Ominous

by Lisa Jackson

  He never stopped kissing her. Not when he removed his shirt or kicked off his Levis and boots. Not even when she lifted her face for air. Instead he trailed his lips down her neck to her collarbone, to kiss her chilled skin, causing it to heat, creating a fire within at odds with the icy water.

  “I don’t …”

  “Sure, you do,” he said, and before she could utter another protest, he lifted her upward and settled her onto him, the apex of her legs opening as he thrust hard, upward, and pulled her down against him.

  She gasped, her organs clenching around him, her whole body jerking. Shuddering, she closed her eyes and gave in to the rhythmic and sensual rubbing, the fire he stoked brighter and brighter within. Her breathing became rapid and ragged, echoed by his own hoarse breaths. Her fingernails dug into the slick, hard muscles of his shoulders, while the water swirled around them.

  Raw emotion captured her soul, while her skin was on fire, and every nerve ending was alive with his touch.

  God help me, she thought as control fell away.

  All doubts fled as the very center of her universe seemed to be the physical connection between them, the upward thrust, the downward pulls, the pure ecstasy of becoming one.

  Faster and faster.

  Her soul soared until it seemed to splinter somewhere high above the rugged mountains. She let go. A cry of satiation sprang from her lungs and joined with his own orgasmic roar.

  He pulled her tight, her breathing rapid against his wet, heaving shoulder. The arms surrounding her seemed a safe haven, a place she could close her eyes and let the worries of the world pass her by.

  It was a false security, she knew that, but for a few minutes, as the stars appeared in the darkening heavens, she let herself believe in the gossamer fantasy with Beau Tate… .

  *

  Astride her bay gelding, Addie Donovan glanced at the lowering sun. The sky over the western hills was flaming a bright orange to brilliant pink, the forested peaks becoming silhouettes, and yet it was still warm, heat rising from the ground near this spring that cut through the pines.

  Sweat beaded on her brow, and she felt it trickle between her breasts and cause her T-shirt to cling to her back.

  The creek was too small, barely a trickle, so she couldn’t take a quick swim, but she climbed off Falconer and kicked off her cowboy boots to wiggle her toes in the clear water. Bridle rattling, Falconer snorted, shaking his head, his forelock falling over his blaze as he drank from the stream.

  Was it her imagination, or did she hear voices over the sound of the water? Distant voices from somewhere upstream? She glanced longingly to the Crofts’ property, the adjoining acres that butted up to her parents’ place, and hoped she’d spy Dean, but of course that was impossible. He was away tonight, spending time at his cousin’s place.

  A jab of loneliness cut through her.

  Addie knew she should get back. If she didn’t return by nightfall, her parents would freak. But then they always freaked. Last year, when she’d just turned seventeen, her mother had caught her adding water to the vodka bottle to replace what she’d taken to a slumber party, and then they’d found cigarettes in her purse. Luckily, so far, they hadn’t discovered the weed she kept in a tiny plastic bag hidden in the barn. She was saving the marijuana, tucked in a bale of old straw that she used as a bench when she was caring for the horses, for this weekend when Elle, her best friend, would be staying the night. If they could sneak out without Mom catching them. Fortunately, Addie’s father snored so loudly Mom wouldn’t be able to hear them slip from the room.

  She hoped. She crossed her fingers.

  Her parents were just so out of it.

  Didn’t they know she was almost a woman?

  It was getting pretty obvious with the changes in her figure. She’d gone from a flat-chested tomboy to a teenager wearing a 36D bra. She already knew her shape was a blessing and a curse. A lot of the girls were jealous, and she got more than her share of attention from the boys, but sometimes she felt that her boobs had betrayed her. She’d wanted a killer figure, but … she really didn’t want to stand out this much.

  Fortunately, Dean saw beyond her boobs. Oh, he liked them. A lot. But Dean Croft was better than the other boys. More mature. He loved her. For her. She was sure of it, and she dreamed about him day and night. They would be married. For sure. But first college, and getting engaged, and then a wedding that would rival the Dillingers’ nuptials that all the town was talking about.

  It would be spectacular. Addie knew. She’d been clipping pictures out of bridal magazines for months and had paid attention to the dresses, especially the dresses. She couldn’t wait to walk down the aisle of the Pioneer Church and hear all the guests gasp at how beautiful she’d be. And Dean, he would cry when he first saw her. Either that or she’d turn around and come back in again on her father’s arm, just to insure Dean gave her the proper reaction.

  Oh, how she loved him. More than any girl or woman had loved a man. She was sure of it. And Dean, he’d told her he loved her too, especially when he was feeling her up and caressing her breasts. Yeah, he liked them, and she never felt more in love than when he’d take one into his mouth and suckle it. Even now she thrilled at the thought of it and couldn’t wait until they could marry.

  In four years.

  Four long years.

  The shadows were growing longer, and all of a sudden, she felt as if someone was watching her.

  Had Mom followed her out here? Or Dad? Maybe even her little nerdy brother, Gil? It would be just like him and his friends, all of thirteen and major geeks who ogled her when they thought she wasn’t aware, then pretended they didn’t see her boobs. Pains in the butt, all of them.

  Or maybe Dean was looking for her?

  Her heart soared. When he found her, they would kiss and touch, and she’d let him explore all the feminine places in her body that she’d decided were just for him and him alone. Forever. Infinity. Eternity.

  And yet, there was something not right about this. Something was off.

  Casting a glance over her shoulder, she saw no one, but the goose pimples running along the back of her arms warned her that she wasn’t alone.

  From an upper branch of one of the pines, a crow let out a screech, and she actually jumped. Then again, she’d been a little nervous ever since she’d spied a few vultures up on the ridge and figured a wild animal was dying or dead.

  Time to get going.

  She wasn’t even supposed to be on this stretch of government land that ran along the back of her family’s property, but she knew of a place where the fence was down, and she liked riding through the trees, away from the feeling of being penned in. Away from Mom and Dad, and especially Gil.

  She wished she was going away to a four-year university rather than living at home and commuting to the nearest community college, but there just wasn’t enough money to send her, and she didn’t want to take out loans. Most of all, she didn’t want to be away from Dean, and he was attending the same two-year school, so Addie was okay with putting up with Mom and Dad … but not Gil. He just bugged her so much.

  But in four years when she was through school and she and Dean were married—

  Snap!

  The crack of a breaking twig startled her, and she jumped.

  With a snort, Falconer lifted her head and turned, her large eyes focused on a thicket of saplings.

  Her gaze glued to the shadows, Addie grabbed her boots.

  The looming shape of a man appeared from the gathering shadows.

  Oh, shit! Her heart nearly stopped.

  Not caring that her feet were muddy, she yanked on one boot and considered leaving the other.

  “Hey. Didn’t mean to scare you,” the guy said, and she stared up at him, a handsome guy, but old. Maybe close to forty. He had the whole cowboy thing going, like everyone else in town, in jeans and a cowboy shirt, snakeskin boots, and a scraggly growth of stubble over a tanned jaw. He held his hands palms out as if he really
didn’t mean to startle her.

  “Well, you did.”

  “Just out here looking for a couple of strays.”

  “Strays?”

  “Calves.” His gaze moved to the underbrush. “You haven’t seen ’em, have you?”

  “No.” She tugged on her second boot and told herself the guy was okay. “But … I did see vultures up over the ridge.”

  “Damn.”

  Still nervous, she glanced behind him. No horse. No ATV, which of course she would have heard approach. All-terrain vehicles were usually pretty loud. “How’d you get here?”

  “Horseback, like you.” He was moving closer to her and making her more nervous.

  She wished she’d left five minutes earlier.

  He hitched a thumb to the ridge. “I left Diablo to check the stream myself.” He frowned. “No calves here? You’re sure.”

  “Yeah. I mean, no. No calves,” she said, unable to contain her case of nerves. Did she know him? He was kinda familiar. A dad of someone, or uncle maybe? Or maybe not. “Uh. I’ve been here a few minutes … maybe fifteen. I haven’t seen any cows.”

  He was still approaching, his gaze wandering over the surrounding terrain as if he were searching the umbra for the missing livestock, but still, it was weird. Unsettling.

  She stood quickly.

  “Look, I gotta go.” Why was she explaining anything to him? And why did she feel she knew him? That she’d seen him before?

  “Well, if you see a couple of Herefords on your way out, give a whistle, would you?”

  “Yeah, sure.” She had the reins in her hands and one boot in a stirrup. She started to hoist herself into the saddle.

  He pounced. Leapt on her like on prey, strong arms binding her, her back pressed hard against him.

  She screamed.

  Falconer spooked, rearing and neighing.

  The man’s muscles clenched around her.

  No! No! No!

  With a snort, her horse jumped forward, yanking her with him.

  The attacker held fast, digging in, but the heel of her boot caught in the stirrup, dragging her forward.

  Pain ripped up her leg.

  Squealing, she thought she was going to be ripped in two as her hip was yanked from its socket.

  The man holding her sat back on his heels, and the horse reared again.

  Terrified, Addie clawed wildly, trying to free herself, agony tearing through her muscles and tendons. She nearly passed out.

  “Son of a bitch,” the man swore.

  Suddenly her foot slid from her boot, and the horse bolted. Leaving her. No, no, no! Her leg was on fire, but she fought and clawed. “Let me go, you bastard! Let me—aaarrrggh!”

  A new searing pain shot through her.

  Her entire body jolted.

  Her muscles spasmed uncontrollably.

  Oh. God.

  She couldn’t focus, her eyes seeming to jiggle in their sockets.

  What had happened, she wondered wildly above the pain, but she caught a flash of something in his hand. A weapon. Like a stun gun or a compact cattle prod or something horrible.

  She tried to fight and failed, her body jerking spasmodically of its own accord.

  How had this happened?

  Why?

  All of her parents’ warnings rattled through her brain in quick bursts that didn’t connect. She felt herself being hauled, twitching, onto his back. Every effort she made was useless.

  Though she didn’t know she was crying, tears filled her eyes.

  The only thing she knew for certain was that she was doomed.

  Chapter 10

  Shiloh rolled over, opened a bleary eye, and realized she’d fallen asleep in the attic space over the garage. In a sleeping bag. Naked. With Beau Tate.

  Oh. God.

  She hadn’t been drunk. She’d just been out of her mind. After the wild lovemaking in the creek, she and he had thrown on their clothes, hers relatively dry, his wet, and ridden back to the house where, after opening a bottle of wine, they had ended up here and made love until after midnight.

  Now, as morning sunlight streamed through the open windows, she noticed an empty wine bottle and stained glasses that sat on a scarred side table that had once been her grandmother’s. Her clothes were strewn over the old braided rug that had been rolled up on the attic floor when she was just a child. The oversized sleeping bag had been centered in the room, but over the course of the night of lovemaking, it had shifted and now was wedged against a bookcase of forgotten paperbacks.

  Lying on the floor, they were surrounded by leftover furniture, books, records, and boxes filled with the detritus that had been part of Faye Tate’s life.

  Shiloh closed her eyes for a second and let out her breath.

  What had she been thinking?

  That was the trouble, she hadn’t been.

  She looked down at Beau, still sleeping, eyes closed, breathing slowly and evenly. His hair was rumpled, his jaw even darker with beard shadow, his naked chest exposed as a corner of the sleeping bag had flipped back.

  Images of the night before played inside her mind. His lips on her neck. His hands sliding down her spine to cup her buttocks, his tongue running along her skin, the taste of wine in her throat, and the earthy smell of him in her nostrils. He’d brought her to a climax more than once, and just thinking of him propped on his elbows, thrusting inside her made her tingle in places she’d nearly forgotten.

  He’d seen the scar on her shoulder, the remnant of the wound from Ruthie’s rapist’s blade all those years ago.

  “What’s this?” he’d asked, touching the scar.

  “Nothing.” No reason to confide in him. “Happened long ago.”

  His lips had flattened. “Who did this to you?”

  “It was an accident.”

  “You’re sure?” he’d asked.

  “I should remember.”

  “But Larimer. He didn’t …”

  “Oh, hell no.” She’d wrapped her arms around him and kissed him to stop the interrogation. He hadn’t been able to resist as she rubbed against him, and she still remembered how her nipples had tightened and the juncture between her legs had pulsed with desire as he’d begun stroking her.

  “Oh God,” she whispered, wondering what would happen now.

  He opened an eye and gazed at her. “Mornin’, sunshine,” he said, and part of her melted. There was a tenderness in his voice she didn’t expect, a familiarity that touched her.

  She started scooting from the bag, working her way out. “This … this was a mistake.”

  “Umm. Can’t argue with you there.”

  “We have to forget it happened.”

  He cocked an amused eyebrow.

  “Okay, that is not going to happen. We can’t forget. But … but this … whatever this is, is never going to work. I mean, I’m only here because of Morgan and you too … Oh God.” She flung herself back onto the floor. “Morgan.” If their half sister ever got wind that they were … what? That they had …

  “What about her?”

  “She can’t find out that you and I were … together.”

  “She’s not going to find out anything,” he said and chuckled.

  “I’m serious, Beau.”

  “Me too.” Quick as lightning, he grabbed her again. One arm circled her naked waist, his other hand tangled in her already mussed hair. Holding his face a hair’s breadth from her own, he stared at her, and his eyes darkened with desire. He whispered, “This is our little secret.”

  Before she could object, he kissed her, and once again she was lost. Just one more time, she thought as her blood heated and her body responded. Just one more time. But even as she made the promise to herself, she knew, deep in her heart, that this was just the beginning of what could only become a disaster.

  *

  Kat was running late and wasn’t surprised to find her father had already set his desk up as a table on which half a dozen cupcakes were displayed.

  �
�Beginning to think you were gonna stand me up,” he said with a smile.

  “Nope. But I gotta make this quick. You know the Crutchens burglary, where beer and cigarettes were taken, some petty cash?”

  “Teenagers again?” he asked, reaching for a German chocolate cupcake.

  “Yeah, but the bad news is, this time the Byrds’ grandson, Noel, could be involved.”

  Her father grunted. “Uh oh.”

  The Byrds didn’t much like the Prairie Creek Sheriff’s Department as a whole, and Patrick Starr in particular. Paul and Ann Byrd felt there’d never been enough done to find their daughter, Rachel, and they specifically blamed Patrick, which was entirely unfair, but there it was.

  Kat had mainly told her father about the theft as a means to provide herself a quick exit. Her father always liked to visit a little longer than Kat did. However, the burglary and theft at Hal Crutchens’s farm were the crimes she was currently working on. She’d already interviewed several teens who had been involved, and they, and their parents, wanted this latest round with Mr. Crutchens to just go away. They’d offered the older man remuneration, but Crutchens, whose garage had been broken into and whose property was stolen, had demanded that they be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Crutchens had a history of making complaints about all his neighbors and the community at large, and naturally wasn’t well-liked. His attitude had made him a target for teen pranks and vandalism over the years, and this latest one was no exception.

  “You see Shiloh?” her father mumbled around a last bite of chocolate cupcake.

  Kat had just bitten into a red velvet one. “Mmm.”

  “How is she? The same?”

  She swallowed. “Yeah, maybe a little toned down.”

  “Not a wild child any longer?” He threw the wrapper from the German chocolate cupcake in the trash can beside his desk and reached for a lemon chiffon one, peeling back the paper. “Good. I was afraid a kid like that might go off the rails.”

  Kat bit back an automatic warning about his diet. You told him to get the cupcakes. You said it’d be okay for today. “She seems solid.” She took another bite of her own cupcake, and conversation stopped for a while as they made their way through their “breakfasts.”