by Sharon Sala
“What happened?” she whispered, then started to shake. If he’d come back because he’d forgotten something, she was going to make a bigger fool of herself than she already had. “Did you forget something?”
He took off his jacket, unbuckled his gun and tossed them both on the chair near the door before he started toward her.
Toni didn’t know whether to run backward or into his arms. The look on his face was one she’d never seen before.
“Yes, lady, I did. Something very important.”
Oh, my Lord, Toni thought. Now I'm going to have to endure this goodbye all over again.
“Damn you, Lane, why did you come back?” She knew her voice was shaking, but she couldn’t have steadied it to save her soul.
Lane stopped just inches away from her face. Even from where he stood, he could see her fear and feel her shaky breaths on his face.
“I came to pay a debt. And I came to make love to a woman. Just once. Just for fun.”
Her expression faltered, but her stance never wavered. And when he started to touch her face, she stepped away, then turned, never looking back to see if he would follow.
Lane shook from the top of his head to the toes on his feet. It took all that he had to follow her down the hall. The leggy saunter and easy sway of her body beckoned him as no word ever could. He’d seen her acceptance, and knew that whatever deeper reason she’d had for asking, she would truly be satisfied with what he could give. Just once. Just for fun. If she could live with it, then surely to God, he could, too.
When he entered her room, she was taking off her clothes. From where he stood, he could see her fingers shaking. She was trying so hard to do this right.
“Don’t, baby,” he said softly. “Let me. It’s part of the fun. Remember?”
She sighed, then dropped her hands to her sides. She didn’t know beans about fun and remembered little of her other two times. They’d been with a boy; Lane was a man. As she watched him coming toward her from across the room, she wondered if she was woman enough to hold him. Even for one night. Even for fun.
“I'm scared, you know,” she said.
Lane grinned and slid his arms around her, for the moment making no move to undress her any further. It was just like Toni to get straight to the point. What other woman would admit her fears as readily—or vocally—as she did? At the thought, he wondered if he had the guts to do the same.
“I know,” he said, and kissed her temple, just above her right ear. She shuddered within his embrace and Lane sighed. “So am I, baby. So am I.”
It was the best thing he could have said to her. At least on this level, they were even.
“What do I do next?” she asked. “Something for you...or to you? Or do I—?”
“Let’s try something new,” he said, and felt her stiffen in his arms. “I don’t know if you're up to it, but I can guarantee that it'll make things better.”
She bit her lip, hoping that he couldn’t see her fear. Something new? She didn’t even know the old stuff. But she’d been the one to ask, so it was now up to her to play along. And she wouldn’t think of her deception. He thought she was protected from pregnancy. He thought it was for fun. Let him think what he wanted. She would take what she got, and be thankful for the chance.
“What is it that you want me to do?” she asked.
Lane lowered his head. Just before his lips centered on hers, he whispered, “Stop talking.”
She almost smiled, and then his mouth descended and removed the last sane thought in her head.
Lane knew from the moment his arms went around her that there was no turning back. She was so much woman for a lot of man, and he didn’t know where to start. But when he cupped her bottom, pulling her closer against his groin, then deepened the kiss they were sharing, he knew where to start.
She sighed, then shuddered, and leaned against the wall of chest before her, giving him all of her weight and anything else he might want. They’d shared a kiss before, but there had never been the promise or the passion as there was in this one.
His lips were firm, but his touch was tender, and when his hands cupped her hips and ground her against his obvious need, Toni’s legs went weak at the thought of being one with this man and then giving him up without complaint. She’d prayed for a man to give her a child; hoping for more would be pushing her luck. So when he rocked against her hips in a beckoning motion, she followed along because she could not resist.
Lane broke the kiss with reluctance, moving his hands from her hips to her waist and then up. When they came to rest beneath the weight of her breasts, she moaned in spite of herself. She wanted more, so much more, and she wanted it now.
“Lane,” she whispered. “Touch me, please. Pretend that you—”
“No more talking, remember? And, darlin', whatever I do, whatever we share, there will be no pretense. Not between us. Not ever. I do what I do out of want. I want to make love to you...with you. Never doubt that, or me.”
Joy filled her heart. A sob wanted release, but there was no time because Lane had moved from her breasts to her shirt and was finishing what she had begun.
“Sweet,” Lane groaned when she spilled from her bra into his hands. “You are so beautiful, lady. So very, very perfect.”
His last word was a whisper against her skin as his head descended. When his mouth replaced his hands, and he began to settle small, searching kisses across the curve of her breasts, Toni’s legs went out from under her.
“I don’t think I can stand,” she said, and felt weightless when he lifted her into his arms and laid her upon the bed.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “What we're about to do is better this way.”
Her eyes widened as she watched him descend, and she was reminded of their first night together, handcuffed upon the floor. That night, she’d spent on top and then beneath this man with less results and far less pleasure than what she knew she was about to receive.
“You were well worth the wait,” she whispered, and lifted her arms to pull him down.
He didn’t know what she meant, and was too far-gone to care. Within the space of a minute, their clothes were on the floor. There was no room for anything else on the bed except the man and the woman who occupied it.
Somewhere between the door and the bed, the unhurried pace had gone out of the act. There was nothing left between them but a driving need to complete their union. And as badly as Lane wanted to be inside of her, he would not make the move until he’d watched and felt this woman come apart in his arms. Only then would he take what she’d offered. He’d come back to her in order to give.
Time ceased for Toni. There was nothing and no one in her world except the man who had taken command of her, body and soul. His touch was a plea that he didn’t have to voice. When he urged, she followed, giving herself up to his skill and the need that he invoked.
His skin became slick with perspiration, his body hard with want. Yet his hands were strong and sure, skilled and gentle at teasing Toni into a mindless need she could not control. He watched her burn through a blue haze as he shook with desire. He’d seen her eyes grow black from passion, her lips go slack from shock. And when she’d arched uncontrollably beneath his circling fingers, he knew a kind of joy he’d thought he would never feel again. It was the pleasure of giving to someone special, to someone he loved.
“Oh! What are you...?” Toni gasped, and clutched his arms as something deep within her belly started to coil.
“Shh,” Lane whispered, and increased the intensity of his caress. “Let it happen, darlin'.”
Toni fought it. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. She needed him with her. She was afraid to go alone.
“No,” she cried. “Please, Lane, no! Not without you.”
But it was too late to stop and too sweet to deny. She gave herself up to the fire and lost sight of everything but the spiral of heat that shattered low, then spread throughout her body in a constant, shimmering release.<
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“Oh, my darling,” she moaned, and covered her face with her hands.
“Don’t, baby,” he said, and moved her hands with a gentle sweep of his arm. “It’s not over yet. Make room for me. I need a place to come in.”
Tears burned her cheeks as she shifted, and then he went from beside her to inside her, and she thought that she would faint from the joy. When he began to move in a powerful, rocking thrust, she held him fast with her arms and her heart, and took what he gave without promises or love. Because it was just once. Just for fun.
She met him thrust for mindless thrust, kiss for burning kiss. And when he shattered within her, she held him fast and tight and never minded that he saw her cry.
And then it began to rain.
* * *
Just once. That had been all that she had hoped for. Yet twice more before morning, Lane took her body, wholly and without reservation, loving her to glorious distraction and leaving more of himself behind than he knew, while storm clouds rumbled overhead. Yet each time they loved, Toni knew in her heart that all they were sharing was passion. There was no future and no whispered lies being said between them in the dark.
It was, for Toni, enough. She’d had him for one night. It was more than she’d ever dreamed. If God was willing, Lane would leave a piece of himself behind when he left. If not, she would survive because she had to.
But for Lane, the night had held a different kind of resignation. He’d given away something he’d never meant to share. He’d not only made love, but he’d fallen the rest of the way in love with a woman he refused to keep.
When the last kiss and the last drop of passion had been spent between them, they slept, wrapped within each other’s embrace, and dreamed of things that were not meant to be.
* * *
And when morning came, Toni awoke with the knowledge that the earth outside had been replenished, while she’d been drained of everything except despair.
She was alone in the bed and knew the reason why. There would be no reckless search through a house that she already knew would echo with emptiness, no frantic cry for a man who could not answer the call of his name. Lane had done what she’d asked, and more. He’d paid his debt a thousandfold, and his last thought had still been for her. At least this time, she’d been spared the goodbye.
* * *
By noon Lane was boarding his plane in Knoxville, weary in more than body. His steps were slow and heavy like the beat of his heart. The flight attendant smiled, but Lane didn’t notice her. The man in the seat next to him spoke, but Lane didn’t hear him. When he buckled his seat belt, he realized that his hands were trembling and that he didn’t even remember making the drive from Chaney to the airport in Knoxville. All he could see was the way that Toni had looked when he’d walked out of her room.
She’d slept curled on her side, with one arm flung out, as if searching for a man who was already gone, and the tracks of her tears were still drying upon the curve of her cheeks.
“Oh, God,” he muttered, and covered his face, wondering if he was going to be haunted by her and that image for the rest of his life.
The attendant paused at Lane’s seat. Her hand was soft upon his shoulder, her voice low and pleasant in his ear. And he resented her and every woman present for not being Toni Hatfield, and he hated himself because it was his own fault that it was not so.
“Are you all right?” the attendant asked. “If you're sick or need some assistance, all you need to do is ask.”
He shuddered, then closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. “I'm not sick. I'm fine. I'm as fine as I'm ever going to get,” he muttered, and had the satisfaction of hearing her drift away to the next passenger.
Hours later, the plane landed and Lane entered the airport a sadder and wiser man than the one he’d been a week earlier. He’d survived a plane crash only to find that he might not survive crashing into Toni Hatfield’s heart.
* * *
Two things happened within days of everyone’s departure that did nothing but remind Toni of what she’d lost. The first, a bouquet of flowers from Palmer and Reese, came with a knock on her door. It was enormous, the message on the card a sparse opposite. It simply read, “Thanks for everything.”
She wanted to laugh, but the corners of her mouth couldn’t make the shape.
“You're welcome,” she muttered to herself, and set the flowers in the center of her table, trying not to notice the wobbly legs. It reminded her of why they rocked. Lane had broken it, just as he’d broken her heart. Both had survived, but neither would ever be the same.
The next surprise came hours later when it was nearly evening. She watched from the window as a delivery truck, bearing the name of a well-known furniture store in Knoxville, lumbered up her driveway and parked in the yard. She’d watched, unsuspecting of anything except perhaps that she would have to direct them to another residence.
“Is this the Hatfield residence?” the man asked.
Toni nodded. “Yes, but I think you've got the wrong Hatfield. I didn’t order any furniture.”
The man looked down at his order sheet and frowned. “Are you Antonette Hatfield?”
An odd warning started in the pit of her stomach. He wouldn’t. “Yes,” she said.
He nodded. “Then we have the right place. Boys, bring it in. And watch the doorway. I don’t deliver scratched goods and that’s a fact.”
All she could do was watch. There were no words to voice what she felt as they started inside her house with their load.
“Lady, where do you want this?” someone asked.
Tears choked her, making speech nearly impossible. All she could do was lead the way. The deliverymen followed her into the kitchen and set their cargo down next to what they were about to replace.
“Want us to put the old one somewhere else, lady?”
She pointed toward the back porch. It would have to do for now. She couldn’t think past the sight of the round top and the rich, dark, shiny color of the cherrywood table.
When they carried out the old table, she watched through teary eyes, staring at the patched underside and uneven legs as it cleared the doorway with little room to spare. Its removal was as symbolic of his departure as the actual one had been. The final link with Lane was gone.
When the last of the six new chairs was in place, the men stood back, admiring what Toni could not face.
“Looks real nice in here,” the man said. “Hope you enjoy it.” He was starting out the door when he patted his pocket in remembrance. “Shoot! I nearly forgot. This came with it.”
He handed her the card, then ushered his helpers out the door. Moments later, Toni was alone, suffering the scent of new wood and high gloss and wondering when her life had gotten so off track. She had only to remember that it had begun with a storm...in the night...on the crest of a wave...and in the arms of a man who hadn’t looked back when he’d left.
Her fingers trembled as she opened the card. It was the first time that she’d seen Lane’s handwriting, but she would have known it anywhere. It was as large and decisive as the man who’d written it. He’d written:
Dear Toni,
I can’t fix everything I broke, but I can try. Take care of yourself and remember what we shared.
Lane
Not Love, Lane. Just Lane. It was more than she’d expected and still not enough.
“What I wanted from you, mister, was not tables and chairs.”
She sat down, testing the shape of the chair against the curve of her hip and back, then folded her arms upon the shiny surface and hid her face from the sight. She prayed for the day when his loss would be easier to bear, and prayed also that there might possibly be a little something of him within her that he had left behind.
Chapter 10
It had been the longest week of Lane’s life. And in those seven days since his return, the perennial tropic beauty of Tallahassee had, for him, lost its appeal. He drove the streets through the maze of traffic, una
ware of the sidewalks bounded by elegant, swaying palms, ignoring the constant throng of females of every size, shape and color who were on a constant search for the man of their dreams.
He was in the midst of a single man’s paradise, and wished instead for tall green mountains with smoky caps, quiet mornings and narrow country roads, and a tall, independent woman who gave new meaning to blue-jean shorts and old, faded shirts.
Lane Monday was home, but he was homesick for Toni Hatfield and her Tennessee hills. He’d caught himself in the act of calling her number so many times during the past seven days that he had nightmares of doing it in his sleep and not being able to stop until it was too late. He knew that if he heard her voice, if he made a connection one more time, he wasn’t certain he had it in him to tell her goodbye again.
She’d claimed a place in his heart that he hadn’t meant to give up. But making love with her had been a far step from happily-ever-after. She was a woman who deserved a husband and a houseful of children. She needed a family as loud as the one in which she’d grown up, not a man haunted by old ghosts and with no hope for a future except one filled with heartache and disappointment.
For her, as well as for himself, he wouldn’t let himself care.
* * *
“Hey, Monday! You have a call on line three.”
Lane frowned at the interruption as he picked up the phone. He was in the middle of a sentence, and halfway through the report on his desk, so changing trains of thought was a distraction he didn’t need.
“This is Monday.”
“Naw, it’s not, boy. It’s Thursday, but who am I to quibble about days of the week when I've got myself a hatful of trouble.”
Lane grinned when he heard the laconic drawl of Dan Holley coming across the wire. “Hello, Holley. I don’t suppose you called me this early in the morning for any good reason,” he said. “And what seems to be the trouble?”
“I don’t know any easy way to say this, Monday, so here goes. I got the autopsy on the body we fished out of the Pigeon River this morning. It wasn’t Emmit Rice.”
