by Lisa Bingham
After exchanging a few last-minute instructions with the security guards who’d shown up minutes earlier, P.D. walked to her truck. More than anything, she wanted to turn around, head back into Vern’s, and make everything perfect again. But she’d done everything she could until things dried out.
Her manager, Bart Crowley, waited by his own car, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans. Bart had been with her from the beginning. He was an unassuming man with a receding hairline and a slight paunch. But what he lacked in excitement, he more than made up for in dependability.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take that meeting with the contractor in the morning? You look beat.”
She rubbed at the kinked muscles in her neck. “No. I need to be here. You’ll have enough on your hands once I’m gone for the Games. I’ll give all the employees a briefing on the situation tomorrow. After that, most of the supervision will be left up to you. With any luck, they can start rebuilding before I get back. I’ve left you detailed lists and drawings since I’d like a slight change to the layout we used to have. I’ve also left an inventory list for you and the other employees. We’ll have to check all of our supplies for smoke damage and make a report to the insurance of anything we need to replace. I’ve been told that even things that were stored elsewhere in the building, like napkins and placemats, could smell smoky, so they’ll have to be tossed. Our suppliers will deliver replacements as soon as we have a tentative opening date. As soon as we physically can, we’ll want to start reloading the shelves and—”
Bart touched her arm. “Don’t worry. I know what you want me to do.”
She sighed, attempting to ease the knot of tension in the pit of her stomach. “You’re right. I guess I’m nervous about being out of touch for few days.”
He patted her arm reassuringly. “Guess that prize money is even more tempting now, isn’t it?”
P.D. offered him a neutral smile. She was uncomfortable discussing finances with any of her employees—especially since she still didn’t know how much the repairs would drain her savings once insurance kicked in their share. Nearly half of all restaurants folded within the first year. Vern’s was doing better than most, but she couldn’t pretend that this setback wouldn’t be a blow to her bottom line.
“Thanks for staying late, Bart.”
“I couldn’t leave you alone here.”
“I appreciate it.”
He dropped his arm and moved around his car. With his door half open, he paused. “Can I interest you in a cup of coffee somewhere? Or a soda from the Corner?”
It was no secret that Bart was sweet on her. He’d been trying for several months to get her to go out with him. So far, she’d kept things professional. Although Bart was a nice guy—divorced with a pair of six-year-old twins who sometimes met him at the restaurant—P.D. made it a strict rule not to mix business with pleasure. Until now, she’d managed to deflect his tentative overtures by insisting that she didn’t have time for a relationship.
So what had Bart thought when he’d seen Elam bend to kiss her?
Her cheeks grew hot at the memory, but she shook her head. “Thanks, but no. I’m beat. I’m heading straight home to bed.”
He looked at her hard, debating whether or not to ask if she planned to sleep alone. A muscle ticked at his cheek, but he offered her a bland, “’Night, then,” and slipped into his car.
She waited until his Chevy cleared the parking lot before starting her own truck. Her muscles throbbed from lifting and scrubbing, but her brain couldn’t seem to settle. She felt restless and antsy, as if caffeine were coursing through her veins—even though she’d been careful to drink only water throughout the afternoon. Maybe, after sleeping so late, her body wasn’t ready to settle down.
Turning onto the road, she pointed her truck toward home. She wasn’t really hungry. Not after Helen and Syd’s Dutch oven feast. But she could throw in a load of laundry—especially the things that smelled of smoke. She had a basket of clothes that needed ironing and she could always scrub the bathroom. If she wasn’t tired enough to fall asleep by then, she could see if there was a movie on one of the cable channels.
But as she eased into the drive and killed the engine, she remained where she was, listening to the soughing of the breeze through the trees, and the chirp of crickets, wondering why she felt a moment of disquiet.
Her eyes flicked to the inky panes of her windows and she wished she’d left on a light. That was one aspect of living alone that she’d never really liked. There was nothing so sad, so lonely, as a house that waited in absolute darkness.
Her fingers curled around the steering wheel and her heart lurched in her chest, then began to pick up speed. Was it the fact that her restaurant had been attacked, and Elam had suggested she install deadbolts, that had her suddenly seeing shadows moving behind the curtains and in the trees?
Damn, damn, damn. Why was her fertile imagination the one thing that her parents had insisted on developing?
Gooseflesh crawled up her arms to the nape of her neck, and before she consciously acknowledged what she was doing, she’d started the engine and backed out of her driveway. Even as she cursed herself for being a fool, she stamped on the gas, gaining speed.
She told herself she’d drive down to the Corner and grab a soda or top off her tank with gas. A few minutes among other people would be enough to chase away the heebie-jeebies. But her truck seemed to have a mind of its own, continuing down the road until she woke from her mental fog and realized that she’d turned down the lane that led to Taggart Hollow. Up ahead, a fork in the road mocked her with her own intentions. If she went left, she would climb the hill to Elam’s cabin; right would lead to the Big House.
If she went to Elam with her fears, he might fold her in his arms and allow the heat of his body to seep into her own. Better yet, he might dip his head and …
Disgusted with her lack of control where Elam was concerned, she swerved to the right. Perhaps an hour with Bodey would help her calm down. Even more, she might be able to purge herself of the rush of pleasure she felt whenever she thought of Elam’s very public kiss in Vern’s parking lot.
Had he been claiming her as his own? Or merely telegraphing his decision to abandon his solitary life?
Stop it!
Why couldn’t she enjoy whatever he was willing to give her rather than overanalyzing every aspect of their relationship? If they could call what they’d shared so far a relationship.
But even as she insisted there was nothing formal between them, she was flooded with memories of the way he’d held her in the ruined kitchen. Neither of them could say they were “just friends.”
Stop!
Pulling onto the gravel next to the house, she killed the engine, slammed the door, and stalked up to the front door. Bodey would set her to rights. He’d tell her she was seeing shadows and chasing the wrong man. He’d never been one for bullshit. He’d let her talk things out, listening intently to everything she had to say, then he’d set her straight with a few blunt words.
She punched the doorbell and waited impatiently. She probably should have called first. Bodey might not even be home. He and Marci, one of her waitresses, had been circling each other for the past couple of weeks.
Footsteps approached from the other side of the door. Not Jace’s. Jace’s footfalls were long and rangy and usually filled with impatience. These were measured, nearly silent.
Crap!
The door opened to reveal Elam on the other side of the threshold and her mouth immediately went dry. He wore nothing but a pair of Navy sweatpants slung low on his hips. His skin was slick with sweat. With his bare feet and damp, tousled hair, there was nothing to remind her of a historical cowboy here, only pure, modern male.
When he saw her through the screen, he smiled, pushing the door wide. Then he propped a hand on the jamb, and deviant that she was, she enjoyed the ripple of muscle the simple action revealed.
“Hey.” He appeared as self-con
scious as P.D. felt. Not quite meeting her eyes. Between them shimmered the memory of their shared pain.
If you have to cry when something’s gone … it meant something.
Suddenly tongue-tied, P.D. realized that her own storm of emotion had probably brought Elam’s grief to the fore. Had he been haunted by memories of Annabel for the rest of the afternoon? Had he talked himself into taking another huge, emotional step back from P.D. in the intervening hours?
She shoved her hands into her pockets and rocked back on the heels of her boots. If he only knew how much effort it took not to launch herself into his arms.
Sheesh, he probably thought she was some desperate woman, so addicted to the excitement of his touch that she was hunting him down like a wild animal.
“I-is Bodey here?”
Great. Subtle. Now he’d think she was hunting his brother down as well.
“No. He and Jace are at a canal board meeting. I stayed here to use the weights and watch over Barry. He shouldn’t be too long, though.” He stepped back. “Come on in.”
“Oh. I …” She hesitated on the doorstep, knowing that she should make up an excuse that didn’t sound too lame and go home. But her body, traitor that it was, moved forward.
Elam stepped aside enough for her to pass through, but her skin absorbed his heat as she walked by, and that, more than anything, settled the jangle of her own nerves.
“Where’s Barry?”
“Upstairs playing on his Xbox. He has exactly seven minutes left of the hour he earned doing chores and nothing short of nuclear war will blast him away from the controls.”
She chuckled, knowing exactly what Elam meant. Left on his own, Barry would spend every minute of every day playing video games. But since Jace had designed a token system around his chores and schoolwork, every second he earned was doubly precious to him.
As soon as she stepped inside, Elam closed the door. Then he was standing directly behind her. So close. So very, very close, that she could feel his breath stir her hair.
“Was there something specific you needed from Bodey?”
P.D. swallowed against the dryness settling in her mouth.
“I …”
She wanted him to touch her, to grasp her shoulders or slide his arms around her waist. Belatedly, she wondered if he could hear the want echoed in her voice.
“No, I …”
P.D. finally turned, and as she’d thought, Elam stood merely a hairsbreadth away. Up close, the curves and planes of his body were mind-boggling. Her fingers twitched with the need to reassure herself that he was truly flesh and blood and not some creation carved from marble.
Her mouth grew dry as dust and she unconsciously licked her lips, then cursed her actions when his attention centered on that point with laser-like efficiency.
“A-actually, it’s your fault …” she whispered vaguely.
“My fault?”
“That I’m here.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
Was he leaning closer? Please, please let him be leaning closer.
“A-all your talk about … l-locks and deadbolts … I think I spooked myself going home.”
Yes. Yes! He dipped his head, his gaze still trained on her lips as if he needed to see her tasting each word.
“I … I kept seeing shadows … everywhere … and I … I …”
She couldn’t seem to remember what she wanted to say. She couldn’t remember anything except the memory of his lips on hers.
Then he finally closed the distance between them, swooping in to kiss her. She sighed, surrendering immediately to his caress. There was no need for him to bid entry, because she willingly opened to him, matching thrust for thrust, parry for parry.
She felt herself being moved backward until her back lay flush against the wall. She welcomed the firm support since it allowed Elam to sidle up next to her, his thighs weaving tightly between her own. He planted one broad forearm on the wall, while the other slid behind her nape, cradling her skull as he plundered her mouth.
Finally, finally, she had the freedom to explore the firm groove of his spine, the flat planes of his shoulder blades, and the molded curves of his biceps. Then her fingers were trailing over his pecks, the flat nubs of his nipples. He reached low to grasp her buttocks, pulling her on tiptoe so their hips meshed together, ridge to valley, hard to soft.
Elam gasped against her, dragging air into his lungs in hungry gulps while she panted in an effort to relieve her oxygen-starved body.
“God, what you do to me,” he whispered against her nape.
She smiled, her fingertips digging into his shoulders. In this moment, she could almost believe this passion was enough. She was enough.
“It’s mutual. I—”
“Elam!”
Elam froze, swearing under his breath when the distant shout was followed by the thump of footfalls heading toward the stairs.
“Elam, the timer went off. Can I have another fifteen minutes?”
“Yeah, Barry! Go ahead.”
There was a beat of silence, then, “Really?”
Clearly, Barry had anticipated more of a fight.
“You can have fifteen minutes, but you’ve got to change into your pajamas first.”
“Oh-kay!”
The thunder of footsteps headed away again, followed by a slide across the hardwood floor near the back of the house, where Barry’s room was located.
Then, Elam was smiling at her. “I guess we’d better cool things down,” he said.
She nodded, even though she would rather protest.
“I’ll … uh … I’ll go take a quick shower and change back into my jeans and T-shirt. As soon as Jace or Bodey gets back, I’ll follow you home and check things out for you.”
Huh?
With great effort, she remembered what had brought her to the Big House in the first place—an uneasiness about returning to the dark, empty bungalow alone. But she was beginning to wonder if that had only been an excuse her unconscious mind had fabricated so that she could begin a search for Elam. Now that she was wrapped in his arms, she knew that nothing short of his embrace would have satisfied her.
In an effort to retain at least a shred of her pride, she nodded, wondering if he would escort her home …
And stay.
*
BY the time Elam had changed, Jace’s truck was rumbling into the garage. P.D. heard Elam briefly talk with him. Then he was striding toward the front door.
“Let’s go.”
He opened the screen for her—and sucker that she was, that unconscious gentlemanly act made her heart do somersaults in her chest.
The air outside was balmy, but dry. Overhead, the stars glittered in an indigo sky and the swing-shaped moon was half hidden by the mountains. But even in the limited light, P.D. saw the way Elam tucked something into the back of his waistband, then smoothed his shirt over the top.
“Are you packing?” she asked.
“I’m usually packing.” He reached to open her car door. “I’m ex-military. We tend to be a suspicious bunch.”
“You and Helen,” she mumbled under her breath as she slid into her truck.
“I’ll follow right behind you, but don’t get out of your car until I look around.”
She opened her mouth, feeling a little foolish that he was willing to go to such measures to ease her fears. He was probably going to assume she was a hysterical female who jumped at her own shadow.
But as she pulled into her driveway, a frisson of gooseflesh raced up her spine and she had the distinct, unsettling sensation that she was being watched.
Elam pulled in behind her, leaving his lights on. But as he stepped out of the truck, he grew suddenly still and doused them. Then, he was reaching behind him to pull out a pistol and level it in front of him.
It was clear from his stance that he knew how to use the weapon—and whoever had been lingering near the house must have thought the same thing because a shape dislodged from the bushes to
her left, banged into the garbage can, then started running toward the trees.
Elam immediately gave chase, tearing through the bushes at top speed. He was closing the distance between them when both shadows disappeared into a copse of sumac.
P.D.’s heart was pounding so hard that it threatened to leap out of her chest. More than anything, she wanted to dodge out of the car and go running to Elam’s defense. But she’d promised she would stay where she was. And with Elam armed, it would be stupid personified if she started chasing after him in the dark.
She waited for what seemed like hours—although the car clock revealed it was less than five minutes. Then Elam jogged back into sight. Holding his pistol by his thigh, he took the steps to her house two at a time, disappearing for another few minutes. Soon, she saw a series of lights being switched on as he retraced his steps to the front of the house. Then he returned to open her door, holstering his pistol behind him.
“W-who was it?” she asked, her pulse still pounding in her ears.
“I think some kids have been using a little clearing in the trees as their hangout spot. I chased whoever it was as far as the canal road, but the culprit had a car waiting and disappeared before I could catch him. Looked like a dark, beat-up sedan. The clearing is full of old beer bottles, cigarette butts, and a cache of girlie magazines.”
“Do you think it’s the same kids who started the fire?”
Elam shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible. I’ll let the sheriff know about it in the morning. I’m sure he’ll want to keep a close eye on the spot for a while.”
He took her hand, helping her stand, and then escorted her to the door. But when she thought he would leave her to return home, he followed her inside.
“You still have the pillows and blankets from last night?”