell to her shirt. It spread in a dark circle just above her pocket, the pocket that covered her left breast.
He allowed his gaze to slide up her slim neck and strong chin, which she’d jutted forward in a dare. She was tall with a mass of dark hair tousled in wet wild curls across her shoulders and down her back. Her eyes were blue, a shimmering blue, the color of a Nevada sky in midsummer just before a storm.
“Stormy,” he whispered under his breath. Whoever she was, she’d forever be Stormy in his mind. “Well, well.” He managed to pull his mind back to her accusation. “So you are a cop. Sorry. I didn’t feel a badge.”
“That’s about the only thing you didn’t feel, cowboy.” The words slipped out, bringing back the mental picture of the two of them lying tangled on the floor.
Andrea felt her face flush, and she chastised herself for losing control of the situation. Buck would never have allowed himself to rise to the bait this way, and neither should she. “Now that you know who I am,” she said forcefully, pulling away from him, “I’d like to know why you broke into Miss Mamie’s house?”
“Because,” he said simply, as if the reason were obvious enough for a child to understand, “I didn’t have a key.”
He spoke so sincerely that Andrea believed him. “In a crazy kind of way, that answer makes perfectly good sense,” she admitted. “Now, would you like to explain why?”
“No. I don’t know whether I can,” he said, turning his fierce attention to the fire. He frowned. “I’m not sure that I ought to have come here. I always thought that she’d exaggerated. But she may have been right after all.”
The tension eased from his voice. He flexed his shoulders, and from her side view she watched a slow smile spread across his face, changing a worried expression of grim suspicion into one of devilish delight. With a haircut and a shave, he might be … interesting, Andrea decided.
“Who?” Andrea asked. “You just said that she may have been right. Who may have been right? Mr.… for heaven’s sake, cowboy, what is your name?”
“Sam.”
“Just Sam?”
He turned back to face her. “Sammuel Granger Farley. Sammuel with two m’s. My mama meant to name me Farley Granger after some movie star she fell for when she was a kid. My mother was a hoot. She had a good imagination. The hospital record keeper who wrote it down didn’t, and she couldn’t spell either.”
“Where’re you from, Sam with two m’s?” He was looking at her, but she could tell that he wasn’t seeing her. For a moment he seemed to have forgotten she was there. Andrea waited, watching him stare thoughtfully down at her. Outside the house the lightning flashed again.
“Everywhere and nowhere,” he finally answered. “I guess you’d call me a vagabond.”
Suddenly a clap of thunder racked the house like an explosion, rattling the walls and windows, and vibrating the floor.
A bolt of lightning sliced through the sky, curled into a ball of fire, and ran along the electric wire into the parlor, exploding into a swirl of orange flame that crackled and died at their feet.
Andrea screamed. Somehow, Sam’s arms were around her, and her arms were around him. The wind ripped one of the wooden planks from the window and flung it down the porch like a boomerang. Rain slammed furiously against the windows like the frantic beat of a hundred hearts.
“Wow, you sure do set off some spectacular fireworks, Chief Fleming,” Sam said softly. “Much more acceptable than gunfire. I think I’m going to like being your prisoner.” Sam lifted his hand to the back of her neck and held her motionless, sending her pulse racing faster than a wild animal being chased by one of Otis Parker’s coon dogs.
Fireworks? Andrea heard his words in horror. Her nerve endings vibrated as she fought the current of exhilaration sweeping through her. She knew what a coon felt like when it was about to be treed.
“Let me go.” When she pulled away from him, she felt as if she’d been singed. Who was this man? How had he managed to turn his arrest into some kind of intimate encounter?
“Please?” she whispered raggedly. “That’s enough. I insist that you tell me what you want here—right now.” Sam stared at her in astonishment, then shook his head in exaggerated nonchalance. “No, ma’am. I think not. That wouldn’t be wise at all, Chief. But what I’d settle for right now is a phone.”
“If you’re planning to call for help, forget it. No phone here, Mr. Farley. No taxi, and you already have the police.”
“Call for help? Me? No way. I learned to take care of myself a long time ago. But I might be tempted to ask if you’re the law in this place.”
“Tonight I am. If you need to use a phone, I’ll be glad to drive you down to the station.”
“What I need is food, darlin’. I’d like to pick up a pizza.”
“Pizza?” Andrea began to laugh. The absurdity of his request broke the tension. “There isn’t a pizza parlor closer than the county seat, and that’s ten miles away. This is the country, Mr. Farley. Everything is closed at this hour.”
“Great. And I swore,” he drawled solemnly, “that I’d never be hungry again.”
The man was hopeless. She was beginning to doubt that he was even acquainted with Miss Mamie. Andrea would have known if he’d ever been in Arcadia before. If she hadn’t, somebody else would have. Sam Farley was a man who wouldn’t be easily forgotten. She knew she ought to be firm, in charge. Yet every time he relaxed his stern manner, he knocked her off balance. Even covered with dirt, cobwebs, and blood, he was … blood!
“Mr. Farley,” she gasped, forgetting her confusion. “You’re hurt.”
“Not in a place you can see, Chief.”
“But you’re bleeding.” He was injured. What had happened to him? She couldn’t have done that. She’d hit him in the stomach. Maybe she’d been wrong about him. Maybe he’d robbed a bank and been shot. Maybe he’d been in a car wreck and that was why he had to walk. What kind of police officer was she?
“I’m sorry I hit you. Don’t worry, Mr. Farley,” she reassured him weakly. “As a police officer, I’ve been trained to handle emergencies. There is a first-aid kit in the car.” She took a deep breath and hoped that the injury wasn’t serious.
“You’re in charge, Chief. Whatever you say. You realize that I could claim police brutality. What’s the penalty for that in Arcadia?”
“Police brutality?” Andrea gave an incredulous shrug. “Why would you want to do that?”
Buck. I’ll get Buck, was Andrea’s first thought. She’d turned toward the door before she remembered that Buck’s leg was encased in white plaster with two little hearts drawn in the center by the nurse in the county hospital e
mergency room.
Wait a minute, Andrea told herself sternly. She wouldn’t let this man rattle her. She was the chief of police. She’d have to treat the injured man herself. What to do first?
Andrea forced herself to face the fact that, beyond covering it with a Band-Aid, she hadn’t the wildest notion of what to do with a wound. Her first day as chief of police of Arcadia was turning into a complete disaster. She’d just admit to police brutality and take him straight to the hospital.
Sam moved closer to the fire to examine the bright slash of blood across his chest and shoulder. He removed his shirt and stood obediently in the firelight.
“Okay, darlin’, examine me. I’m yours.”
Andrea caught her breath and swallowed the sound welling up in her throat. He was even more magnificent without his shirt. She guessed him to be in his early thirties. Whatever else he was, Sam Farley was a man of the earth. His upper body was nicked with scars. He obviously was used to physical work. His skin was bronzed a golden color that picked up the rosy tones from the fire. Except for …
“Mr. Farley! What is … that?”
Sam glanced from the disbelieving expression on her face to himself and back again, before breaking into a grin. “You mean my tattoo?”
He turned so that Andrea could get the full benefit of the large pink heart with the word MOTHER etched across his upper arm.
“What do you think of it?”
“What any woman would think. That all you need is an earring and a motorcycle. It’s disgustingly barbaric.”
“Not every woman,” he contradicted softly. “My mother liked it.” He held up his shirt and examined the blood once more. “I think that we’d better examine you, Chief. This blood isn’t mine.”
“Me?” She faltered, looking from the shirt he was holding to her own. There wasn’t a spot on it. What was he saying? “Certainly not, Mr. Farley. If there’s something wrong with me, I’ll wait until I get back to the station and check it out.”
“Nonsense. I could have hurt you earlier. We can’t take a chance on a thing like that. I’m good in emergencies.”
“I hardly think we have an emergency here,” Andrea began shakily as she took a step backward. “My vital functions aren’t impaired.”
“I’m not too sure about that, darling. We won’t know until we check you over, will we?” He started toward her, his serious gaze on her face. “Turnabout is fair play. I insist, Chief Fleming. Take off your shirt.”
Two
Andrea gasped. “You’re crazy, certifiably insane.” She backed out of the parlor and into the hall. “Don’t touch me. They know where I am back at the station.”
Sam stopped, spread his legs, and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, watching through nearly closed eyes. He hadn’t meant to scare her. He was only teasing. He’d better set her straight before she called in the cavalry.
Andrea was holding up both fists, her body set in a boxer’s stance. “If I don’t get back, the whole county will be after you. Louise Roberts knows what you look like,” she warned.
“After me?” he said dryly. “Put down your dukes, Chief. Who do you think I am? I’m not going anywhere, at least not yet. I’m sorry if I frightened you. I think the blood on my shirt must have come from your head. All I want to do is look.”
Andrea glared at him suspiciously. She realized that she was responding to him as a woman, not as the chief of police. But at the moment she was having trouble keeping the situation professional. Being teased by a dark-eyed stranger was new to her.
In the end it was his mouth that told her she had nothing to fear. As she watched, his tightly drawn lips began to soften. She remembered Louise’s description of a frown to cover his real feelings.
“Are you all right, Chief?”
Louise was right. Underneath his tough-guy manner, he was worried about her.
“You must have cut your head when you fell. Then you brushed against my shoulder when we, when I … when the lightning struck.” He held out his hand. “Come over by the fire and let me see.”
It took some strong doing, but gradually she began to relax and see the situation for what it was. The only danger she was in was the risk of being caught up in the moment. Sam Farley was just different from the men in Arcadia. He was a stranger with a confident way of looking at life that was new to her.
“All right, cowboy, but I want to know why you’re here,” she said with authority in her voice.
“Fine,” he agreed. “Come over here by the fire and let me examine your head, and I’ll level with you.”
He added more logs to the fire, uncovered an overstuffed couch in the shadows, and pulled it toward the fireplace, inviting her to sit down.
“My name is Sam Farley, I swear it. I was born in Texas. Lived all over the West while I was growing up. My mother liked oil and the men who found it.”
“An oil man? I thought you were a cowboy.”
“Only by birth. I was born in Texas. I’m a carpenter. I build things—houses, furniture, cabinets. If it’s made of wood, I can do it. Millie Hines was my mother. Mamie Hines was my grandmother. I have no brothers and no sisters, and unless my mother had family that she never mentioned, I’m guess you could say I’m all alone.”
“I can’t imagine being completely alone in the world …,” Andrea said softly as she lowered herself to the edge of the couch, “… without any family or friends. At least I still have Buck.”
Sam wondered a moment at her use of the word still. He liked the way she talked, all warm and soft and slow, like a woman after she’d been made love to. He shrugged his shoulders as he answered in a tone made sharp by the impossibility of his thoughts. “Maybe, but I don’t owe anything to anybody. There is nobody to tie me down, and I go where I choose.”
“And where have you chosen to be, Sam Farley?”
“Home has been wherever the work was, darlin’. I’ve built quarters for the workers on the Alaskan pipeline, rebuilt hospitals after the earthquake in Mexico, helped put up shopping centers all over the country, and even restored one of the houses in Williamsburg. There aren’t many places in the country I haven’t seen. What about you?”
She was subdued, gazing at him with the wonder of a little girl listening to the story of Sinbad or Cinderella. The flames bit into the new logs, lifting orange tongues up the chimney. “Me? I … really haven’t been anywhere, and I’m not going to. I stay right here, in Arcadia, because I choose to.”
There was something so final about her words that Sam found himself leaning forward, reaching out to comfort her, involuntarily touching her cheek before realizing his mistake. He moved his fingertips to her hair and waited for her to accept his caress before he began his inspection. When she didn’t say anything, he gently parted her hair and began to explore. Then she flinched.
“Here, I found it. The cut is just a small nick on the scalp, nothing serious. It’s already stopped bleeding.”
Andrea felt a blush creep across her face. She moved her head away from his disturbing touch, dismissing her strange feelings with a practical question. “What about your father? Was he in construction too?”
“My father? Never had one, at least so far as I know. Didn’t bother me, but my mother seemed to think that would be a problem for the home folks.”
Andrea regarded him with new understanding. Beneath the teasing cowboy rogue, she glimpsed the brooding uncertainty that he tried to hide.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,” he said roughly, as though he’d revealed too much. “Being here in the house is getting to me, I guess.”
She decided that not having a father bothered him more than he would admit. Choosing her words carefully, she provided an answer to his unasked question. “I think your grandmother would be very pleased to know you’ve come.”
“My mother always said we’d come back here someday, but we never did,” he said, continuing to stare into the fire. “I never knew why she left. Coming back wa
s important to her, yet she always put it off. Then she got sick, and it was too late.” As he watched the flames dancing eagerly about the old dry logs, the lines in his face gradually relaxed.
“Miss Mamie’s been gone for two years. Why did it take you so long? Were you that busy?”
He turned and ambled to the window, glancing out as though he found standing still a problem. “There’s a place in Alaska where you can stand on top of a mountain and the sky is so full of stars that you want to reach up and take a few in your hand. There’s a windswept beach on Baja that’s so pretty, it seems unreal. There’s a whole world out there, and I’ve only seen a part of it. It’s been hard for me to stop wandering long enough to come here.”
“You know they’re about to auction off the property for taxes. Nobody knew how to reach your mother.”
He looked back at her, frowning. “I know. I found the auction notice in my mother’s papers when—” he hesitated for a second, dropped his voice, and walked back to the fire, “after she died.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Andrea fought back the urge to go to his side and lay a comforting hand on his tense shoulder. Instead she said quietly, “You’re still in time to pay the taxes and claim the land, if you choose.”
He looked at her in surprise as though that thought had never occurred to him. “Me? Stay in a wide place in the road like this?” His tone was one of disbelief, overwashed with scorn. “Darlin’, do I look like a small-town boy?”
“No, I guess not.” Andrea shook her head and watched his mouth tighten.
“I’ve got a little money left, but not enough for that, even if I wanted to stay. For the moment all I’m good for is … a little food, a little wine, and—” he paused, turned his frown into a rakish grin, “thou, providing you don’t have expensive tastes. No, I’m not going to claim the homeplace, except for the night. I guess I just wanted to see it once.”
‘Thou’? Andrea considered his flirtatious words in silence. The rain had turned into an intermittent drizzle, the little moments of quiet coming like a pause for breath.
She watched him stand and put his shirt back on.
Run Wild With Me Page 2