by Joanna Wayne
“And if Lester had found you then, if anything had happened to you, I would never have known I had a son. And Petey would have been left with no one to care for him.”
“That’s not exactly true.” Reaching behind her neck, she unclasped the locket and placed it in his hand. “Open it,” she instructed.
Dillon separated the two sides of the gold heart he had placed around her neck a lifetime ago. A folded card fell out. He opened it and read the typed message.
Urgent. In case of death, please contact William R. Crannigan, Any. Sizable reward offered.
The phone number and address of Crannigan followed. Dillon read it all and then closed the locket without inserting the note.
“And what is it Crannigan was prepared to do if someone presented this to him?”
“Pay the reward and notify Senator Dillon Randolph that he had a son and that his wife was dead.”
“Thank God I never got that message.” He wrapped his arms around her, and she leaned into him, her hair brushing his face and shoulder, all silky against his rough cheek.
“The running’s over,” he said, rocking her to him. “I promise you that. No matter what happens between us. I’d never do anything to hurt you or Petey.”
“It’s not over until Lester is stopped.”
“That’s just a matter of time. His mug is posted all over the state, and I’ve put up a ten-thousand-dollar reward for information leading to his arrest.” He tilted her chin, his gaze locking with hers, a fire consuming him. “You were right about a lot of things, Ashley, but you were wrong about one.”
“What was that?”
“It wasn’t hate you read in my eyes that day. It was anger, resentment, wounded pride. I could never hate a woman I never stopped loving.”
She stayed in his arms, cuddling closer while his fingers roamed her face, across her lips, down her neck and chin and up again. And all the while something inside her screamed warnings she didn’t want to hear. Her heart forced them to silence as blood rushed to her head, and she grew dizzy with desire.
He brought his lips to hers, gentle at first, then deepening until she was consumed with him, until she opened her lips and welcomed his prodding tongue. One part of him inside her, she hungered for more. Her hands roamed the hard muscles of his chest, her fingers slipping beneath the pearl snaps of his Western shirt and tugging them open.
He groaned softly and then pulled away, holding her at arm’s length. “Say the words, Ashley. Say you want me the way I want you.”
A tear slid down her cheek and he felt the tremble of her body.
“Say it, Ashley. Say you love and want me. That’s the only way it will be right between us.”
She closed her eyes, fighting the tears. She was wrong for Dillon, all wrong. She had nothing to offer him but problems. And love.
Ashley trembled more, her heart racing, “I love you, Dillon. I always have. And I want you. Tonight. Every night. But—”
Dillon stopped her words with his kiss, and desire coursed through every vein. “No buts, Ashley. You won’t be sorry.” His voice was a husky whisper at her ear. “You’re going to find out how a real Texan is supposed to treat his woman.”
His lips moved to her cheeks, her earlobes, nibbling and sucking his way down her neck to the curve of her breasts. Fingers flying, he yanked his shirt from beneath the silver buckle at his waist as his mouth circled the thrust beneath her blouse.
Ashley’s nipples grew taut, pushing for escape, pushing to reach the warmth of his mouth, the swift motion of his tongue. He led her to the bed and rocked her backward, easing her head down to a pillow with one hand while the other dipped beneath the fabric of her blouse.
Moans escaped her lips as the heat boiled inside her and drove any thought of resistance away.
She wouldn’t stop now, couldn’t if she wanted to. Every nerve in her body careened crazily, bombarding her senses with primal cravings. The need to run her fingers over every inch of Dillon’s body, to stroke him until he cried in agony and drove himself inside her.
She plucked at the silver belt buckle hurriedly, her fingers inept. He didn’t wait for her to master the task. In seconds he had torn the belt from his body and pulled away from her, stripping the denim from his thighs and then undressing her with the same frenzied movements.
“So beautiful,” he whispered, his fingers and tongue tracing the lines of her stomach and lower, kneading and dipping until her body dripped with moist ribbons of desire.
He raised himself over her, his body taut and hardened with need. Slowly, he lowered himself, his chest on hers, his thighs nudging hers open until she felt the hot length of him slip inside her.
Dillon shuddered, his breath tearing from his lungs in sharp gasps. He longed to hold back, to make the moment last. But something was exploding inside him, galloping through him so fast he couldn’t stop it. Ashley tightened her legs around him, thrusting forward, crying with the sweet ecstasy of release.
Jagged breathing filled the darkness and Ashley shifted to fit into the curve of Dillon’s arms. Head resting on his chest, she could feel the rapid beating of his heart. There was so much to talk about, but she couldn’t bring herself to disturb the afterglow of passion.
Dillon lay so still beside her she thought he’d fallen asleep. When he finally moved, it was to let his hands skim the lines of her breast.
“Were you disappointed?” he asked, his breath warm on her skin.
“Oh, no,” she whispered. “It was perfect.” She cuddled against him before a tinge of anxiety plagued her mind. “Were you?”
“I don’t know.” His voice was sexy smooth and teasing. “Give me a few minutes and we’ll try it again. I’ll let you know then.”
She twisted away from him and gave him a playful punch to the arm. The move backfired. In seconds, she was in his grasp, struggling against a body that was already coming back to life. And once more she was lost in his kiss.
Chapter Thirteen
“Two suitcases for one night’s visit.” Dillon faked a groan as he threw Ashley’s luggage over his shoulder.
“I like to be prepared.”
“You’re the wife of a rancher politician, not a Boy Scout.”
There it was again, the reference to her being his wife. He’d called her that a dozen times since last night. It had to be a man’s way of thinking. He’d said he loved her, he’d made love to her. Now everything was automatically worked out, the past forgotten and forgiven.
It was a nice way of thinking. But it didn’t work. The sexual attraction hadn’t diminished one iota in the years they’d been apart. The ache in her thighs was proof of that. Only it wasn’t exactly an attraction. It was more like a stampede, running over obstacles like they didn’t exist. But eventually the passion would cool and the real issues would still be lurking in the shadows.
Dillon was a politician on the way up. She was a liability at best. At worst she brought danger to the whole Randolph family. Even if Lester went to prison, he’d get out eventually, and the whole crazy cycle of danger would start again. Unless the money was found and given to the police.
“I almost hate to leave this place,” Dillon said, his hand on the door.
“I’m sure your family is ready for us to get back. Petey can put the toughest to the test when he sets his mind to it. Besides, I miss him. This is the longest I’ve ever been away from him.”
“He’s a lucky kid, but he’s going to have to learn to share his mommy’s time with Daddy.” Bending over, he gave her a quick kiss and swung open the door.
A series of flashes exploded in their eyes, and Ashley jumped just in time to dodge the microphone a persistent young man was poking into her face.
“Is it true that you and your wife have decided to patch things up?”
Dillon smiled and pulled Ashley down the hall, ignoring the man.
“Was your wife an accomplice in a bank robbery up in Longview a few years back?”
The man kept
up his pace, walking backward just fast enough to keep the camera a few feet from their noses.
“Is that why you threw her off the ranch, because she wouldn’t give up the money? And what about that boy of hers? Is it true she was visiting Lester Grant in prison and that the kid is his?”
Dillon stopped and wadded one hand into a hard fist, popping it soundly against the other hand. His face had turned a shade of killer red, and his jaw was jerking like that of a man who couldn’t wait to throw a punch.
“I’m just out here to get the news.” The man with the camera and mike took a couple of giant backward steps. “You’ll get in big trouble if you hit a newsman.”
“You’re right.” Dillon stepped into the man, his fist no longer popping but grinding steadily in threatening fashion. “And you’re not worth it.”
The man kept following, a few steps behind instead of in their faces. Dillon didn’t slow down until they reached the lobby. A look and a nod was all it took. Ashley watched in amazement as security guards appeared from everywhere and escorted the man and his camera out the door.
The car phone was ringing insistently by the time they got inside for the drive to the Houston airport. Branson was the first to reach them and verify the reporter’s story. Dillon set the speaker receiver so she could share firsthand in the late-breaking events. The national news reporters had taken the bait. Ashley Jackson Randolph and her past were the story of the day.
She expected Branson to end with, “I told you so,” but he surprised her. He sounded sorry. Of course, the sympathy was for his unfortunate brother who’d married the wrong kind of woman. The kind who could kill a political career.
The worst part of it all was, Branson had been right about her all along. Which left her right back where she’d been almost three years ago when she’d been all but run off the ranch.
It was a vicious cycle, and the only way out was a date with a madman.
ASHLEY WALKED through Kelman’s largest grocery store, picking up sugar, coffee, flour and a few other staples. No need to buy much. Mary kept them well supplied with bounty from her garden and home-baked cookies for Petey. Beef, pork and chicken were a step or two away, packaged and labeled in the oversize freezer.
The wheels of the rickety cart squealed as she rounded the corner, stopping to choose some fresh peaches and a stalk of bananas. Petey loved bananas that were slightly green and firm enough not to break in his clutching fingers. Actually, every food seemed to be a favorite with Petey these days. Lots of fresh air and plenty of cowpunchers to play with had certainly improved his appetite.
“Mrs. Randolph, is that you?”
Ashley twirled, looking for her mother-in-law, before she realized the woman was talking to her. “I’m Mrs. Randolph,” she said, suddenly blushing at the thought.
“I don’t suppose you remember me. Sue Lanigan. Bill and I own the spread just south of the Randolphs.”
“Yes, I do remember.”
“I won’t keep you, but I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about the press you and Dillon have been getting. We’re behind him all the way.”
“I’ll tell him you said that.”
“And we’re glad the two of you are patching things up. It’ll be nice to have another woman out our way. I’ll give you a call.”
They said their goodbyes and Ashley stood looking after her. It was a wonder they even had a newspaper around here, the way talk traveled. She’d been back a little over a week and already people knew she’d moved in. It was the details they didn’t know.
Like the facts that she had to have a bodyguard escort her into town and that Langley was at the ranch watching over Petey and Mother Randolph instead of taking care of his beloved cow business. Trick had let her out of his sight long enough for him to cross the street and get a haircut, but she had to promise she wouldn’t wander off. Nausea fluttered in her stomach, as familiar as the taste of water. Fear was a sickening side effect of her new life.
She paid for her groceries, making friendly small talk with the clerk in the south Texas way. Then she pushed her basket out the door and toward Dillon’s pickup truck. She could see the top of it over a smaller car that was parked in front of it, but she couldn’t tell if Trick was inside.
But someone was there. A man she’d never laid eyes on was leaning against the back end of the truck. Just a local, she decided when he paid her approach no mind.
“Howdy, ma’am. Could I help you with those groceries?”
She stopped, her key caught in the lock. The man smiled, but something wasn’t quite right. Maybe it was his shoes. They were town shoes, dirty and scuffed, but not boots. Not anything a local used to life in the brush country would wear.
“No, thank you. The bags aren’t heavy.” Her voice was dry and scratchy. A quick scan of the area proved disturbing. Trick wasn’t in sight, and neither was anyone else. People were inside, soaking up the air-conditioning. “I can manage just fine,” she added, her irritation and nervousness building.
“But I’d like to help you.” He stepped closer. “And then I’d like to talk to you.”
“You can talk right now.”
“No, this conversation would be better held in private. We could use my car, but you’d have a heat stroke before we finished our chat.”
“I’m waiting for someone. He’ll be here any second. And I have no intention of talking to you anywhere but right here.”
“Then you’d be making a big mistake. Someone is looking for you, so anxious to see you that she’s paid me big bucks to find you.”
“I know who that—Did you say she?”
“Yes, ma’am I did. Sylvia Jackson.” He rocked on his heels, a smile twisting his lips. “Your mother.”
Ashley sank against the car, the bags of groceries sliding from her hands and onto the pavement. The man grabbed the cans that were rolling away and stuffed them into the brown paper sacks.
“Now if you’d just let me set these in the truck for you, we could go into that cafe there and have a cool drink while we talk. That is, unless you have something here the sun will spoil or cook. In that case we’d best take them with us.”
She shook her head, then nodded and handed him the key. Her fingers would never be able to maneuver the lock, not shaking the way they were.
A couple of minutes later he was opening the café door and following her inside.
ASHLEY STRETCHED the pajama top over Petey’s darting head as he wiggled from her lap. This was one night she would have gladly let Dillon get their son ready for bed, had she been up to Petey’s wails of protest.
The afternoon meeting with Ralph Riggins had left her totally drained. All her life she’d wondered what it would be like to see her mother again. Now that it was possible, she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.
Petey ran across the room, his cries of yippie ki yi yi bounding off the walls. New vocabulary antics Trick had helped him perfect.
“It’s time for bed, Petey. Get Bear, and then Daddy and I will read you a story.”
“Don’t want Daddy.”
She tickled his tummy with her nose. “But Daddy wants to help. He loves bedtime stories, and he loves you.”
Petey looked at Dillon and then turned in the other direction. “No! Don’t want Daddy.”
“That’s okay, buddy. I know how you feel. There’s a lot to get used to around here.”
Dillon faked an acceptance Ashley was sure he didn’t feel. The truth was Petey had gotten used to almost everything and everybody in record time. Everyone except his father. Dillon tried too hard, and his intensity worked against him.
“Why don’t you let me put him to bed tonight. Dillon? You can make a pot of fresh coffee and when I come downstairs, I’ll fill you in on everything I know about Sylvia Jackson.” She deliberately avoided the word mother.
Mothers were people who tucked you into bed, who dried your tears, who at least knew when you had tears. Sylvia had never known or apparently cared what happened to h
er or Peter. Her motherly concern now was too little, too late.
“What that?”
Ashley bent to see what Petey had curled in his fist. “It’s money. Where did you get that?” She took the wadded-up bill from him and stretched it out. “My goodness. You have a lot of money.”
“Mine.” He tried to tug it from her hands.
“No, sweetie. This is way too much money for a little boy. It’s a hundred-dollar bill, all wadded and wrinkled. Did you lose this, Dillon?”
“Probably. Stick it in your pocket. You might need some cash.”
“Well, just don’t let the press get hold of this story. I can see the headlines now. Two Crooks Give Birth to Child Already Infected with Their Bad Genes. Stealing Money Before His Second Birthday.”
“Say, that’s really good. Maybe you should get a job as anchorwoman on the local TV channel.”
Ashley threw a frown and a yippie ki yi yi at him as she turned heel and marched up the stairs, a wiggling Petey in tow.
ASHLEY STIRRED a lump of sugar into her coffee and stared at the ripples of black brew. “That’s about it,” she said, having filled Dillon in on the basics. “It seems that after all these years, my mother has surfaced. And she wants to see me.”
“I’d say she wants to see you pretty bad if she paid a private investigator to search for you for six months.”
“Well, you know how it is, twenty-three years of desertion, six months of searching. It all averages out.”
“You shouldn’t be so hard on her until you at least talk to her. I’m sure she had reasons for what she did. And she does want to make amends.”
“What kind of reasons would make a woman leave her children for years and never once call to see if they’re all right, not once visit when they’re sick? What could make a mother so callous she wouldn’t even show up at her own son’s funeral?”
“Maybe she didn’t know that Peter had been shot.”
