Every Move She Makes

by Beverly Barton

  Run. Run now, before he sees you. Before he catches you staring at him. You’re a fool if you linger, if you speak to him.

  As if sensing her presence the way she had his, Reed lifted his head and stared directly at her. “Hello, Miss Ella.”

  Her heart beat wildly, sounding an erratic rat-a-tat-tat that she could hear inside her head. She almost screamed at him to leave her alone, but of course, she didn’t say a word. All the man had done was speak to her. But his gaze touched her, caressed her, fondled her. It was invisible, yet potent. With only the mesmerizing glare from his ice-cold blue eyes, Reed captured her and held her immobile. He replaced the book he’d been flipping through and turned to face Ella again. With her chest rising and falling as her breathing grew harsh and heavy, an anxious anticipation soaring through her, Ella watched while he moved toward her. Slowly, deliberately, he zeroed in on her as a powerful animal would slink toward its helpless prey.

  When he was almost upon her, she caught her breath and held it. Calm down. There is nothing he can do to you here, in a public place. But she was lying to herself and she knew it. He had already done something to her. With nothing more than a look, he had violated the privacy of her mind and body.

  Reed stopped when he was within a foot of her and glanced at the book she held against her chest as if it were a lifeline. “Planning on spending the evening reading?”

  “Yes.” She barely managed to get the word past the lump in her throat. It was fear, excitement, and sexual awareness—a hard knot of combined emotions.

  “What’s the matter with that guy you’re seeing?” Reed asked. “If you were my woman, I’d keep you too busy to read at night.”

  A shiver zinged through her, from toes to fingers. An image of just what Reed and she would be doing together filled her mind—a living-color spectacle of naked arms and legs, tangled sheets, damp bodies, erotic whisperings.

  “But I’m not your woman, am I?” Don’t just leave it with that kind of statement, she warned herself. You practically asked him if he considered you his woman. “I don’t belong to anyone. I’m my own woman.”

  “I’m glad you’re not wearing some other man’s brand.”

  She gasped, startled by the audacity of his bold statement. “Is that your idea of a relationship, Mr. Conway? Burning your brand into as many women as possible?”

  He grinned at her then, and heaven help her, she found that she was as susceptible to that sexy smile as any other woman. Her body reacted, tingling and pulsating. Damn it all, Reed Conway was lethal.

  “A man only brands the woman he wants to claim as his personal property.”

  Reed took that final step that brought them together, so close that she could see the silver specks in his blue eyes and the thin white scar that bisected his lower lip right in the middle.

  Ella swallowed. Willing herself to remain in control, to give this annoying man absolutely no power over her, she offered him a fragile smile. “I received another letter this morning. Just like the other two.”

  His self-confident grin faded quickly. “Then I suppose I can expect another visit from Frank Nelson, another warning.”

  “I haven’t mentioned the letter to anyone except Mark Leamon. He’s convinced that someone else is writing the letters and making the phone calls in order to incriminate you. He thinks someone wants you back in prison before you discover the identity of Junior Blalock’s real killer.”

  Reed’s breath fanned her face as he gazed into her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. “And what do you think?” he asked.

  “I—I don’t know. What Mark says makes sense, but—”

  “But it’s easier to believe that I’m guilty, isn’t it?”

  “No. I’d like to believe that you’re innocent.” Idiot, she chided herself. Why had she made such an admission to him? Now he would know what sort of effect he had on her.

  “Believe it, because it’s true. I didn’t kill Junior Blalock.”

  He touched her then. He skimmed her cheek with the back of his hand. A faint, gentle graze of rough against soft. She sucked in her breath.

  “Hey, you two, want to join us for coffee?” Heather’s voice destroyed the intimacy between Ella and Reed.

  Ella jumped. Reed took several backward steps, away from Ella. But for just a moment, their gazes remained linked and a silent message was exchanged—a mutual understanding of monumental importance. Something was happening between them, something neither of them understood but neither could resist. Their accidental meeting tonight would not be the end of it. There was more to come. Much more.

  “I was just leaving,” Reed said. “Nice to have seen you, Judge Porter.”

  Rendered speechless by Reed’s cool, casual courtesy, she nodded and didn’t allow her gaze to linger on him as he walked away.

  “Did I run him off?” Heather asked. “I didn’t mean to put an end to your little rendezvous.”

  “You didn’t put an end to anything,” Ella lied. “We just ran into each other by accident. I think you embarrassed Reed by asking us to join y’all for coffee, as if we were a couple.”

  “Ella, Ella, Ella. This is me you’re talking to. Your best buddy. Your confidante,” Heather reminded her. “I saw the way you two were looking at each other. Girlfriend, you’re playing with fire.”

  “Will you please lower your voice, or do you want everyone in here to hear you?”

  “Sorry.” Heather wrapped her arm through Ella’s. “Want me to ditch tall, dark, and handsome? If you need somebody to talk to—”

  Ella laughed. “Go enjoy tall, dark and handsome. I’m going to buy this book”—she held the sci-fi novel up for inspection—” then head for home, where I plan to take a nice, long bubble bath and read until I fall asleep.”

  “To each their own,” Heather said. “You go to bed with a good book and I’ll go to bed with a good man. Or at least I hope he’s good.”

  “You’re scandalous.”

  “And you’re horny.”

  “Heather!”

  “Believe me, if Reed Conway looked at me the way he looked at you tonight, I’d be dragging him off to the nearest bed.”

  “You might enjoy living dangerously, but I don’t. Remember, you’re the one who warned me that Reed Conway is trouble with a capital T. And I’m the girl who avoids trouble.”

  “Yeah, I know. But Ella, honey, you just don’t know what you’re missing.”

  Chapter 11

  Webb would have preferred to be just about anywhere today than in Spring Park for the annual Fourth of July celebration. With each passing year, he dreaded these public appearances with his happy little family. But the lieutenant governor was here, as were U.S. Congressman Conners, state legislators, and Spring Creek’s mayor. And so, the Porter family was in attendance for a command performance. Carolyn didn’t make many political appearances with him, and people understood that her physical handicap prevented her from being the fulltime supportive wife Webb needed. But over the years, Ella had become her mother’s substitute, always available to wave and smile and even give stump speeches.

  Carolyn seemed to have no trouble at all playing the part of loving wife whenever called upon to make an appearance. Perhaps inside that fantasy world she had created and lived in, their marriage was the perfect love match they presented to the world and to their daughter. But in reality, he had stopped loving Carolyn before her accident over thirty years ago and he suspected that some time in the past decade she had not only ceased loving him, but had learned to hate him. He couldn’t blame her, of course. She had every right to hate him. But heaven help him, what was he supposed to do? He was tied to a woman he didn’t love, forced to remain in a marriage that had for all intents and purposes ended long ago. He had a right to some happiness, didn’t he? He had worked diligently to keep his infidelities discreet. He never wanted to hurt Carolyn or to disappoint Ella. His daughter idolized him, and he wanted to keep it that way. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if she ever discover
ed her idol had feet of clay.

  Webb put his phony politician’s smile in place as he pushed Carolyn’s wheelchair across the lush green lawn of the park. He headed directly toward the family’s picnic table, adorned with a shiny new canopy donated by the Porter and Carlisle families. He waved, nodded, and spoke to everyone he saw. Four different men stopped him to shake hands and shoot the breeze. Two were merely voters, but every vote counted. One was a wealthy supporter whom he dare not ignore. And the other was a longtime acquaintance whom Webb was genuinely glad to see.

  A country-and-western band played shit-kicking music from the raised podium in the middle of the park. In a clearing across the circular road that surrounded the park, on the north side, a display of Medieval swordplay was in progress, while on the south side, representatives of the Cherokee Nation performed tribal dances. Food venders circled the outer boundaries like an old-time wagon train preparing to fight off an attack. Rows of booths in front of and behind the center podium housed the arts and crafts. Inside a huge, colorful tent near the spring-fed pond, local artists displayed their paintings and sculptures.

  Jeff Henry, resplendent in his white slacks and short-sleeved white linen shirt set off by a pair of mustard yellow suspenders, beamed with pleasure the moment he caught sight of Carolyn. Poor old fool, Webb thought. Pining away for a woman who has never loved him and never will. Actually, Webb wasn’t sure that Carolyn was capable of loving anyone except herself. He supposed that, in her own fashion, she did love Ella, although there were times when he caught a glimpse of pure jealousy coming from her when he was too attentive to their daughter. Carolyn resented anyone Webb loved. And he loved Ella more than anyone on earth. She was, after all, the very best of him.

  “Ella, darling girl, I’m so glad you’ve finally arrived.” Cybil draped her arm over her niece’s shoulder. “We’ve been here thirty minutes and I’m already bored to death. Let’s go see if we can find something fun to do, like ogle a half-naked hunk in the dunking booth or pig out on some delicious homemade fudge.”

  “Ella, if you go off with your aunt Cybil, please keep track of the time,” Carolyn cautioned. “Don’t forget that we have to be on the podium with your daddy at two o’clock. And if Dan isn’t here by noon, call him and remind him he’s invited to join us.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Without a backward glance, Ella ran off with Cybil, the two of them giggling like schoolgirls as they disappeared into the huge crowd milling about in the park.

  As he’d watched Ella and Cybil leaving, Webb’s gaze had lingered on the two women. Despite Cybil’s many flaws—and God knew she had plenty—Webb thanked the good Lord every day that Cybil had always been a part of his daughter’s life. There were many similarities in the two women, but the resemblances were so subtle that he doubted anyone else noticed. Perhaps only Jeff Henry. Whereas Cybil was petite, as was Carolyn, Ella was tall and big-boned. But the shiny black hair, the peaches-and-cream light-olive skin, and the bold and beautiful smile were identical. And their genuine, heartfelt laughter sounded the same—so unlike Carolyn, who seldom laughed and whose smile seemed a sad parody of the real thing.

  “Webb, I’m simply dying of thirst,” Carolyn said. “Would you be so good as to get me some lemonade. I think I’ll perish if I have to wait until lunchtime.”

  “Certainly.” As Webb patted her on the shoulder, he glanced at Jeff Henry. “Would you like some lemonade, too?”

  “Yes, thank you kindly. And don’t you worry about Carolyn while you’re gone. I’ll keep her entertained.” Jeff Henry sat on the edge of the concrete bench facing Carolyn.

  “I never worry about my wife when she’s with you,” Webb said, then made a hasty retreat.

  He found the lines at all the food and drink vendors too long. Although he could have pulled rank and gone behind the scenes to be waited on, he knew his image as one of the people would be tarnished if he did something so crass. He had an image to uphold, especially in his hometown.

  Suddenly Webb noticed Judy Conway and her daughter, Regina, in the line beside him. Judy was the kind of woman that men looked at twice, and not because she did anything to draw attention to herself. She’d been born with dainty features, big blue eyes, and a mane of glorious blond hair. Her daughter was a replica of her, except that her features were larger and more sharply defined. His encounters with Judy had been difficult for both of them over the years, especially since he had prosecuted Reed for murder. Usually he had a difficult time looking Judy directly in the eye. He would never forget the night she came to him, begging for his help to save her son, offering him anything he wanted. God knows he’d been tempted to take her up on her offer, but he respected Judy far too much—then and now. He didn’t think she had ever forgiven him for believing Reed guilty of killing his stepfather.

  She must have noticed that Webb was staring at her, because she turned and looked at him, their gazes connecting and holding for a split second before she glanced away again. Of all the women he’d known over the years—and he’d known more than his share—no woman had ever fascinated him the way Judy did. He had loved her once, long ago. If Carolyn hadn’t been crippled in that damned accident, if he had been able to obtain a divorce when he’d first realized Carolyn was not the woman he’d thought she was, then both his life and Judy’s would be different now. Judy would be his wife instead of his sister-in-law’s housekeeper. Reed would be his stepson instead of his enemy. And Regina would be his daughter.

  But Ella would not be a part of his life. Would he, if he could, trade one life for the other? One daughter for another? God, he’d made so many mistakes—too many ever to rectify in one lifetime.

  “Nice to see you and your daughter enjoying the Fourth of July celebration,” Webb said directly to Judy, certain she would know he was speaking to her and be unable to ignore him in front of all these people.

  Judy glared at him. “This Independence Day is special for my family. My son is home, where he should be.”

  “I’m glad for you.” Webb turned his attention to Regina, who simply stared at him, apparently surprised that Senator Webb Porter would be talking to her mother in such a friendly manner. “Regina, I haven’t seen you in quite some time. You’ve certainly grown up to be a lovely young woman.”

  “Thank you,” Regina replied nervously.

  “I understand you’re a paralegal for Mark Leamon.” Webb moved forward toward the concession window as the line progressed.

  Regina nodded. “Mark has encouraged me to go back to school and become a lawyer.”

  “Is that right? I think it’s a brilliant idea. Are you returning to school soon?”

  “No, I’m afraid I’ll have to save up the money first.” Regina followed her mother as she made her way closer and closer to the window.

  “Ah, yes, the money.” Webb glanced at Judy and the two exchanged a brief, meaningful stare. “Perhaps you can get a scholarship of some sort. Why don’t you let me look into it for you?”

  Regina eased out of line and took a tentative step toward Webb. “Oh, Senator Porter, that would be wonderful. But is that even possible?”

  Judy clamped her hand down on her daughter’s shoulder and drew her back into the line. “My daughter won’t accept any handouts, but she’s a smart girl, and if there’s scholarship money out there that she’d qualify to receive, then your help would be appreciated.”

  “I’ll make a few phone calls and see what I can come up with.” Webb found himself next in line. He took one final look at mother and daughter—two beautiful women, both of whom might have been his—then smiled broadly at the cashier and ordered two large lemonades and an extra-large root beer.

  When Reed met his mother and sister halfway in the middle of the park, he took the tray of drinks out of Judy’s hands. He’d seen her in the concession line talking to Webb Porter, and it had taken all his willpower not to storm over there and demand that the senator leave his mother and sister alone. There had been something going on between his mot
her and Webb Porter once, back when he’d been just a kid, and the very thought that the man had ever touched his mother sickened him. He’d be damned if he’d let that son of a bitch come sniffing around his little sister.

  Regina needed a husband, a man who would love her, marry her, and teach her that sex was a wondrous pleasure and not a dirty, cruel attack on a helpless victim. He didn’t know for a fact that Regina was still a virgin, but he was ninety-nine percent sure. His mother had told him that Regina had never dated and that, although the years of therapy with the psychiatrist had helped her tremendously, Regina hadn’t been able to share a normal relationship with a man. Maybe he’d been wrong to dismiss the notion of Regina and Mark Leamon as a couple. He had no right to pass judgement on Mark, who was a good man, or to burden his sister with his own feelings of inferiority. Who could tell? Maybe it was possible for two people from different social classes actually to be right for each other.

  “Mama, we need to talk,” Reed said.

  “I’ll take these sandwiches on over to our table and Briley Joe and I can get everything set up,” Regina said. “But don’t keep us waiting too long.”

  The moment Regina was out of earshot, Reed confronted Judy. “What was going on with Webb Porter?”

  “Nothing,” Judy said. “He spoke to me and I spoke to him.”

  “I saw him talking to Regina. Hell, Mama, that old scoundrel was flirting with Regina. You need to set him straight or I will.”

  Judy huffed loudly. “Don’t be ridiculous. Webb wasn’t flirting with your sister. He was being friendly. That’s all.”

  “Are you telling me that you didn’t notice the way he was looking at her?”

  “He was looking at her the way he would look at Ella.”

  “He was looking at her as if he couldn’t get enough, as if he’d never seen her before in his life.”