by Sharon Sala
He hit the post with the flat of his hand. “That’s stupid,” he said. “You know who did it. You're just too damned softhearted to say so.”
Toni leaned forward until she and Justin were eye to eye. “That’s just it, Justin, I don’t know who did it. No more than you know what happened to your chickens and Bobby’s dog. Did you press charges against the Sumters for that?”
He flushed and looked away. “Judy wouldn’t let me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Thank God for the sanity of women. She saved you from making a bigger fool of yourself than normal.”
Before more than words could fly, Lane stepped between the two and put his hand on Toni’s shoulder. “You were right about being followed out of here. We saw a set of footprints that ran parallel to yours. Whoever it was didn’t follow you long, but he did follow you.”
Toni shuddered. The thought of being pursued made her sick.
“Thank God those young whelps of Sumter’s changed their minds,” Justin said. “If you hadn’t come up here by yourself, none of this would have happened.”
Toni snorted softly. “What on earth is wrong with you, Justin? The calf was still dead, whether I found it or not. At least I saved the cow and called the law, which is more than you did when your dog was killed.”
Sheriff Holley walked up in time to hear the last of what Toni had just said. He frowned as he poked his notebook into his shirt pocket. “What’s this, Justin? Someone killed your dog?”
“And made off with some of his chickens,” Lane added, then walked out of the argument to stare thoughtfully into the tree line, trying to imagine someone watching Toni from some concealed vantage point.
Something about this didn’t feel right. And he thought of his missing prisoner. Even though they claimed that the Sumters were just harmless and hungry, the fact that Toni had been followed was contrary to someone’s simply thieving. Stalking a victim was the approach an attacker would take. Someone who intended further harm would follow, whereas a sneak thief would run in the opposite direction in frantic flight, hoping to get away from the scene of the crime. Surely, he thought, Dan Holley could check this out and warn the Sumter family against further trespassing. He needed assurance that it was actually the Sumters who were responsible.
“We're ready to go,” Toni said.
The sound of her voice startled Lane. He hadn’t even heard her walk up. He turned, and when he saw the weariness in her eyes, he reached out and took her hand in his.
“You got lucky today, honey,” he said softly. “Please don’t take any more unnecessary chances. Until this mess with your neighbors is put to rest, don’t go anywhere on foot, okay?” When she frowned and started to argue, Lane’s voice softened. “I'm not telling you, I'm asking. Okay? I don’t want to get a phone call from someone one day telling me that you've disappeared.”
Her eyes widened as she worried the edge of her lower lip between her teeth. Lane hated seeing the look of shock on her face, knowing that he’d been the one to put it there.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I just want you to be careful. I care about your welfare, Toni Hatfield, just like you cared about mine. Understand?”
She nodded. Oh, Lane, I understand all too well. You feel an obligation, and I want a commitment instead.
“Come on,” he said, giving her hand a tug. “Let’s get back to the house. Reese and Palmer should be back by now. I want to talk to them before they leave tomorrow. Maybe they have news about the search for Emmit Rice’s body. That’s one identification I would willingly make.”
She nodded, and for the moment she was willing to let someone else make some decisions. The day had gotten seriously on her nerves.
“Toni, I'm going to talk to Livvie Sumter,” the sheriff said. “I know you're not pressing charges, but she’s still got to know that I won’t stand for any more of this going on in my county.”
Lane and Toni walked hand in hand out of the clearing, leaving Sheriff Holley and Justin to follow close behind. Once they arrived at their vehicles, the sheriff and Justin drove off. But not before Toni caught the scowl her brother sent her as he directed his gaze to her and Lane’s clasped hands.
Within a few minutes of returning to the house, Toni found herself alone with Lane. Reese and Palmer had not returned. Memories of her flight into Lane’s arms, and the way that he’d held her, kept colliding with the facts. And the facts were that he’d simply acted the way a friend would have by comforting her in a time of stress and that he’d meant nothing by it. Acceptance of that truth was what would get her past the next few days. She looked everywhere and at everything except him, and hated that she felt out of place in her own home.
Lane didn’t know what was wrong, but if history had anything to do with it, it was bound to be something that he’d done.
“Lady, if you don’t stop fiddling and pacing, you're going to run us both up a wall.”
She blushed and looked away, then without thinking took down her hair, intent on putting it back up again, only in a more sedate fashion. The trek up the hill, then back down again, had played havoc with her constantly unruly curls.
With her arms raised above her head, the thrust of her breasts against her shirt was unmistakable and impossible to ignore. Lane gritted his teeth and told himself to look away. And he might have been able to do that if she hadn’t dropped the elastic band for her hair on the ground.
“Shoot,” she muttered, then bent over to look at the floor, trying to locate the band that seemed lost against the pattern on the rug.
Lane would have offered to help, but he couldn’t find the will to move away from the sight of all that hair falling down around her shoulders, or the way her jean shorts had suddenly conformed to her rear when she’d bent down. He had a sudden wish to see her standing before him wearing nothing but the smile on her face, and then he shuddered and walked out of the room before his body gave him away.
When she wandered through the kitchen moments later, he had his lust well under control. It had even crossed his mind to offer to help her fix the evening meal, until he turned, looked into her eyes and got lost in the memory all over again.
He was staring, and it made her nervous. In the past, when men had looked at her too long, they’d inevitably found fault with something about her. Because of that, she turned away and missed seeing the blatant look of want that spread across Lane Monday’s face.
“I'm going to fix pork chops,” she said. “If you have an objection, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
“Whatever you fix will be fine,” he said. “I'm going to go outside now.”
He walked out after that odd remark, leaving Toni standing in the kitchen with no explanation for his behavior other than what she’d already assumed.
I must look awful, she thought. And earlier, I clung to him like cockleburs. He probably thinks I'm going to do it all over again and embarrass him. She’d made him uncomfortable. That had to be it.
Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes. But Toni swiped them away and headed for the cabinet to take down a bowl. Crying over impossibilities was a waste of time and effort. Why should she care what Lane Monday thought about her? In two days he would be gone.
But the longer she peeled and stirred and cooked, the louder the voice inside her cried out. When he leaves, it will be too late to try having a baby. Do something, Toni, before it’s too late.
“But how?” she moaned. “How do I entice a man to make love with me when he can’t even stand the sight of my face?”
* * *
“Those sure are good pork chops, Toni,” Reese said as he helped himself to another without waiting for an invitation.
“They're going to keep dragging the river, aren’t they?” Lane asked. The need to hear positive information about the fate of Emmit Rice was eating Lane up. He had no interest in food.
“We're dragging everything, including our tails between our legs,” Palmer replied, and dipped a second helping of mashed potat
oes onto his plate before passing the bowl to Reese.
Toni propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in the palms of her hands. Her dark eyes went from one man to the other, gauging their interest in what was going on at the table as opposed to what had gone on during the continuing search. Lane hadn’t eaten anything, and the other two men couldn’t talk for eating. What a day this had been.
“Hell, Lane.” Reese flushed as he remembered the lady’s presence and grinned at Toni before continuing. “Excuse my language, but we may never find Emmit Rice, and you know it. That was a hell of big flood, and that creek empties out into one long river.”
Lane stared down at the half-eaten food on his plate and tried to imagine never knowing Emmit Rice’s fate. It didn’t sit well with him at all.
“Okay,” he muttered, tracing a pattern on the tablecloth that Toni had spread to hide her patchwork on the broken table. “I know that, but I don’t like it. How about if we call back the men and the dogs and have them take a second run-through in the hills. Maybe see if they can come up with any new—”
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Reese dropped his fork in his plate and leaned back in the chair, his expression just shy of disbelief. “If the searchers came up empty three days ago, why would you think they would find something now? What is it you're not saying?”
Lane couldn’t look at Toni when he said it, but he couldn’t live with himself unless it was out in the open. He had to admit his worst fear aloud.
“I'm not saying anything specific,” Lane told him. “But until I see Emmit Rice’s body, I'm not going to believe that he’s dead.”
“Why not?” Palmer asked, sounding stunned. “It’s nothing short of a miracle that you survived. There is no earthly indication that Emmit Rice crawled out of that plane ahead of you. Damn it, Monday, you heard me tell you yesterday that they're not even sure who’s in what bag. They're still trying to make positive identifications.”
Toni’s chin slipped from her hand as her eyes grew rounder. Her mouth slackened, and her slow, unsteady gasp was all the indication they needed that this conversation should have been saved for somewhere other than the dinner table.
She knew the men were staring at her; she could feel their sympathetic looks. They’d spoken about human beings as if their remains were just pieces of meat. With that thought, she looked down at the pork chops, then back up at the men, and knew that she was going to have to leave the table. She held her breath and got to her feet. She needed some air. Now. The images that Chuck Palmer had just conjured were too vivid to ignore.
“Well, hell, Palmer. While you were at it, why didn’t you just pass around the pictures you took at the scene for our viewing enjoyment?” Lane growled, then watched with regret as Toni slipped from the room.
Palmer shrugged. “Sorry. I didn’t think. I sometimes forget that she’s not one of us. Besides, she’s so competent and cool, I didn’t figure it would bother her.”
Lane pushed back his chair and stood. “Why the hell not? She’s a woman, and a civilian, to boot. The ordinary housewife is not usually faced with this sort of conversation.”
“She’s not a housewife,” Palmer muttered.
And she'll never be ordinary, Lane thought. But she damn sure ought to be someone’s wife. He left Reese and Palmer and went to find Toni.
Someone’s wife. Someone’s wife...but not mine. “Oh, damn,” Lane muttered.
Caring wasn’t part of the plan. It was supposed to be: Remove stitches. Find a way to say goodbye to Toni Hatfield. Pack my bag. Remember why loving the second time around isn’t wise. Get on the plane. Don’t think about the woman I'm leaving behind. Put the episode behind me. But not in this lifetime.
He caught her on her way out the front door. “Toni, I'm sorry we upset you.”
She turned. Framed by the doorway and the dusky evening shadows in the yard behind her, she watched as Lane moved toward her from across the room, and felt the world growing smaller with every heartbeat. He was so big that he dwarfed everything and everyone around him. And yet the look on his face was full of regret and tenderness. Her breath caught on a sob. That tenderness was going to be her undoing.
Lane heard the catch in her breath, and regretted the fact that, once again, they had caused her distress.
“Palmer wasn’t thinking.” He shrugged. “Or better yet, that’s exactly what he was doing, thinking aloud. Only not about your feelings. He should have been more careful.”
His hand cupped her face, intending to give comfort. But when her fingers traced the shape of his hand, he forgot what he’d been about to say. All he saw was the look of horror in her eyes.
She didn’t mean to, but when he’d touched her, instinctively she’d returned the gesture. They had talked about death in the same breath as they’d complimented her on the pork chops, allowing no more consequence for one than the other. She didn’t understand how they could separate their feelings from their work. Something like that would destroy her, just like the crash that had nearly destroyed Lane Monday. It was that thought which made her reach out, needing to feel proof of the life he’d come so close to losing.
And what better way to feel life than to touch the center of its existence. Toni’s fingers went from his hand toward his chest. Her gaze was centered on the place above his rib cage where she knew his heart continued to beat. Her fingers shook, her legs trembled, but she needed to feel the life he’d so nearly lost.
“It could have been you.” Toni closed her eyes and sighed as the rock-hard rhythm of his heart vibrated against the palm of her hand. “Thank God that it wasn’t.”
Lane almost didn’t hear her words. Her voice seemed broken, barely above a whisper. And when her hand flattened against the wall of his chest, splaying across his heart, the look on her face nearly broke his heart.
He wanted to hold her but knew that would be a mistake. He needed to take away her pain, but instead he faced the fact that he would not always be around for her next pain, or the next.
“Have mercy,” he groaned, unable to move.
Toni blinked, then shuddered and looked up. The muscles in his face appeared to have been chiseled from stone. His mouth was grim; his eyes narrowed against revealing too much emotion. She felt the heat from his body on her palm, and knew a sense of loss so profound that she could not speak. Instead, she simply dropped her hand, shook her head and walked out the door, leaving Lane to do as he chose.
What he wanted to do was follow her into the night and claim the woman and her heart without further delay. What he did was walk away. He’d seen too much of the woman she was to be able to hold her, then let her go. And let her go he must. For there was a line in their relationship that he must not cross...could not cross...and still hope to survive.
Toni knew when she walked off the porch steps that Lane would not follow. She’d seen the expression on his face go blank and felt him shut off his emotions as plainly as if she’d been slapped.
“Why can’t I get this right?” she muttered, unaware of the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Why am I so stupid? I know I disgust him, and yet I keep setting myself up for these falls.”
She laughed, but stopped when it came out a sob. Instead, she lifted her face to the starlit sky. “Help me,” she whispered. “Just until he’s gone. Then I promise I will help myself.”
A breeze lifted the curls from her neck, then cupped the fabric of her shirt to her body like a jealous lover. Crickets sounded in the nearby grass while a whippoorwill cried in a nearby tree. Down the ravine she heard a cow bawl, then a calf answer. Weak yellow light spilled out in squares from the curtained windows of her house and onto the dark ground below it like butter on burned toast. Familiar sights, familiar sounds. And Toni felt as if she were dying.
She buried her face in her hands and knew that she would never feel as empty as she felt at this moment, barren of everything in life that mattered. No man, no child, no life except her own. She felt the tears on her f
ace, and at that moment, hated as she’d never hated before.
She hated herself for having been born, and every male that she’d ever known for not being man enough to see past the surface to the woman she was beneath.
“That does it,” she muttered, and swiped angrily at the tear tracks. “I've never been a weak, sobbing female, and I'm not going to start now. Especially over a man. But, by God, I will take from him what I can get.”
In that moment, new determination was born. If the opportunity came to use Lane Monday to father her child, she would—with no regrets. He’d made it perfectly clear that she wasn’t his type, and that was okay. At least, it would be when she could think of him without tears and anger. But she had two more nights to find a way to make this happen, to find a way to make him want her. God willing, the chance would come, and with the chance, the child.
It had to.
Chapter 8
“Well, Mr. Monday, I’d say you're as good as new. Your bruises are nearly gone and your leg is healing on schedule. I’d say you're about ready to fly the coop.”
“Oh, hell, Doc. Smile when you say the word fly,“ Lane said, and surprised himself by being able to poke fun at what had happened to him.
From her seat in the waiting room, Toni heard Lane’s laughter. She didn’t know what had amused him, because nothing was funny to her. The loss of his stitches had finally cut the strings connecting him to her. Now there was no longer a reason for him to stay, and facing that fact was getting harder and harder for Toni to accept.
Why did I have to like him? Toni thought, and blinked back tears as she looked at her lap rather than let anyone see how she felt. It isn’t fair.
She sighed. Her dream of having Lane’s child was exactly that, a dream. How was she possibly going to set her plan in motion? All I have is tonight. Short of throwing myself into his bed like a fool, it’s over.
The weight around her heart settled a little heavier. She knew that he was anxious to get home, and why shouldn’t he be? He’d left his home over a week ago, expecting to be back that same day, and instead, wound up the sole survivor of a devastating plane crash.
