by Alison Kent
When she finally stirred, they were parked in front of the diner, Blake Shelton was still singing about a red roadside wildflower, and Josh was reading a book on his BlackBerry. Reading, as if they’d been here long enough for him to need something to do.
She pushed her hair from her face, glanced at the clock’s dashboard display. Then she bolted upright. “Josh?”
He hit a couple of buttons on his phone, tucked it into his shirt pocket. “Ready to eat?”
“You let me sleep. We’ve been here half an hour.”
“More like forty-five minutes, but yeah. You were tired enough to doze off. I didn’t want to wake you when you obviously needed the nap.”
She wanted to argue that his letting her sleep wasn’t part of their deal, but found she had no ground to stand on. He’d brought her to eat, fulfilling his part of their bargain. “Did the doctor call?”
“He didn’t call me, and I didn’t hear your phone go off.” He pulled the keys from the ignition, opened his door, and got out, rounding the cab to open hers. “Let’s grab a bite before they close.”
It was just getting dark, the only lights those from the parking lot and the diner’s big front windows. She slid to her feet and looked up at Josh, his face a mosaic of shadows. “I really hate that you keep seeing me at my worst. I don’t want you to be here because you think I need to be rescued.”
He reached for both of her hands, pinned them to her sides and stepped closer, backing her into the truck’s rear quarter panel and blocking her body with his. “Tell me you didn’t just say that.”
She swallowed, a tingle of apprehension tripping down the fuse of her spine. “What? That you’re here because I need rescuing?”
“I doubt you’ve ever needed to be rescued in your life.”
She smiled at that. “I fell in the pool at home when I was five. It caught me off guard and I panicked. My nanny jumped in to save me, dress shoes and all.”
He shook his head, his eyes dark as he held her gaze. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“You rescued me the day I stupidly walked away from the office,” she told him, and wondered now if the stupid part had been walking in a near triple-digit temperature or leaving the office instead of standing her ground.
“I gave you a ride. Got you out of the heat.” He squeezed her hands, let them go, slid his palms to her wrists then her elbows. “You would’ve done the same for yourself sooner or later.”
His hands were on her shoulders now, and the firecracker in the small of her back was burning. She raised her arms, settled her hands at his waist. “I was so mad that day. I wasn’t thinking straight. If not for you, I might’ve fainted dead away in the middle of Main Street.”
“Are you thinking straight now?”
How was she supposed to answer that when her mind was torn between being here with him and what was happening at the hospital? “I’m worried about The Campbell. And I don’t know if I’m more afraid that the doctor will call or that he won’t. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but that’s where my head is.”
“Sounds like pretty straight thinking to me. If you’d had anything else on your mind, then I’d have been worried.”
She gave him a grin, cocked her head to the side. “I do have one other thing going on up there.”
“Yeah?”
“Food,” she said, digging her fingers into the trim muscles above the waistband of his jeans. “I’m hungrier than I’d thought.”
“Then let’s go,” he said, but he didn’t move away.
And since he didn’t, she did. Away from the truck and into him. Against him. Moving her hands to his back and pulling him to her. Slowly, she rose up on her tiptoes, her breasts flat to his chest, her hips cradling his as he pushed back toward her.
“Dessert first,” she whispered against the corner of his mouth before she caught at his lips with hers, nipping with her teeth, nudging with the tip of her tongue.
Still, he didn’t move, and she worried she’d been too bold, that she’d read him wrong, heard him wrong. That his wanting to see her wasn’t about… this. Except what else could it be?
And then she felt him growing stiff, thickening against her belly, and she kissed him harder, and his hands at her shoulders slid into her hair. He held her, stepped her backward into the truck, pushed his body to hers and finally kissed her back.
His tongue found hers unerringly, and was slick and hot and sure. He took her with purpose as much as passion, leaving his mark, claiming her. She melted into him, lost her breath, lost her head.
Her breasts grew heavy, her nipples as hard as his cock behind his fly. He tasted like goodness, and he made her want more, want everything, want all of him because he also made her forget.
She wanted to stay here, to live here, to wake up and have this be her world. Josh and his mouth and his hands that made everything better. Even at the end of the day he smelled like sunshine and fresh air and he centered her, kept her from coming undone.
When he pulled free, she closed her eyes because he had the strength she needed, the control she lacked. Not always, but tonight. Tonight she was a mess of emotion and knew better than to trust any of what she was feeling.
He walked to the back of the truck. She stayed where she was, giving him the time and space he needed. Time and space she used to steady herself, too. To gather her thoughts for when he returned.
Moments later, she heard the scrape of his boots over the parking lot’s loose gravel. He stopped in front of her, nodded in the direction of the diner’s door.
She held up a staying hand. “Just so you know, that wasn’t about me needing to be rescued.”
“I never thought it was.”
“And it wasn’t about tonight, the hospital, any of that.”
“Okay,” he said, moonlight catching on his dimple as he smiled.
“Just so you know.”
“I know.” And he left it at that, taking her hand and not letting go until he’d tucked her away in the back corner booth and settled in the seat across from her.
The wink he gave her said he knew as well as she that they’d stopped more than a few conversations. And the wink she gave him in return said she wouldn’t have had it any other way.
TWENTY-ONE
DAX SAT IN his truck in front of Arwen’s cottage looking for a reason not to shift into gear, not to drive away and return to his vagabond life. It was tempting, that existence, no expectations save for those of any rancher he’d hired on with. No family wanting him to step into shoes that didn’t fit. No debt dragging him down and taking the fun out of what he loved doing.
No woman making him comfortable enough to want to hang around.
Yeah. That.
Three days ago, Arwen had come to the ranch and delivered the news of his father’s condition. He hadn’t seen her since. He hadn’t talked to her since. He hadn’t talked to Darcy. He hadn’t been to the hospital. All he’d done was work, laboring dawn to dusk until he couldn’t move his arm to lift a longneck, his feet to step into the tub at the end of the day.
He’d eaten only because he had to, and not much at that since it had been Boone doing the cooking recently and the boy had a heavy hand with the salt. Sleep had been a matter of his exhausted body demanding he stop running on empty, and turning off his mind when he couldn’t find the key. What was left of his common sense knew he couldn’t keep going like this and live to tell the tale.
All these years later, he’d thought his past settled, yet his father, even in a coma, was still running his life. And for some bizarre reason he was letting him.
More than once while lying in bed and staring at the roof in the bunkhouse, he’d thought about packing up, signing away his share of the ranch to Casper and Boone, telling Darcy good-bye, promising to keep in touch. Then he’d thought about making those calls from down the road, once Crow Hill was nothing but a speck on the map of his memory and he didn’t have to look anyone in the eye.
&
nbsp; But he couldn’t do that to his sister, or the boys. He couldn’t do it to Arwen. Most of all, he couldn’t do it to himself. If he was going to go, he had to do it right—the right way and for the right reasons. He wasn’t going to be a hotheaded dick about it the way he’d been at eighteen, even if not sticking around was still a dick move. At least he’d come far enough to be able to admit that.
In the meantime, he was damn sick of his own company, and he knew Arwen, who’d been clear about wanting him only for sex, wouldn’t ask questions—though she might want the answer to the one he was mulling over: Why was he still sitting here when she was inside? That was assuming she wanted to see him at all after the really shitty way he’d treated her when she’d come to deliver the news of his father.
It was nearly four a.m., and the lights in her bedroom and bath were both on. He thought about her in her tub, thought about joining her there. Thought about leaving for the ranch an hour from now smelling like a citrus grove and having to put up with shit about it from the boys.
Best he could figure, he hadn’t yet moved because a part of him was still stuck on her rushing to tell him about his old man when she knew they weren’t close, they didn’t speak, hell, they hadn’t seen each other for sixteen years. And yet it had meant something to her for him to know his father had come up against something out of his control and been cut down. Maybe for good.
Darcy knowing, he got. Darcy had devoted a lot of blood, sweat, and tears establishing her position as a Campbell, which was a totally fucked up thing to have to do. But Arwen, more than anyone, had to know bloodlines didn’t make family.
Respect took care of that, as did discipline handed down from a place of caring, not power, instruction offered as guidance, not grudging obligation. Expectations driven by investment, not some bullshit tradition that was more for show than anything.
Tess and Dave Dalton had been his family. Boone and Casper were his family. Darcy, too. And watching Arwen’s truck bounce across the pasture to find him, he’d been hit again with a powerful sense of everything in his world coming together, a close-knit bunch of misfits, the Dalton Gang, extended.
Even after hearing what she had to say, that sense had stuck, and he couldn’t deny that feeling of rightness, completeness, as much as his desire to lose himself in her body, was the reason he was here.
His hand was on the door handle to make the body-losing thing happen when the interior of his truck’s cab lit up like the fourth of July. Squinting, he looked out his side mirror at the red, white, and blue cherry top spinning on the sheriff’s cruiser behind him.
Great. Just great. News of his affair with Arwen was about to become grist for the ridiculously efficient Crow Hill gossip mill, his efforts at lying low slapped useless.
He cracked open his door, only to be greeted with Sheriff Orleans loudly belted, “Hands where I can see ’em, bub. Step out of the truck slowly. I want you on your belly, now.”
Well, that shit wasn’t going to happen. The belly part anyway. He ached and creaked and didn’t want to chance getting stuck on the ground. With his arms extended through the window, he used a boot to shove open the door and climbed down.
Standing there, he leaned forward, forearms on the frame, and turned his head, grinning into the beam of the sheriff’s flashlight. Then—not that it would do a damn bit of good—he poured on the Dax Campbell charm. “Hey, Sheriff. Long time no see.”
Switching off the light, Ned Orleans gave a loud guffaw then holstered the big Colt revolver he’d drawn, keeping his hand on the butt as he came closer. “Dax Campbell. Should’ve known I’d find one of the Dalton Gang skulking around one of Crow Hill’s prettiest ladies.”
“The more things change, the more they don’t. Or something like that, eh, Ned?”
The sheriff stopped, braced his free hand on the top of Dax’s door. “Does that mean you’re sitting out here because you drank a little too much while watching the saloon’s Kittens dance? Cuz I’ve got a cell where you can sleep it off if so.”
“Nope. Sober as a judge,” he said before he could think better of it. Judge brought to mind courtroom, which brought to mind attorney, which brought to mind Crow Hill’s one and only law firm.
“Listen,” Ned began, hanging his head, rubbing at his jowl with his gun hand. “Sorry to hear about your father. I know you two aren’t exactly close, but it’s a shame to see a good man struck down.”
A good man? Really? When had that happened? But Dax wasn’t interested in the sheriff’s cell, so he checked his sarcasm before saying, “Thanks. It’s appreciated.”
“Wallace has had a hard last few years, you know, ever since—”
“Sheriff?”
At the sound of Arwen’s voice, Dax and Ned both turned. She stood at the end of her walkway where it met the street. Neither of the men had heard her come out, and even though Dax pulled in a deep, searching breath, he didn’t smell her.
She was barefoot, rubbing the sole of one foot on the top of the other, her arms crossed to hold her bathrobe in place. It looked like silk, the light of the moon and that from the street lamp on the corner of Willowbrook shining off the pink polka dots scattered on the background of white.
Pink. He should’ve known.
Her hair tumbled around her face and shoulders, all rumpled and messy like she’d just left her bed. That reminded him that it had been way too long since he’d joined her there. Then he remembered the last time he’d seen her, what he’d done, the way he’d treated her.
He swallowed, a fist of remorse slamming into his gut and robbing him of air. Fucking her against the side of her truck had been a pretty shitty way to treat her when all she’d done was bring him news she thought important for him to hear.
He needed to make up for that. He owed her a better time. He owed her an apology, a big one, and realized that could be a problem. After his behavior, he wouldn’t blame her for not wanting to hear anything he had to say.
“Sorry for the disturbance, Ms. Poole.” Sheriff Orleans hitched up his belt, circling the bed of Dax’s truck. “Looked like this one might’ve been sleeping off a drunk, and I didn’t want him doing it on the street when the jail’s not but six blocks away.”
She mashed her hair to her cheek, sleepily tucked it behind her ear. “Your lights have my living room looking like a carnival ride.”
Dax wasn’t sure if she was pissed, telling off the sheriff in a way that wouldn’t get her arrested, or if she’d really had her sleep interrupted. He’d have to move closer to get at the truth, but until the lawman gave the word, Dax was married to his window for better or worse.
“Ah, let me get those turned off. Then as soon as Mr. Campbell here’s on his way, I’ll make a loop through the neighborhood and be on mine.” His good ol’ boy laughter bellowed into the quiet night and caused Dax to wince. “Gotta have the constituents feeling safe and sound in their beds.”
Right. Especially with elections coming up, because judging by the signs scattered along Main Street’s sidewalks, Ned had young blood looking to oust him from the cushy job he’d held for twenty plus years.
From where he stood, Dax heard Arwen’s sigh. She hadn’t been expecting him, and he wanted to tell her not to give up her privacy for his sake. He was happy to take the fall for loitering. But it was too late.
“It’s okay, Sheriff.” She motioned Dax forward with a wave. “He’s here to see me.”
Sheriff Orleans looked from Arwen to Dax and back a couple of times, then blurted out the obvious. “At four o’clock in the morning?”
She shrugged, wrapping her arms tighter. “It’s the only time our schedules don’t conflict.”
“So you two…” He waggled a finger from one to the other, and Dax finally straightened with as sheepish a grin as he could manage.
After that, the sheriff ambled toward his car, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. The only words Dax—passing the other man as he crossed the street—was able to make out were, “Godd
amn Dalton Gang.”
Kinda funny, that. Or it would’ve been if the look on Arwen’s face hadn’t been quite so ominous.
“Were you asleep?” he asked.
“Almost.”
“I thought you’d be in the tub.”
She shook her head, shoved her hair from her face with both hands. “I got home extra late. Was too tired. Got undressed and crashed on the couch.”
He took a long step in reverse. “I can go.”
“You’re already here,” she said, and he counted that as a good sign and moved toward her again, going so far as to join her on the sidewalk.
But he kept his hands to himself, not knowing how welcome he really was and not wanting to cross any newly drawn lines. “You know our secret’s out.”
“And thanks for that.”
“Sorry. It wasn’t intentional.”
She gave a shrug as she turned and walked off. He waited because she hadn’t invited him in, and only followed because she left the door open. Once inside, he shut it, and hearing her in the kitchen headed that way. “Thought you were tired.”
“Now I’m hungry,” she said, yanking open the refrigerator door.
“It’s four thirty.”
“And you came here in the middle of the night just to give me a hard time?”
Of a sort, he mused privately, but then he frowned, leaning a shoulder on the doorjamb and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “The sheriff said something about my old man having a hard last few years. Any idea what he was talking about?”
“Do you care?”
“No, but I’m curious.”
She tore the top from a container of yogurt, stuck a spoon inside and stirred. “I assume it’s about you leaving and not letting anyone know where you’ve been all this time.”
“I don’t know. It sounded like something more.”
“Guess you’ll have to make a visit to the hospital and find out, won’t you?” she asked before sticking a spoonful of the yogurt into her mouth.
