The Lawman and the Lady

by Pat Warren

  He’d known she’d balk at handling a weapon, but he felt it was necessary. “First, I’m going to show you how to shoot this gun so you’ll be comfortable with it. Second, we’re going to explain to Josh that he’s never, ever to touch the gun or the bullets, should he somehow run across them. He’s a good kid. He’ll listen. Next, it’s going to be locked in your nightstand, the key on a chain around your neck. How much safer can we make it?”

  “Not having one at all?” She caught his look and backed down. “All right, so I’ll learn how to shoot. Do I need a permit for it?”

  “In Arizona, you don’t need a gun permit unless you intend to walk around with the weapon concealed. After two death threats, it would be no problem getting one if it came to that. However, the most important thing is that you should know how to use the gun and that you’ve been given safety instructions. That’s why we’re going out for Lesson One.”

  The sun was still quietly sinking in a somewhat cloudy sky even though it was close to seven. It was beautiful out, about ninety degrees, but with very little humidity. But Tate was too keyed up to appreciate the scenery. Maybe a change of subject would relax her, she thought.

  “It was wonderful of you to give that bentwood rocker to Maggie and set it up in her bedroom. She hates watching TV from bed.” She’d noticed that Maggie had had tears in her eyes at his thoughtfulness. “She’s nuts about you, you know.”

  “That’s because I’m a hell of a guy.” He grinned at her.

  He’d remembered that his mother had his grandmother’s bentwood rocker stored up in her attic and had asked if he could have it. She’d agreed, though she’d given him the third-degree about who it was for and what was the story. He’d talked only of Maggie, but he hadn’t fooled Roseanne. Wisely though, she’d not mentioned Tate.

  Nick turned onto a dirt road leading to a deserted trail. About a quarter of a mile in, he spotted what he was looking for and stopped his car. “This is the place.”

  Tate got out, looking around. A few wild cactus plants were scattered here and there, some mesquite and a couple of dried-up old logs. “You’ve been here before?”

  “Yeah,” he said, opening the trunk and taking out a cardboard box. “I could have taken you to a shooting range, but they’re usually noisy and crowded. I often come here to practice. So do several cops I know.” He carried the box to where the logs were stacked atop one another just so, creating a short wall. Taking the cans one by one from the box, he lined them up on the top log a foot or so apart, then turned to where she was standing. “See that mesquite bush?” he asked, pointing. “That’s a hundred yards. Next one’s at fifty.”

  He walked back to the trunk and took out the gun he’d gotten for her. “This is a Smith & Wesson five-shot snubby. You could use a .38 like mine, but this is even lighter and it’ll fit in your purse if you ever feel the need to take it with you. That’s when you’d have to get the gun permit.”

  Tate’s brows rose at that thought. “Should I be that afraid?”

  “Sometimes having a gun handy is more for self-confidence than anything else. It gives you an added measure of safety. I really hope you never have to use it, but if worse comes to worse, I want you to know how.”

  Tate drew in a long, shaky breath. You can do this, she told herself.

  Standing with her at the hundred-yard marker, he handed her the gun. “Let me see how you’d hold it if you were to shoot at those cans.”

  Gingerly she took the gun in her right hand. “It’s loaded, right?”

  “Yes, but the safety’s on right now.”

  She relaxed fractionally. Trying to recall every gunfighter movie she’d ever seen, Tate gripped the gun in her right hand, raised her arm and took aim at the first can, closing one eye to get a bead on it. “Like this?”

  “Not quite.” He stepped up behind her, placing his hands on her elbows. “Loosen up. The tension should be in your wrist and hand, not throughout your whole body.” Close behind her now, his hands slid along her arms, adjusting her fingers. “Your left hand should lightly grip your right wrist to keep it steady, not in a death hold, but firmly. If you grasp it too tightly, you’ll cause the shot to jerk to one side.”

  Tate was having trouble controlling her trembling hands, not necessarily because she was nervous about the gun. Nick’s large frame was molded to her, his legs glued to hers, his arms around her, his chin all but resting on her head. She felt his warm breath on her face and felt her stomach muscles quiver. She swallowed hard. “I see.”

  “Now, leave some play in your stance.” Leaning into her, he touched first one leg, then the other with his bent knee, getting her to correct the way she was standing. “Line up your head so that your eyes are directly across from the target you’ve chosen.” Placing his cheek along hers, he aligned their upper bodies.

  Out so far into the desert, the temperature was beginning to drop, yet Tate suddenly felt warm. She had on only a white shirt over jeans, but beads of moisture slipped down between her breasts. She could feel Nick’s five o’clock shadow brush against her cheek and his heart beating steadily against her back. The overpoweringly masculine scent of him was playing havoc with her concentration. She shifted her feet nervously, hoping he’d attribute her restlessness to her hesitancy over guns.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Remove the safety.” He pointed to it. “Then go ahead and shoot.”

  Tate did as he instructed, taking careful aim at the twenty-eight-ounce empty can of tomato sauce and pulled the trigger.

  And missed by a mile. “Damn!” she whispered before glancing up at him.

  Nick’s lips twitched. So, the lady had a bit of a temper. “Don’t get discouraged. It takes practice and that’s what we’re here for.” He walked her to the fifty-yard line, thinking the other too difficult for her first time. “Okay, let’s try again.”

  But when he stepped close to surround her again, she lowered the gun. “Look, why don’t I try this on my own? You…you make me nervous.” Which was an understatement if she’d ever uttered one.

  Nick moved back and waved his hand, indicated she should proceed.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Tate again assumed the position. She shuffled her feet until they felt just right, corrected her grip the way he’d shown her and took careful aim.

  When the bullet pinged off the can, knocking it onto the ground, she let out a victory yell.

  “Easy, hotshot,” Nick said. “One hit doesn’t a marksman make. Let’s see some more.” Five cans remained standing.

  Tate managed to hit two more making it fifty-fifty, not a bad first performance. He had her shoot two more rounds and she lost some of her nervousness as she became familiar with the weapon. Walking back to the car, he praised her. “You’re doing great. If we can manage to practice a couple times a week, you’ll be a pro in no time.” He stashed the cans he’d picked up in the box and set the box in his trunk before locking the gun in as well. “Does your nightstand drawer have a lock on it?”

  “No.” Tate brushed back her hair with both hands.

  Nick saw that she’d left her hair loose tonight. Soft bangs fell on her forehead while a breeze played with the auburn strands. His hands itched to run his fingers through, to feel free to touch.

  “We should stop at a hardware store and I’ll pick one up. I can install it tonight.”

  Tate paused at the side of the car, leaning onto the door. “Did something happen? Is that why you’re stepping up protection?”

  Nick stood looking at her, at the way the setting sun turned her hair to burnished copper. She was the best reason for his need to protect, but he couldn’t tell her that.

  “I talked with my lieutenant and they don’t have the manpower to put Maggie’s house under surveillance, other than the occasional drive-by. I want to check the other locks on the back door and windows. The house is old. They probably need changing.”

  Josh’s safety was of paramount concer
n to Tate. She’d find the money somehow. “I’ll pay you back.”

  “I’m not worried.” He moved a fraction closer, brushed a strand of hair off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear and watched her eyes turn a deep green with awareness. “I want to run something by you.”

  That was new, she thought. He usually took the bull by the horns. “What’s that?”

  “Do you think it would be all right with Maggie if I slept on the living room couch some nights?” He’d thought it through and decided this was the only way to protect them during their most vulnerable hours. “I doubt that the guy in black will return in the daylight hours since he’s aware Maggie’s talked with the police and he’s probably seen my car there.”

  “You have an unmarked car.”

  “Guys like him have a way of finding out things. And darkness changes things, makes someone out to do harm bolder. Let’s face it, we have an old woman who maybe doesn’t hear as well as she used to, a young woman who’s probably tired and sound asleep and a small boy. Ralph does his job, but he’s a small dog and wouldn’t do much harm if someone actually got in. The house is a piece of cake for an experienced man.”

  Talk about your rock and a hard place. On the one hand, it would be comforting to know an officer of the law was downstairs guarding the house. On the other hand, could she even go to sleep knowing Nick was right below her, lying on Maggie’s couch, all alone while the house slept? “But I thought that was why you were teaching me to use the gun, so if someone showed up at night, I’d be ready.”

  “It is, but tell me. Do you feel ready to go face-to-face with this guy, should you hear something suspicious? Would you feel confident enough to go downstairs and investigate?”

  Tate swallowed around a huge lump. “Not yet, but…”

  Nick reached up and stroked along her silken cheek, watching her luminous eyes. “Why should you when I can sleep there as well as at home?” Especially since right now home was a trailer with a narrow bed and few amenities.

  She was wavering, but trying to be fair. “I can’t ask you to give up the comfort of your bed for us.”

  “You didn’t ask. I offered. I’d feel better knowing you’re safe.” He stroked along her throat and felt her breathing change.

  For long moments, they stood there, gazing into each other’s eyes, hearts beating faster and faster, becoming breathless. Nick waited, giving her the choice.

  “Are you ever going to kiss me?” Tate asked in a voice so husky she scarcely recognized it.

  Slowly Nick shook his head. “I told you, if you want me, you’ll have to make the first move.”

  The corners of her mouth twitched as Tate struggled with nerves. “I don’t know. I’m a little rusty at this.” Actually she’d never had to make the first move. Every man she’d ever known had been willing and eager long before she’d thought it through.

  “It’ll come back to you.” Nick’s pulse was pounding, his body hardening. If she didn’t do something soon, he’d lose all control and break his own promise to himself.

  Eyes open, Tate went on tiptoe, laid her hands on his chest and touched her mouth to his experimentally. It was a mere brushing of lips, a tentative exploration. She drew back, her eyes meeting his, beseeching his.

  “Is that how you like to be kissed?”

  “Well, I…”

  “Or like this?” Gathering her close, he played with her, pressing gentle butterfly kisses to her cheeks, her eyes, her ears, the corners of her lips, along her throat. Building, building, feeling the tension in her as she moved her arms to enfold him, still holding lightly. He made the rounds again, slowly, softly. In moments, he felt the change in her, her patience gone.

  Tate pulled back. “Mmm, not exactly. How about like this?” Rising on tiptoe again, she wound her arms around him, pressed her body to his and took his mouth. All the pent-up needs from years of self-denial went into her kiss as she danced her tongue inside, thrilled when he responded. Hadn’t she known kissing this man would be like this, like an explosion of riotous colors behind her closed eyelids, like the Concord taking her on the ride of her life, like a runaway train.

  Suddenly she felt Nick take over, his mouth slanting over hers, taking her deeper, his big hands roaming her body as she marveled at his touch.

  And the way he made her feel. Glorious. Enraptured. Every inch a female.

  He was so tall that he had to bend to her, molding his solid body to hers. He was so strong, yet he took care not to crush her. She felt the sensual tug deep inside and recognized desire for the first time in years.

  The shock of it was that she hadn’t seen this coming, this overwhelming need, this warm flush of physical awareness. This one man had methodically broken down the walls she’d painstakingly built to keep herself from being hurt. He’d rushed past the barriers she’d erected over nine long, lonely years.

  Most astonishing was the fact that she cared for him, cared about him, and that surely was unplanned, unexpected, unbelievable. How long had she been saying that never again would she trust a man? She’d repressed any and all male/female feelings, buried her desires, denied her needs. But they were out in the open now—alive, thrilling, frightening.

  Nick’s head was spinning from the taste of her, the close-up scent of her, the sweet, soft sounds she made deep in her throat as her hands bunched in the cotton of his shirt at his back. He’d expected shyness, hesitancy, a touch of reserve—like that first tender kiss. Instead she’d knocked his socks off, kissing him back fully, completely. He’d often thought of her as a wounded bird, but she didn’t kiss like one, but rather like a woman who made his heated blood race through his veins.

  Later, he couldn’t have said how long the kiss lasted. But suddenly he knew, as he found his fingers wandering around the front toward the soft pillows of her breasts, that if he didn’t stop soon, he wouldn’t stop at all. He’d promised himself he’d go slowly and this was anything but.

  Pulling back, breathing hard, he stared into green eyes still hazy with passion unexpectedly aroused. “It seems we have a choice here,” he said, his voice shaky. “We can take this to my back seat or check in to the first motel we can find. Or we can cool down for now and wait until our surroundings are more…romantic.”

  Tate was having difficulty regaining control—over her body, over her emotions. She was embarrassingly aware that he’d been the one to stop, not she. What did that say about how needy she was?

  She took a drunken step backward, hoping she didn’t look as disheveled as she felt, and dragged both hands through her hair. “I honestly thought I’d been kissed before.” She raised her eyes to his. “I was wrong.”

  Nick smiled and eased her back into his arms, but he held her lightly. He couldn’t help thinking that there was a great deal of passion locked inside her slender frame. She’d fooled him, throwing herself into the kiss, holding nothing back. He’d been seconds away from slipping his hands under her shirt and closing his fingers around her full breasts that had pressed against his chest. “Lady, you pack one hell of a wallop.”

  “Ditto.” She breathed in deeply, feeling as if air was in short supply. “Thank you, for having the good sense to stop. I’m not sure I would have. I wouldn’t want our…I mean…”

  “You wouldn’t want our first time to be in the back seat of my Taurus. Me, either.” He tightened his hold, capturing her gaze. “But soon, Tate. Real soon, there will be a first time, and many more after that.”

  She searched his eyes, then her own heart. Yes, she wanted that, too. This time, with this man, she’d walk into this with her eyes wide-open.

  “You’re definitely not a quickie-in-the-back-seat type of gal.”

  She smiled at that. “You must have read my mind.”

  “Sometimes, I almost think I can.”

  “Really? What am I thinking now?”

  He pretended to contemplate a moment before answering. “You’re thinking, why doesn’t he kiss me again before we go, just to make sure that
first one wasn’t a fluke?”

  Her smile widened. “Oh, you’re good. You’re very good.”

  He kissed her then, keeping the brakes on, going for thorough but tender. Her response was instantaneous and avid. In some lucid part of his brain, he wondered how Josh’s father had ever let her go. But his loss was Nick’s gain.

  Now that he’d found her, now that he knew she wanted him, too, he couldn’t lose her. Nick’s troubled thoughts swam around in his cloudy brain as an unexpected fear set in. Fear that he wouldn’t be able to keep her and Josh and Maggie safe. Fear that whoever was out there would take away this woman who suddenly meant a great deal to him.

  His lifelong reluctance to share his feelings out loud coupled with a natural policeman’s reticence kept him from saying the words. But he could show her. Suddenly, the kiss changed and became none too gentle, none too patient. His mouth ravished, conquered, claimed ownership of hers. His hands at her back molded, crushed, kneaded. Finally, after an instant of shock, Tate responded in kind.

  He was kissing her the way every woman dreams of being kissed—masterfully, possessively, excitingly. He left no doubt in her mind what he wanted, Tate realized. He wasted no time on the niceties, on romance, nor had she expected either. He was a rugged man in a dangerous line of work, and his rough edges would never all be smoothed out. It shocked her that she who hated every aspect of danger would be drawn to a man who lived in a world of daily peril.

  But there was more in this kiss. Without a word being spoken, Tate understood why his mood had shifted, why there was an undercurrent of desperation in the way his mouth ruthlessly took ownership of hers. The stalker had jumped into his mind and fear had come with him. The fear she’d lived with for so long now. Having reached out to Nick and acknowledged that she wanted him in her life, he suddenly was afraid that the stalker would make sure that never happened. Tate didn’t know how she could identify his feelings so readily, but she was sure she was right.