AN INNOCENT MAN

by Margaret Watson

  The sound of her husky, sleep-filled voice was almost too much to bear. He forced himself to take his hands off her, finger by finger. "I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."

  Her eyes snapped open, filled with panic. "Where are you going?"

  He cursed himself for letting it matter so much. "Just into Glenwood Springs, remember? I'll be back by sometime tomorrow."

  The panic faded from her eyes, replaced by wistfulness. "I'll miss you."

  "I'll miss you, too," he muttered. Pressing a hard kiss against her lips, he stood up before he could weaken and crawl back into that bed with her. Staring down at her, he told himself the wrenching emptiness he felt in his gut was only worry about her safety. "Be careful. Don't leave the clinic tonight, and don't open the door to anyone after dark."

  "I'll be fine, Connor." Her voice was gentle, and she sat up, pulling the sheet with her. "You watch yourself." She studied him, and then to his surprise a faint pink color washed her cheeks. "Could you call me tonight?"

  "Absolutely." He reached for her one more time, brushing his fingers against her lips. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  He strode out of the room without looking back. One glance, and he would be lost. He wouldn't make it out of Pine Butte this morning. He refused to think about the next time he had to leave.

  Two hours later he was sitting on the edge of a desk in the pathology lab at the Glenwood Springs hospital. He knew the head resident there. She'd been a bit dubious about his request, but when he'd explained where he'd gotten the sample, she'd become as intrigued as he was.

  She walked into the room, hands shoved into the pockets of her white jacket and her glasses pushed on top of her head. "Consider it done, MacCormac. We should have the results by late this afternoon."

  He slid off the desk. "Thanks, Julia. I owe you."

  "In a big way," she agreed. "And I expect the first payment to be a complete explanation."

  "When I know, you will." He studied her for a moment. She was stunningly attractive, and he'd always intended to ask her out. Now there wasn't even a spark of interest when he looked at her. Not even the most beautiful woman in the world could come close to Sarah.

  Sighing, he walked to the door. "I'll call you later, Julia. And thanks again."

  His next stop was the public library. He scanned innumerable entries in their electronic card catalog, looked at more reference books than he could count. Apparently there wasn't a lot of public interest in the intricacies of gold mining.

  Turning to the Reader's Guide to Periodical Literature, he saw several articles listed on gold mining. Scribbling the titles down, he searched until he had a stack of magazines with articles on the subject. Then he sat back and began to read.

  When he closed the last magazine, dusk was falling outside the library windows. Staring into the distance, he felt an emptiness in his chest, the pain of loss, long forgotten. He knew how his father had died. And why. He knew just what was in that pool of water up on the mountain. He'd call Julia about what she'd found, but he already knew what she'd say.

  He had to get back to Sarah. His head ached, the gash on his leg throbbed, and his ribs had stiffened up. Spending another hour and a half on a motorcycle so soon after being injured wasn't the smartest move in the world. But he had to get back to Sarah. He had to tell her what he'd found and let her kiss away the pain. He had to lose himself in her and let her warmth begin to heal his soul.

  Shoving the chair away from the table, he headed toward the lobby and a pay phone. After a brief conversation with Julia, he got on his motorcycle and headed into the night.

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  «^»

  It was close to midnight by the time Connor saw the lights of Pine Butte twinkling below him. He drove cautiously over the dark mountain pass, pulling into town fifteen minutes later to park behind Sarah's clinic.

  All the lights were out, and he squashed a wave of disappointment. She had no idea he was coming back tonight. He hadn't even called her the way he'd promised, he thought with a twinge of guilt. Maybe his homecoming would make up for his lapse.

  He headed for the back door and the place where she hid an extra key. His hand on the door, he paused as the sound of music drifted through the air.

  Shoving the key into his pocket, he walked down the block and found that the one and only bar in Pine Butte was in full swing. A country song bland out of the jukebox, and the singer wailing about the woman who done him wrong competed with the loud babble of voices.

  He glanced toward Sarah's building and saw that all the lights were still out. He could stop in here for a few minutes. He needed to know if word had gotten out about his escapade the night before.

  When he stepped through the doors, conversation stopped abruptly for just a moment as the men huddled around one corner of the bar turned to stare at him. Then they turned away and all began talking at once. Connor sauntered over to the bartender and asked for a beer, then slid onto a barstool and surveyed the small group of people.

  There were seven or eight men slouched on bar stools or against the wall, lifting long-necked bottles of beer to their mouths and waving cigarettes in the air. None of them seemed to be paying any attention to him, and he leaned against the bar and let his glance slide over them.

  A couple sat in a booth in the corner, completely absorbed in each other. Another couple was dancing next to the jukebox, but the woman seemed more interested in Connor than in her partner. The glances she cast his way were explicit and unmistakable, and he looked away with distaste. He let his eyes wander toward the men at the bar again.

  They were apparently debating an obscure professional football rule. It seemed extremely important to all of them, as they were punctuating their pronouncements with their beer bottles and raising their voices as the discussion progressed. All of them were involved except on man who sat at the bar, his back to Connor, silently and steadily drinking from a bottle of beer.

  When the man turned around to ask the bartender for another, Connor saw it was Harley Harrison, the foreman at the Wesley mine. Connor stared at Harley, willing him to meet his eyes. The foreman turned slowly in Connor's direction, and when he saw Connor sitting at the bar, he froze in place.

  The look on Harrison's face was pure, sweating fear. There was no doubt about it. Grabbing his beer from the bartender, Harrison slapped a couple of dollar bills on the bar and spun around on his stool. The stiffness in his back told Connor the man was very aware of the eyes watching him.

  Connor tilted his bottle and drained it, then signaled the bartender for another. Wrapping his fingers around the neck of the bottle, he slid off his stool and sauntered over to where the foreman sat, rigid.

  "How're you doing, Harrison?" He settled in beside the foreman and set his bottle on the bar.

  "What do you want, MacCormac?"

  Connor considered the question. "What makes you think I want anything? Maybe I'm just being social."

  Harley Harrison grabbed his beer bottle and took a long drink. "And maybe I'm Santa Claus. I heard about what you were doing up on the mountain last night."

  "And what was that?"

  "Messing around where you had no right to be."

  Connor's smile didn't extend to his eyes. "I wasn't aware that I was on private property. Last I heard, that land belonged to the government."

  Some of the bravado faded from Harley's eyes, replaced by a whisper of fear. "I don't know about that. All I know is you don't belong there."

  "I don't think your boss does, either." Connor eased off the stool and jerked his head toward one of the booths against the wall. "Why don't we sit down where it's a little more … quiet?"

  Harrison's eyes darted toward the group of men around him. They were all intent on their discussion, and none of them looked as if they were paying much attention to the other two men. Fear blossomed in Harrison's eyes, and he gave a jerky nod as he stumbled off the stool. "Maybe that's a good idea."

  "I
think so," Connor said pleasantly.

  Connor stood and waited for the foreman to go first. Harrison fell into the booth and clutched his beer in both hands as he watched Connor slide in across the table.

  "I know you know what's going on up there, Harley," Connor began without preamble. "I do, too. Right now you're an accessory and just as liable as the Wesleys. But you call up the Environmental Protection Agency, tell them what you know, and I figure it'll go a lot easier for you."

  "Why should you care what happens to me?"

  Connor leaned across the table, fixing his eyes on the frightened man watching him. "I don't give a rat's rear end about you, Harrison. All I want to do is find out what happened to my father. And I think I know. I just need proof, and I think you're the one who can give me that proof."

  Harrison licked his lips. "I wasn't there, MacCormac. I didn't see a thing."

  "But you know." Connor was relentless. "You know exactly why he died, and what killed him. Don't you?"

  The foreman's eyes were riveted on Connor's face. Connor stared back, willing the other man to tell him what he needed.

  Suddenly the foreman's eyes widened and he jerked his beer bottle to his mouth, gulping down the rest of the contents. Popping the empty bottle onto the table, he slid out of the booth and stood up. "I gotta go, MacCormac."

  Connor turned his head. A woman stood rigid next to the bar, staring over to where he and Harley had been talking. Her thin lips were compressed into a tight line, and she glared first at Harley, then at him. Harley scrambled to where she stood and bent down to whisper something to her. Then, with a final glare, she took Harley's arm and led him from the bar.

  Connor swiveled in his seat and stared out the window at them, watching them walk down the street. When they finally disappeared from view, he turned and picked up his beer, smiling faintly as he finished it. Who would have thought tough old Harley Harrison would have a wife even meaner than him?

  His smile faded as he thought about their conversation. Obviously Harley knew what was going on at the Wesley mine, and just as obviously he didn't like it. If his wife had shown up just a few minutes later, Connor was sure the foreman would have told him everything.

  He didn't need to, Connor assured himself as he pushed away from the booth and walked out the door. Just his reaction had been proof enough. Tomorrow he'd take another trip out to the mine and have a little chat with Ralph and his boot-licking son, Richard.

  Taking a deep breath of the crisp evening air, he tried to clear his lungs of the cigarette smoke that had hung in the bar. The full moon illuminated Main Street

  with a ghostly glow, and the black sky was dusted with millions of stars.

  Walking slowly to the clinic, he savored the quiet of the town, the silence of its streets. He thought about his own apartment in Denver, high above one of the busiest streets in the city. Even at four o'clock in the morning, the sounds of traffic kept up a steady rumble outside his windows.

  Sarah's clinic was still dark and quiet. She'd gone to bed thinking he'd forgotten to call. Or maybe she thought he just hadn't wanted to bother. That thought pierced him, and he dug the key out of his pocket and shoved it in the lock

  He took the stairs two at a time, then paused in the living room. The house was dark and silent as a tomb. Looking into her bedroom, he could just make out her shadowy form in the bed.

  He started toward her room, then stopped. He'd spent almost four hours today on a motorcycle and had just come from a bar. Maybe he should take a shower before he woke her. Turning to go down the stairs, he paused, then spun toward her room. He wouldn't have her thinking he'd forgotten her for another minute. He'd just tell her he was home, then go take his shower.

  She'd worn a nightgown to bed, something sleeveless and long and white. His blood heated in anticipation. He'd enjoy taking that off her. The bedsprings dipped and sent her rolling toward him as he sat down on the edge of her bed.

  "Sarah," he whispered softly. "Sarah, I'm back."

  She murmured in her sleep and her hand moved, but she didn't wake up. Bending, he brushed his lips over her mouth and down her throat. "Wake up, Sarah."

  Her eyes still closed, she reached for him, pulling him down onto the bed. The long white nightgown tangled around her legs as she turned to him, trying to draw him closer. As far as he could tell, she was still asleep. She hadn't once opened her eyes or said a single word.

  "Are you still asleep?" he murmured.

  In answer she just burrowed more deeply into his coat, as if she wanted to get as far inside him as she could. Leaning away from her, he peeled off his coat and kicked off his boots. Then, drawing her closer, he proceeded to wake her up.

  Sarah struggled out of the depths of the dream. At first it had been lonely and cold, and she was wandering in the darkness all alone. Then suddenly the sun had come, warming everything with its glow and shining its light into the far corners of her soul. Someone whispered her name, told her to wake up, but she couldn't let go of her dream. She wanted to stay here forever.

  The sun took shape and reached out for her, and she saw it was Connor. Smiling, she melted into his arms and raised her face to his. "I'm home, Sarah," the voice whispered, and for just a moment it was as if it was really true.

  Then he kissed her, and the feelings swirling through her were more vivid than any dream she'd ever had. Forcing her eyes open, she looked up at Connor, whose deep blue gaze looked black in the dark room.

  For a moment all she could do was stare, disoriented by her dream. Finally she reached out to touch his face, murmuring, "Are you really here?"

  He kissed her again, a deep, lingering kiss. "What do you think?" he teased. Brushing his lips over her cheek, he added, "I didn't think you were going to wake up."

  "I didn't want to. I was having a good dream."

  "I hope it was about me," he murmured, nibbling at her neck.

  "I'm not going to tell you what it was about. You're already too cocky as it is," she said, sliding to sit up in the bed. He sat up, too, and looked at her. Lines of exhaustion were etched into either side of his mouth, and his eyes looked utterly weary. "What are you doing back here tonight?" she asked, reaching out to smooth the lines from his face.

  His eyes darkened. "I'm not going to tell you. You're already too cocky as it is," he mimicked, pulling her toward him. "Let's just say I wanted to sleep in a familiar bed."

  She studied him, her hand lingering on his cheek. "I missed you," she said softly. "You didn't call."

  "I wanted to surprise you." His answer was gruff, and he wouldn't meet her eyes.

  Her lips curved in a smile. He was afraid she was going to be upset with him for not calling. "I'd much rather have you in the flesh than just your voice on the phone."

  "Oh, you'll have me in the flesh, all right," he muttered, drawing her back down on the bed. "I couldn't think of anything but you all the way home."

  She liked the sound of the word home. Even though she knew it was only temporary for him, it sounded so right. Home was wherever Connor was. Cupping his face in her hands, she drew him down to her.

  He resisted, trying to pull away. "I should take a shower," he muttered. "I'm a mess."

  "You're fine." Her voice was fierce and her hands burrowed under his shirt. "Don't leave me again tonight, Connor."

  "I couldn't, love," he whispered, sucking in his breath as her hands trailed over his ribs. Pulling his shirt over his head, he said, "Dynamite couldn't get me out of this bed tonight."

  He sat up and pulled off his jeans, briefs and socks, then lay down again, naked. His hands skimmed down her nightgown, lingering on the swell of her hip and dipping between her thighs. "Did you wear this just for me?"

  "I wore it because I didn't think you were going to be here." Her voice caught on the words as he brushed his hand over her breasts, and she reached down to pull it off.

  "Wait." His fingers folded around her hand and he gently moved it away. "Let me."

  He rai
sed the ankle-length nightgown inch by inch, kissing every inch of her skin he exposed. His lips and hands lingered, cherishing her and telling her without words that she was precious to him.

  When he reached the juncture of her thighs, he stroked his finger gently over her, following it with his mouth. She arched off the bed in surprise and wonder, gasping, "Connor!"

  He looked up at her, smiling tenderly. "Is something wrong?"

  Desire pounded a heavy rhythm through her blood and made her ache. "No! I just … I don't…" He touched her again and she felt the spasm shake her body. "I need you, Connor. Now."

  "I've just started with you, love." He glided over her again and she shuddered, falling apart in his hands. He waited for the tremors to ease, then raised the nightgown a little higher. He dipped his tongue into her navel, and she felt the tension gathering again.

  By the time he reached her breasts, she was panting and writhing underneath him. When he curled his tongue around one nipple, she moaned his name and reached blindly for him. He went completely still as she closed her hand around him. He was hot and smooth and hard.

  "I can't wait any longer, Connor."

  "Ah…"

  She felt his muscles tremble with his effort at control. "I wanted to show you how precious you are to me," he groaned. "If you keep touching me, this is all going to be over too soon."

  "I can't take any more," she panted.

  With a great effort he pulled away from her. "Oh, yes, you can. I'm going to show you just how much."

  And he did. By the time he positioned himself over her, he had kissed every square inch of her body, caressing it lovingly and tenderly. He kissed her as if they had the rest of their lives to make love, and he wanted to take all the time in the world to show her how much she was cherished.

  She was a boneless, quivering mass when he finally surged into her. Wrapping herself around him, she felt the tension gathering again, low in her belly. Her eyes flew open. "Connor!"

  He smiled against her cheek. "I told you we hadn't even begun yet."

  Then he took her mouth as he thrust into her, joining them body and soul. When she flew over the edge one final time, she took him with her. And as they lay on the bed, arms and legs entwined, slick with sweat and panting, she knew that nothing would ever be the same for her again. Connor owned her heart and her soul, and no matter what happened, she could never get them back.