by Mindy Neff
“Oh, you absolutely should. I can’t seem to get my way with you. My ego is beginning to suffer.”
Her lips curved. “I doubt that.” She’d danced with him only once before—at Sunny and Jack’s wedding. The press of his body against hers had set off an inferno inside her. Just as it did now.
Why couldn’t she have been oblivious to the consequences of falling in love with Storm? He’d been out of her reach all her life, yet he’d still been her most cherished dream—a secret dream that she hadn’t attached any hope to because it never occurred to her that he would even be interested.
Who knew they’d one day want with such fervor?
Would she have felt differently if this had happened before Tim? Before she’d learned an even harder lesson about pain and loss?
Speculating didn’t do any good. It was too late for them. Because she had learned a lesson. And the price of repeating past mistakes—of possibly losing him—was too high.
She couldn’t give him the ties that would take away her freedom. And those were the very ties he wanted.
“Relax,” he whispered. He brought their joined hands to his chest, rested his cheek against her temple.
If a woman could relax while snuggled up against Storm Carmichael’s wide chest, something was seriously wrong with her. His spicy aftershave teased her senses. Beneath her hand, the soft knit of his pullover sweater radiated heat from his broad shoulder. She felt his arousal pressing behind the fly of his jeans as their bodies brushed. It was like making love standing up.
Her libido shot into overdrive because she knew he could do just that. The night she’d gotten pregnant, he’d made love to her in ways that had stunned even as they had thrilled.
She needed to get her mind off sex. Pretty difficult in this position. At last, she just gave in to the sweet torture, because despite her brain’s warnings, she was having a really good time.
“Thanks for suggesting this,” she said against his ear.
“Dancing?”
“And dinner. It’s been years since I’ve had a real evening out like this…other than with the girls, I mean.” She didn’t want to say ‘date’ because that made it sound too personal. Their relationship had already become too personal.
His hand slid up her back, beneath her hair, held her as though she was his most cherished gift. “It’s my pleasure…literally,” he murmured.
Lord, when he spoke in that deep, suggestive drawl, looked at her out of those intense green eyes, she wanted to pull his head down to hers, feel the weight of his lips, the hot liquid silk of his tongue against her, around her, in her.
Each time he moved forward, his thigh pressed between her legs, making her ache with longing in that vibrant, tender part of her body. A heart-stopping kaleidoscope of images flashed through her mind…a face so familiar…naked bodies straining…clever hands stroking, arousing enflaming.
He was her strongest weakness. And that was so dangerous.
When the song ended she stepped back, shaken by the emotions swimming through her veins. Did pregnancy do this to a woman? she wondered. Throw her hormones totally out of whack? Make her so sensitive, the least little friction could cause her to burn? Have her yearning to forget caution and ignore the consequences?
“We should probably get going,” she said, surprised her voice didn’t shake since her insides were quaking. “I have a client booked at eight o’clock in the morning.”
He stared at her for a long moment, as though oblivious to the couples leaving the dance floor. “On the weekend?”
“Saturday’s my busiest day.”
He followed her back to their booth, placed several bills on the table and helped her on with her sweater, pulling her hair out from the collar. “Sure you don’t want dessert?”
“Now you ask me after you’ve already paid the bill.”
“I’m having a little trouble reading your signals, Slim. Won’t take but a second to call the waitress back.”
“I’m teasing. Dr. O’Rourke won’t be happy with me if I gain sixty pounds.”
He put his hand at her back as he guided her through the restaurant. “You’ve got a long way to go, darlin’. Did you tell her about the weight you’d lost these past few weeks while you were so sick?”
When he asked these personal questions, showed this compassionate side, it gave her a giddy jolt. “She knows.”
They were nearly to the door when they came face-to-face with Tim. The surge of fight-or-flight adrenaline hit her fast and hard. He had the deceiving blond good looks of an Adonis…and the black soul of a predator.
“Hello, Donetta.”
In a subtle move she wasn’t sure he was aware of, Storm stepped a half pace in front of her, shifted her slightly behind his shoulder. Protecting her.
“Tim,” she acknowledged.
Storm paused just long enough to meet Dilday’s gaze, his own deliberately intimidating. Typically, the scumbag wouldn’t hold his stare. The pretty boy was only brave enough to pick on women. Shoving him back out the door, giving him a taste of his own medicine, would be so easy.
He resisted the temptation. “Excuse us,” he said as he maneuvered Donetta out the door. The nicety galled him, but he didn’t want to provoke a fight and upset Donetta. She’d been through too much upset where Tim Dilday was concerned. One thing was sure, though. There wasn’t room enough for both him and Dilday in the same town. He would have to remedy that.
When he had Donetta in the truck and was settled behind the wheel, he looked over at her. “Sorry about that. Nothing like a creep to spoil a nice evening.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say it was spoiled. Seeing him caught me off guard for a minute, but I actually enjoyed watching Tim sweat when you gave him your dangerous-cop look.”
“If I’d been alone I would have done more than that.”
“Don’t try to fight my battles, Storm. Tim’s history.”
“How can he be if you keep running into him?”
“That’s just it. I don’t run into him.”
“It’s a small town. Pretty hard to avoid him.”
“Yes, it is. But you and I didn’t run into each other until Sunny came back and gave us a reason for our paths to cross. It’s a matter of where you hang out. People can go months without speaking to their neighbor if their schedules don’t mesh. I make it a point to see that mine doesn’t coincide with Tim’s.”
He started the truck and put it in gear. She had a point. They were supposed to be such close friends, yet in the two years he’d been the sheriff of Hope Valley, he’d hardly seen her.
Part of that, he realized, was his own avoidance. After the shooting he’d felt numb, alienated because he’d been forced to retire from the Rangers…not whole. And he’d felt betrayed by Donetta because he’d thought she hadn’t been at the hospital when he’d needed her. Now, of course, he knew different.
He turned on his high beams as they traveled down the nearly empty highway. He hadn’t realized how late it was.
The smell of alfalfa wafted through the cab from the air vents. Up ahead he saw movement and automatically let off the gas. Senses alert, he observed a lone pedestrian weaving along the shoulder. The person stumbled and fell into the ditch at the side of the road, then jackknifed to a sit and attempted to climb up the two-foot slope. He rolled back down like a turtle flipped over on its back.
“Oh, my gosh, Storm. Did you see that?” Storm blew out a breath and tapped the steering wheel, the speedometer needle falling rapidly as he braked. He didn’t need night-vision glasses to ID the subject.
“Gus Sackett,” he said. “One of my regulars, who spends a few nights a month at that fine bed-and-breakfast known as Hope Valley Jail’s drunk tank.”
“Poor guy. He can’t even get out of the ditch. We’ve got to help him.”
“Darlin’, Gus isn’t one to appreciate folks helping him.” He slowed the truck to a crawl and shut off the headlights, mentally tossing coin. The muscular 260-pound man opera
ted the junkyard out on Stoddard Road, and when he was drunk, he was meaner than the dobermans that guarded his gate.
Storm wasn’t in the mood for a fight. At least, not with Gus Sackett.
He didn’t want to expose Donetta to that kind of a scene. Especially after she’d just seen her ex-husband.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
“I can leave him here, and hope he sleeps it off and doesn’t get himself killed by a wild animal or a semi. Or I can haul his sorry ass in.”
“Can’t we just give him a ride home?”
“Tried that before. When he’s this bad, he won’t stay put. There’s no telling where he left his truck or how he ended up out here. Besides, he’s got two other pickups. If we take him home, he’ll climb into one and try to find his way back to the bar.”
If Sackett wanted to drink himself to oblivion and step in the path of a freight train, that was one thing. But Storm was worried about the unsuspecting citizen who might swerve to miss a drunk passed out in the middle of the road.
He flipped on the radio. “I’ll call it in, have a couple of the deputies swing on out here and wrestle with big Gus.” He checked his watch. “It’s nearing shift change. Skeeter’s not going to be thrilled. When I was starting out in police work, the senior officers always handed off these calls so they didn’t get stuck staying late.”
“Then why do that to Skeeter? We’re here anyway. Do you need help getting Gus in the truck or something?”
He frowned at her. “You said that on purpose, didn’t you? I’m not crazy about having nasty bodily functions stinking up my truck. That’s sometimes a real problem with these drunks. Besides, you’ve had a pretty weak constitution lately.”
She held up her arms. “Got my magic bracelets on. Come on, this is silly. The station’s not that far from the house. Beth has her hands full with the new baby, and she counts on Skeeter getting home at a reasonable hour to help her out.”
“How do you know about my deputy’s home life?”
“Duh. I own a beauty shop in a small town. Around here if you don’t know what you’re doing, someone else surely does.”
“I’ll have to be sure and tell the chamber of commerce to add that to their brochure,” he said dryly. “‘If you lose your mind, mosey on over. We’ll keep track for you.”’
She laughed. “Come on. I’ve never seen you at work.”
“I’m not at work now.” Like that had ever stopped him. He blew out a frustrated breath and picked up the mike. “Dispatch, this is Sheriff Carmichael. Margo? You still awake?” One thing about working in a small town where crime hovered in the single digits was that their rules on radio transmissions for the swing and graveyard shifts ranged from lax to none.
“This is Dispatch here, Sheriff. You’re breaking up and I didn’t copy the last part of your transmission. And that’ll be a negative on your ten-nine,” Margo added with a good amount of sugary sarcasm.
Storm chuckled and looked at Donetta. “Translated, she just told me that she didn’t catch the question about being awake, and no, she doesn’t want me to repeat it.”
“Ha! Way to go, Margo. You guys need someone like her to keep you in line.”
True. He couldn’t imagine how they would get along without her. At fifty-eight, Margo Reed had the reflexes of a cat, could field six calls at once without dropping a single stitch in her knitting, knew the position of every unit and officer in the field and still ran rough-shod over everyone at the stationhouse.
He keyed the mike again. “I’m out at mile-marker three on Old Bird Creek Road, Margo. There’s a man in a ditch and I’m fixin’ to extend him a polite invitation to occupy our guest suite for the evening in our fine county establishment.”
“Sheriff, I’d like to know what you’re doing on this radio in the first place. I surely recall you informing the entire department that you were helping yourself to some vacation days. You’ve got no business taking intoxicated subjects into custody on your own time. Just tell me where to send the limo, and I’ll have Skeeter hop right on out there and bring in our boarder.”
“No need, Margo. I’m already here. Tell Skeeter I’ll come in hot and just to open the back door of the cab. If we time it right, old Gus’ll roll right out and put himself to bed without an escort.” He winked at Donetta when she sucked in a breath of disapproval. It sounded like a good plan. Too bad it wouldn’t actually work.
“Did you say Gus?” Margo asked. “Now, you just sit tight, Sheriff, and let me get you some backup. No reason in the world for you to spend your vacation nursing cuts and bruises—I’m counting on you to get that beauty shop open again. Steve brought Sackett in last time, and he had to get four stitches in his ear—Steve, not Sackett.”
“What is this?” he muttered, glancing at Donetta. “Step on Storm’s Ego Night?”
“Oh, I think you can handle it,” she said.
“Margo? You wouldn’t be insinuating that I can’t hold my own against an intoxicated citizen, would you?” He grinned, kept his thumb on the mike button so Margo couldn’t come back at him. “Advise Skeeter I’ll be en route in three.” Before he could replace the mike, he heard it key, heard Margo clear her throat. He actually laughed.
“Sheriff, I don’t think I copied that last transmission. Did you say you’ll have your subject in custody and be headed into the station in three minutes?”
“That’s affirmative, Dispatch. En route in three. And unless there’s an emergency, be advised this channel is now code ten.” He knew Margo would be perturbed over his command, but radio silence was imperative if he hoped to get big Gus to the station without a messy brawl.
“Copy that. Code ten at 2202.” As soon as Margo stated the official time, all that followed was silence. He muted the radio, but wouldn’t turn it off completely. That open line of communication was his safety net.
One thing the shooting had done to him was make him more cautious. He still experienced times when approaching a subject in dimly lit areas caused his gut to tuck right up under his rib cage. He didn’t like to associate the word fear with those incidents, even though the department shrink had hammered that angle ad nauseum.
“Seat belt on?” He saw that it was. “Hold tight, then. As soon as I’m out of the truck I want you to climb over here on my side and get out. Stand by the front fender on this side and don’t move until I tell you. I’m hoping I won’t end up in a fight with big Gus, but if it comes to that, I don’t want you caught in the scuffle. Are we clear?”
“As crystal. I’m timing you.”
He turned his headlights back on and hit the gas, racing the last fifty feet and coming to a nose-diving halt.
Leaving the truck’s motor running, he snagged his handcuffs and high-powered flashlight from the glove compartment, got out of the truck, jogged around to the passenger side and opened the back door of the crew cab.
By now, Gus was half sitting, half lying at the edge of the ditch. Turning on the flashlight, Storm shined the beam right at Gus’s forehead. He didn’t want to blind the man and end up having to guide 260 pounds of drunk male across the shoulder of the road. All he needed was enough strategically placed light to keep Gus from seeing him.
“Hey!” Storm hollered. “Are you the guy who called for a cab?”
He heard Donetta choke on a muffled laugh.
“Huh?” Gus seemed to think about that for a minute.
“Come on, buddy. My meter’s running and I’ve got another fare in a half hour. It’s a good one, too. Did you call for a cab or not?”
Gus stumbled to his feet. “Damn straight, I did.”
As Storm held open the door, keeping the flashlight steady, Gus made his unsteady way across the grassy shoulder of the road and started to crawl into the back seat.
“’Bout time ya got here,” he mumbled, falling face first against the leather seat. Storm cringed, knowing the stink of alcohol and foul body odor would seep into the leather and linger like week-old garlic and
onions. He’d have to scrub down the whole interior.
“Scoot on in, pal, and I’ll have you all cozy in a jiff. Here, let me give you a hand.” He stood on the running board and urged Gus in farther. “Why don’t you just lie down and get some shut-eye while I do the driving.”
In a matter of seconds he had Gus’s arms positioned behind him, gently closed the handcuffs around his meaty wrists and tucked his legs in so the door would close. By the time he crisscrossed the seat belts over Gus in a way that would prevent him from rising up, the man was already snoring. Wasn’t that convenient? He didn’t even have to knock the guy out.
“Get in,” he said to Donetta. “Quick.” Shining the flashlight on his watch, he grinned, jogged around the truck, jumped in and put it in gear. Donetta was already belted in. The oversize tires spit rocks and dirt as he hammered down on the throttle. No sense spending any more time than necessary cooped up in a vehicle with the likes of big Gus Sackett.
“A cab?” she whispered, her voice alive with amusement.
He shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea.” He lowered both side windows just enough to get a stream of fresh air and lifted the mike.
“Dispatch, three-Adam-one. Be advised that my last transmission was incorrect. I’m en route at 2204. ETA seven.” He replaced the mike and grinned like a fool.
“Took me two minutes to get Gus Sackett handcuffed and secured in the vehicle. Seven minutes and we’ll be at the station. You got anything else to say about my male prowess or sheriff abilities?”
“At the risk of making your head swell to twice the size of this cab, yes, I do.”
He’d only been teasing, but she sounded serious. “Well?”
“I think what you did was sweet.”
“Hauling old Gus off to jail is sweet?”
“Sure it is. You could have been rough with him. But you were resourceful, gentle, allowed him to save a little of his dignity. It hasn’t been easy for him since Leona died.”
Storm shrugged. He was aware of that. Gus was a likable guy when he stayed away from the bottle.
Still, Storm didn’t feel all that charitable toward the man who’d put a kink in his first real date with Donetta. He’d intended to woo her, ease her into trusting him, into realizing that they had something worth pursuing.