“Liz, hssst.”
Turning on him, she said, “You shut up.”
Raising her chin in an effort to appear dignified, despite hugging arms over her nearly naked self, she said, “I have never in my life been treated with such insolence. All of you are a bunch of redneck good ole boys who, who… Oh, shoot.”
As she stomped off, she heard them all, outlaws and lawmen alike, laughing.
Scabby butts, indeed. Don’t let the sun rise on your scabby butts. Dear Lord.
She snickered, imagined what anyone watching the scene might have thought. It was not only ridiculous, it was hilarious. She hardly made it back to the tent before exploding in laughter. Released from the high tension of the moment, she staggered into the tent and rolled around on the floor, laughing until tears poured from her eyes.
Chapter Eight
Glaring after the departing cops, Steven rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had cut into the flesh. Bastards always tightened ’em down so they hurt. He watched the cops until they climbed into their cars, then retrieved Liz’s flashlight and discarded quilt before heading for her campsite. Engines roared to life behind him, tires chirped on the blacktop, leaving the stench of burnt rubber in the pine-scented air. They were leaving, no doubt a little more than pissed at Liz for foiling their plans to roust the bad old bike bums and haul ’em in for a little grilling.
Near the tent he heard a noise. Sounded like crying. He didn't much blame her. Best if he left well enough alone, let her get it out of her system. Getting kicked out of the park probably ticked her off at him as well as those asshole cops. And rightly so. From inside the tent the noise rose a decibel and he leaned close to listen. Hell, she must be hysterical. Damn. What he ought to do is pitch this stuff through the door and make tracks. Fast. No telling what she might take out on him, and after the run-in with Smokey he was in no mood, no mood at all. Women could choose the damndest times to take stuff out on a man.
But he couldn’t go off and leave her all alone here after she’d saved their asses from jail. So he ignored the insistent voice that urged him to get on back to camp, pack up the bikes, and take off, dragged in a huge breath and, steeling himself, stepped through the unzipped screen. Ready to face anything she handed out.
She sprawled on the floor, hair sprung loose from its pins, hands over her face, she was shaking all over and—laughing. Yeah, laughing uncontrollably. Hysterical. Worse than crying. It wasn't true you smacked someone to bring them back to their senses. Besides, he was in no mood to take the consequences of doing that.
He leaned close, but not too close, keeping an eye on her hands. “Hey, you okay?”
Fingers splayed and she peered at him through a tear-drenched eye. “Oh. Oh, dear Lord,” she gasped, and fell into another paroxysm.
“What is it? What?” Still wary, he dropped beside her. “You sick or something?”
“What, what? My...my scabby butt, sick?” It was all she could manage before hysteria overpowered her once again and she rolled over to bury her face in her sleeping bag.
“Well, damn, woman.” He didn’t know what else to say and gazed around in confusion. Should he shine a light on the situation? Take the chance that would give her a target? She'd probably throw something at him. Moonlight seeping in wasn’t enough to make a good judgment of her condition, but he'd better let it be till he could.
“He... Did you see…? I never thought—” Once more paroxysms of laughter.
Tentatively he touched her quaking shoulder, cutting off her stammers. Through the thin shirt her skin was hot and moist. “You need to get a hold on yourself. This is a serious situation. If you hadn’t been there, they’d be hauling me off to jail or the morgue.”
“Oh. Oh sure. I saw you sprawled face down in the dirt. Oh, God.”
Gone again. Her uncontrollable laughter reached inside him, and he smiled but tried real hard to keep it serious until he explained himself to her. “Bastards like to harass me and the guys. We ought to be used to it. It comes with the territory. We’ve probably visited half the jails in this part of the country.”
She was only half listening. Past common sense, that’s what she was.
Big breath drawn in, held for a beat, then whooshed out. “And what you’re trying to say is because you didn’t want my…oh, God, my scabby butt in trouble, you restrained your normal reaction? That’s it?”
No use in replying, she was gone again.
And this time, he went with her, the contagion of her laughter overpowering his need to rationalize his behavior.
Scabby butts was funny, especially when used the way the cop had. But this funny? Still, her exuberance caught hold of him and he joined her. Settled back on that self-same scabby butt, now decently covered with cutoffs, and turned loose. Well, not quite so far as to roll around on the floor clutching his gut, but still he laughed. Been a while since he found much of anything funny, and it felt odd, strange. No, by God, it felt good. He let out a whoop until tears rolled down his cheeks.
There they sat in the dark of night, after having been accused and found guilty of mayhem if not murder and summarily ordered to leave the county before dawn or suffer the consequences, laughing themselves silly. This schoolteacher and him, alone in her tent, having a hell of a good time. In an entire lifetime, he couldn’t have imagined such a thing.
After a while she got hold of herself, and he managed to follow suit, both wiping their tears and facing each other.
Since she didn’t appear inclined to speak first, he elected himself. “I couldn’t believe it when they just put their pieces away and walked off when you got all pissy with that cop. Ought to keep you with us to scare off the law. You were great.” He puffed out his chest and did a passable imitation of her. “ ‘Where’s your search warrant?’ Search warrant? Did you see their faces?”
She nodded. “I saw yours too. They were going to drag you off to jail and you were all scared.”
“Nah. We’ve been in jail before.” Scared, him? Of being locked in a cell. Of waiting for the sound of approaching boots, the jabber of Charlie coming to mess with him some more. Maybe bust his head in. Shit, yes, he’d been scared, plenty of times, but he’d never admit it out loud.
“And you consider that commendable, no doubt.”
There she was zinging him again. “If you feel that way, then why’d you bother to stand up for us? Why didn’t you let them haul our scabby butts off to jail?”
Despite the harsh tone of his voice, she snickered.
He hoped she wasn’t going to go off again, but she held it in. “Because... I guess I don’t know why.”
“Didn’t figure you did. I don’t know why the hell you didn’t just stay out of it and let them drag us off to one of their funky cells. Wouldn’t be the first time. And sure would’ve served us right, when you figure the hard time we’ve been giving you.”
“That certainly isn’t an offense punishable by a prison term. But shooting that gun could have been. Still, I couldn’t help but think you did it for me, more or less, though I’m sure you were showing off a bit, as well. Didn’t want to think about you all incarcerated in some—what did you call it, funky cell?— while I went on having myself a wonderful summer vacation.”
“Damn, woman, you talk weird.” He had to steer her away from where this was going. Getting all serious about life and all.
“I? I talk weird? Everything you say is either obscene or unintelligible.”
He held up a hand. “Go ahead, put me in my place so you can deal with whatever the hell is your problem.”
“At the moment I only have one problem. That’s your presence.”
“Well, then, why don’t I just get the hell out?” He stood, but the tent was too small and he bumped head and shoulders against its domed roof, thus negating his self-imposed anger.
“Are you always on the verge of fury?” She began to grab up the scattered bedding. “I’d better get packed, so the sun don’t rise on my scabby butt. I’d sugge
st, well, I’d suggest you do…”
Whatever she was going to say was buried in a renewed laughter. He suppressed his own, determined not to enjoy himself a bit more than he had to. He'd deliver his message or die trying. “Look, since we were the cause of your getting kicked out of this wonderful place, we thought, I mean, I said I’d come over and help you get packed up.”
Going sober, she gazed at him with those liquid eyes. “What’d you do, draw straws and you lost?”
That tore it. “Goddamn, if you aren’t the most irritating woman I’ve met in all my life. Is it possible to be nice to you, or do you just have one hell of a mean streak?” Speaking to her all hunched over like he was, he didn’t exactly come off as someone with much command of the situation, but he got to her anyway, and she let fly.
“Since coming here I’ve been dragged out of the lake and dropped unceremoniously in a pile of rocks, I've been irritated by every imaginable loud noise created by immature men, my sleep has been disturbed by an armed attack, I’ve been made the butt of some stupid game dreamed up by three scruffy, over-the-hill hippies, and insulted by officers of the law who grouped me with a trio of motorcycle bums who have nothing better to do than spend their lives thumbing their noses at the world. Now you expect me to be gracious?” She drew breath and he opened his mouth, but—
“For the Lord’s sake, they pointed a gun at me, and here you are shuffling and grinning, expecting me to meekly accept your offer of help, like it’s some big deal apology or something. Frankly, I wish you’d just go away! And allow me to do the same.” She gazed at him a moment, anger sparking in her eyes, then she covered her mouth and uttered a small “oh.”
“What? What is it?”
“My car won’t start.” Eyes wide, she gazed at him.
Inclined to say that was too bad and hunch on out of there and run like hell, he took the time to study her for a moment. On her knees, fists clenched at her sides as if only barely controlling an urge to punch him one, and a huge tear escaped one eye and rolled slowly down to her jaw, where it dripped on her shirt.
“Hey, that’s nothing to cry about.” What honestly scared him worse than the threat of jail or a good beating from those cops wasn’t that she might turn violent but the possibility that she would bust out bawling. Despite her tendency to go off in all directions at once, lashing out at whatever was in her way, he wanted to console her. Needed to do so. Because he sensed her tears were shed not from anger at him but from some deep grief he felt driven to discover.
He'd take her in his arms, brush away strands of thick hair that plastered her wet cheek, tip her head onto his shoulder, draw the warmth of her life into the deadness of his soul. At least she had enough heart to feel emotions. Perhaps she could teach him how. So what if it was a selfish desire on his part?
Still he did none of those things, because he had better sense. Instead he backed out of her reach and stood outside the tent for a moment, breathing in the coolness of mountain air. He didn’t, though, do what he should have. That was run as fast as he could and leave her there to work out her own problems. Knowing full well that she was the spider and he the fly, he leaned down and peered into the tent.
On her knees, she continued to fold, roll, and pound at her things, making more of a mess than anything else.
“Come on out here a minute,” he said.
She didn’t look up. “No. Go away.”
“Please come here.”
“I will not. Will you go away?”
“No. You saved our lives, and I won’t go off and leave you this way. No matter what you think or what you say.”
“I hardly saved your life.”
He couldn’t tell her what she couldn’t understand, that her being here at a time when he’d seriously contemplated driving off the mountain probably had saved his life, if not that of Lefty and Shadow.
“Will you please let me help you get packed? And I’ll take a look at your car, see if we can get it started.” He waited a moment, and when she didn’t say anything, added, “You can hardly get your scabby butt out of town by sunrise if your car won’t run.”
He stared up at the night sky. Through the trees stars faded and reappeared with the stirring of a breeze in the leaves. He heard a rustling and looked down to see her crawling through the door, arms loaded with clothes. Head bowed, she stood before him, glanced up.
“Okay, so I could use your help.”
In his mind, he touched her face with the tips of his fingers, cupped that stubborn chin in the palm of one hand, shivered to the depths of his soul.
“Okay, so you can have it,” he said, arms down at his sides. Keeping her safe. Doing the same for himself.
A chilly breeze stirred around Mary Elizabeth's shoulders and she shivered from head to toe. Standing so close to this virile young man tempted the part of her most lonely and bereft. A woman her age, deprived of the companionship of a man for so long, was fair game for someone like Steven. If he was playing with her or worse, if she expected that action, then she wasn't sure what to do next. She had come here, not searching for another man but rather looking for the part of her lost to an unfeeling, unloving man. How could she even consider offering that damaged self to this one, who was clearly dangerous and self-destructive?
When he continued to stand so close, not saying anything, moonlight splashing over his shoulders and bare chest, she considered—no, it was merely a fleeting notion, wasn’t it?—dropping the clothes she held and reaching out. Touching him. His skin, the broad shoulders, the pale hairs on his chest. He looked younger, more vulnerable, with his hair cut. But those ancient eyes told another story.
What had Shadow said? Saving this man could be hazardous to her health. At the moment, saving herself was more what she had in mind.
She lowered her gaze to his waist, then below to the bulge in the shamefully brief shorts, felt a flush and raised her eyes to look once more at him. If he was conscious of her scrutiny he didn’t show it. Didn’t say anything either. Just stood there like a stone, staring past her as if afraid to meet her gaze.
The clothes were no longer in her arms, but she wasn’t conscious of what she’d done with them. And her hands were on his chest, one over each nipple, as if to fend him off. Holding on, pushing away. What? Which? He’d made no move toward her.
Drawing in a big sigh, she stepped forward, slipped her arms partway around him and laid a cheek in the nest of hairs. They tickled her skin, his warmth spread through her, and yet he stood so very still. Heart thudding in her ear, heat of life embracing her, short puffs of breath stirring her hair. Her hands drifted downward over the laddering of ribs to the waistband of the cutoffs. Smooth skin interrupted by a ridge of scarring that disappeared under the cloth.
Though his stomach muscles tightened, he made no move to hold her, touch her, the erection hard against her. He waited, a tight, closed expression on his face. Daring her, or perhaps himself. For a moment, she felt caught in the web of an impossible fantasy, one from which she could not escape. Having taken the first step, she could not retreat even if he refused to respond to her advances. He would have to push her away.
Bold, Mary Elizabeth. How bold of you.
Up from his chest emerged a sound of suppressed desire, and he slipped his arms around her. Held her close, breath coming in jagged bursts. Like an animal caged, wanting out.
Waves of warmth flowed over her, breaking one upon the other. A sensation she had not felt in so long. Under her ear his heart skittered, then settled down, and he made a small sound from deep inside. It spoke of longing, of exquisite contentment. Of a vague fear that had no name. Like hers.
When she raised her face, his lips waited, brushed, tasted, held. Drew her into a world she’d forgotten. Of youthful passion and blind ardor that denied culpability. He tasted of coffee and something minty, sweet and fresh. Not at all what she’d expected.
Levi chewed Juicy Fruit gum and when they kissed…
“Oh, God,” she moaned
. This man was not Levi and she was no longer sixteen, but she felt like it, way down inside herself.
Frightened of that unfettered desire, she shoved at his shoulders, but he locked her in a kiss so deep and all absorbing that she surrendered, telling herself he was too strong.
Against her, his erection stirred and collapsed. He groaned, dropped his arms to his sides, breathed hard against her mouth.
“Sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” he said. “Sorry.”
“No, it was my fault, I didn’t mean…” But she did, and her body ached when he smoothed his fingers over her arms and put her gently aside.
“I apologize for losing my head.”
“Not you, me. I’m old enough to know better.”
He avoided her gaze, chuckled nervously. “And I’m not?”
“Well, you know what I mean.”
“Not exactly, but it doesn’t matter.”
Did he put that defeated quality in his tone to gain sympathy? What an awful assumption for her to make. She had started this. Maybe he knew she wouldn’t be able to resist him, a man younger than herself, sexier, better looking. She was, after all, a plain, old-maid schoolteacher. Though married, bereft of sex for, lo, these many years. About to make a total fool of herself.
Abruptly he tilted his head and grinned charmingly. And she glimpsed in that instant an alluring youth peeking through the ancient facade. Did he do that on purpose, pull on a cloak of age, or had his pathetic existence done it for him? She was afraid of him then in a totally different way than before. He could blindside her, susceptible as she felt. She could no more send him away than she could kick a puppy. And that was indeed a dangerous way to feel.
“Hey,” he said, startling her from her reverie. “Let’s get your stuff together. Wouldn’t want those deputies to come back out here and find our scabby butts still hanging around.”
Neither laughed. Perhaps the joke had worn thin. She didn’t want to think about the seriousness of what had happened between them. And if he sensed its importance, maybe he didn’t either.
Once There Were Sad Songs Page 11