Leaning his head back, Joey stared upward. “You know, in New York you would never see this many stars. I kind of like Texas. Met some nice people here.” His mind went to Lola, her sweet smile, the way her eyes lit up. Maybe you come back and talk to me, she’d said, and damn, if she hadn’t seemed to mean it. “Hell, if I live through this mess, maybe I will go back.” He looked at Donald. “But what are the chances of me really living through this, huh?”
Closing his eyes a minute, he wondered about dying. Then he thought about his life. Not that his life offered a lot to think about. When he opened his eyes, he glared at Donald. “How sad is it that I’m standing here talking to a dead man? Hell, I’ve probably talked more to you these past few hours than I’ve talked to anyone in the past six months. Pretty damn sad, isn’t it?”
He shut the car’s back door, crawled behind the steering wheel and drove off to bury the man who was ostensibly his best friend.
Luke watched Kathy make swirly shapes in the sauce on her plate. “Hand me the rest of those beans if you’re not going to eat them.”
“I was going to give the rest to the puppy,” she replied.
He swallowed a bite of cracker. “Do you know what beans will do a dog’s digestive tract?”
A smile brightened her eyes. “The same thing it does to Claire’s?”
He laughed. “Seriously, you’re not feeding that dog beans if he’s staying in this one-room cabin with us.” He motioned for her to pass him the bowl.
She handed it over and grinned. “Maybe I shouldn’t let you have more either.”
“I think my digestive system can handle it.” He emptied the last of the beans onto his plate and added, “Besides, I found another can of deviled ham. It was pushed in the back of the pantry. You can feed that to the dog.
For the last half hour they’d sat in Claire’s tiny cabin, feasted on crackers spread with deviled ham and whatever Kathy added to it, a side dish of canned pork-’n’-beans, and washed the cuisine down with tap water. By all rights, it should have been a piss-poor dinner, but Luke couldn’t remember ever enjoying a meal more. Hunger made one appreciate food, but he didn’t fool himself; it wasn’t the hunger. His pleasure came from the company—along with the fact that Kathy had seemed to shed the negative effects of the day.
The puppy nipping at their feet brought on a discussion of Kathy’s son and how he’d been begging for a dog. The menu selection led the conversation to the kind of sandwiches their moms used to pack in their school lunches.
“Yeah, I’ve had deviled ham before, but mostly at friend’s houses,” he answered Kathy’s question. Not that the subject matter was important. They could have discussed the different shades of black for all he cared. Watching the way she’d close her lips around her fork and daintily pull it from her mouth, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed, he couldn’t deny it—Kathy Callahan was under his skin, heating his blood, and he liked having her there.
Occasionally, their knees would brush against each other under the table, and the accidental touch had a tickle of lust swelling things down south. Of course, as much as he liked that tickle, he never completely let down his guard. His gun rested on the counter within arm’s reach. He’d already checked to make sure the windows were locked, and from where he sat now, the kitchen window offered him a view of the dirt road leading to the house. He’d been out here several weekends and knew a car’s headlights could be seen half a mile away. And the closest neighbor was more than a mile away.
“You’ve seriously never eaten a banana and mayonnaise sandwich?” she asked, and used a paper towel as if it were a fine cloth napkin.
“Bananas belong in pudding and muffins, not in a sandwich, and definitely not with mayonnaise. It must be an Alabama thing.”
“It’s a Southern thing,” she corrected, and he remembered getting the feeling there was something about being from Alabama that bothered her.
“Where in Alabama did you grow up?”
He saw that disturbed flicker in her eyes again. “Mostly in the northeast.”
The vagueness in her answer spoke volumes. He knew all about vagueness. It meant: don’t go there. Normally, he respected boundaries. Hell, he’d been respecting her boundaries and barriers for almost three years. Somehow, today changed all that. His desire to tear down all her barricades was overwhelming.
Not now, a voice of wisdom warned.
Later?
Hell, he wanted a later with her, a later without barriers and boundaries. And, preferably, without clothes.
“How about fried bologna sandwiches?” she asked.
He stared into her hazel eyes, at the freckles across her nose, and he made a promise to himself: if they got out of this, he’d make “later” happen.
“I’ve heard of fried bologna. But no, I usually had tuna fish or peanut butter and jelly. With my mandatory box of raisins. My mom never forgot the raisins.”
She smiled, but the expression was brief. “You…you told me once your mom passed away when you were young. Is that true, or were you lying about that, like you lied about your name?”
His knee brushed hers, and neither of them moved away. “She died when I was eight.”
Kathy bit her lip. “And about your sister and your niece and nephew. The accident. Is that true, too?”
“Unfortunately.” The memory stung, but amazingly, time had eased the grief.
Her knee bumped his again. “That must have been hard. I’m sorry,” she said, and he watched her fold and unfold her paper towel. “So everything you told me before was true except your name?” She looked up, waiting, as if so much rode on his answer.
“Pretty much,” he said.
While he didn’t want to think about it, he knew his own vagueness had returned. He hazily remembered her asking once if he’d been married. He’d held up his left hand and said he’d never worn a wedding ring. And he hadn’t. Sandy hadn’t been much for traditions. Instead of rings, they’d bought each other expensive watches.
Maybe his unwillingness then to talk about his marriage, the abortion and the divorce, while open about the other losses in his life, was because it would have brought on more questions. Or maybe it didn’t have anything to do with her, but about him. Maybe it was because he hadn’t allowed himself to accept his own part in that marriage’s failure. Sandy had aborted his child—and for that he would never forgive her—but the death of his marriage? How much had his grief over his sister and her kids played a part? Maybe more than he wanted to admit.
“What about Claire?” Kathy looked up at him through dark lashes while she rolled her napkin.
Luke shook off thoughts of the past. “Damn! There is absolutely nothing going on between Claire and me!”
“So who is she?”
“Who is who?” he asked. “Claire’s my landlady. Like I told you.”
“No,” Kathy said. “Who are you involved with?”
“I’m not involved with—”
“Fine, don’t tell me.” She wadded her paper towel in her hands, jumped up and started to walk away.
“Wait!” He reached out, snagged her arm and pulled her back. She almost stepped on the puppy, lost her footing and landed in his lap with a thump. Not that he minded.
Her hands shot to his shoulders and she started to get up. He caught her around her waist. His intent wasn’t to stop her if she really wanted to go, just to let her know he liked having her there. Their eyes met, and her attempt to rise faltered. She let herself settle back. Her breath caught, ever so slightly. He knew her mind had taken her back to the same place his had: his kitchen that morning.
Her backside was a sweet weight on his lap. His body reacted, and he was certain she could feel it.
He brushed her hair from her cheek and met her eyes. “I’m not involved with anyone. I swear to you.” He said the words as an absolute, leaving no room for vagueness.
She pursed her lips. “You had condoms for a reason.”
He b
it back a smile. “Okay, that much is true.”
“But you’re still not going to admit it?”
He didn’t answer for a moment. Then, seeing the look in her eyes, he caught her before she attempted to jump up. “Okay, I’ll tell you. There was someone.”
“So you lied to me earlier!” She tried to get up.
“Let me explain. Give me that much.” Especially when he wanted so much more.
“Do I have to be in your lap for you to explain?” she asked.
“No, but I really like you here.”
She relaxed again, and the feel of her bottom was heaven.
“Okay, explain,” she said.
Her scooped top had slipped down an inch, and he found it hard to concentrate. “I wasn’t involved, but I was hoping to get involved.”
“What happened?” She sounded disbelieving.
“I don’t know. She was hard to read. She’d invite me over to do odd jobs…some of them I knew weren’t even real jobs.”
He saw her eyes widen.
“She’d flirt with me something awful,” he continued. “Tease me. Tempt me. I can’t even begin to tell you how many cold showers she put me through.”
“Not true!” She studied him beneath her lashes. “I read somewhere that men don’t really take cold showers. They just…” She blushed.
He laughed, and damn how he enjoyed the color in her cheeks. Brushing her hair over her shoulder, because he didn’t want his view blocked of her cleavage, he admitted, “Okay, you’re right…we don’t take that many cold showers.” He had to stop himself from laughing again. “But what happened when I got home isn’t the point. The point is, I’d get to her place and she’d be dressed in some cute short-shorts and some top just low enough”—he traced the scooped neckline of her shirt, careful not to touch too much, to overstep—“to drive a man wild. Sort of like this one.”
“Maybe she wasn’t dressing up for you. Maybe that’s what she’d been wearing all day,” Kathy suggested.
“Oh, she was doing it for me. Or at least to get to me. I knew that. She knows it, too.”
His hands wanted to roam, to cup her breasts and hold her close, but his gut said it was too soon. To ward off temptation, he ran a finger over her lips—which brought on a different kind of temptation. The two kisses he’d managed to steal today had been amazing.
“You seem pretty sure of yourself,” she said.
“I am. You see, I could smell the soap she used—it smelled like peaches. And when I’d go into her bathroom, I could tell she’d just showered. For me. Especially for me.” He leaned in just a bit and could almost smell the hint of peaches on her skin now. Damn, he liked peaches.
She cut her eyes down at him. “A woman has to shower sometime.” One eyebrow arched upward, giving her expression a touch of scorn, but there was just enough tease in her voice to let him know she was enjoying this.
That was all the encouragement he needed. “But then, whenever I’d try to get a little close, you know, just lean in a bit, she’d pull back. I’d ask her out to dinner, and she’d turn me down. But she never stopped smiling at me. Or dressing up or showering.” He studied her mouth. “And she’d do this thing with her teeth and her bottom lip, gently tugging on it. I think she knew it drove me wild.”
Kathy stopped doing precisely that. “I know she didn’t do that on purpose. That’s just a bad habit.”
He grinned. “Needless to say, I kept hoping…hoping that the next time I leaned in…” He inched his mouth closer to hers. “That she wouldn’t”—his lips brushed hers ever so slightly—“pull away.”
Chapter Nineteen
Luke kept the kiss light and slow, hoping Kathy would deepen it. When she didn’t, he did. He ran his tongue over her bottom lip. He was just about to go in for the kill when she slipped her finger between their mouths.
“There were two boxes of condoms,” she said, sounding as breathless as he felt.
He grinned. “High hopes.”
She tilted her head to the side, her eyes narrowed.
“Okay, I bought the first pack on the way over to her place one evening, hoping. I put them in my toolbox.” He let his hand move up her back. The moment his fingers found the bra clasp, the temptation to release it was overwhelming. “When they didn’t…come in handy, I tossed them in my bathroom cabinet. The next weekend she called, saying she thought the pipe was leaking again. I was out. Instead of going home, I bought another pack, hoping. But she turned me down again.”
Kathy pointed at him. “What about when she called and asked you come over that last time?”
He caught her finger in his fist and considered putting it in his mouth. She’d seemed to respond to that earlier. Without thinking, he answered, “I’d heard from Calvin, and I was waiting for his call to say when they were going to meet me. I didn’t think it would be right to start something and then…”
“Disappear?” She slipped her finger from his hand.
He nodded, disappointed, wanting so badly to get back to kissing her. He wanted to raise his hips and let her feel even more what having her on his lap was doing to him. He wanted to forget that his gun, less than a foot away, was there for a reason. A part of him kept insisting that no one knew they were here. There wasn’t anything stopping them from having tonight.
“But if she’d stopped pushing you away earlier, before she called you, would you have told her that you were leaving…or would you have just left?”
“I’d have explained the best I could that I had to go somewhere but would be back. I wouldn’t have just walked away.”
“Why not?”
“Because I think we might actually have a shot at this.”
She blinked, suddenly seeming skittish. “A shot at what?”
He sighed, cut his gaze to the window and then ran a hand over her shoulder. “This.” He waved a hand between them.
“Sex?” she asked. He couldn’t quite make out her tone.
“No.”
The puppy was sniffing around his shoe again, and he gave it a nudge.
“No?” she repeated.
“Well, yes, sex. But more than that. A lot more.”
“More?” She moved to rise.
He didn’t try to stop her this time, mostly because of the seriousness in her eyes. Leaning forward, resting his palms on his knees and causally giving his jean legs a tug, hoping to give himself some relief, he continued to study her. “Yeah, more. Does that bother you?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m…confused.”
“About what?” He watched her pick up Goodwill. “What are you confused about?”
“The ‘more’ part.” She stared at him.
“What about the more part?”
She took that bottom lip between her teeth again and then released it. “I’m pretty sure all I want is sex.”
Her words sifted through his head. He probably shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help it: He fell back in his chair and laughed—really hard, too.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
That made him laugh harder.
What was so funny? She was! It had taken him two years and nine months to get a kiss from this woman, and now she stood there and announced that all she wanted was sex? Kathy Callahan was a mother, lover of puppies and turtles, as well as a woman who got excited at arranging flowers for weddings. Yeah, she was sensual as hell and impossibly tempting, but she was hardly the type who went to a man purely for sex.
He opened his mouth to say something, clueless to what that would be, when a cell phone rang. Not his phone, but the used car salesman’s. He’d considered dumping it, in case it was reported missing and was now being tracked by the cops, but then he’d discarded the idea. Chances were that the cops wouldn’t get around to doing that until tomorrow. As long as he kept the call under forty-five seconds, they wouldn’t be able to track the calls to any tower. And while the caller might have been someone trying to reach Harry Johnson, it also could have been Ca
lvin responding to the message he’d left.
He jumped up, grabbed the phone beside the gun and checked the caller ID. Glancing over his shoulder at Kathy, he smiled. “It’s him.”
Jason watched Sue and Lacy pick up the dishes from the patio and take them inside. It was almost dark. Chase had insisted they stay over and he’d grill hamburgers, and they’d eaten outside.
While he and Chase had tried to keep the dinner conversation light, their wives were both too worried about Kathy to eat or talk much. Still, Jason figured being here with company had probably helped.
The talk with the two contractors had proved baffling. The head contractor had a serious respect for Stan Bradley and had flat-out refused to believe he could be mixed up with drugs. “I know trouble when I see it, and believe me, that boy ain’t trouble. Now the guys he taught a lesson to today, they’re a rowdy bunch…but I wouldn’t think they were into the drug scene either.”
Chase and Jason had gotten the names of the guys Stan fought with and had given them to Danny to check out. Danny promised to call or swing by when he had something.
Chase picked up his beer and took a sip. “You know what doesn’t make sense?” he asked.
“What?” Jason replied.
“What Cary said about Kathy and the plumber being at the Goodwill place. Why would they be there? And, if Kathy was afraid of Bradley, wouldn’t she have said something? I know Cary, worked with him when he was with Houston PD. He’s a good cop. I’d think he’d have picked up on it if Kathy was really afraid.”
“Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe Bradley convinced her he’s the good guy.” Jason shook his head. “We should check out the Goodwill trailer.” His cell rang at that moment, and he looked at the caller ID. “It’s Danny.”
He flipped open the phone. “Hey, you got news?”
“ ’Fraid so,” Danny said.
Divorced, Desperate and Deceived Page 19
