Big Sky Lawman

by Marilyn Pappano

Crystal moved to the front seat and gave a soft sigh. It had been a long day in a series of them, and she was tired, hungry, cold and damp through and through. At least tomorrow was a holiday. Sloan surely wouldn’t expect her to go back into the woods on a holiday…would he?

  When she asked, he grinned. “My grandmother would have my head if I worked on Thanksgiving when I didn’t have to. Any chance I can persuade you and Winona to come out and have dinner with the family? You can meet more Ravencrests than you’ll ever keep straight.”

  “Aunt Winona has invited Homer over for dinner. Maybe you can sneak away and have dessert with us.”

  “I’m sure I can.”

  After another brief silence, she returned to a subject she was dearly learning to hate. “Christina’s car… She wasn’t the one who hid it there. Her killer was.”

  He looked at her, but didn’t speak, instead patiently waiting for her to go on.

  “I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, but whoever it was got a thrill from it. He was excited, afraid of getting caught but enjoying the adrenaline rush. The one thing he wasn’t was sorry. She brought it on herself. If she hadn’t interrupted whatever he was doing, he wouldn’t have had to kill her.”

  “Do you think it was Homer’s alien?”

  She shrugged. “He’s the only other person we can place in those woods at that time.”

  “So someone was out there digging for…treasure, for lack of a better word, and Christina… How did she come in contact with him? The alien was digging quite a ways from the clearing. Could she have taken a wrong turn on her way out of there?”

  “She’d just given birth. She wasn’t in any condition to go wandering around. Could he have been digging closer to the clearing at a site you haven’t found yet?”

  “Sure. Anything’s possible.”

  Up ahead the two stone columns that marked the entrance to the trail came into view. Crystal closed her eyes and focused everything inward, seeking answers, a flash, a sensation, anything. “Maybe, like Christina, he drove this road so no one would know he was here. And he saw her car and thought she was after his treasure, and he waited for her.” Her breath caught in her chest, and she gave a sad sigh. “Oh, no, no. The feelings I had of Crystal on that trail… That wasn’t when she was leaving that night. It was when she’d arrived. She was afraid of being disappointed and, at the same time, hopeful. When she was leaving, whatever had happened between her and the baby’s father had happened. If he’d disappointed her, she would have been disappointed, not expecting to be. She would have lost hope. And if he hadn’t disappointed her, she would have been relieved. Maybe even happy.”

  “So Christina didn’t come back this way.”

  She shook her head. “Where the trail split, I wasn’t sure at first I’d chosen the right one. It seemed I was picking up leads from both sides, but the farther I went, the stronger I could feel her. I thought the confusion at first was because the two paths ran so close together. But she could have taken the other trail that night.”

  “You said she knew the trail. It was familiar to her at night. Why would she take the wrong trail?”

  “She was in pain. She’d lost a lot of blood. She could have been confused. Maybe her meeting hadn’t gone well and she was disappointed, heartbroken, crying. She veered off on the wrong trail, and by the time she realized it…it was too late.”

  She opened her eyes to see that Sloan had stopped beside the stone pillars. A few hundred yards up the trail, they could connect with the other branch and maybe discover what had happened to Christina. But, God forgive her, she didn’t want to do it. She didn’t want to set one foot in those woods again today. She was weary physically, emotionally, psychically. She just wanted to snuggle up somewhere with Sloan and forget everything and everyone else.

  But she took a deep breath and hoped she’d hidden the reluctance well before she turned to face him. “Shall we go look?”

  Shaking his head, he put the truck in motion again. “Not this evening. With the cloud cover, it’ll be dark before long. The last thing I want is you wandering around with Homer’s alien possibly in the same woods.”

  “I don’t mind—”

  “I do. We’ll come back Friday.”

  Her sigh was filled with heartfelt relief.

  As the road neared its end, it became rougher, almost impassable in places. A car couldn’t travel the last two miles, but the four-wheel-drive Jeep did okay. Once they reached a dirt road, Sloan knew exactly where they were and shook his head in surprise. “I’ve ridden my horse on that trail a ways, but never far. I always thought it probably went to an old abandoned homestead and wasn’t worth exploring to the end.” He grinned. “Want to stop by and see my folks?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Want to stop by and see Winona?”

  “No, thank you.”

  The grin broadened. “Want to go home with me and make love until we’re both too weak to move?”

  She couldn’t resist smiling back at him. In her best Southern belle voice, she said, “Five minutes ago I thought I was too tired to do anything more strenuous than curl up, but I find I have an unexpected resurgence of energy. I’ll take you up on that last offer. If you don’t mind, though, I’d like to stop at home and change into some dry clothes.”

  “I don’t mind at all, darlin’. Put on whatever you want. I’ll enjoy taking it off again as soon as we get home. I’ll also enjoy helping you put it back on in the morning.”

  She did more than just change. While Sloan caught Winona up on the day’s activities, Crystal showered, dried her hair and smoothed her favorite scented lotion everywhere. She didn’t bother with makeup—with the activities they were planning, she didn’t think it would last long—but tucked her makeup bag into a straw tote, along with a change of clothes and a toothbrush.

  In her bedroom, she chose her clothes carefully—her favorite lingerie, a camisole and tap pants in creamy silk and lace, with her most comfortable jeans and a V-neck sweater that revealed a touch of camisole lace. She secured her hair from her face with a headband, added earrings and a necklace, and, on impulse, picked up the gold nugget ring from the dresser.

  Both Sloan and Winona looked up to watch her come in the door. His look was appreciative and more than a touch possessive. Winona looked every bit the proud matchmaker.

  “You ready to go, babe?” Sloan asked.

  Babe. She was quite certain that never once in James’s life had the word “babe” crossed his lips. She was also quite certain that if it ever did, it would be condescending and demeaning.

  From Sloan it was simply sweet.

  “Just a minute. Aunt Winona, I have something for you to add to your jewelry counter.” Unfolding her fingers, she revealed the nugget ring. Winona’s beaming smile seemed to make it shine even brighter.

  “I’d be happy to sell that for you, my dear. In fact—” She gazed around the room, then called, “Vern Jefferson, you have a fondness for gold. Come and look at this fine ring my niece is placing with me for sale.”

  The old man rambled over from the back, his gaze less than friendly for both Sloan and Crystal. He lit up when he saw the ring, though he quickly tried to hide it. “Nice-lookin’ piece.”

  “Probably just about fits you, too,” Winona said. She handed it over so he could try it on. It was a bit of a squeeze over his arthritic knuckle but otherwise fit fine.

  “How much you want for it?”

  Winona started to name a price, but Crystal stopped her. “How much are you offering?”

  He examined it on his hand, then took it off and held it to the light. “It’s not the best quality I ever seen,” he said, and ignored Winona’s scoff. “My granddaddy was a gold miner, and he had some nuggets that were a sight to see. I’d only be interested in the ring ‘cause I feel sentimental toward my granddaddy, of course.” He studied it for a moment, then said, “I’ll give you fifty dollars, take it or leave it.”

  Winona puffed up like an an
gry hen. “Fifty dollars? Why, I can sell a ring of that size and quality for easily five times that without even making an effort. If I tried, I could get a whole heck of a lot more. Fifty dollars! Why, that’s insulting!”

  “I’ll take it,” Crystal said firmly.

  Winona turned to stare at her while the old man’s face lit with delight. He immediately dug into his pocket and removed two wadded twenties and a ten, slapping them on the counter before he put the ring on again. “You shoulda listened to your aunt, little girl, ‘cause you just got took. This ring’s worth a whole lot more than fifty bucks.”

  She dropped the bills into her purse before giving the old man her friendliest smile. “Not to me, it isn’t. I would’ve given it to you for five.” Linking her arm through Sloan’s, she started toward the door. “Come on, Sloan. Let’s go work up an appetite, and then I’ll take you to Neela’s. Mr. Jefferson’s treat.”

  Once they were outside and out of sight, he pulled her close for a hard kiss. “I noticed you weren’t wearing it last night. That’s when I knew for sure that you loved me.”

  “You did, huh? And here I thought it was when I jumped your bones.”

  His smile lasted briefly, then faded. “I never would have asked you to get rid of it.”

  “You didn’t. It was my choice. It no longer had a place in my life because you do.” She touched his face gently, then caught his hand. “Come on. Take me home and undress me. I think you’ll like what you find.”

  He gave her a damn near sizzling look as he helped her into the Jeep. “Darlin’,” he drawled before closing the door. “I already love what I’ll find.”

  Twelve

  Once they reached his apartment, Sloan took a shower, then wrapped a towel around his waist before leaving the bathroom. He didn’t make it farther than the bedroom door, though, where he leaned against the jamb and watched Crystal as she studied the scene outside the window. He would have sworn he hadn’t made a sound, but she knew he was there.

  “Will you take me camping in the Crazy Mountains sometime?” she asked without turning toward him.

  “Next summer, when it’s warm.”

  “Will we take our kids camping there when they’re old enough?”

  He swallowed hard over the lump that formed instantly in his throat. “You bet.”

  She turned and offered him a nervous smile. “That’s awfully presumptuous of me, isn’t it? No one’s said anything about kids…or marriage.”

  “Only because I made them promise they’d let me ask you before they started making plans.”

  “Made who promise?”

  He answered as he pushed away from the door and started slowly toward her. “Dad, Amy, Grandma and Grandpa, Winona. By now, I imagine a hundred people or so know.”

  She choked on a laugh. “You’ve told all those people that you’re going to marry me without even mentioning it to me first? What if I turn you down?”

  “Then you’d break my heart. But I wouldn’t give up. I’d woo you until you’d had no choice but to say yes.”

  “You wouldn’t want me to say yes because I had no choice. You want me to say yes because you’re the best of all possible choices.”

  “Babe, I’ll take you any way I can get you.” He stopped in front of her and shifted his gaze to the vee of her sweater. The bit of lace showing there was pale, delicate and feminine. Like the woman wearing it. Hooking his finger in the vee, he pulled her to him. “What have you got on under there?” he asked, tugging the sweater out far enough to see more lace covering the swells of her breasts.

  “Take it off and see.”

  He reached past her for the cord that closed the drapes, enveloping the room in darkness, then turned on the bedside lamp and did just what she’d suggested. He curled his fingers around the ribbed hem of the sweater and slowly inched it up, then forgot the sweater and began exploring. He found soft silk clinging to her middle, cupping impossibly soft breasts. As he slid his palms higher to the lace, he felt her nipples pebble and harden, enticing him to replace his hands with his mouth.

  “You don’t need this.” Returning to the sweater, he peeled it over her head, carefully straightened it, folded it, then carelessly tossed it aside on the corner chair.

  Smiling sensuously, she unknotted the towel at his waist and gave it the same attention before dropping it to the floor. “You don’t need that, either. It’s not as if it was hiding anything.”

  There wasn’t a towel made that could hide how he was feeling at that moment. He’d never been so hard, so needy, so impatient, so greedy. He’d never felt so tender, both toward her and inside himself, as if he were being remade from the inside out into a better man, someone who just might someday, if he worked hard enough, deserve her.

  Pressing her hand to his chest above his heart, she said, “Lie down. I have it on good authority that the rest is better watched.”

  James’s authority? he wondered, but the thought couldn’t stir even an instant’s jealousy. She’d never loved James, had never looked at him the way she looked at Sloan, had never touched him or kissed him or made love with him the way she did with Sloan. She never would have lived happily ever after with James the way she would with Sloan.

  He retreated to the bed, pulling the pillows free of the quilt to tuck under his head. She balanced delicately on the edge of the chair to remove her shoes and thick white socks, then stood and undid the button-fly front of her jeans one metal button at a time. Sliding her thumbs inside the waistband at her hips, she pushed the denim slowly down, revealing more silk and lace and pale, delicate skin. After turning her back to him, she worked the snug fabric down each leg, bending to tug it free of one foot, pulling the insubstantial silk tight over the curve of her bottom. Straightening, she repeated the process with the other foot, then removed her headband and gave her head a shake before facing him, bringing a tousled, combed-by-a-lover’s-hands look to her silky black hair.

  She looked incredible. Was incredible. Was his.

  Sometime in the last few seconds, his arousal had become painful. It made his muscles taut, his nerves quivery, and his throat was tight when he finally asked, “Whose authority?”

  With another of those sensuous smiles, she let the weight of her gaze glide slowly over his chest and abdomen to the erection that strained with a life of its own. “Yours. I love a shamelessly aroused man.”

  He knew that was no generalization, along the lines of “I love cowboys” or “I love a man who knows what he wants.”

  She came to him then, placing one knee on the bed beside his hip, swinging the other leg over him, then settling astride his groin. The silk was soft and quickly became warm with the heat from her body, the fire from his. He couldn’t help moving just slightly—one tormenting inch—against her, couldn’t stop the gasp of pure pain—or was it pure pleasure?—the movement brought him.

  Still moving with a lithe, catlike grace, she placed one hand above his left shoulder, brought the other above his right shoulder, then bent over him. He felt the silk of the tap pants come into contact with his belly, then the slight scratch of the lace hem of the top. Cool silk fell against his chest, then her breasts pressed heavily against him, immediately turning his skin sultry hot, scorching him, promising destruction and rebirth as that better man for her.

  Tiny delicate straps curved over her shoulders, just right for such a delicate garment and such a delicate woman. With a soft, sweet, hungry sigh, she touched her mouth to his in the most innocent, and most wicked, of kisses. Just a taste, a promise, a torment.

  When she pulled back, he followed her, raising his hands to stop her, trying to capture her mouth for more. She was quicker, though. She caught his hands and evaded his mouth and sat up with the same nerve-racking slowness that made his entire body throb. She sat upright, bringing the most intimate part of her into snug, damn near perfect contact with the most intimate part of him, and lifted his hands to her breasts, molding them gently, firmly, one finger at a time, until she w
as satisfied. Then she thrust her hips once, long, slow, lazy, against his erection, dragging hot, damp silk along the length of him, making him jerk convulsively against her.

  “Come inside me,” she murmured, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, her face exquisitely beautiful, “and play with my breasts. Show me how much you want me. Show me how much you—” Her request ended in a gasp as he shoved the delicate fabric aside and plunged deep, hard, frantically, inside her. That one thrust, and his hands on her breasts, was enough. He felt her body clenching his in tight spasms, felt the shudders of pleasure that washed through her, felt her hot moisture seep over him.

  So easy, he marveled. So perfect. So exquisite.

  When the tension holding her body so stiff began to ease, her eyes fluttered open. He cradled her face in his palm. “I love a shamelessly satisfied woman,” he murmured.

  She gave him another of those cut-him-off-at-the-knees smiles. “Not as much as you’re going to love being a satisfied man,” she promised.

  And then she made good on it.

  Thanksgiving Day had provided Crystal with a badly needed break. For one day life had been relatively normal again. After a lazy breakfast with Sloan, she’d gone home to help Winona fix the turkey trimmings, and then they’d driven together to pick up Homer at his place. Later in the afternoon, Sloan had joined them, and when Winona had left to take Homer home again, they’d made love on her cramped twin bed. They’d barely gotten their clothes back on as she’d returned.

  It had been different from any Thanksgiving she’d ever known. Excruciatingly formal dinners with her own family that, in recent years, were repeated with James’s family. Boring conversation, stressful company, little to be thankful for until the day was over.

  This Thanksgiving had been sweet. Special. Spent with people she loved who loved her back.

  But this Friday morning, she and Sloan were back at work. Back in the woods.

  To cut down on hiking time, they’d taken the logging road to the trail’s end, coming in once again from the reservation end to avoid the joint sheriff’s office/police department search at the site where Christina’s car had been ditched. The temperature was a frosty thirty-three degrees, and his grandfather, Sloan had mentioned, was predicting snow.