Moonglow, Texas

by Mary McBride

  He went into the kitchen to empty the bucket from under the sink only to find that Molly had already done it. She was just putting the bucket back when he came in.

  “Still dripping?” he asked, earning a pretty frosty look from Our Lady of the Sink. He couldn’t wait to see her expression when he told her about the perpetual fumes. “Buddy says he’ll be done tomorrow, but the smell will take another day or two to dissipate.”

  “Maybe I’ll just go to a motel,” she said.

  “That doesn’t make sense. Not when you can sleep for free in the Airstream. Unless, of course, you think your fiancé would object.”

  “Actually, I was thinking more about the objections of Mrs. Shackelford.”

  He blinked. “Who?”

  “Mrs. Shackelford. You know. Your wife?”

  “My…?” He laughed. “I don’t have a wife. Where’d you get that idea?”

  Now it was Molly who was blinking. “Well, you said you weren’t in a position to get involved, so I naturally assumed…”

  “Wait a minute.” Dan held up his hand. “Wait just a minute. I said I’m not in a position to get involved because I’m me and you’re you. Not because I’m married.”

  The hint of a smile passed across her mouth. “You’re not?”

  “No. Never have been, either.”

  “Oh.” There was definitely a smile now, but Dan wasn’t sure what it meant. “Well, that’s different, then,” she said with a little shrug. “I accept your generous invitation.”

  “What about this fiancé of yours?”

  “He won’t mind,” she said breezily. A bit too breezily in Dan’s opinion.

  “I meant what I said, Molly, about not being in a position to get involved,” he told her sternly.

  “Dan, I really don’t think sleeping on your air mattress qualifies as involved, do you? For heaven’s sake.”

  Having said that, she walked past him with a few little clucks of her tongue, leaving Dan to wonder whether or not she thought wrapping those long legs of hers around a guy’s waist and making him half crazy constituted involvement.

  For the rest of the day, Molly wasn’t sure whether she was avoiding Dan or vice versa. She took her laptop out on the front porch, but spent most of the time thinking about Dan rather than working.

  The fact that he wasn’t married shouldn’t have made such a difference to her. If anything, it should have served as a warning that this was not a man who was prone to settling down or establishing any meaningful sort of relationship.

  How had he phrased it? He wasn’t in a position to get involved. Well, neither was she, Molly thought. There was no way she could have anything but a superficial relationship as long as she was a protected witness with no past and nothing in her present but lies. She wasn’t looking for a serious involvement, and if she were, it certainly wouldn’t be with an itinerant handyman.

  She didn’t know what she was looking for, actually. She just kept thinking about that kiss in the library. That mind-altering, body-slamming kiss. The mere memory of it did funny things to her stomach and made her toes curl and her fingers hit a succession of nonsensical letters on the keyboard.

  In an effort to get her mind off Dan, Molly wandered into the kitchen to empty the bucket under the sink. After she poured it into the bathtub, she peeked in the bedroom to see how Buddy Jr. was coming along.

  “Well, you’re getting there,” she said.

  The boy took off his earphones and pulled the black mask down from his face. “Did you say something, Ms. Hansen?”

  “I said you’re coming right along, Buddy. Good job.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” He looked down at the floor a moment. “Say, I was just wondering. I couldn’t help but notice that the doorjamb in the bathroom is all busted. You got somebody to fix that for you? ’Cause if you don’t, I’d be happy to make a little more cash.”

  She started to say that Dan was going to fix it, but changed her mind. Raylene would be thrilled to have her son working hard and staying out of the pool hall. “How much would you charge?” she asked.

  Buddy shrugged. “Wouldn’t take much lumber or paint. I’d do it for seventy-five bucks.”

  “Okay. You’ve got a deal.”

  “Great.” He put his earphones on again, settled the mask over his mouth and nose, and went back to stripping paper.

  Molly took the bucket back into the kitchen and shoved it under the sink, wondering if she should hire Buddy Jr. to fix the leaky pipe as well. She wondered if whoever in the Marshals Service had hired Dan would be checking with her afterward to see if he’d done a satisfactory job, and the thought almost made her laugh out loud.

  What choice would she have except to tell them “Quite satisfactory. The man has wonderful hands.”

  Those hands, she couldn’t help but notice when she walked outside, were busily washing the black BMW. Anything to avoid real work, she thought churlishly.

  “Want some help?” she asked, squinting at the bright sunlight reflecting off the wet chrome on the car.

  “No, but I’d like the company.”

  He gave her one of those smiles that made her stomach do a quick flip, and Molly had to warn herself not to allow her gaze to linger on his appealing mouth. She leaned against the side of the house. A sliver of peeling paint jabbed her arm and reminded her that housepainting also seemed missing from Dan’s repertoire of skills.

  “How long have you been doing this, Dan?”

  “Washing the car?” He aimed the hose at the soapy windshield. “About twenty minutes.”

  “No, I mean the home-repair racket.”

  “Racket!” With his free hand he dragged his dark glasses down his nose and glared at Molly. “Are you saying you’re not pleased with the progress I’m making on your house?”

  “Well…”

  “It’s moving along,” he said defensively. “Home repair isn’t something you do in the blink of an eye, Molly. There’s a certain amount of organization in the beginning. A thorough assessment of damage. A proper regard for easily overlooked details.”

  “Don’t forget the patient accumulation of tools,” she said, her tongue firmly in her cheek.

  “Exactly.”

  “And the cautious hiring of sixteen-year-old subcontractors.”

  “That, too,” he said, reaching to scrub a spot on the windshield.

  Molly pulled another paint chip from the siding, breaking it into tiny white fragments. “Okay. Tell me the truth. You’re not really a handyman, are you?”

  He held the hose away from the car and stood there a long moment, as if deep in thought. The silence made Molly nervous. Fearing his answer, she was almost sorry she’d asked in the first place.

  “All right,” he finally said. “I guess you’ve figured it out, so I might as well confess. I’m not a handyman, Molly. I lied about that.”

  She swallowed hard, dreading his next words, wishing she’d just played along. He was handy enough. Besides, what did she care about repairs on a house that wasn’t even hers to begin with?

  What if he wasn’t a handyman, but an ex-convict, maybe an armed robber just out on parole? What if…dear God…what if he were a member of the Red Millennium? No. If that were true, she’d already be dead.

  Dan’s glasses were back in place now so she couldn’t see his eyes when he said somberly, “I’m sorry I lied. Do you forgive me?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On what you really are.”

  He sighed as he gazed down at the running hose, then shifted it from his left hand to his right. “I work for the government, Molly.”

  She let out a little laugh. “Oh, yeah. Doing what?”

  “I’m an itinerant hose inspector.” A grin slashed across his mouth as he aimed the nozzle in her direction. “And this one works just fine.”

  Molly shrieked. She shoved away from the wall and lifted her hands to shield herself, but there was no getting away from the relentless spray. I
n a matter of seconds, she was soaked.

  “You’re going to be sorry,” she said, laughing as she advanced through the oncoming water. “Quit it, Dan. I can’t see.”

  “You don’t have to see. Just trust me. This hose is in perfect working order. I give it my highest approval rating.”

  Molly lunged for the hose, but Dan changed it to his other hand, moving it out of her reach but still keeping the water directed at her.

  “Give me that,” she demanded, trying to reach around him. She couldn’t see a thing for the soggy hair that was falling over her face.

  “Give you this?” He was laughing now. The wretch. “I don’t think you’re qualified, are you? Do you have a license? A learner’s permit? Something with your picture on it?”

  With his arm around her shoulder, Dan somehow maneuvered the hose down the front of her shirt, thoroughly dousing whatever dry spots remained.

  “That’s cold!”

  “Good. That speaks well for the insulation. I believe I’ll upgrade it from a Double A to a Triple A.”

  “Uncle!” she screamed. “Uncle! Uncle! Uncle!”

  The back door squeaked open and Buddy Jr. called out, “Hey! Are you okay, Ms. Hansen?”

  Dan pulled the hose from her shirt just as Molly turned to view her savior. The boy was looking at them with an expression that was part curiosity, part disapproval, as if the two of them were mischievous toddlers.

  “Are you okay?” he asked again. “You’re all wet.”

  “No kidding,” Molly replied, using both hands to shove her dripping hair from her face.

  She could see Buddy Jr. clearly as a result, and could see his expression change significantly. Instead of looking disapproving, the boy began to grin. Molly couldn’t imagine why, nor did she know why Dan was suddenly grabbing her shoulders and whirling her around to face him rather than her rescuer.

  “What is wrong with you?” she snapped when his arms wound around her and water from the hose started cascading down her back.

  “Nothing’s wrong with me,” he said, his lips close to her ear. “It’s you, darlin’. Our young friend just glimpsed the winner of the world-class wet T-shirt contest.” Then he called over Molly’s head, “She’s fine, kid. We’re just fooling around. Guess you better get back to work.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” Buddy Jr. didn’t sound too enthusiastic, but a second later Molly heard the screen door open and then bang closed again.

  “Is he gone?” she whispered into Dan’s shoulder.

  “Yep. Very reluctantly, too, I might add.”

  Molly took a small step back, then looked down at the wet cotton fabric that was molded to her chest. She might as well have been naked. “Oh, my God,” she moaned. “Look what you did to me, Dan.”

  He was looking, Molly realized, but his intense gaze didn’t even come close to being a leer. There was far more hunger than lust in his expression. More elemental need than momentary desire. Her heart took a flying leap into her throat just as Dan dropped the hose and reached out for her, one hand sliding around her waist, the other curving around her neck.

  “Molly.” Her name came out as a kind of rough growl just before his mouth covered hers.

  She was hardly even aware that her right leg was inching up Dan’s left until he chuckled softly against her lips.

  “You’re shimmying again, Molly.”

  “I can’t get close enough to you,” she answered with what little breath she had left after the kiss. “I want you, Dan.”

  He drew back his head and his green eyes burned into hers. “And damn the consequences?”

  She bit her lip as she nodded.

  When Dan’s eyelids sank closed, Molly wasn’t sure whether he felt the same way. For a panicky second she was afraid he was going to be reasonable and sane and back in control, all the things she wasn’t at the moment. She thought if he rejected her, she’d never be able to look him in the eye again. She’d melt into an indistinct little puddle right here on the driveway. She’d wither and die and…

  Dan let out a rough little curse, then he stepped away from her and strode to the faucet on the side of the house where he gave its little wheel a few brusque turns to shut off the water.

  “I just hope we both live to regret this,” he muttered, swinging Molly up in his arms and heading for the trailer.

  He let Molly’s wet body slide the length of his, but her feet had hardly touched the trailer floor before those long legs of hers were inching up his again. He only stopped kissing her long enough to whisk the wet T-shirt over her head, then shrug out of his own damp shirt.

  He’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted Molly. Her mouth was custom-made for his, and he tried to take his time with those lush lips and that eager tongue, with her sweet, succulent breasts, with the sensuous swell of her belly and the dip of her navel and the damp, musky places below.

  “Molly. Molly.” He heard himself saying her name like a prayer.

  Dear God, if there was salvation to be had, he was about to find his in her sweet, hot depths.

  “Molly.”

  The only thing Dan regretted was that he had stashed his little package from the pharmacy in Idella in the locked drawer where he kept his automatic, necessitating an abrupt halt to their lovemaking while he floundered for the key. It didn’t help that his hands were shaking when he tried to fit it into the lock.

  With the blinds closed tight, it was dark in the trailer. Hot as hell, too, although that didn’t seem to bother or even deter Molly. Her skin was damp and cool from her recent dousing, unlike his which felt scalded every place she touched him with her roving hands and those long, promising legs.

  Neither one of them, it seemed, had any brakes. Or, if they had, neither one of them chose to use them. They were like two planets hurtling through blank space, colliding, melding in a sudden, sharp display of fireworks, then falling back to earth. Spent. Completely undone.

  Dan exhaled a long, almost languorous sigh as he dropped his head into the damp crook of Molly’s neck.

  “Oh, my,” she whispered.

  “Too heavy?” He began to shift to his right, but those lithe legs clamped tighter, keeping him in place.

  “Just right,” she said with a sigh of her own. “Don’t move.”

  “I wasn’t sure if I could, anyway.”

  She laughed softly, but Dan wasn’t kidding. He couldn’t recall ever having such an intense sexual experience. Only part of it was because of his recent abstention. The rest—most of it—was pure Molly.

  “That was fast,” he murmured a bit sheepishly.

  “That was great.”

  “Was it?”

  He lifted his head, straining to bring her face into focus, wondering if she was just saying that in order not to bruise his ego. Her eyes were at half-mast and her lips were curved in a warm and sated and utterly convincing smile.

  He felt the strong flow of desire course through him again, less urgent now but not to be denied.

  “The only good thing about fast,” he whispered, tasting a corner of that smile, “is that it leaves plenty of time for slow.”

  “Mmm.”

  “And slower.”

  When Molly opened her eyes, she realized that the darkness inside the trailer wasn’t because the blinds were closed. It was night. She sighed, curling more closely against Dan’s warm back, feeling every muscle in her body protest as she moved, willing that body to savor the afterglow without letting her mind intervene.

  But the more she told herself not to think, the more disquieting thoughts tumbled through her brain. She dispensed with the What have I done? readily enough. She’d just had the greatest sex in the history of the world. It was the What do I do now? that couldn’t be so easily dismissed.

  She wasn’t the sort of woman who slept around, who made love to men with whom she couldn’t imagine a future. And right now she couldn’t imagine her own future, much less one with Dan, the not-so-handy handyman. Why in the world would he even want a f
uture with her when he had his pick of every woman in Moonglow, and most probably all of Texas, as well?

  She let out a soft, forlorn sigh.

  “Quit thinking, Professor.”

  Dan’s voice surprised her. She thought he was fast asleep.

  “I wasn’t thinking,” she said.

  “Yes, you were.” He chuckled. “I could hear all those mental gears clacking and grinding and trying to work themselves into Reverse.”

  He turned to her, drawing her close, whispering, “There is no Reverse, Molly, darlin’. Not for us anymore.” His hand smoothed up the inside of her thigh. “There’s just Play.”

  Her body reacted instantly to his touch even though her mind was loathe to go along. She was thinking there ought to be a forward gear, and then she wasn’t thinking at all when Dan’s touch became more intimate, more insistent.

  “Sweet, sweet Molly, I can’t stop wanting you,” he breathed in her ear.

  Before she could answer that she felt the same, there was a loud metallic banging on the trailer’s door and Gil Watson’s voice boomed out, “Danny Shackelford, you in there? You best come outside. I need to talk to you. Now.”

  Dan was up and halfway into his jeans almost before Molly could react with a stifled groan of “What now?”

  “Get dressed, Molly,” Dan whispered, “but stay in here. Lock the door behind me, all right?”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off immediately.

  “Don’t argue. Just do it.”

  “All right. All right,” Molly muttered.

  After Dan went outside, she fumbled around in the dark for her clothes while bits of conversation drifted through the window. The sheriff sounded like his arrogant, officious self when he said, “The Brenneman place out on the old State Road was broken into sometime this morning, Danny. There’s cash missing. A lot of it. I need to know just where you were between, oh, let’s say eight and noon.”

  Chapter 7

  Dan knew exactly where he’d been between eight and noon, mostly driving to and from Idella. He had a receipt to prove it, too. There was just one little problem. The receipt from the pharmacy was itemized, and there was no way in hell he was going to let Gil Watson see it.