2000 Kisses

by Christina Skye

  With each breath he restored another piece of his harmony. Violent death was part of the profession he had chosen, and T.J. was in no sense a cowardly man. He accepted the fact of death, even when the personal resonance of those deaths shook him awake at night, sweaty and shaking.

  Grady said caring made him a better police officer.

  T.J. hoped it was true.

  By the time he pulled into Almost forty-five minutes later, the sun hung crimson above the horizon. The windows of the General Mercantile glowed hot and red with the sun’s reflection. The distant mountains were hazed with pink. Next would come purple, gathering into the long velvet shadows of twilight, his favorite time of day. Already the moon hung low, a pale sickle in the darkening turquoise sky.

  By sheer habit, T.J. swept his gaze along the street, looking for anything out of the ordinary that would require his professional attention. Three children were laughing, walking hand-in-hand as they crossed to the library. A truck was parked outside Mae’s café, and Mae’s nephew was unloading sacks of cornmeal. T.J. saw Grady’s truck parked beside the bank. Near the heart of town, at least a dozen people were milling around outside Almost’s historic jail, now a tourist attraction and museum.

  T.J. stiffened. What in holy thunder was going on?

  Music drifted through the Blazer’s open window as T.J. pulled up beside Grady’s truck. The high school principal waved to him as she drank from a white Styrofoam cup. Beside her, Doc Felton stood drinking from a similar cup.

  As T.J. strode from the car, the music grew louder, its beat sharp and hot, flooded with a brooding bass. Fusion Spanish, he thought. Definitely not Grady’s kind of music.

  The door of the historic jail swung open again. People spilled outside in a wave of laughter. T.J. recognized two women from meetings of the town zoning committee. Three others were the wives of ranchers to the north, all with pre-school-age children.

  “Evening, Sheriff,” one called gaily. “Mighty nice sunset, isn’t it?” T.J. noticed that she had a white cup, too.

  He tipped his hat back in answer and managed a smile.

  Where was Tess?

  Where was Grady?

  His grizzled friend emerged a moment later, balancing a tray with a dozen more neat white cups. “Anyone care for refills? Remember, drinks are on the house.”

  His words produced the nearest thing T.J. had ever seen to a human stampede. Whatever was in those cups had to be pretty amazing. T.J. hoped it wasn’t a controlled substance.

  He was striding toward Grady when Doc Felton cut in front of him and slapped him on the back. “This was a damned good idea you had, T.J.”

  “What idea?”

  “We should do this more often. That young woman is right.”

  “Do what?”

  “Socialize. Laugh. Present our complaints. It improves communication. As a man of medicine, I might even speculate that it lowers blood pressure and reduces systemic stress.” The doctor thrust something into his hand. “Have a cup.”

  T.J. looked down.

  Not a controlled substance, but the creamy brew in the cup didn’t smell like Mae’s usual concoction, which was generally strong enough to bend metal. Her late-night specialty at the café wasn’t called the Yuri Geller Surprise for nothing.

  He lowered his head and took a suspicious sniff. “Is this Mae’s coffee?”

  The doctor laughed. “Miss O’Mara made it. I believe you’re holding a double latte. Skoal.” He raised his own glass.

  T.J. toasted back, took a sip. Definitely not Mae’s coffee.

  His eyes focused on Grady. “Can I see you for a minute?”

  “In a second, Sheriff. Right now I’ve got to—”

  “Now.” T.J. caught Grady’s arm and pulled him away from the others. “Where’s Tess?” he hissed.

  “She was here a few minutes ago.”

  “Amazing as it may seem, that’s not a hell of a lot of help.” T.J. took another drink of coffee, his gaze sweeping the crowd. “What’s going on here?”

  “Nothing much. Tess and I took a walk around town. Then some of the boys from the Lazy Y came in, and the high school principal just happened to drop by when the coffee was nearly done.”

  “Just happened to drop by?”

  “That’s right. After that Mae’s brother showed up. You know Bob. He works at the Auto Palace.”

  “I know Bob,” T.J. said grimly. “What I want to know is where Tess has gone to.”

  “There was something wrong with her car. Doc Felton said it might need a new fuel line, so she went out to get something from the trunk. After that she was going to make a call from your office.”

  T.J. strode toward Tess’s car. “You’d better pray she’s there.”

  She wasn’t at her car.

  She wasn’t browsing through the Wild West memorabilia in the visitors’ room behind the old jail, nor was she admiring the views of the foothills from the garden behind the courthouse.

  Where in heaven’s name was the aggravating female?

  T.J. strode into his office. Empty. She wasn’t on the cot and she wasn’t at his desk making calls.

  Fear locked down hard. “Tess?”

  He sprinted across the room and threw open the door to his private office, only to find it empty. “Dammit, where are you?”

  Something rustled in the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar, and he pulled his Smith & Wesson from his holster. Silently, he inched toward the door, keeping his shoulder to the outside and his right arm free for a clear shot.

  Focus.

  Breathe.

  He balanced on the balls of his feet, leveled his gun, hit the door in one smooth motion. “Police. Don’t move,” he growled.

  The door snapped open.

  Tess stared back at him, white-faced. She had a scrap of lace clutched to her chest and a skimpy pair of electric-blue underwear that clung like a dream to her backside.

  And she wasn’t wearing a hint of anything else.

  7

  Gut wrenched.

  That was how T.J. felt as he took in Tess’s mile-long legs. His head tilted slowly as he lingered over the sight of her slender waist and the thrust of high, full breasts.

  Desire plugged him dead center at his chest.

  He was an officer of the law, dammit. He was a friend of her brother’s and he’d given his promise to protect her.

  But he was a man first.

  T.J. doubted any man this side of death could have looked away from the woman before him. His hand was still outstretched, gun level. It took an immense force of will to drag in a breath, force his hand back down to his side, and slide his gun into its holster.

  “What was that for?” Tess asked hoarsely.

  “I couldn’t find you. I was worried.” T.J. tried to ignore the filmy strip of lace stretched across her breasts. He wondered what would happen if that lace happened to slide down an inch or two.

  Get a grip, McCall.

  But he didn’t turn away, and he couldn’t stop wondering.

  Gut wrenched and no mistake.

  “I’m trying to dress here. I’d appreciate it if you would leave,” Tess said, two angry spots of color in her face.

  “Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “That is, I didn’t mean—” T.J shook his head, fighting for sanity. He took a step backward a split second before the door slammed in his face.

  Very smooth, McCall. Point a gun on her, why don’t you?

  He took a harsh breath. “You okay in there?”

  He heard the sound of running water, followed by the rustle of clothing. “Oh, I’m just wonderful. I happen to love it when men bang open the door while I’m half-naked and stick a revolver in my face.”

  “It was a Smith and Wesson double-action automatic. No one in law enforcement uses revolvers anymore. Can’t get enough rounds off fast enough for safety. They also have a dangerous tendency to jam.”

  “Oh, do forgive me. That makes this all entirely different.” The door jerked open. T
ess charged out, hands on her hips, fully dressed now.

  Dear sweet heaven, how she was dressed. Her clingy little dress nudged the middle of her thighs and outlined every curve. At the moment it was definitely burning a path into his neural network. “Nice dress,” he drawled.

  “Forget the dress.” Something whipped him across the face and drifted onto his shoulder. Blinking, he looked down and saw it was the lace she had been holding against her chest.

  A garter belt. A white lace garter belt with tiny pink roses.

  T.J. tried hard to swallow as the lace slid through his fingers. “I think,” he said slowly, “that this is going to look a whole lot better on you than on me.”

  Her breath came out in a strangled puff of anger. “This is not funny. What just happened was not funny. Not by any stretch of the imagination. You could have shot me.”

  T.J. shoved back his hat. “You might want to hold it right there. I’m a trained law officer with fifteen years of experience. Contrary to what you see on TV, we don’t shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “You could have fooled me.” Her eyes glittered. “I’ve seen baboons with more self-control.”

  “You’ll want to consider your next words very carefully,” T.J. said softly. “You can attack me, but not my work.”

  “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Sorry? And that makes everything okay?” Her face was pasty white and her hands were shaking hard. Delayed reaction, T.J. figured.

  “I had my reasons,” he said quietly. He had a sudden vision of Tess crumpled in a sandy wash, one arm thrown back at an unnatural angle and blood trickling down her forehead—all too possible, if her brother’s concerns were accurate. And as long as T.J. had known Andrew O’Mara, the man’s instincts had been unerring.

  “I didn’t open that door to harass or annoy you. I acted because there was a real possibility you were in danger. Grady had no business letting you out of his sight. It won’t happen again, believe me,” he snapped.

  “What does that mean?”

  “From now on, Grady, I, or one of the other deputies will have you in direct view at all times.” He cut her off as she started to protest. “That’s nonnegotiable.”

  “You can’t—”

  “I can. Your brother asked for my help and he got it. He’s not going to be sorry.” Dimly, T.J. realized his breath was coming hard and fast. “When these people come calling for their money—”

  “—if they come calling,” Tess snapped.

  “When they come calling, they’ll hit fast. They won’t take time out for please and thank you. They also won’t be overly concerned about who gets caught in the cross fire.”

  He wanted to see her suffer, just a little, for refusing to recognize the danger she was in. Only a fool ignored risks, and he didn’t think she was a fool. He wanted to see her face go pale at his words.

  Another man might have shrugged it off, only too glad to tell her that there was no real danger, and everything would be fine because they were the good guys and the good guys always won.

  But T.J. wouldn’t stoop to that.

  He’d seen the good guys lose too many times to lie. He’d watched fine, decent officers cut down in the line of duty while the public turned a cold, uncaring eye. He’d seen criminals wave confidently, boarding planes to South America or the Middle East, where they could live like royalty beyond the reach of American law.

  No, the good guys didn’t always win. This wasn’t some shoot-’em-up John Ford western, and the cavalry wouldn’t be riding in at dawn. He was as close to cavalry as Tess was going to get.

  But now, watching fear and uncertainty etch her cheeks and forehead, he felt an odd kind of pressure in his chest, compounded by a wave of protectiveness. “Look, maybe I was too hard on you.”

  She didn’t move, her shoulders stiff. “No, you weren’t.” She gave a little shudder. “You were just doing your job, and I have to say that you are good at it. I see why Andrew said you were the best.” She drew a jerky breath. “It’s not your fault this happened. It’s not your fault that one day I go out for a little cash and boom, suddenly I’ve got a million dollars in my bank account and my name posted on some master criminal’s hit list. It’s a little hard to take, that’s all.”

  She was too pale, T.J. thought. Too edgy. “Maybe I should get you some water.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Maybe I should get something stronger. I’ve got some single malt whisky in my desk. We could both do with a drink right now.”

  “Aren’t you on duty?”

  He glanced at the utilitarian wall clock. “Only for ten more minutes. You can get started while I finish out my shift.”

  “I hate it when you’re nice. It makes me feel rotten.” Tess ran a hand through her hair. “You probably think I’m acting like a horse’s behind.”

  “I may have noticed a slight similarity on several occasions.” His lips twitched.

  Tess stared out at the street. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I feel helpless and I don’t like having my life jerked out from under me.”

  “Perfectly understandable.”

  “I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.”

  “Why don’t you let me worry about that?”

  She studied him intently. “You do worry, don’t you? I didn’t see that about you at first.”

  T.J. rubbed his neck as a wave of exhaustion hit him. His shift was nearly over and he was anxious to get home. The last thing he wanted was a personal discussion about his emotional state, which wasn’t in peak form after watching a man crumple under the force of his bullet. Criminal or not, every memory had a name.

  “Look, why don’t you gather up your things? Tom Martinez should be here any minute and then I’ll get you settled up at Rancho Encantador. I’ve arranged for you to stay there for a few days.”

  “Maybe you should eat before we go.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Mae left you some chili in a thermos. A whole dinner, in fact. Let me get it for you.”

  “Don’t bother about me.”

  Twilight was gathering in a veil of pink that edged into purple. The sky was deep lapis and the air was sweet and silent. In the half light, there were lines in T.J.’s face Tess hadn’t seen before, and an air of weariness had settled about him.

  Whatever he had witnessed that afternoon had to be bad. The least she could do was see he ate a proper meal before he left. Dimly, Tess realized it was her way of calling a truce.

  Without a word, she turned and scooped chili into a bowl while T.J. stood with one foot braced on a box, staring out at the darkening mountains. Tess saw weariness in the hard set of his shoulders and resignation in his face.

  She didn’t like the sight of either.

  She shoved the warm bowl into his hand. “Don’t bother arguing. You’ve got to be ravenous, and there’s no need to let Mae’s amazing chili go to waste.”

  “Why do you care?”

  The look he gave her was intent and measuring. Tess felt it roam over her skin and dig deeper. Suddenly her throat felt tight and achy. The room seemed too quiet, too small.

  She didn’t answer, uncertain herself of why she cared. In the awkward silence she covered one of Mae’s feather-light biscuits with butter, added some mashed potatoes and gravy, and shoved a second plate into the sheriff’s hands.

  His lips eased into a grin. “I’m getting a little loaded up here.”

  “There’s dessert, too. And the latte will be ready shortly.”

  “Don’t you ever relax?”

  Tess measured out water for coffee. “I’m good at hovering, not relaxing.” She frowned. “They all like you. Grady says you cast a long shadow.”

  T.J. made a noncommittal sound.

  The silence felt intimate, making Tess more uneasy than ever. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you. I didn’t mean—” She shoved another biscuit toward him. In the process he
r high heel dug into his boot.

  T.J. winced, but managed to hold his plates steady.

  “Sorry. That was clumsy. I don’t usually …” Her voice trailed away as she stared up at his face, cast in purple shadows. He had the most compelling eyes. And there was a scar just above his eyebrow.

  She stiffened. He was too close and too big. She didn’t want to be here alone with him, standing in this beautiful, quiet twilight.

  “There’s no need to fuss.”

  “I’m not fussing.” Tess blew out an irritated sigh. “Maybe I am. I never have been much good at relaxing.” Standing this close to him didn’t help.

  “There’s nothing to it. All you do is find a soft chair, kick off your boots, and let your mind drift. I’ll have to give you some lessons.”

  Tess looked up. “Lessons?” And then her heart kicked.

  His face was anything but relaxed. He was watching her like a man who had all the time in the world. He was patient and implacable like the weathered boulders keeping silent watch over the endless red canyons.

  Serve and protect, she thought.

  The man could have been on a poster.

  Like those rocks, T. J. McCall would be patient and abiding. Relentless in what he considered the performance of his duty.

  “Isn’t that chili too hot? I took a taste at Mae’s and thought it burned the skin from my mouth.”

  “Nothing’s too hot for me.”

  Tess swallowed. She absolutely wasn’t going to read any double meaning into his words.

  He finished his chili, his eyes never leaving her face. “By the way, Grady liked your garter belt.”

  Heat swooped into her face. “How did he find it?”

  He came in while you were dressing. “It was over there, wedged behind a file.”

  “I looked all over. It must have landed there after I—”

  “After you whipped me in the face with it?” he asked gravely.

  Tess straightened her shoulders. “I simply tossed it.”

  “I’ve still got the marks on my cheek, Duchess. Those little hooks pack quite a wallop.”

  Tess made a strangled sound as a ball of white lace flew toward her. She caught it and stuffed it awkwardly in her pocket. How had they gotten into this conversation?