"Brought you a present," Alexis sang out.
Milly looked up from the checkout, spied Alexis and waved. "Present?" she said brightly. Then her gaze went past Alexis and fastened on him.
Her jaw dropped. She went white, then red.
Cash felt a foolish grin spread all over his face. Damn, she was pretty. Even prettier than he remembered. And flustered, too. No doubt now about whether or not she remembered him.
"Cash?" She sounded half hopeful, half astonished.
"Hey, darlin'." He took a step forward. "You know what they say about bad pennies, they just keep turnin' up."
"Cash!" she said again. And this time, damned if she wasn't grinning all over her face!
She stepped out from behind the counter, oblivious to the woman whose groceries she was checking out, and started toward him.
"Well, give 'im a kiss at least," Alexis prompted.
If it was possible for Milly to blush an even deeper red, she did. She rubbed her palms against the sides of her jeans and shook her head rapidly.
Cash gave his best woeful look. "No kiss?"
And then, after a moment more of hesitation, Milly took the last step, put her arms around him and lifted her face to meet his.
Cash had kissed his share of women in twenty-four years. He'd never had a kiss quite like this. He'd had deeper kisses, hungrier kisses, sexier kisses—but he'd never been kissed with such warmth, such feeling.
It was a kiss of welcome. Of joy. Of longing.
It was more kiss than he'd counted on. He found himself gripping her arms to steady himself. The kiss went on. And on.
And when at last Milly pulled back, Cash didn't let go. He just bent his head, resting it against hers, nuzzling his face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her, letting it flood his nostrils, remembering … dreaming … wanting…
"Cash?"
"Hmm?" He drew back and looked down at her.
Milly smiled at him. "Mrs. Corbett's waiting for me to finish ringing up her groceries."
He glanced around wildly and realized that not only was Alexis smiling at them, but a middle-aged lady was tapping her foot and glancing at her watch while she waited.
Cash flushed. "Sorry."
"I'm not," Milly said with disarming honesty. Then she gave his hand a squeeze. "You're not … leaving right away?"
"Not unless you throw me out."
"No," she said quickly. "Oh, no!"
Gash grinned. "I'll just window shop in the breakfast cereal till you're finished, then."
She was busy with customers until they closed at six. Cash prowled the breakfast cereals. He read the nutritional content of countless cans. He studied the blemishes on bananas. And all the while out of the corner of his eye, he watched Milly.
He'd told himself she wouldn't be as lovely as he remembered. He was wrong. He'd promised himself he wouldn't want her as much as he thought he would. Not true. He assured himself that one night with her would be all he'd need to put her behind him. He was even beginning to have doubts about that.
But he was willing to put it to the test. Damn, he wished she'd close up the store so they could get home.
Milly's eagerness seemed to match his. She turned red every time she looked at him and caught him looking at her. She miscounted the money twice and dropped the deposit bag as she was putting the coins into it. Then she dropped the keys when she was locking up. But finally, flushed and flustered, she was done.
"I just need to drop this in the night depository at the bank."
"Lead on." Cash slung his stuff in the back of her car. She watched wordlessly, but smiled as he slid into the front seat beside her. "I can't believe you're here," she said.
"Believe it." He reached out and took her hand in his. It was a casual move, hardly sexy, yet just touching her made his body hum.
He couldn't believe how much he wanted her. He folded her hand in his while she drove them to the bank. He accompanied her into the small drop-off porch, and while she put the pouch in, he kissed her ear.
"Cash," she protested, shivering. But she didn't step away. He smiled and pressed closer, nibbling her neck. Her fingers tightened on his. "Cash!"
"What?" he asked, all innocence, and watched her melt under his gaze. "You finished? Good, then let's go home."
"Home?" She looked doubtful.
Cash looked at her from beneath hooded lids. He didn't say, To bed. He was sure he didn't have to.
They might not have consummated their last encounter, but Milly was no fool. She had felt his body pressed against hers moments ago. She knew what he wanted. He was pretty damn sure she wanted it, too.
"Home," he repeated. If she took him home, he'd know for sure.
She took him home.
It was a small house not far from the river. Older. Low-slung. Homey. Better than an apartment. "Glad you moved." He grabbed his bags and followed her.
"I told you that was just for the summer." Milly opened the back door.
Cash came after, prepared, as soon as she shut the door, to pull her into his arms and finish what they'd started weeks ago. He stopped dead at the sight of two people sitting at the kitchen table looking at them.
"Cash," said Milly, when he stared at her, dumbfounded. "I'd like you to meet my parents."
* * *
Five
« ^ »
How the hell could he bed a girl who brought him home to meet her folks?
Of course the question was rhetorical anyway. Even if he'd been able to—ignoring the scruples Cash was amazed to find he had—there was no chance.
Home—her parents' home—was now where Milly lived.
The apartment with Alexis was a thing of the past. Any apartment was a thing of the past. She was back with her folks, sleeping in her old bedroom.
Cash never even got close to it.
How could he, with her parents hovering over them for the rest of the evening? All he caught was a glimpse down the hallway toward the bedrooms where she slept. Alone.
That was the one positive thing he managed to find in the circumstances. If he wasn't going to get to sleep with Milly Malone, he was marginally comforted by the fact that no other guy was, either!
Her father, Hatchet Face, looked like he'd do in any fellow who gave bedding Milly a thought.
Cash tried not to give it a thought.
He tried to downsize his expectations—to limit them to casual conversation and meat loaf for dinner—all the while hoping he had enough money to pay for a room for the night. He supposed he could call Shane and see if his older brother would mind a body on his floor.
He didn't want to face Shane's pitying looks, though. Maybe he could call Pete's folks. They might let him—
"—spend the night?"
Cash's head jerked up. He looked at Milly across the dinner table from him. "What?" He strangled on a piece of meat loaf.
"I wondered if you'd like to spend the night?" Milly gave him a hopeful smile. "We have plenty of room. Don't we?" She looked at her parents.
"The sofa's quite comfortable," Milly's mother, Carole, said.
Sofa. Right. Was he surprised? Of course not. Had he expected them to offer him their daughter on a plate?
Cash rubbed the back of his neck. "That's mighty kind of you, but—"
"Maybe Cash has other friends in town," Carole said.
Hatchet Face nodded.
"Not exactly. But … I don't want to cause any bother."
"No bother," Milly said quickly.
"Of course not," her mother agreed. "We'd be delighted to have you."
Cash's gaze met Milly's father's. There was no delight evident on the old man's face. What there was was warning: Keep your mitts off my daughter.
Oh, yes. Cash swallowed. "Thank you. I appreciate that," he said to Milly and her mother.
Hatchet Face grunted and stabbed another piece of meat loaf.
She couldn't believe he'd come. Cash Callahan. Here. On her sofa!
It wasn't
where she wanted him, of course. She wanted him right next to her in her bed—where she'd had him last time—where, if the truth were known, she'd had him in her heart every night since.
Of course no one else knew that but Milly, though she thought Alexis probably had guessed. Alexis had witnessed her distraction since Cash had left. She'd been forced to repeat things three and four times, had waved her fingers in front of Milly's face and said, "Hello-o-o? Anybody home?"
Finally she'd said, "Milly, give it up! Nobody is as lovesick as that after one night no matter how great it was!"
Milly never told her that nothing had happened. Alexis thought she was a mental case, anyway. If she'd found that out, Alexis would have her committed!
Anyway something had happened—she'd fallen in love.
Love? She could hear Alexis's mocking voice. Well, all right, maybe not love. She didn't know Cash well enough to love him. Yet.
But she was going to—she hugged herself with joy—because he'd come back!
He was asleep on the sofa at this very moment.
Now she eased open the door and peered in the darkness down the hallway toward the living room. A pair of socks protruded from the blanket that lay on the end of the sofa.
The sofa was too short for him.
"I can sleep there," she'd said an hour ago as they'd stood there comparing Cash's length to the sofa's and coming up long. "He can have my bed."
"He'll be fine," her father had said.
"But—"
"But nothing. I'm sure he's slept in more uncomfortable places. Haven't you?" Hatchet Face fixed Cash with a knowing look.
Cash nodded. "A few."
"And this is better than a park bench, right?" Milly's father hadn't even blinked.
"Right," Cash said.
"So," Milly's father said to her, "he'll be fine. Go to bed."
"I will. I … just want to say good night to Cash."
"Then say, 'Good night, Cash.'" He wasn't going to move until she did. She could tell.
Milly rolled her eyes. "Good night, Cash."
Cash grinned ruefully. "G'night, Milly."
"Sleep well," her father said to Cash. It sounded like an order to Milly.
Cash had seemed to think so, too. "Yes, sir."
So there he was—out in the living room on the sofa. And she was in the bedroom. Alone in her bed. And there was nothing she could do about it.
Except go out there now and see if he was all right.
Maybe he was getting a crick in his neck. Maybe he needed another blanket. And she didn't remember if she'd asked if he needed a toothbrush. Maybe he would want one, even if it was 2:42 in the morning.
And if he was perfectly fine?
Well, at least she could stand there for a few moments and watch him sleep.
She crept down the hall. In the moonlight she could make out Cash's still form beneath the blanket, but she couldn't see his features. She remembered when he had slept with her how his face had changed in sleep. The hard lines had softened. His dark lashes had made half moons against his cheekbones. His lips had parted slightly. She'd caught a glimpse of the boy he must have been. She wanted to see that same look again now.
She stepped closer, slipping across the rug on her bare feet soundlessly until she stood looking right down on him.
"You reckon it's me or you he's gonna shoot if he finds you out here?"
Milly jumped a foot. "Eee—!"
"Shh!" Cash swung himself to a sitting position and put a hand over her mouth. "For God's sake! You're gonna wake the dead, not just your old man!" He grabbed her hand, hauling her down onto the sofa next to him.
Milly's heart was pounding faster than a runaway stallion, and being pressed hard against Cash's body sure didn't slow it down. But she wasn't about to make any more noise. She moved her lips against his fingers to tell him so.
He yanked his hand away as if he'd been burned. "Cripes, Milly." A shudder ran through him. He made a fist, then wrapped his arm around her and hauled her close, kissing her hard. "You tryin' to drive me crazy?" he muttered against her lips.
"N-no," she murmured. But she felt dangerously close to insanity herself. He felt so good. Marvelous. Better even than she remembered. She melted against him, wrapped her arms around him.
"Feels like it," he whispered. His kiss deepened, his tongue touching hers, sending a shiver of longing straight through her. She'd never been kissed like that before! It was wonderful. He was wonderful.
Her father was going to kill him.
Ever since Dori had been seduced and abandoned, John Malone was convinced that if he'd been vigilant, it never would have happened.
His lapse with Dori—though it could hardly be called a lapse, Milly thought; her sister had, after all, climbed out the bedroom window in the dead of night—was, John Malone was determined, never going to happen again.
Certainly not on the sofa in his very own living room!
Milly pushed herself away from Cash. "We can't!"
"But—"
"My father will kill us!"
"Be a great way to go." Cash's grin flashed in the darkness, and for a just a minute, Milly agreed. Then sanity reasserted itself—and with it, the desire for more than just one brief moment in Cash's arms.
They could have it all, she resolved, if they did things right.
"We can't," she said again, half sadly, half hopefully.
"Then why did you—" He broke off. She could almost feel the need vibrating from him. Even in the moonlight she could see the desire written in the taut expression on his face.
"I just … wanted to be with you. To remember … last time."
"You wanted to remember that?" He looked horrified. She hugged her arms across her breasts. "It was all we had."
Cash snorted. "My fault."
"It was wonderful."
He just looked at her, then shook his head. "Right," he muttered. He fell back against the sofa and flung an arm across his eyes.
Tentatively she put a hand on his knee. He jerked and yanked his arm away to look at her again.
"I shouldn't've come. I just—" she broke off, unable to say why she had. "I'm sorry."
"'S all right. Not your fault." He pinched the bridge of his nose and shoved himself up straighter. "It's all right," he said again, and he managed a smile. "Things are just … conspirin' against us."
Milly mustered a smile, too. "We can't … you know," she said softly, ducking her head, unable to look at him.
"I know," he said.
They sat a moment in silence. Then she reached out and squeezed his hand. "I'm glad you came."
Cash's head was bent. He seemed to be staring down at their linked hands. Then his Adam's apple bobbed, and he let out a sort of shaky sound. "I guess I am, too," he said.
They sat there together for what seemed to Milly like hours, but could only have been a minute or two. She felt the warmth of Cash's hand curved around hers. She felt the heat of his thigh pressed against her leg. She felt her resolve begin to fade again, felt her heart begin to quicken and—
"I better go." She scrambled to her feet, then stopped, looking down at him. Their hands were still clasped. Impulsively she bent and brushed a quick kiss across his lips. "See you in the morning," she whispered, then turned and fled.
Behind her she heard Cash murmur, "Not if I see you first."
She was going to be the death of him.
Thanks to Milly Malone, he was going to die of terminal sexual frustration—or a gunshot wound thoughtfully provided by Hatchet Face.
The old man had clumped out to the kitchen twice during the night to get a glass of water and, incidentally, to make sure that Cash wasn't seducing his darling daughter on his living room sofa.
As if he would have, Cash's expression said indignantly, whenever Hatchet Face passed through.
Uh-huh.
It was providence, Cash reckoned, that Milly hadn't been there when her father stomped through. If she had been, Cash would've be
en full of buckshot by now.
Instead he had a hell of a headache, gritty eyes, a crick in his neck and acute discomfort in a particularly sensitive area of his body. He wasn't sure the buckshot wouldn't have been preferable.
Until he saw Milly smiling across the breakfast table.
Suddenly he felt better. Stronger. Braver. Purer.
Pure? Cash Callahan?
He tested the notion. It was foreign, but not totally unwelcome. As a matter of fact, it didn't feel half-bad. He found himself smiling in return—even when Milly's father's eyes narrowed and gave him an assessing look.
Cash did his best to resemble innocence personified. He wasn't sure he was convincing.
John Malone turned his gaze on his daughter. "The whole day?" he asked, apparently questioning something she had been saying when Cash came into the kitchen.
"I don't have any classes," Milly said, buttering her toast. "And I worked nine hours on Saturday. Please, Dad?" The look she gave him was beseeching.
Ol' Hatchet Face hemmed and hawed, then finally grumbled, "I guess so. But don't make a habit of it."
"Oh, no, I won't!" Milly assured him. She beamed at Cash. "I've got the whole day off."
They went horseback riding.
Cash couldn't believe it. Talk about a busman's holiday! Pete and Rod would be howling if they knew he'd come all this way to sleep on a sofa and ride a stubborn sway-backed old sorrel.
But Milly had never been horseback riding before.
He gaped when she told him, but he knew better than to say, "Never?" because, after all, this was the same girl who'd never been to a rodeo.
"Do you mind?" she asked him, looking up at him with those eyes that made him turn to mush.
Mind? He didn't think he even had one anymore. "Not at all," Cash said.
Milly thought she was dreaming.
If she was, she didn't want to wake up. Her father said she spent half her life thinking about things that never were and never would be. Maybe he was right. But this—this!—was better than any dream she'd ever had.
Cash was here. Smiling. Teasing. Tugging on her long dark braid. He made her laugh. He made her breathless. And once—just once—he rode up alongside her and stole a kiss.
THE COWBOY CRASHES A WEDDING Page 7
