"Guess you could say that," Taylor said with a grin.
It was a good thing Taylor had answered, because Matty's own words had stunned her into stupidity.
A fine-looking man who was as good at heart as he looked... Speak of the devil.
Dave fit the bill from head to toe. She'd known that from the time she was a kid. And now she was married to him. But he wasn't hers. Not really. Not for good.
* * * *
The tail lights of the last car disappeared and still they stood side by side at the door where they'd waved off all the lawyers.
Matty broke the silence with spurious cheer. "Well, I'd better get this place cleaned up or Pamela will have a fit."
"We could leave it tonight and do it tomorrow."
The wicked voice in the back of her head immediately began thinking maybe he had other ideas for tonight. This was getting out of hand.
"No, I'm going to meet Cal early. I took today off, but we want to finish setting up that irrigation system. So, I'm going to clean up, then get some sleep." She might have sounded harsh, but that wicked voice needed to be kept in line.
"I'll help clean up, then."
"No, no, I asked you to leave it all in my hands and you agreed, and that includes clean-up."
"Tell you what, I'll organize the papers and put away the books in the family room, and then we'll see."
She couldn't argue with that, since he'd know which papers to throw away and which to keep to support the draft of new regulations they'd written.
A few minutes later he came into the kitchen with more dirty dishes. "You handled this very well."
She turned from closing the refrigerator after putting away the last of the leftovers. "You should take some of the credit."
"All I did was buy beer."
"I meant for my learning how to handle things like this. If I hadn't left here six years ago, I doubt I would have learned those skills. And if you hadn't, uh, done the honorable, responsible thing, I wouldn't have left. As much as I hate to admit it, it ends up that you were right six years ago."
"Glad I could contribute to your happy life," he said dryly. "Even by accident."
"Yeah, there you go, being perfect again–even by accident." She picked up a cloth to dry the few dishes she'd washed by hand. "So, were you surprised I was good at pulling off a gathering like this?"
"Impressed. And I wasn't the only one. Randy Duff said you'd make a good political wife."
"Are you sure that's a compliment?"
He chuckled before tying up the filled trash bag and putting in a new one while she finished filling the dishwasher.
She broke the oddly companionable silence. "Have you ever thought of going into politics, Dave?"
"Me? No. Why?"
"You'd be very good."
"Are you sure that's a compliment?" he echoed with a wry smile.
She laughed as she closed up the dishwasher, but came back to the question. "You've never considered politics, or wanted to run for office?"
"Never wanted to. What's this all about?"
"I just thought..." She wiped one counter clean and turned the corner to the next one. She could let this go, but if she was right, she wanted Dave to have his guard up. "If you'd considered politics it would explain the odd tension I got from Bob Brathenwaite toward you."
"Brathenwaite? I thought he was on his best behavior today. Hardly said a word. You sure you don't mean Kyle?"
"Why would Kyle be tense around you?"
"Oh, just a little discussion we had."
His shrug was a clear indication he wasn't going to explain more fully. "I didn't get that sense from Kyle. But with Brathenwaite, I'd say watch your back."
He stared at the final wad of used paper napkins he'd been about to throw in the new trash bag, and muttered a soft curse.
"You do know why he feels that way. What is it, Dave?"
"I can't believe he'd still..." He threw the napkins in the bag, then leaned back against the counter, facing her. "About three years back some of the state movers and shakers in Brathenwaite's party came to me and asked if I'd run against him in the primary. They said he wasn't effective. From what I can tell it was more like they couldn't control him tight enough to suit them."
"And what did you say?"
"I said no thanks. They kept after me for a while, but I kept on saying no until they got the meaning clear in their heads."
"But then, why would Brathenwaite..."
"Because somebody leaked it to the Jefferson Observer."
"Who?"
"No proof, but I suspect it was one of those movers and shakers."
"To start a groundswell of support for you or..." She looked at him. "How did Brathenwaite react?"
"Bingo. He fell right into line."
"So you're the threat they hold over his head. No wonder he doesn't like you."
"Hey, it's not my fault!"
"Maybe not, but it must be hard for him, knowing you could have his job with the snap of your fingers." He grimaced, dismissing that assessment. But Matty was sure that if he'd wanted it, Dave Currick would now be state representative. "No doubts?"
"Nope. I know what I want. Always have." He looked at her across the kitchen. His voice dropped, and she felt it like a vibration all the way to the deepest part of her. "And I've got most of it."
* * * *
Six days later, Matty rapped on Dave's office door and headed in.
"Hi."
He was standing by the bookshelves, holding an open law book. When he heard her, he looked up quickly, and a smile creased his face. Matty felt as if a huge, warm hand wrapped around her heart and squeezed gently.
This was exactly why she'd decided to come into town this evening, the rational corner of her mind reminded her.
"Hi, yourself. This is a nice surprise."
"I, uh, I had some things to do in town. Jack gave me a ride in, and I thought I'd catch a ride back with you. If you don't mind."
"Don't mind at all. I'm finishing up right now. Just let me get this citation down and we can head home."
"Good, but I thought we could go home...later."
"Later?"
"Yeah. It's Friday night, you know." Some gremlin of nervousness had hijacked her usual voice. "I thought I could take you to dinner and a movie afterward. Your choice–where to eat and what to see."
He studied her a moment. "Dinner's easy. Chinese. That way we'll be hungry enough to eat popcorn at the movie. As to what to see...well, I suppose some of that might depend on what's prompted this unexpected invitation."
"We've spent so many nights watching old movies, and I thought it would be a nice change to get out of the house for an evening."
"Sounds good." Matty didn't like the way he'd said that–not as if he agreed, but as if her explanation had sounded like a plausible lie that he'd seen through. "Probably a smart idea to let people in town see us together a little more often."
Smart idea was what she'd been going for with this invitation, and being out in public had been her goal. But it hadn't been with any idea of making an appearance to shore up their image; it had been to avoid another cozy, intimate evening at home.
After the episode in the bathroom Saturday, she'd spent all week keeping their evenings to a minimum. She'd stayed out as late as she could each night, but that still left time before bed. The effort of making sure they didn't accidentally brush, didn't sit near each other, but also didn't sit across from each other had worn her out. She'd pleaded a headache Wednesday night, and gone to bed. Then became even more intimately acquainted with the ceiling of the west room as she strained to hear each move he made. So she'd fibbed and told him she had a meeting early this morning at the Flying W, and she'd spent last night at her ranch. She hadn't slept a wink.
That's when she'd decided she'd try this–staying out in public late enough that it would be time to go to bed when they got home.
Forgetting all that planning for the moment, she let herself so
und miffed at his intimation that she was so calculating. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Didn't you?" he asked in that low, rumble of a voice.
"No." She said it too loudly, too firmly. When it was clear he wasn't going to argue, she continued. "Besides, I have reason to celebrate. I got good news today."
He looked up from where he was jotting something. "Always glad to hear good news."
"The man who came out to the ranch a while back, remember I told you he was coming by? Well, he's someone a friend from the university in Chicago told me about, and I started talking to him last fall. He's doing research on alfalfa seed that's resistant to weevils, and he's going to use the Flying W for some of his test fields next season. And he's paying us. A lot–at least by my standards." She grinned. "Enough that even if I don't get another grant, the ranch should be okay."
He seemed to go still for a moment, then he grinned back at her, closing the book and coming around the desk. "That's great news. I had no idea you knew about programs like that."
"I didn't until I worked for the university. I read about his research, then got a mutual friend to introduce us. He was interested in the Flying W, but had to see this spring's regular crop to be sure. And now I've got the contract, signed and sealed."
He reached toward her and she tensed, but all he did was take her jacket from her hands and hold it out for her to slip into.
"See, Currick," she said, slipping one arm in, "you don't know me as well as you like to think."
"You're right. For instance, I don't know what's behind this sudden togetherness." He pulled the jacket collar up under her hair, and shifted it to line up the other sleeve with her outstretched arm, slowly completing a circle around her.
"I thought we could go see a movie. Like we used–"
The back of his hand, the one straightening the twisted lapel of her jacket brushed her breast. Her lungs stammered, starting and stopping without making much progress in getting her the oxygen she suddenly lacked.
They both went still. Yet she could feel her breast tightening with pleasure. He moved his hand then, the ridges of his knuckles stroking slowly, lightly across the fabric that covered her sensitized breast.
"Like we used to?" he suggested, conjuring up times they'd spent together doing exactly this, and more.
The door swung open and Ruth Moski's brisk, efficient stride had her well across the threshold before their reflexes kicked in and they jumped apart.
"No need to look so guilty, you two. You are married. It's to be expected with folks still practically honeymooning. You'll get over it eventually," she said as she crossed the room, deposited files on Dave's desk and headed back. "Besides, it's not like it's anything I haven't seen before. We've got a satellite dish you know. And Hugh can't watch sports twenty-four hours a day."
As the door closed behind the older woman, Matty could have sworn she heard an evil chuckle. But she was more concerned with what Dave was saying.
"It's getting to be a habit, the two of us caught in a compromising position."
"The solution is for us never to be in another compromising position."
"That's one answer," he agreed. One more thing she'd forgotten about Dave Currick–how incredibly irritating he could be when he was being agreeable. "Of course, it is good for our masquerade."
* * * *
Matty took one look around the still-lit theater and had her fear confirmed–it was a Friday night make-out special.
By the time they'd finished dinner, interrupted by more than a half-dozen people who'd stopped by their table to marvel at their sudden marriage and offer congratulations, the only movie they hadn't missed was the 10:30 show at the Bijou, the gaudy old vaudeville theater built during Jefferson's railroad boom.
Fenton Trimble had run it as a movie house since it probably showed first-runs of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Long ago he'd come up with a weekend schedule that brought in the most business. Early evening on Fridays, he had family fare for young parents to bring their kids. Then he showed a current movie, pulling in adults and older families. Last, he showed a movie that had already made the rounds of cable and network TV that would finish up in time for high school dating couples to get home by midnight or 12:30 curfews. It didn't much matter what the movie was, because not much of it was going to be watched.
She and Dave had spent their share of time sitting in this theater not watching movies. Maybe that's why she'd automatically bought the tickets and the snacks–individual popcorns so he could have his extra butter and a soft drink to share–without checking what the movie was. But unlike when they were kids, tonight the movie did matter to her.
Only she didn't realize that until they had started down the right-center aisle, and she saw the announcement of tonight's movie on the screen.
Oh, no. This was not her idea of a back-on-an-even-keel, friendly-but-distant movie.
"Dave, you know, it's getting late. Maybe we better just forget this."
"No way. We've got the tickets. We've got the popcorn. And–" He flashed her a triumphant grin as his free hand at the small of her back guided her to some empty seats in the quickly filling theater. "–Now we have the perfect seats. Besides, I'm looking forward to seeing Body Heat on the big screen again."
She cut him a look as she settled into the third seat in. She dug her hand into the popcorn.
"Love all those plot twists," he added innocently as he took a popcorn from the tray. "Hey, you're eating my popcorn."
She realized he was right as she licked an extra drizzle of butter off her thumbnail.
"Sorry. I didn't mean–"
The words clogged in her throat as she looked up and saw Dave's eyes on her mouth.
Simultaneously, the lights dimmed and a couple appeared at the end of their row, asking if the seats beyond Matty were open. Making room for them to pass, then getting re-settled consumed most of the preview time.
Within a couple minutes of the movie starting, the couple to Matty's left was fully engrossed in each other. That should have meant that she would be perfectly safe with her arm on the left armrest. Instead, she kept getting poked in the arm and twice was kicked in the leg.
Her only protection was to cling to the right side of her seat–the side by Dave. Where she was fully aware of his body heat. The sort of heat she'd felt when his hand had brushed her breast earlier. A heat that pulsed through her, pooling deep inside. A heat that never seemed to entirely leave her recently....
Plot twists.
That's what Dave had said, the sadist. Fine. Just fine. She was going to concentrate on the plot twists and ignore everything else, if it killed her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Plot twists? What had he been thinking?
Had he ever been as randy as this boy seated in front of him?
Oh, hell yes.
Dave yanked his mind away from the long-forgotten nuances of making out.
The movie. Watch the movie.
The boy in front of him yawned loudly and stretched, then dropped his arm around his date's shoulders.
This kid was hopeless. He was trying so hard to touch his girlfriend's breast without anyone knowing–including her–that everybody in the theater had to know what was going on.
Relax, kid. You've got time. Dating's all about giving you chances to bump and brush and touch and, occasionally, talk. And when it happened without plotting, without manipulating, it was magic.
Like this evening in his office.
That first touch had been purely accidental. It was bound to happen now and then, especially with the two of them living in the same house, seeing each other so much. If Matty had eased away, that would have been all there was to it. But she hadn't. She'd stilled, and even more than that, he'd seen the wonder in her face at the sensation of his hand on her breast.
Plot twists. Dammit, concentrate on the plot twists, Currick.
William Hurt was getting drawn in deeper and deeper into Kathleen Turner's web...and her ch
aracter's name was Maddy. Amazing. Of course his Matty had never flaunted her charms that way. She didn't have to. An accidental touch, and he was gone.
Even with the double barrier of her shirt and bra, he'd felt as if he were experiencing the silken texture of Matty's skin under his hand. He had felt her nipple pebbling under his palm, just the way he had Saturday. If he could have touched his tongue to it... He shifted in his seat, trying to ease the restriction in his crotch.
Matty touched his arm. He jolted involuntarily, and she started to snatch her hand away. Just as fast, he clamped his free hand over hers, against his arm.
"Sorry, I jumped, Matty," he whispered, but without turning his head. If he turned and found her lips a breath away, these kids would see something that would give Kathleen Turner and William Hurt a run for their money.
"I didn't mean to startle you. I thought..."
"What?"
"We don't have to stay. It's getting late. And if you're tired..."
"No. I'm fine. I want to see the end."
Needed to see the end. When it was clear, even to the guy who was in prison–a prison of his own making for having done murder–that the woman he'd built her up to be in his head had never existed. And neither had her feelings for him.
* * * *
The silence in the truck gained mass with every mile that brought them closer to the Slash-C.
She couldn't take it any more.
"Were we ever that young?" She tried a chuckle.
"Must have been," he said neutrally and irrefutably.
"Boy, and we thought we knew everything, didn't we?"
"Uh-huh."
"But we know different now. When I think how naïve I was back then, all starry-eyed and optimistic. Guess life teaches us all lessons, doesn't it?"
"I suppose so."
"I know it's taught me a lot. Why I can hardly even remember what it was like to be the person I was six years ago–a child really. It seems like it happened to another person."
"And with your ranch starting to shape up, you'll be able to get back to that new life where you were a new person soon, right?"
She glared at him, but the reflection from the instrument panel did little to illuminate his profile.
"I'm tired of you jabbing at me about leaving, Dave. I couldn't believe it when you suggested I sell out and walk away from the Flying W."
"I didn't–"
"You did! The morning after we got married, sitting on the bench by the shed, you said it."
Almost a Bride (Wyoming Wildflowers Book 1) Page 16