Hold Me Close

by Rosalind James

  More than a thousand results. He swore, went to the kitchen to refill his scotch glass, and resigned himself.

  An hour later, he’d run every possibility down, and found nothing that matched. Nothing at all.

  Why?

  Because she’d lied. The answer was right there, staring him in the face, and he shoved off so fast the chair spun out. He vaulted out of it and began to pace the length of the study, thinking it through.

  She’d lied. Playing on his sympathy, trying to screw more out of him, to get him—to get everyone—to feel sorry for her, because why else had that fat waitress taken her in? Going from one sucker to another. To the Sanchez woman, and then, when the opportunity had come her way, to him. Looking at him with those big gray eyes while she told him her sad story.

  Poor little Kayla, with her dead husband and her fatherless kid. Who probably wasn’t really fatherless at all. Who was the dad, really? Could be anybody. Some other sucker who’d finally had enough. And then she’d made this up, had told the kid his dad had had to “go away,” had filled his head with lies about his father until he believed them, too, until he could parrot it all back.

  He whirled and threw the glass at the wall, watched it shatter, shards of glass flying, a spray of amber droplets spreading out in a fan, staining the carpet. Now he was going to have to live with that all week until the cleaners came, because she’d made him lose his temper with her lying and her little games. Again. He pressed his heel against a wickedly sharp splinter, grinding it into the carpet, feeling it break and getting some satisfaction from that.

  But wait. Maybe . . . He went back to the computer and began typing again, and found his suspicions confirmed. Anyway, was Kayla that good of a liar, good enough to fool him? No. She was lousy. He’d always seen through her. He picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Kervic.”

  “It’s me.”

  “Man . . .” The sigh came down the line. “I’m at my daughter’s birthday party. Can this wait?”

  “If it could wait, I wouldn’t be calling you. It’s about Kayla.”

  “Man, you need to let it go. Not worth it. She’s got more problems than you can fix, and she’s gone.”

  “Don’t tell me what’s worth it.” The hot rage flared again, and he breathed out and focused. “I want you to find a death notice. Some guy named Chambers. One to six years ago. Will have been—say, twenty-five to forty. Dead in some kind of accident.”

  “Hang on.” He heard the resignation, waited impatiently for the notebook to be flipped open. “County of death?”

  “How the hell do I know? If I knew, I’d look it up myself.”

  “Is this Idaho?”

  “Probably, but who knows? Say everywhere. US, anyway.”

  “Oh, that’s real helpful.” The sarcasm came right down the line. “You can look it up yourself, for Christ’s sake. Get on the Internet. That’s what it’s for.”

  “It isn’t there. Death notices have to be paid for by somebody to get into a newspaper, and this guy would’ve been dirt poor.”

  “You sure he even existed?”

  “No.” Alan’s hand clenched around the receiver. “I’m not. That’s why I want you to find out.”

  “Some random guy named Chambers, anywhere in the US, six-year time span, fifteen-year age span? Do you know what you’re asking?”

  “I’m asking you to do your job,” Alan said coldly. “You’re a detective. Detect.”

  “I don’t detect this. You know how many unsolved homicides we’ve got right now?”

  “I don’t care. Just do it.” He put the phone down on the objections and went back to the kitchen for another glass.

  If the dead husband had existed, he’d had a home town. And Kayla couldn’t do a damn thing on her own, so where would she have run? To somebody else who’d take care of her. To somebody else she could use. She hadn’t had family of her own—at least that was what she’d told him. If that were true, she’d have gone to somebody else. Who else would she have had? Her husband’s family, that was who.

  His hand closed around the bottle, and he splashed the whiskey into the glass with deliberate care, then lifted it in a toast.

  “Chambers family?” he said aloud. “If you’re out there, I’m coming to find you. And you’re going to lead me straight to Kayla.”

  KAYLA B & B

  Half the town seemed to be streaming into the fairgrounds, Kayla saw. It was Saturday evening, and pickup trucks and cars lined the normally quiet streets for blocks around. The top of the Ferris wheel was visible over the roofs of the huge metal sheds where the exhibits were housed, and a hum filled the warm late-September night. The carnival barkers calling out their enticements mingled with the metallic rattle of the roller coaster, the shrieks of riders, and all the hubbub of an excited crowd.

  “Wow. What’s that?” Eli asked, pointing to a cage attached to one end of each of two long arms that swung high into the air and plunged toward earth again in sickening arcs to the accompaniment of screams.

  “Ah,” Luke said. “That would be the Hammer. Just about guaranteed to make you lose your lunch. If you go on that thing, do it before you eat a corn dog, because nobody wants to see that mess.”

  “Ew,” Kayla said, laughing. “But you don’t want to go on that, Eli, do you? You’re not old enough anyway.”

  That earned her an incredulous stare from both man and boy. “Mom,” Eli said, and it was very nearly a wail, “I’m meeting Cody and all the other guys! Everybody’s going on the rides!”

  “But that looks awfully scary,” she protested.

  “Well,” Luke said, “that’s kind of the point, isn’t it, Eli?”

  “Yeah. That’s the point, Mom.”

  “But—isn’t there some height restriction?” Kayla appealed to Luke.

  “Well, if there is,” he said reasonably, “they won’t let Eli on, will they?”

  She was outnumbered, it was obvious. And surely it would be safe. They wouldn’t allow the rides otherwise, would they? Just the thought of dropping out of the sky like that made her shudder. Even though she’d been married to a rodeo cowboy, she’d never lost her own physical timidity. It was worse than ever now that she knew what real fear felt like.

  “Good thing about doing something really scary,” Luke said as Eli dashed toward the group of kids around the ticket booth, “is it makes you feel brave after you do it. Seems like somebody who swung on that rope swing might know a thing or two about that. Maybe especially if you’ve spent a while being scared, it might be important to show yourself you’re brave.”

  She sighed. “Do you have to be right?”

  “Well, in this case, I probably do. Considering it’s my job and all.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  They came up to where Eli was standing in line, and Luke pulled out his wallet. “We’ll get you a wristband,” he told the boy. “That way you can do everything, all night long. Ride until you’re good and sick.”

  “Oh, no,” Kayla began, but Eli was there first.

  “No, thank you,” he said. “I have my own money. I was saving up for my bike, but then I didn’t need it for the bike. It costs thirty dollars, and I’ve got fifty.” He pulled the bills out of his pocket, another crumpled wad, stepped up to the wooden counter of the little booth, shoved it into the opening, and said, “One wristband, please.”

  Luke sighed. “I guess he comes by that naturally, huh?”

  Kayla’s heart hummed with pride for her boy. “Yes. He does. If it’s good to face your fears, it’s good to pay your way, too. Because if you pay your own way, you get to decide for yourself.”

  “All right. This time, I’ve got to admit that you’re right. How’s that for masculine grace?”

  She laughed. “Pretty good. Pretty rare.”

  But all the same, he pulled out fifteen
dollars of his own and handed it to Eli, who was anxiously glancing at his friends as if worrying they would leave without him. “For dinner, if you’re hanging out all night with your buddies. And don’t tell me no,” he told Kayla at her instinctive movement. “Please. This is my date, right?”

  “Um—is it?”

  “Well, the way I was reading it, it is. Eli wants to do it up right tonight, and, hey, so do I. You want to say thanks, make me another pie sometime. But let me do this. Let me have my date.”

  It was too busy, too noisy, too crowded for her to feel comfortable letting Eli go, but she had to let him go all the same, and she knew it. If he were feeling safe at last, she should be fostering that, not getting in his way. “All right,” she said. We’ll meet you right back here at . . . eight thirty?” she asked with a glance at Luke.

  “Eight thirty’s good. And don’t say I didn’t warn you about the corn dogs,” he told Eli.

  Eli’s smile was huge. “Thanks! Bye, Mom.” He dashed off, was swallowed up in the group of boys, and they headed off to, Kayla saw, the horrible Hammer ride.

  “You always do the scary one first,” Luke said. “Only way to get in the pool is to jump right off the deep end.” He pulled his wallet out of his jeans pocket again and got in line for the ticket booth himself. “You know what, though? It’s been ten years since I took a girl to the fair, and I told Eli the truth. I intend to do it up right.”

  It had been ten years, but it had never been like this. Buying her a corn dog and the giant slab of fried dough, cinnamon, and sugar that was an elephant ear, watching her nibble at them with those little white teeth, that luscious mouth, looking so pretty in the pink dress, like the girliest girl there could ever be, until it got too chilly and she had to put on her white sweater, and he had to help her. Walking through the barns with her, the familiar scents of hay and livestock filling his nostrils, checking out the steers and the lambs, seeing who’d won which ribbons, making mental notes when it was one of his students. Saying hi every time they passed somebody he knew. Seeing their sidelong looks at Kayla, and not caring a bit.

  “Did you do this? 4-H?” she asked, stopping in front of a fine-looking Hereford steer with a blue ribbon hanging on its pen. The big animal shoved its pink nose up to the fence, and Luke gave it a scratch on its forehead through the boards.

  “Oh, yeah. Every year. Farm-kid rite of passage. Raised my animal, brought it here, and showed it. It was a big thing. I spent a lot of hours in this barn.”

  “It didn’t bother you that they were going to get sold and killed?”

  “First year, yeah,” he admitted. “When I was ten. My lamb. I got pretty attached to that lamb. She’d come running when I got near the barn, and I gave her a name. Bluebell.” He grimaced. “Dumb name, huh?”

  “No. I think it’s sweet.”

  “Sweet, maybe. But stupid anyway. That’s rule one, never give them a name. I cried when they sold her, had to punch Cal for laughing at me. But after that, I toughened up. Plus, it’s not as easy to get attached to a steer.”

  “I guess. Except I saw you pet it.”

  “Shh. Don’t tell, or I’ll have to punch Cal again.”

  “Well, I can see why. Baby calves . . .” She sighed.

  “Yeah. I think it’s safe to say that you’d have had a tough time. Girls do it, too, but maybe not you. You want to check out the crafts?”

  “You don’t want to go do that, though.”

  “No? Maybe I want to make you happy, you think of that? And I think you want to see them. So let’s go.”

  He’d been right. The pies weren’t too exciting, and neither were the quilts or the flowers. But seeing Kayla exclaiming, pointing out something pretty, leaning over to smell the roses, choosing her favorites . . . it was worth it.

  “All right,” she said, when they’d headed out again. “You made me happy, and you pretended to like it. Now what?”

  He smoothed a blonde curl back from her ear, and wanted so much to hold her hand. “How do you know I was pretending?” He held that eye contact. He couldn’t have looked away anyway. “I might not have been looking at the same things as you, but I liked what I was looking at. And, yeah,” he said before she could say anything, “that’s flirting. But it’s true.”

  For once, she wasn’t pulling away. Her eyes had widened and her cheeks were tinged with a pink to match her dress, but she was letting it go. She was letting him say it. “So what . . . what do we do now?”

  Now, I kiss you. Except that he couldn’t. “Now?” he said instead. “Now’s when we get to do the fun stuff, now that we’ve got the educational part out of the way. Want to go on the Ferris wheel with me? Tallest structure in Paradise—well, outside of the university. I’d suggest the roller coaster, but maybe we’ll work up to it.”

  “Or maybe we won’t do it at all,” she said firmly. “You want to go on the roller coaster, go find Eli. I’m much too chicken.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” He brushed back another curl that didn’t need brushing, and she leaned into his hand just a bit. “And I’ll take the Ferris wheel.”

  So he stood in line, climbed in there with her, slammed the door shut, and the seat rocked, and she shuddered a little. “We’re still on the ground,” he pointed out.

  “Well, yes,” she said. “But we’re going to be higher.”

  They rose slowly, one rocking, jerking stop at a time, until at last, all the cars were full and the big wheel could turn without interruption. One stately revolution, high into the air, down the other side, and they were going up again. The sky was turning pink now to the west, the hills luminous with that special light that came only at this time of night.

  “Alpenglow,” he said. “Did you remember that before you came back?”

  “No,” she said dreamily. She was so close, her skirt brushing against his jeans, her hands beside his on the bar. “But it’s beautiful.”

  “Mm. It is. One of the reasons I couldn’t leave.”

  “Is that why you bought your house where you did? So you could see out?” They were at the very top now. The wheel stopped with a stronger jolt this time, making the car rock and sway, and she let out a squeak.

  He couldn’t help it. He put his hand over one of hers. “It’s OK. We’re good. And you’re right. That’s why I did it. I like seeing out.”

  She hadn’t moved her hand. He looked at her, and she looked back at him. And then she turned her hand, her palm met his, and the jolt he felt wasn’t coming from the Ferris wheel.

  He was still looking into her eyes as he threaded his fingers through hers, and, damn, it felt good.

  “Luke . . .” she breathed.

  “Yeah.” The car was swaying as the pink in the sky turned to orange. He was holding Kayla’s hand, running his thumb over the side of her index finger, and he could see her chest rising and falling under her sweater, because she liked it. And if that tiny bit of contact felt as good to her as it did to him, she was getting some serious tingles.

  “The Ferris wheel isn’t so bad, is it?” She sounded a little breathless. They were headed down the other side, and this was almost over.

  He’d told himself he wouldn’t. That it was too soon, and he had to keep his hands—and his mouth, and every other part of himself—off her. But there she was, with her curls and her eyes and that sweet hand in his. And that mouth. That mouth.

  He lifted a hand to her head, held her gently there, then bent and brushed his mouth over hers. Just a caress. Just a touch. He tasted sugar on her soft lips, felt her hand tightening in his, and sat back and smiled down into her gray eyes.

  “Nope,” he said. “Not too bad at all.”

  All of that was good. It was really good. And putting a hand on either side of her narrow waist in that pink dress a half hour later to lift her into the saddle of a gray merry-go-round horse was even better. />
  Well, he had to lift her, didn’t he? That was the horse she’d picked out, one at the very top of its pole, and she was wearing a skirt, so she had to sit sidesaddle. But her indrawn breath at his touch sent a kick of pure lust through him, and when he lifted her high and she held on to his shoulders, it got worse. She wriggled onto her polished resin saddle, put a sandaled foot in a stirrup, tucked the other foot behind it, and was just . . . way too sexy for any man to take.

  He swung up beside her onto a black horse, the bell rang, the music started, and she was looking out into the crowded fairgrounds, then back at him, her eyes sparkling, her pretty mouth curving, and he wanted to kiss that smiling mouth. She was enjoying herself, knowing that he wanted her, but not seeming scared by it, at least not tonight. Looking like the girl she should have been.

  He knew it was cheesy, sitting there watching her while the horses went up and down, around and around, and the parents sat in the swan seats with their babies or stood beside their three-year-olds on their horses and rabbits and ostriches, and the music played. But he did it anyway. And as soon as the carousel slowed, he was swinging out of the saddle and going over to get her, because he had to have his hands on her again.

  She tucked a hand over her skirt to keep it from riding up as he lifted her down, kept the other one on his shoulder, smiled at him, and said, “That was fun. Thank you.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “It sure was.”

  “What time is it?” she asked when they’d jumped off the platform and headed out to the midway.

  “Eight. Plenty of time to win you a stuffed dog, if you like.”

  “Oh, really?” She cocked her head at him. “You sure? That’s a pretty big promise.”

  “I never make a promise I can’t keep. I sure wouldn’t make one to you. Baseballs in milk bottles, that’s my game. What do you say?” He swung her around by the hand, pointed up at a hideous pink dog with its tongue lolling out on the top shelf of a booth. “That your animal?”

  “So tempting,” she sighed.

  “Want to make the lady happy?” he heard from behind him. “I got your jewelry right here to get her feeling good. Pretty necklace, or a bracelet with your name on it. Let her know you care.” When they turned, the carnie went on. “Come on, make her night. Buy her a necklace. A pretty lady like that? Man, you got to get her into some sparkles.”