He glanced down at the bandage, embarrassed to think of his earlier fit of temper. “Oh, uh, I cut it earlier, working on the cabinets.”
Something in his voice must have clued her in that he was lying, because she looked at him oddly. But instead of saying anything she mounted the concrete-block steps and pulled at the RV’s door.
“It’s locked,” she said when it didn’t open.
“Pull harder,” he suggested, and the nearly frozen hinges squealed a protest as they opened.
The space inside was dated, but thanks to military habits he kept it spotless, with his possessions all stowed neatly. He’d picked up the nearly thirty-year-old relic outside of San Antonio for a song. After loading his few things, he had babied it through a journey fraught with two breakdowns and a flat. Jay was pretty sure the Beast had made its last road trip, but it served his purposes for the time being—and more important, his jury-rigged AC system worked well.
“There’s something I wanted to show you.” Dana slipped a hand inside her purse and pulled out some folded papers. “I found this tucked down inside a slot in the adobe, back behind the loom. It’s some kind of diary my sister was keeping.”
“You’ve read it?”
“I was about to when Max here went ballistic.” When she said his name, the black-and-gold dog looked up at her and wagged his tail until she murmured, “That’s a good boy, Max. Good dog.”
Soon they were seated on either side of the RV’s kitchen table with the papers spread between them while the coffeemaker made indelicate sounds atop the nearby counter. Max had slunk off to bed down in his favorite spot, the driver’s seat, where he curled in a ball and closed his eyes.
“Can’t read it upside down,” Jay said as the rich aroma percolated through the small space. “Scoot over, will you?”
She complied, and he moved around to sit next to her. Their thighs touched in the tight booth. The contact dragged his attention downward, where the hem of her shorts had ridden up to bare her leg.
Don’t look, he ordered himself, and concentrated on the first of Angie’s entries. Dana winced at the reference to a certain “clueless little sister.”
“Guess she’ll be glad to hear how my so-called ‘perfect life’ has turned out,” Dana grumbled before flipping to the next page, but Jay glimpsed the raw pain in her expression.
The entries that followed appeared sporadic, though it was difficult to tell for sure, since so many were undated. The handwriting, never neat, became so shaky in some places that neither Jay nor Dana could make sense of what was written. But often the problem lay not in the writing but the writer, as Angie vacillated between anger and despondence, vulgarity and surprisingly poetic prose. At times she graphically described alcohol withdrawal—pulling no punches about its physical effects. In other cases she lapsed into what appeared to be delusion as she spoke of almost otherworldly visitations and what might be either a lover or a simple flight of fancy.
Jay glanced beside him to see tears rolling down Dana’s cheek. Putting a hand on top of hers, he prevented her from turning the next page. “That’s enough for now.”
Already it was past one-thirty, and despite the empty coffee mugs before them, each of them had paused to rub at tired eyes.
“She was so sick,” said Dana, “and to suffer like that all alone, without anyone to help her…”
After squeezing Dana’s hand, Jay said, “She knew you’d be here in a minute if she asked you. That counts for a lot, Dana.”
She chewed her lower lip, then said, “Angie resented everything about me.”
“And at times you’ve probably resented everything about her. I’ve never had a sibling, but I’ve been around enough to know that’s how it usually works.”
“I love my sister, Jay. But sometimes I do hate her. For all the things she’s put my mother through. For giving away that beautiful little girl when I’d give anything to…” Dana shook her head, either unwilling or unable to finish the thought. After clearing her throat, she added, “For the way I’ve always had to be so strong to make up for her weakness.”
“What if I told you”—he picked a lock of blond hair off her cheek, then ran it, sleek and silky, through his fingers—“you don’t have to be the tough one?”
He feathered a caress along her jawline, then lifted her mouth close to his.
“What if I asked you to hand it over? If I told you I would take it off your shoulders”—he kissed all around her parted lips—“just for this one night?”
She looked into his eyes, her green gaze searching, worry etching furrows across her forehead. But a moment later a smile smoothed the lines away. Reaching to cup the back of his head, she whispered, “Tonight I’d tell you yes, Jay. Yes. Please. Now, before I overthink—”
He silenced her with a kiss, half-afraid she would pull back as she had earlier, run to her SUV, and drive all night to Houston. Half-afraid that she should, that his hunger for her would erupt into something fast and selfish instead of the careful loving she needed and deserved.
But instead of running Dana kissed him back, as sweet and hot as melted honey. With a flick of his tongue her mouth opened to his, and her body pressed so close he could feel the pounding of her heart.
He didn’t move on for a long time, instead reacquainting himself with the forgotten pleasure of a kiss, allowing the warmth and moisture of their mouths to simmer, heating every square inch of his body. Allowing himself the luxury of languid exploration, in spite of the painful hardness that threatened to overwhelm his senses.
Make it last, he urged himself, pausing for a deep breath before he ran a palm along her side to trace the gentle flare between her waist and hip. Breaking contact with her mouth, he feasted on a second curve between her neck and shoulder and smiled when she caught her breath. A murmur rose from her throat, a rumbling, feminine purr that made him want to sweep the papers from the table and spread her out on top.
Make it last, he thought again, so he fought back the impulse, instead taking her by the hand and drawing her to her feet. She followed, unresisting, standing on her toes to nip his neck. Afterward she soothed the hurt with the most sensual of kisses as her fingers squeezed one of his nipples.
Pleasure arcing through him, he peeled off her T-shirt, running his hands along her back and kneading her buttocks, pulling her body to rub against his length. Not exactly subtle, but by this time his senses were too aroused for him to care.
He reached around, unhooking her bra with a single deft move, then kissed his way down to circle a small, pink areola with his tongue. When he sucked in a plump and perfect breast she gasped, and he gave himself over to drinking in her pleasure, dividing his attention left and right.
His fingers made brief forays, dipping beneath her waistband, grazing her bare thigh. Dropping to his knees, he swirled his mouth in a teasing circle all around her navel.
“Jay,” she whimpered. “Jay, I…”
Her knees wobbled as he unsnapped her shorts, and again she gasped at the sound of her zipper losing its purchase tooth by tooth. He rose to strip off his own clothing, and soon they stood together naked, kissing, touching with abandon.
This felt so different from the wild dreams he had been having. So much deeper and more powerful, with her taste filling his mouth and her scent inflaming him. He wanted to devour her, to feel the whole of her, to take her in all of the ways he had imagined in such vivid detail.
So he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Before he laid her down, he looked into her eyes and asked, “Is this what you want, Dana?”
She hesitated, and in that moment he saw how badly her trust in men had been shaken. In that moment he thought he had to be the biggest damned fool in West Texas to offer her the chance to back out now. But after blowing out a long breath, she nodded as she repeated in a silken whisper, “For tonight.”
Even so, he sensed an edge of fear in her, so he forced himself to take his time, his mouth once more lingering at each
breast, his fingers teasing before testing. Bowing between her thighs, he explored her damp folds and tasted the heaven of her center, and as her writhing turned to a shuddering cry, the words Make it last morphed into Make it count…
After sheathing himself in a condom he moved over her, and their gazes locked before she slanted her hot mouth against his, then flexed her hips to take the solid length of his hard thrust.
Though Jay had returned to his country four months earlier and had recently marked two weeks back in Rimrock County, Dana’s body felt like his true homecoming. In her he forgot about the desiccated desert, forgot the way that death could slip up from its sands with stealthy menace…
Forgot all else but the lush heat of the woman rocking like the ocean just beneath him.
Chapter Ten
The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea.
—Isak Dinesen
Dana woke from a deep and healing sleep as dawn’s first rays bathed the bed in coppery light. Smiling lazily, she sighed at the warm weight of Jay’s arm draped over her hip, at the solidity of his body spooning hers from behind.
Tempting to roll toward him, to rouse him again with kisses. Or to duck her head beneath the sheets and give him a proper wake-up call.
But the thought of the last few pages of her sister’s journal lying unread on the table reminded her that this was no vacation. She could accept that she’d been human, allowing fear and loneliness—and raw attraction—to land her in Jay’s bed. But she couldn’t indulge herself by enjoying endless encores of last night’s incredible performance.
Even as she thought it, Dana knew Jay hadn’t been performing. He wasn’t some lothario intent on showing off his technique or scoring a conquest. What had arced between them had felt more honest and elemental than even the best sex, forging a deeper connection that she refused to name—to even think about for fear of opening herself to any more pain.
She closed her eyes, forcing herself to refocus; she had come here to find her sister, not shack up with some small-town sheriff. Angie. Angie. Angie. The one-two beat turned to ticking, a countdown clock’s race toward a tiny coffin…
When Nikki’s face flashed through her consciousness, Dana wriggled free of Jay’s embrace. With shaking hands she unearthed a comb and travel toothbrush from the depths of her purse and then used the bathroom’s cramped shower stall. The water felt hard and tasted briny—better than nothing, but she didn’t linger. Because she’d left Angie’s place in such a panic, she had to dress in the same shorts and T-shirt she’d changed into before collapsing on the cot last night, but she could make do until she headed back to the adobe.
Her stomach fluttered at the memory of Max lunging toward the window, of the silhouetted figure lurking on the moonlit salt plain. If the dog hadn’t warned her, would the gunman have come right up to the house? Would he have balanced the barrel of his weapon on the window ledge and shot her in her sleep?
She leaned over the counter as a wave of dizziness broke over her. Forcing her gaze higher, she stared into her hazy reflection in the still-steamy mirror.
“I’m not letting this stop me,” she told her double as a stubborn impulse reared up, one that made her want to dig in her heels, drive to Pecos, and buy herself the biggest, loudest rifle she could find. Or an elephant gun, maybe.
Except she’d never fired a weapon, probably wouldn’t if she could. Since she couldn’t even bring herself to eat shellfish—which had all the self-awareness of animated snot—it was ridiculous to think she’d turn into Dirty Harriet overnight.
Not only ridiculous but dangerously delusional. No way could she outgun or outfight this skulking shadow. Her only hope was to outthink him if she could.
Emerging from the bathroom, she smelled fresh coffee brewing. The outside door had been propped open, letting in the cool breath of the morning, and both Jay and Max were missing.
She stuck her head outside and spotted the Suburban. So they couldn’t have gone far, maybe to the house for something. After swiping half a mug of coffee from the still-dripping machine, she sat back down at the table—and saw that someone had flipped to the last legible page of Angie’s journal.
Had Jay read further while she’d been in the shower? As she scanned the paper, her gaze snagged on two words amidst the scribbles, a name that made her gut tighten in response.
Sheriff Eversole, it said in Angie’s angry slash strokes.
His uncle’s bedroom had been one of the first spots the volunteer restorers tackled before Jay’s arrival. He had been relieved beyond measure to find the walls torn down to the studs and the furnishings and rugs all hauled off. Though no one had come right out and said it, he knew his neighbors didn’t want him facing the room where his uncle R.C. had burned to death, where the fire appeared to have ignited.
As stunned as Jay had been to lose the one unshakable fixture of his childhood, in retrospect he might have seen it coming. During his years living here, he’d often spotted a red-orange cigar tip glowing in the darkness. Most times Uncle R.C. would be reclining in an old chair that permanently reeked of burning tobacco. “Thinking the day through and the people,” as R.C. had always put it, adding only once, “and maybe wondering a little over how things could’ve been.” But every now and again Jay would catch Rimrock County’s sheriff smoking in his bed with the lights off.
If Jay had visited after his discharge, as he should have, would he have thought to warn his uncle of the danger? Or would he have remained as fixated on his own wounds as he had been as a kid?
Grimacing, he squatted to survey the bare wood flooring, his gaze searching out the uneven slats Angie had mentioned in her journal.
Old R.C.’s stashed Haz-Vestment’s money somewhere. He thinks I’ve just been screwing him out of gratitude for bringing me those groceries—like I’m so hard up I’d put out for canned tuna, wheat crackers, and a few goddamned rolls of toilet paper.
I’d probably do him for tequila, or maybe even beer (my mouth’s watering to think of it, though I’ve been dry for three whole months now!) but Eversole’s never offered that much. Only his lectures and his johnson—tight-assed old man…
At around that point Angie’s handwriting disintegrated into a rat-chewed patchwork. A few recognizable words remained, including bedroom, floorboards, and the one that seared Jay’s gut like a hot coal: bribes.
He damned well didn’t buy it, refused to believe that his uncle, a lifelong bachelor with a reputation as straight-edged as a ruler, would get mixed up in anything of the kind.
Still, Jay needed to look for himself, to put his mind at ease. The trouble was, the flooring had been sanded and refinished. Carl Navarro had mentioned that a few boards had to be replaced, and Jay picked them out by their slightly darker color. But there was no discernible unevenness, and certainly no one had mentioned finding hidden money during the repairs. There had been a few smiles over the few well-thumbed Penthouse magazines they’d unearthed, but nothing more notable than the same naked women most of the county’s bachelors knew by heart.
Max turned toward the doorway, his short nails clicking on the wood floor as he pranced in excitement.
“I-I figured I’d find the two of you…here.” Dana’s words came out off-kilter, and she ignored the dog to lock eyes with Jay instead. “Considering what I read at your table.”
As he looked up at the gorgeous blonde fresh out of his bed, regret hit him. He’d expected tenderness, maybe a little nervous joking this morning, or, if he didn’t go and say the wrong thing, the chance to lay her on that kitchen table and have a fantasy for breakfast. But Angie’s journal had taken up that spot, and he saw in Dana’s face that she had swallowed the whole damned pack of lies.
“Caught my eye while I was making coffee,” he said.
Dana thrust one of the two mugs she carried toward him, its contents black as his mood. “At first, when I read ‘Eversole,’ I thought she was talking about you.”
“Me? Angie was long g
one before I ever got here. And besides that—”
“Yes, I know now. When I read further I could see she meant your uncle. Your uncle who was taking bribes, who was using my sister—”
“That’s bullshit.” The surface of Jay’s coffee trembled, even after he stood. “My uncle mostly raised me. Taught me to work cattle. Taught me to handle life—at least when I would listen.”
He’d been the one to push, too, for Jay to take a stab at making himself a life outside of Rimrock County—handing Jay a bus ticket to Dallas and three hundred dollars right after his high school graduation, saying, “It’s not a lot, but it’s sure a hell of a lot more of a chance than I was given. So don’t blow it.”
Jay had felt lost—and scared shitless—but he’d never doubted the good intentions of the man who’d given him the boot. “He was the most honest man I knew, a man who always stepped up to do what needed doing. He took care of my grandfather when he was dying. Took me in when no one else would. In all the time I knew him, I never saw him take a cent he hadn’t earned. And I sure as hell can’t imagine him taking advantage of a woman in your sister’s situa—”
“I’ll admit, it’s obvious Angie had her own agenda. But I can’t help wondering how your uncle felt about that.”
What the hell was she implying? Jay sipped the bitter brew to give himself a moment.
“She was delusional,” he told her, trying to keep it a professional rather than a personal judgment. “When alcoholics dry out they can get pretty paranoid. This one old man in Dallas kept calling nine-one-one to report bats flying out of his TV set. He insisted they were working under the orders of Jay Leno. Some of the stuff your sister wrote made just about as much sense.”
Dana shook her head. “The thing is, the part about your uncle seemed lucid. Not like that nonsense about the Salt Woman she was going on about.”
“So you’re saying you believe it? The accusations of your drug-addled, drunken sister against a man I know damned well would never—”
The Salt Maiden (Leisure Romantic Suspense) Page 9
