by Janet Dailey
The kiss had begun as merely an attempt to comfort and reassure on his part. Her response had been little more than an acceptance of it. But the contact had his muscles tightening, his senses tingling. He had waited years to hold her in his arms like this. It was an opportunity that Riley knew might never come again now that Jared had reentered her life.
Selfishly he took it, and kissed her again, gently, experimenting in texture and taste. He encountered no resistance; on the contrary, she instinctively returned the testing pressure. He tipped her head back just enough to let the kiss deepen naturally.
Hers was a mouth to savor, he discovered. Full and generous and yielding. He dipped into it as scents from outside drifted through the open window, fresh and earthy. Her fingers uncurled their grip on his shirt and slid up to his neck. A desperate, needy sound came from her throat as he felt her skin warm, her body strain closer. He wrapped her tighter to him, conscious of the roaring in his head and the pounding of his blood.
Kissing her was like an addictive drug that only made him want more and more of her. It wasn’t until the greed began to build, roughening the kiss with its crafty violence, that Riley drew back. She made a protesting sound and came at him with wild insistence and demand. As much as he wanted to believe that she wanted him and the love he could give her, Riley knew better. He knew the kinds of needs and fears that were tangled inside, directing her actions.
Fighting for some control of his own, he dragged her hands from around his neck. “We’re both alive, ’Laney,” he insisted, his voice thickened by the desire churning through him. “We don’t have to prove we are.”
Death did that sometimes. Sometimes it evoked the need to verify the existence of life. There were few ways better than the physical act of creating life.
Delaney went motionless, his words finally registering. Heat flooded through her as she pulled her hands from his grasp and stepped back, self-conscious and shaken by the needs that had been aroused, needs that left her raw and trembling, filled with a different kind of ache.
“You’re right, of course.” Her voice had a breathy quality, but she managed to keep it from shaking. She looked briefly away, feeling foolish, then glanced back. Riley watched her, his expression closely guarded. “I don’t know what got into me.”
“The same thing that got into me, I suspect.” He wanted to reach out and brush the tangled hair back from her face. He lit a cigarette to occupy his hands.
“Of course,” she repeated, and immediately ran a hand through her hair, releasing a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t apologize.” His eyes changed, darkening with a hint of temper. “In case you haven’t guessed, I happened to enjoy that.”
“You’re joking, of course.” Delaney looked at him, certain of her accuracy and wishing she wasn’t.
“What do you think?” A wry smile tugged at his mouth.
Disappointed by his answer, Delaney shrugged and turned away. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You’d better get some rest—or try to,” he told her. “Tomorrow will probably be another long day.”
She nodded. A second later, she felt the touch of his hand turning her. Then he hooked a finger under her chin, lifting it. Wary, she looked into his eyes, seeing the warm, twinkling light that gleamed from their depths an instant before he dropped a quick, firm kiss on her lips.
“I was afraid of that.” He smiled and shook his head, keeping it light to cut the tension. “Kissing you could become a dangerous habit. But at least now you’ll have something else to think about when you go to bed tonight.”
It was a prediction that proved to be very accurate. When she closed her eyes that night, the memories of the shooting came flooding back, but Riley’s image always flashed in her mind before she was overwhelmed by them.
TWENTY-ONE
DELANEY WAKENED TO THE VAGUE murmur of voices. She rolled over, her body weighted, a dull and logy feeling pressing down on her. Then she remembered the shooting and sat up, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them.
The aching regret and confusion were still there, just as intense as before, but she discovered she could think about the shooting with none of last night’s dark depression. That was progress of sorts, she knew.
A bird trilled outside the opened window, where sunlight streamed in. Somewhere a metal pail clanged and a barn door banged shut. Delaney sighed and wondered what time it was, then swept back the top sheet and swung her legs out of bed.
Her clothes lay in a rumpled pile on the floor. She picked up her jacket and swatted haphazardly at a wrinkle, wishing she had asked Riley to bring her some clean clothes. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a chenille robe of royal blue draped over the foot of the bed. She scooped it up and slipped it over her head.
A muffled giggle came from somewhere in the house. The sound was quickly followed by the clatter of feet running down the stairs. Small feet. A child’s feet, Delaney suspected.
When she ventured into the hall, she spied a four-year-old boy in jeans, cowboy boots, and a black cape, his arms outstretched as he swooped through the living room like a bird—or a bat, she concluded with a smile. Kit Bannon, the lawyer’s wife, walked into view, a picture of elegance in a blouse of amethyst silk, chains of gold rope, and slacks of summer white—a far cry from the attractive but rumpled housewife who had greeted Delaney last night.
The woman cast an indulgent smile at the four-year-old. “Time to come in for a landing, Batboy.”
The boy came to a stop, his hands perching on his hips in a pose of indignation. “I’m not a batboy. I’m Batman.”
“You are!” Kit feigned surprise, clasping her hands in front of her. “Oh, mighty Caped Crusader, will you forgive this mother for making such a terrible mistake?”
The boy giggled. “Mom, you’re silly.”
“You’re the silly one.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not.” He took off again, dipping and gliding through the room as Delaney made her way to the stairs.
The baby was on a blanket in the middle of the room, waving his fists and cooing in delight at his older brother’s antics. Kit Bannon walked over and picked him up. “Come on, little guy. It’s time to get you ready to go. On your next swoop through the room, Batman, will you bring me Clint’s cap and sweater?”
The four-year-old changed course, making a steep bank to collect the billed cap and blue and white sweater lying on the oak table. He dropped them on the baby’s head as he flew past. Then he saw Delaney near the bottom of the stairs and screeched to a halt, his eyes rounding.
“Are you Catwoman?”
Delaney touched the front of her robe. “Does this look like her costume?”
“No,” he replied, none too certainly.
“Then I guess I’m not.” Her cheeks dimpled with the effort to hold back a smile. She glanced past the boy to his mother. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Kit Bannon returned. “I’m glad you’re up. I was afraid you might not be awake before we had to leave. I’m taking the kids to Sunday school.” She fastened the last button on the sweater and slipped the cap on the baby’s head, eluding his attempts to grab it from her. “Did you sleep well?”
“Better than I expected,” Delaney admitted, studying the woman with a sudden curiosity. There was something about her that looked familiar.
“I’m glad.” She tied the cap in place and tickled the baby under his chin, laughing when he did. The sound was sunny and honest. She stood, hooking the baby on her hip with a mother’s ease. “I hope Tommy didn’t wake you. It can be a madhouse around here, trying to get everybody ready at once.”
“Batman didn’t wake me,” Delaney assured her.
“Good.”
“Mommy, can I carry Clint to the car?”
“I have a better idea—why don’t you see if your sister is ready yet? Tell her to be sure to bring the diaper bag.”
“I will.” He was off, flying past Delaney to clatter up the stairs.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but—how many children do you have?” Delaney wondered. “The house seemed so quiet last night.”
“Blissfully so,” Kit said and laughed. “I have these two little guys, Thomas and baby Clint, and a thirteen-year-old stepdaughter who’s more like a little sister.” The baby grabbed the gold chains of her necklace and dragged them to his mouth before she could rescue them from his clutches. “I don’t know why I bother to wear jewelry,” she grumbled good-naturedly.
There was something in the tilt of her head, the classic lines of Kit Bannon’s profile, that struck a familiar chord. Delaney frowned, puzzling over it.
The woman looked up, noticing her expression. “Is something wrong?”
Delaney shook her head. “You remind me of someone.” The minute the words were out, Kit Bannon’s expression changed. It was like a mask had been slipped on, one that was cool and aloof. Suddenly it all clicked into place. “You’re Kit Masters, the actress that starred in that movie with John Travis. White Lies, it was called. You were nominated for an Oscar.”
“True.” She smiled, but it was a practiced one.
“I remember now,” Delaney nodded as it all came back. “You made headlines in Hollywood when you announced you were giving up your acting career to marry some rancher in Colorado.”
“A rancher and lawyer,” Kit corrected. “And before you ask—no, I have absolutely no regrets. In fact, I have never been happier in my life.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I have been bombarded with that question so often in the past that it’s become irritating. I guess it’s hard for some people to believe that a woman can be happy today—more than happy, perfectly content—to be a wife and mother.”
“Don’t you miss acting?”
“Oh, I haven’t quit acting,” Kit informed her with a breezy smile. “I merely dropped out of the race for stardom, which was never my goal. Therefore, the local theater company provides the perfect outlet for my love of acting. Actually I haven’t given up anything, even if other people think I have.”
“I can see that.” Delaney smiled. “You’re a lucky woman.”
“And I know it.” Kit beamed.
“Mom, can I take my Batplane with me?” Tommy, alias Batman, yelled from the top of the stairs. “Laura says I have to leave it home. I don’t, do I?”
A teenage girl appeared beside him, tall and slender, dressed in white jeans and a scarlet crop top, her black hair swept back in a ponytail. “That isn’t what I said, Tom-Tom. I told you that you would leave it somewhere like you always do, and wind up losing it.” She gave his Batcape a teasing tug as she passed him, a blue-checked diaper bag in her hand, stuffed full.
“Can I take it, Mom?” Tommy tore after his sister as she ran skipping down the stairs. Halfway down, the girl noticed Delaney and slowed to a more adult pace.
“It would be safer if you left it home, Tommy,” Kit Bannon replied. “It would be awful if Batman didn’t have his Batplane. But it’s your plane and your decision.” Wisely, she didn’t press for an answer, turning her attention instead to her stepdaughter. “Laura, I don’t believe you’ve met our guest, Delaney Wescott. She’ll be staying with us for a day or two. Delaney, this is our daughter, Laura.”
“How do you do, Ms. Wescott.” The girl studied her with friendly, but curious eyes.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Laura,” Delaney replied, formally shaking hands with her.
The baby gurgled happily and waved a hand at his big sister, demanding attention. Laura obliged, catching at his hand with her finger and thumb. “What are you jabbering about, half-pint? Are you being ignored?” She turned and thrust the diaper bag at the caped-crusading four-year-old. “Here, Tom-Tom, take this out to the Bat-mobile,” she told him, then said to Kit, “I’ll take little Clint and get him strapped in the car seat.”
“Thanks.” Kit transferred the baby to Laura’s arms. “I’ll get my purse and be right there.”
Tommy tried to pick up the diaper bag with one hand, then realized it was too heavy and set the Batplane on the oak table. Using both hands, he picked up the bag by its straps and set after his sister, half-carrying and half-dragging the diaper bag to the front door.
Laura stopped in the open doorway. “Someone’s here, Kit.”
She tensed and sent a warning look at Delaney. “Let’s cross our fingers that none of the press figured out Bannon had stashed you here.” She grabbed up her purse and walked swiftly to the door. After one quick glance, she smiled over her shoulder. “It’s one of our neighbors.” With a little push, she sent Laura and Tommy on their way to the car. “This is a surprise, Jared,” she said while pulling the door closed behind her. “I’m afraid Bannon isn’t here and we’re just on our way into town ourselves.”
Before the door clicked shut, Delaney heard Jared answer, “I came to see Delaney. Bannon said last night he was bringing her here.”
There was a muffled exchange outside. Then the door opened and Kit stepped back in, her curious and questioning gaze running to Delaney. “Jared McCallister is here to see you.”
“Hello, Jared.” She nodded to him when he followed Kit inside.
“How are you, Delaney?” His gaze searched her face.
“Fine.”
Kit looked from one to the other. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”
“We met the first time I went to L.A. after my sister disappeared. Delaney helped me look for her.”
“I see.” Kit’s expression suggested that she thought there was more to it than that. “You know where the kitchen is, Jared. There’s fresh coffee—and a pan of homemade cinnamon rolls on the counter. If you’re hungry for something more, you’ll find eggs and bacon in the refrigerator. Just make yourself at home, Delaney. Bannon should be back around ten.”
“Thanks.”
Then she was gone, the door closing behind her with a click of finality. The tension in the house was suddenly electric. To Delaney’s surprise, she realized that she didn’t want to deal with Jared, or her feelings for him, right now.
“Which way is the kitchen?” she said to forestall any comment from him. “I don’t know about you, but I dearly need a cup of coffee.”
“It’s that way.” He pointed toward a hallway.
The instant she set foot in the hall, Delaney smelled the coffee. She followed her nose, letting it lead her to the kitchen with its heart-of-pine cabinets and cheery chintz curtains. She found a cup and filled it with steaming coffee from the pot, then poured a second cup for Jared.
“Is that for me?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated a split second, then slipped his hat off and shoved it onto the counter, along with a tightly folded newspaper. “Thanks,” he said, taking the cup from her. His gaze moved over her face again. “Some of the shadows are gone.”
“Some of them,” she admitted, her glance straying to the newspaper on the counter. “Is that today’s paper?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose I made the front page.” Her attempt at lightness came out sour.
“Yes.”
She didn’t like the way he guarded his answers. “How lurid did they make it sound?” She twined her finger around her cup, a tension returning, a tension she was picking up from Jared.
“It doesn’t matter. Just leave it, Delaney,” he said with sudden impatience and took her arm, turning her from the counter toward the cloth-covered pine table and six ladder-backed chairs. “Come over here and sit down.”
“Why?” She pulled back. “What’s in there? What does it say about me?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t read it. What’s more—I don’t want to read it. Do you?”
Thrown by his challenge, Delaney shook her head. “No. Not really.”
“Then let’s sit down, have our coffee, and…talk.” He walked over to
the table and pulled out one of the chairs for her.
Confused, she hesitated. “I have this feeling you are trying to prepare me for something, Jared. Something I won’t want to hear. What is it?”
He breathed in deeply. “It’s something I should have told you before—something I don’t want you to hear from someone else.” When he looked at her, she instinctively braced herself “Susan St. Jacque was my ex-wife.”
Of all the possible things he might have said, that one hadn’t occurred to her.
“In the past, there was never any reason to tell you. It wasn’t important. After all, Susan and I were divorced. Then last night…last night, it didn’t seem appropriate.”
Dazed, she backed up and leaned against the counter. “At the reception…I noticed the bitterness between you, but I never guessed—I never dreamed—”
“Why should you? Dammit, Delaney, this isn’t the way I wanted to tell you.” In two strides, he was at her side, taking the cup from her unresisting fingers and pushing it onto the counter before drawing her into his arms. “I wanted to hold you and touch you.”
She pulled back to look at him. “It’s crazy, but I never let myself wonder who your ex-wife might be, whether she still lived here, whether I might see her—or meet her. I didn’t want to know. And all this time it was Susan.” She shut her eyes for an instant. “Her family—”
“She has an aunt in Chicago.”
“Then”—she lifted her head—“last night—”
Jared nodded, guessing what she was about to say. “The police called me to get her aunt’s name, address, and phone number so they could notify the next of kin. They asked me to come down and identify the body.” He pushed the hair from her face. “Do you understand why I had to tell you now? Why I couldn’t run the risk that you might hear it from someone else?”
“Yes.”
“Delaney, I don’t want you to think—”
“That’s just it.” She laughed soundlessly. “I don’t know what to think or what to feel. Everything’s so tangled. I can’t change what happened. I can’t change that she was your ex-wife any more than I can change that she’s dead. I wish I could, but—I’m sorry, Jared.”