Hunting Houston

by Sandy Steen

  Finally, she shook off the disturbing thoughts and went into the bedroom. She changed into a slip gown of beige silk that fell to mid-thigh, and a matching robe. She cinched the robe’s sash belt, scooped up the abandoned novel, and went back to the sofa. Settling down for what she hoped was a bit of distraction, she opened the book…and found the flower Houston had picked from his garden and tucked behind her ear. The depression returned, and brought an old friend.

  Tears.

  Buckets of tears. Oceans of them. She didn’t know if they were for herself. Or Houston. Or for the awful dilemma she had created. Maybe for all of that. And once the tears started, they threatened to go on forever. By the time she had finished crying, her eyes were red and puffy, and she really did want to go to sleep. At least, asleep, she could forget about what she was doing and what would happen when Houston learned the truth about her.

  She must have slept for some time, and like the proverbial rock, because when the noise—a knock at her door—roused her, it was dark outside. Running a hand through her unruly hair, she staggered to the door.

  “Who’s is it?”

  “Open up, Abby. It’s me.”

  Some men might look ridiculous standing under a glaring porch light at ten o’clock at night, holding a carton of food in one hand, and a small stuffed whale in the other. Houston did not. He looked handsome and sweet and wonderful—all the attributes that softened Abby’s heart and made it impossible for her not to invite him in.

  He held up the carton. “Chicken soup. I figured it couldn’t hurt. You didn’t order anything, did you?”

  She shook her head. “And that?” She pointed to the whale.

  “Aid and comfort.”

  “Thanks,” she said, accepting the soft plush toy.

  He came in, walked across the room and set the soup on the table. Now without something to hold, he nervously stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I told myself I would bring you the food, see if you were all right, then leave.”

  “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

  “Yes, I did. How’s the head?”

  “Better.” She clutched the stuffed whale, suddenly aware of how she was dressed, how she must look. “I must look a mess.”

  “Not to me.”

  She looked like a sleep-tousled angel. Her hair was sexily mussed, and the light from the lamp sitting on the end table behind her gave it a halo effect—all soft focus and gold. And was that robe and whatever was under it, silk? God, he wanted to find out. He wanted to untie that sash, push the robe off her shoulders and put his mouth on her throat, her breasts, her belly.

  “Well, I, uh, guess I’d better get moving.” Because if he stayed, he knew what was going to happen. He would take her in his arms and kiss her. And from there it would be a short trip to the bedroom. Not that he was patting himself on the back for seductive prowess, but when they were together, the tension was unbelievably intense; minute by minute, rocking somewhere between a steady sizzle and an explosive charge.

  He called himself several very colorful and succinct names for even thinking about sex when she obviously wasn’t feeling well. The puffiness around her eyes testified to that. But, he couldn’t ignore the desire, the wanting. At times it was so powerful, he couldn’t breathe. The best thing he could do for both of them was leave.

  “Would you like to stay…for a few minutes?”

  The proviso she had tacked onto the end of the sentence was like being handed a death-row pardon. He could stay. If he behaved himself. But he knew himself too well.

  “I, uh, don’t think I should.”

  “Oh. Well, thanks for the good deed anyway.”

  “Look, Abby.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t misunderstand what I’m about to say. I came over here with the best of intentions, but seeing you like this, all…”

  “All what?”

  “All soft, and sexy and—” he shrugged “—and, well…tempting, dammit. If I stay, there’s no telling what will happen. So, I…I’d just better go, that’s all.”

  Abby had to smile. She had never seen him so ruffled, so uncomfortable. If he had been sitting down, he would have been squirming. And even so, he was still trying to be as honest with her as he could.

  “Is this some of your technique?”

  “My what?”

  “You know, that up-front-and-honest business you told me about.”

  “Oh, that.” Now he grinned. “Is it working?”

  Like a charm, she wanted to say, but didn’t. Couldn’t, at least not now. “That’s what I thought. You were just playing with me, all along, weren’t you?”

  Abruptly, the smile vanished from his face. And in a desperately calm gesture, he pulled the lapels of her robe together over her breasts. “Do you honestly think I’m playing with you?”

  All humor fled. “No, of course not. I was teasing—

  “Because nothing could be further from the truth. I’ve never been as serious in my life. I’ve never been in…” He stopped, realizing he had fisted the silk in his hands. He let go, and gently smoothed the fabric, warm from her body heat, over the swell of her breasts, over her collarbone. “Abby, we’ve got something going on here. You feel it. Just like I do. And I take that very seriously.”

  Stunned at his reaction, Abby simply stared into his dark brown eyes.

  “You know I want you. At this moment, I want you so much it’s like white-hot iron in my gut. I can’t deny that’s a part of what I feel. But it’s more than that. I didn’t expect to feel the way I do. I… Oh, hell, I’m not saying any of this very well.”

  He was saying it well enough to make her heart break. Well enough to make her long to say to hell with the job, to hell with everything but him.

  She reached up and touched his cheek. “Houston-”

  “No.” His hand covered hers. “Don’t say anything now,” he told her, fearing she would say, Forget it, no way, buster. “Think about it. And have dinner with me tomorrow night at my house?”

  “Yes. To both.”

  Houston realized he had been holding his breath, and he let it out in a slow trickle. He turned her hand up and kissed her palm, then simply held it. “Thank you.”

  They stood like that for long moments, holding hands, holding out hope for their hearts’ desires. Finally, Houston leaned down and kissed her cheek.

  “That’s as close as I can get and hang on to my self-control.” He kissed her cheek again, then walked to the door. “Good night, my lovely, luscious, Abby.”

  And then he was gone.

  Abby stood where he had left her, hating herself for the web of deception she had created. And loving Houston.

  On the drive home, Houston thought about the words that had almost tumbled out of his mouth tonight. Specifically, the L word. He had almost said he had never been in love like this before. And it wouldn’t have been a lie. Because now he truly knew he had never been in love before. Period. Whatever he might have felt for the only other girl he had even been serious about, paled in comparison to what he felt for Abby.

  Funny, he thought, what strange little twists and turns life could take. If it hadn’t been for his insecurities, he might have married—What was her name? Oh, yes. Connie. He might have married Connie, and never met Abby. He wondered if the episode with Connie ever crossed Gil’s mind. Particularly since it had almost ended their friendship permanently.

  Houston remembered the night, just days short of college graduation and the finalization of his and Gil’s plans to start a charter business together, when Connie told him that Gil had tried to force himself on her.

  Blind with pain and rage, Houston had taken Connie’s word for it, even though Gil had insisted she was jealous of their friendship, and that he had never touched her. Nothing had been the same after that. Gil had moved to California and joined the San Francisco Police Department. The ironic thing was that several months later, Houston had found Connie with another man, and realized that Gil had been telling the
truth all along. Eventually, he and Gil patched up their relationship, albeit long distance, since by then he had joined the navy.

  But that episode had taught him a lesson he had never forgotten. And he had sworn to Gil, and to himself that he would never take anyone’s word at face value if it was going to destroy their friendship. He had made that mistake once. He would never do it again.

  But that wasn’t a worry where Abby was concerned.

  The weather in Hilo was muggy. An overcast sky predicted rain. But showers in the islands were rarely severe, and usually short in duration. Still, Abby glanced skyward, hoping a possible shower didn’t mean a delay in returning to Maui. She had to be back by evening.

  The salvage yard was small, but loaded. Abby had never seen so many odds and ends of once-upon-a-timeseagoing vessels in one place.

  “Mr. Wallace?” she asked when a man wearing a captain’s cap approached her.

  “At your service. What can I do for you?”

  “I called yesterday about a bell that you salvaged. You’re holding it for me.”

  “Right, you are. Miz Douglass, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “C’mon to the back. We couldn’t get it as clean as we’d like, but we did get down to a speck of the engraving.”

  “Great.”

  “Can’t tell much.”

  She followed him around the main building that she supposed was the office, to a shed at the back of the yard. There, sitting on a workbench was a slice of fiberglass with a bell attached.

  Abby licked her lips. Her heart was beating double time, and her palms were actually sweaty. What if this turned out to be another bell? The wrong bell? What if this trip was nothing more than a wild-goose chase?

  “See here.” Mr. Wallace picked up the piece of debris and turned it so that she could see the section of the corroded bell that had been cleaned. Or he had attempted to clean, at least. “Like I said, not much to see. You got three clear letters. I-N-D. The fourth letter, the one before the I, is almost gone. Could be a W.”

  “Or a K?”

  “Yeah, could be. Can’t be certain.”

  “Close enough,” Abby said, feeling hopeful, really hopeful for the first time.

  She paid Mr. Wallace to package the bell for shipment to a forensic lab in Honolulu, then addressed the package and took it to the nearest overnight express office. The lab would test the fiberglass for residue, using a gas chromatograph that gives a baseline graph for different elements, flammable liquids and explosive materials. The test results would prove conclusively whether the explosion was accidental—for example, caused by a fuel-line leak—or if it had been set intentionally, and if so, what was used to trigger the explosion.

  After she made sure the package was on its way, she went back to the airport. There she called the lab and told them the bell was en route. Then she called Brax with an update and made the necessary notations to the file, using her computer. Now all she had to do was wait.

  Chapter 11

  From the moment her plane lifted off from the Hilo airport, Abby knew where she was going when the flight landed in Maui. She was going straight to the dive shop. She was going to see Houston. No changing clothes. No unpacking. Just straight to Houston. She couldn’t wait to see him.

  But when she arrived, he wasn’t there.

  Stuart Baker informed her that he had taken some extra tanks down to Wailea, but he should be back within the hour. Abby felt as if someone had just landed a direct punch to her midriff. Disappointed, she decided she might as well go on to the condo.

  “Hey, there,” Gil said, coming down a flight of stairs at the back of the shop. Two large manila envelopes were tucked under his arm. “Lookin’ for Houston?”

  “Stuart just told me that he went to Wailea.”

  “Yeah, but he should be back shortly. You can wait for him.” He put the envelopes on the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Want some?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “So, you changed your mind, huh?”

  “Changed my mind? About what?”

  “About taking on my partner. You know, amour.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  “Oh, well-”

  “Hey, I think it’s great. I’m all for romance.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it a romance.”

  “Whatever you call it, I haven’t seen Houston this happy since before the accident.”

  “He, uh, told me a little bit about that,” Abby said, curious what Leland’s reaction would be.

  Gil arched an eyebrow. “Did he?” Then he shrugged. “Well, good. He’s kept it all bottled up inside him ever since it happened. We’ve talked about it, of course, but even then, I’ve felt that he was holding back. You know, not talking about his real feelings.”

  “I think that’s hard for Houston.”

  “Yeah. Even in high school he was never one to spill his guts.”

  “Can I change my mind about that cup of coffee?” Abby asked.

  “You bet.” Gil set down his own cup, poured another, and handed it to her.

  “Thanks.” She did want to see Houston, but she also wanted this opportunity to talk to Gil. What exactly she hoped to accomplish, she wasn’t sure. But her instincts were telling her that Gil liked for everyone to think he was a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy, when, in fact, he wasn’t. It seemed highly implausible that anyone could be as easygoing or as uncomplicated as he appeared to be, particularly after losing a wife only nine months ago.

  “Did Houston mention his…hesitation about going back in the water after the explosion?”

  Abby sipped her coffee, careful to avoid Gil’s gaze. She didn’t like the way he said the word “hesitation.” He might as well have come right out and said “fear.” For someone who was supposed to be Houston’s nearest and dearest friend, he had a strange way of showing it.

  “Yes,” she replied, her gaze finally meeting his. “He did.” Leland’s face was taut, the lines around his mouth set grimly.

  “Well, maybe I was wrong about the big guy sharing his feelings. Seems he’s told you everything.”

  There was an unmistakable trace of resentment in his voice. Was it possible Gil was jealous of her relationship with Houston? The thought made the hair on the back of Abby’s neck stand up.

  “To be honest,” he said on a deep sigh, “I’m really glad. I think he’s held back from talking to me because of Shelley. He didn’t want to keep bringing up what happened, you know. There’s one thing I know for sure. He may not always like to show it, but Houston’s got a big heart.”

  This time when he looked into her eyes, the hardness was gone, replaced by sincere concern. Abby was stunned at the transformation. Gil Leland was a lot of things, but uncomplicated wasn’t one of them.

  “Well—” he put down his cup and picked up the two manila envelopes “—I’d love to hang around and talk to a pretty woman all day, but I’d better get my rear in gear.”

  “I didn’t mean to hold you up. Thanks for the coffee, and would you ask Houston to call me?”

  “Ask him yourself.” Gil pointed to the front window of the dive shop where she could see the blue T-Bird pulling in.

  At the sight of Houston unfolding his long, lean body out of the sports car, Abby’s stomach did a jitterbug. “Thanks,” she said, without looking at Gil.

  “No sweat.”

  She waited, her heart beating fast, as Houston entered the shop. Lord, but he looked good. His jeans were old and faded, with multiple holes. And tight. The sleeves had been cut out of the denim shirt he wore, leaving well-toned muscles to be admired. Abby did.

  Houston couldn’t believe his eyes. “Abby?”

  “Hi.”

  “I was just wishing the day would hurry by so I could see you, and here you are.” He was totally unprepared for the instant surge of desire the moment he saw her. Or the powerful urge to take her in his arms right here, right now, and kiss her the way he wanted to.

  “H
ere I am.”

  His eyes skimmed up, then down, then back up to lock with hers. “Yeah, here you are,” he repeated.

  “I, uh, Gil told me I could wait.” My God, the man was utterly gorgeous. The only way he could look any better was without clothes.

  “Gil?”

  “He’s—” She glanced over her shoulder to find no one behind the counter. “He was here a minute ago.”

  As she turned her body, the motion drew her dress taut across her breasts, and Houston’s blood pressure shot up. If he didn’t touch her soon, kiss her soon, he feared his body might spontaneously combust. “Have you—” He cleared his throat. “Are you in a hurry?”

  She shook her head, wishing they were someplace private. The urge to touch him was so powerful, she clasped her hands together to control it.

  “Would you like to come upstairs to the office for a minute?”

  “Upstairs?”

  “Yeah.”

  “To your private office?”

  “Absolutely.” There was a hard edge of lust glinting in his dark brown eyes.

  “Oh, I see.”

  “I sure hope so. Because if I don’t kiss you in the next fifteen seconds, I’ll go insane.”

  “Oh, well,” she said breathlessly. “I, uh, wouldn’t want to be responsible for the breakdown of your mental health.”

  “Thank God.” Houston grabbed her by the hand and pulled her with him up the stairs. Once they were inside the office, he closed the door and hauled her into his arms.

  “I’ve thought about this all day.” He feasted on her mouth. “God, you taste good.”

  “So do you.” She did her own feasting.

  He wanted to go on tasting her. He wanted to hold her against him, feel her body melt into his. He wanted to shove everything off the desk not three feet away, and let the fire take them.

  “I’m greedy,” he admitted. “I want more.” He drew back and looked into her eyes. “A lot more.”

  “So do I.”

  He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, the hard edge of lust she had seen glinting there before had softened to smoldering desire.