by Karen Anders
“I have always wondered what the difference is between a hotel and a motel.” He raked his hands through his hair and it fell back around his shoulders like a silky ebony waterfall. She wondered what it would feel like between her fingers, against her heated skin.
Realizing that she was staring at him again, she shifted and stuck her hands in the pockets of her straight denim skirt. “A motel wants to be a hotel when it grows up.”
His lips twitched. His eyes traveled over her, and even though the humor glinted in them, she could still see the anger burning in their depths.
“Ah, a woman with sass and backbone. A volatile combination,” he said huskily, his voice doing strange and amazing things to her insides.
His eyes moved slowly over her, causing that warm tingle in her stomach to radiate to her skin. The appreciative look in his eyes made her so nervous that she instantly looked away.
Softly he said, “Look at me, Jennifer.”
Her eyes flew to his and her face flamed. His eyes lingered with intense force on her lips.
Self-consciously she licked them and the appreciative look swiftly changed to one she recognized immediately. Her breath fisted in her lungs. God, she’d never had a man look at her like that. It weakened her knees into jelly. It wasn’t lustful, exactly. It was the intense look of a man who admired a good-looking woman and made her feel intensely beautiful.
Unfortunately, the look made her remember what it was like to be held by a man, made love to—it brought heated visions of a hard, muscular body, legs wrapped around hers and warm supple skin. For a silent moment she savored those memories with a hunger that had grown over the thirteen long years since she’d divorced Sonny.
“So are you visiting?” she managed to say around the knot in her throat.
“No.” He folded his arms over his chest and tilted his head with a self-indulgent expression on his face.
“On vacation?” She thought that possibility unlikely and noticed how his eyes became distant, wary and closed.
“No.”
“Just passing through?”
“You’re very inquisitive, Jennifer Horn.”
And you are very guarded, Corey Rainwater. Yet regardless of the shield he had erected, she could see the pain in his eyes. This man was scarred and battered by life. He was running, she thought silently. “And you’re being polite. My father would have called it nosy.” She could hear her father’s voice. That inquisitiveness is going to get you into trouble one day, girl. That devil-may-care attitude will, too. Mark my words. He’d been right. The fact that she was raising a child alone showed how her impulsiveness had gotten her into trouble. “My father always called me as curious as a cat.”
A smile warmed his face and twinkled in his eyes. “Well, darlin’, cats have nine lives. You only have one.”
“A man with backbone and sass,” she teased. She watched the wide grin slash across his face and wished for more time with him.
What was she? Crazy? She had enough trouble. More than she could handle right now with Ellie and the Triple X, not to mention Jay. She knew she hadn’t heard the last from him. Besides, this stranger was involved some way with the rodeo. She was sure. And she couldn’t let history repeat itself. She wouldn’t.
“Down this road, you said?” he questioned while his astonishing eyes traveled over her face, then touched intimately on her hair as if it were changing colors or something equally magnificent.
She got the strange feeling that he was as reluctant to leave as she was reluctant to let him.
Ignoring the weakness that his smile aroused, she managed to keep the breathlessness out of her voice. “Yes. You can’t miss it.
“Why don’t you come to dinner tonight?” The words were out of her mouth before she could engage her brain. “After all, you saved me from getting punched out. The least I can do to repay you for your help is give you a home-cooked meal.” She stumbled over the words like a tongue-tied teenager. Her face flushed again.
He went very still. The raw pain that passed across his face wrenched something deep inside her. Who’d hurt him? she wondered. Who hurt him so much that a friendly invitation to dinner would make him look as though someone had ripped open a wound? She remembered what Jay had called him and winced inside. Derogatory words came easily to Jay. How many times had Corey’s heritage been belittled? she wondered.
He had been hurt enough to make a simple dinner invitation seem like a gift from God.
He looked at her so long she thought he wasn’t going to say anything. He rubbed at his eyes and pushed his hair back again. His voice cracked slightly when he finally answered.
“That’s very kind of you, but I’ll have to decline.” He paused and looked down the street as if trying to maintain his composure.
At his refusal of her invitation, she felt slightly relieved and intensely disappointed at the same time.
“You don’t owe me anything, by the way,” he said. “Creeps like that cowboy need to be taken down a notch or two. I don’t like seeing women abused.” He looked at her suddenly and the fierceness in his eyes caused her chest to tighten. “I especially don’t like seeing you abused.” His jaw clenched and he closed his eyes wearily, and she suddenly noticed how tired and drawn-out he looked. “Any decent man would have done what I did.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” She looked away because the vulnerability in his expression was too much to bear. Why did people have to be so damn narrow-minded?
“They didn’t seem too eager to help.” She gestured to the men and women who were still giving them interested glances as they made their way to their cars. “Everyone in this town is afraid of Jay and his brothers. They were bullies in high school, and they’ve only gotten meaner and nastier since then.”
“My advice would be to stay away from him, but I guess that’s hard to do in a small town.” He pushed away from the bike with a sigh.
“I would, but he won’t stay away from me.” Jennifer remembered the painful grip Jay had had on her wrist in the bar two nights ago. Remembered his pawing and his sweaty face pressed to hers. She got disgusted all over again.
Corey’s eyebrows snapped down into a frown. “Is he stalking you?”
“He considers himself irresistible and something of a lady’s man. I bruised his ego. He’ll get over it. I think he’s harmless, at least I thought so before today.”
He looked as though he was going to say something else, but then changed his mind. “Why don’t you report him to the sheriff?”
“The sheriff? He’s been trying to find evidence on Jay and his brothers to put them away, but he hasn’t been able to get anybody to press charges. Like I said, everyone in this town fears him.”
“Why is that?” Corey asked, drawing closer to her.
“Things happen to people who cross Jay.”
“Scare tactics. Very effective. Steer clear of him, darlin’,” he drawled softly, then, unexpectedly taking her hand, he brought it to his mouth and placed a soft kiss where her thumb joined her wrist. “Thank you, Jennifer Horn, for the directions and the dinner invitation.” He dropped her hand almost reluctantly and slipped on the mirrored sunglasses, but then peeked over them. “Stay away from jackasses. They bray awfully loud, but they can kick pretty hard.”
She smiled. She was flustered and tried not to show it. The kiss was just a brush of his lips, but she felt the contact as if it were a fiery brand. He rewarded her with a slight upturning of his mouth. Then he laughed softly. He pulled the gloves out of his belt, slipped them on, then reached back to pull the hat on, cinching it tight under his chin.
“Take care, Corey,” she murmured, her regret rising unexpectedly, leaving her with an inexplicable feeling of emptiness.
He straddled the bike and Jennifer couldn’t help noticing the thick, rippling muscles in his thighs. Definitely a rodeo rider, with legs like that.
“I. will, and thanks again for your help and the gracious invitation to a stranger.” He tippe
d his hat and a flare of awareness punched her in the gut. Why she found the simple act of him tipping his hat sexy, she couldn’t comprehend.
“You’ll be okay?”
“Yes,” she said pointing to her green truck with the Triple X’s on the side of the door. “My truck’s right over there.”
She watched him ride away, watched until he was out of sight. Trouble. He looked like big-time trouble to her. An outlaw with a gallant streak. A battle-scarred warrior, from the looks of him. Thief of hearts, if ever she saw one. She needed to steer a wide berth around him while he was in town.
It was safer for her.
Safer for her heart.
Safer for her sanity.
She let her breath trickle out. She didn’t need any more outlaws in her life. One had been enough. What she needed was a dependable, hardworking, benign foreman, who knew horses and bulls. Who knew how to ride, rope and brand. One who didn’t have hot turquoise eyes, hard muscles and a soft husky drawl.
Not that man. That man was running from something. It was in his eyes. The law? The past? Love? It fit with the image of him. Weren’t outlaws always running from something?
And weren’t there always women who wanted to help them or reform them?
Well, not her. Not this time.
She turned and walked away.
The woman had been attracted to him, but not in that giggly, irritating way most women came on to him. It was so subtle that he wouldn’t have been aware of it if she hadn’t flushed slightly, or dropped his hand as if it had been a hot potato. The woman was pure class. His palm still tingled from the contact; his ears still vibrated from the tone of her velvety voice, and his body was still hard from the awareness that had jolted through him. The force of the attraction scared the hell out of him.
He’d been so tempted to accept her dinner invitation, but it would only prolong the inevitable. He was just passing through.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her hair was like hidden treasure. He’d thought it was dark, but when the sun had come out he realized it was a dark auburn with glinting fiery highlights.
Damn, he had always had a soft spot for redheads—sweet, classy redheads with delicate bones, wide catlike green eyes and a body that could give a saint the fever. Make him give up heaven for one night in her arms. And her mouth. Those soft, coral lips glistened, invited, beckoned.
He had never wanted to explore an attraction more. He’d never met a woman he wanted to kiss right away. No, not kiss, but savor. Linger over her lips as if they were sweet nectar from the gods. His lips wanted more than the soft flesh of her hand. He didn’t want to just kiss her. He wanted to connect with her.
He wanted the right to touch her hair, her body, her heart. A lump formed in his throat. He couldn’t ever allow those pleasures because of his dark legacy.
His body had never responded so quickly to the sight of a woman. It was as if his body had a mind of its own and recognized her as the other half to make him whole.
He was so damn tired, devastatingly lonely and his guard was down. That was it, he told himself. His threshold was low.
It was a good thing he was just passing through, because Jennifer Horn was not a one-night stand. She was a woman who could worm her way into a man’s heart with one soft breath. A woman who would make a house a home. A woman who deserved better than a broken-down bull rider who had turned into a coward.
Maybe if he hadn’t been such a coward, his mother and little Marigold would still be alive.
He’d been wandering since he’d gotten out of the hospital two months ago, never staying long in one town except to do odd jobs until he made enough money to travel again. Right now he had fifteen hundred dollars to tide him over. It was as if his shame pushed him along, dragging him from city to town to small little burgs like Silver Creek. The shame he’d carried with him for a lifetime. Once a coward, always a coward, he said.
He recognized the look in the boy who had been with Jay this morning. They were tied by a common bond. He wondered who the kid was and what relationship he had to that vicious cowboy. Hell, it didn’t matter, did it? He wasn’t hanging around long enough to find out anything.
He never even went near a rodeo now. Once he had been at the top. A champion bull rider, belt buckle and all—years of belt buckles. But now he was nothing, and all he had to show for his time on the circuit were scars, painful memories and fear. He must never forget about the fear. How could he? It was always with him.
The vision of the black-and-white bull charging at him made his stomach queasy, and he pushed the image out of his head. He gripped the handlebars of the bike a little harder to quell the shaking of his hands. His hip began to throb.
He didn’t want to think about the past or worry about the future. He lived for right now. Got through each day and each night in a never-ending succession.
He didn’t think about the loneliness and the emptiness or the guilt. Not much. He didn’t dare think about the talent he’d locked up inside himself since he was a small child. A talent that burned to be released, ached to be expressed. He didn’t think about allowing himself to settle down in one place too long.
It would allow the shame and fear to catch up to him.
He’d spied the motel sign before he saw the building where Jennifer had said it would be. She’d also said it was clean in that soft, husky voice that made him think of black satin sheets. After a while, the motel, a nondescript elongated building beside the highway, came into view. It was the same as every other motel he’d ever seen, only this one was very well kept. Flowers lay in thick red, gold and purple riotous abundance. He had to admit it was the most appealing motel he’d ever seen.
A vacancy sign sat in the big picture window that could use a good cleaning. The dust from the road, he supposed. Just as he pulled in, a fresh-faced blonde came out with glass cleaner and flashed him a friendly grin as she proceeded to clean the window.
Corey parked the bike and ambled toward her, stretching the kinks out of his legs and back, rubbing absently at his left hip.
“Need a room, mister?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s Ellen,” she said before giving the window another swipe. “I must clean this at least three times a day. The road dust makes a mockery out of my elbow grease.”
He smiled briefly, liking the woman right away, then kept his expression somber. He didn’t want to make friends. He didn’t want to stay in one place.
“Well, come on in and we’ll get you situated.”
After he registered, he found his room, unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Not bad,” he murmured as he stepped inside. Jennifer had been right. It was clean. So was the bathroom, which smelled faintly of ammonia. Big fluffy bath towels lay over bright silver racks, and he sighed at the anticipated pleasure of being clean.
He stripped down, eager to wash the dust of the road out of his skin and hair.
He’d been riding most of the night and a good part of the day. The nightmares had woken him the night before, and unable to go to sleep he left the crumpled grass of his camp and sought the peace of the open road on his Harley. His body still hummed from the vibrations of the powerful machine.
A while later, clean, with just a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair damp, he settled on the bed and tucked his hands behind his head. The soft scent of lilac tickled his nostrils and he smiled when he saw the freshly cut flowers on the nightstand. He closed his eyes, but sleep eluded him.
His thoughts turned to Jennifer Horn. The woman was in trouble. The man she had called Jay wasn’t going to let up. Corey could tell bullies a mile away, and that guy was hell-bent on hurting Jennifer, maybe even seriously. A sense of uneasiness settled inside him and he swore softly. He didn’t want to care about the woman. Yet, to his astonishment, the rage he had felt at her possible injury flared up again, along with a fierce protectiveness he’d only felt for his mother and sister.
Damn. He couldn’t seem to h
elp himself. He was worried about her. Wondered who she had to protect her, where she lived, and what kind of trouble she was in.
Well, he couldn’t help. Hell, he couldn’t even help himself. How was he going to help her? By being there. You’re stronger and bigger and you need someone, a faint voice he suspected was his conscience admonished him.
He couldn’t fit anyone into his life. He was too busy trying to fit the pieces of his own life back together. Pieces that were almost smashed beyond recognition.
He thought back to the scene in the parking lot. Seeing a woman abused made him see red. He knew about battering. He knew what a woman looked like after a man’s fist had connected with the soft flesh of her face. How split lips looked all swollen and bloody. When he’d stopped to ask the couple for directions, he thought they were arguing spouses until he’d gotten closer and seen the look on the man’s face. Corey had been too little to help his mother, but, by God, he wasn’t now and there was no way in hell he could have refrained from stepping in to stop that vicious bastard from hitting Jennifer.
He’d wanted to beat the man senseless, but he had resisted the urge, knowing instinctively the woman abhorred violence and would have been horrified if she’d caused it.
But the cowboy deserved it.
Thinking about Jennifer brought back the shock in her eyes when his hand had met hers, the way her soft lips had parted in surprise. His eyes had homed in on that sweet, enticing mouth. Don’t think about her, he warned.
But it was easy to think about the woman. An easy excuse not to dwell on his failure or his shame. His pride had taken a damaging blow and most of the time he felt precarious, as though he were on the edge of a dark abyss losing his balance with no handhold in sight.
He had begun to unravel at the seams, slipping deeper and deeper into that black nothingness. The substance that was his spirit was leaking away like a bucket with a hole in it. Drip by precious drip it drained away until soon there would be only emptiness left. A gaping hole.