The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 4

by Nora Roberts

  SHE LAY REPLETE and dazzled, and grateful. And without a clue what to say or do next. But her body felt loose. Hell, she corrected, it was limp even if her heart was still banging like a drum in a marching band. If she could muster the energy, she’d go back on her word and cry.

  Tears of sheer delight.

  She’d touched and been touched; she’d given and she’d taken. She’d had an orgasm—at long, long last—so hard and bright it had been like a fat fist of diamonds.

  And she knew damn well she wasn’t alone on that score.

  “I want to say thanks. Is that stupid?”

  Brody stirred himself enough to stroke a hand down her back. “Most women send me tasteful yet expensive gifts after. But I can settle for thanks, just this once.”

  She snorted out a laugh as she pushed herself up to look down at him. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed. The expression of pure male satisfaction on it made her want to leap out of bed and do a victory dance.

  Oh yeah, she’d given as good as she got.

  “I cooked dinner,” she reminded him.

  “Right. That counts.” He opened his eyes, lazily. “How you doing, Slim?”

  “Truth? I’d stopped believing I would ever feel this way again. Just something else lost, and in the big scheme…Hell, in the big scheme, it’s a damn big loss. So really, thanks for sticking it out, and that came out completely wrong,” she said when he choked with laughter. “I’ll just shut up now.”

  “That’ll be the day.”

  She toyed with his hair, and wanted nothing more than to nuzzle in and sleep. “I guess I should get dressed and go home.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s getting late.”

  “You have a curfew?”

  “No, but…do you want me to stay?”

  “I figure if you stay the night, you’ll feel obliged to cook me breakfast in the morning.”

  A little glow spread just under her heart. “I could probably be persuaded to cook your breakfast.”

  “I’m very persuasive in the morning.” He tugged the spread and sheet down, then rolled her over. “Besides, it’s not that late, and I’m not done with you.”

  “In that case, I guess I’m staying.”

  Later, when he slept, she lay restless and uneasy. She argued with herself, but in the end she surrendered and eased out of the bed.

  She’d just check—once, just once, she told herself, and found his shirt for cover before she tiptoed out of the room. Each creak of the board underfoot had her wincing as she crept down the stairs.

  She checked the front door first. See, locked, she told herself. Hadn’t she locked it herself? Still, what harm did it do to check? The back door was locked, too. Of course it was. But…

  She eased her way to the back of the house, checked the locks. For a moment she studied his kitchen chairs. She wanted to prop one under the doorknob, and had to argue with herself against it.

  It wasn’t as if she was alone in the house. She was with a big, strong man. No one was going to try to break in anyway, but if someone did, Brody could handle it.

  She made herself turn away from the door, from the chairs, and leave the room.

  “Problem?”

  She didn’t shriek, but it was a close call. She did stumble back, slam a hip painfully against the doorjamb. Brody came the rest of the way toward her. “Maybe you are clumsy.”

  “Ha. Maybe. I was just…” She trailed off, shrugged.

  He’d heard her leave the bedroom and figured she had to pee. But the steps had creaked under her feet. Curiosity had him dragging on his jeans and going down to see what she was up to.

  “All locked up?” he said casually.

  “Yes. I just wanted to…I need to check that kind of thing before I can sleep. It’s no big deal.”

  “Who said it was? Is that my shirt?”

  “Well, yeah. I can’t go walking around naked.”

  “Don’t see why not. But since you didn’t ask if you could borrow it, which is pretty damn rude, I think you’d better get your ass back upstairs and give it back to me.”

  “You’re absolutely right.” Everything inside her relaxed again. “I’m so ashamed.”

  “Ought to be.” He took her hand, walked her back up the steps. “How would you like it if I paraded around in your clothes without permission?”

  “I don’t think I would. Although, it might be strangely fascinating.”

  “Yeah, like anything you’ve got would fit me. How do you want the door?”

  She just stared at him, and wondered he didn’t hear her heart go thud at his feet. “Closed and locked, if that’s all right.”

  “Doesn’t matter to me.” He closed it, locked it. “Now give me back my damn shirt.”

  DREAMING WOKE HER, a jumble of images, a quick pain. Her eyes flashed open. She wasn’t in the storeroom; she wasn’t bleeding. But the shadows and silhouettes of this room were unfamiliar, and had her heart skipping until she remembered.

  Brody’s bedroom. Brody’s bed. And Brody’s elbow digging like a pickax into her ribs was oddly comforting.

  She was not only safe, she was damn near spectacular.

  He was a stomach sleeper, she noted as she turned her head to study him. And a sprawler. During the night he’d worked her over to the edge of the bed, leaving her a stingy triangle of mattress. But that was fine. She’d gotten several solid hours of real sleep in that miserly space.

  And before that, she’d gotten good use of every inch of that bed.

  She eased out of what bed she had and was vaguely disappointed that he didn’t reach for her. Just as well, she told herself as she gathered up her clothes. She had things to do, including fixing breakfast with the limited supplies in Brody’s kitchen.

  She crept out of the room and into the bath across the hall. When she pushed the lock button on the doorknob, it popped back out. After several tries she stood there, clothes bundled to her breast, staring at the knob.

  How could it not lock? There was a lock on the bedroom door, but not the bathroom? That was ridiculous, that was just wrong. Ithad to lock. But no matter how she pushed or twisted, it didn’t stick.

  “I don’t have to lock the door. Nobody broke in and murdered me last night, no one’s going to break in this morning. Brody’s sleeping right across the hall. Three minutes in the shower, that’s all. In and out. It’s all fine.”

  His bath was twice the size of hers, with a standard white tub and shower. Dark blue towels that didn’t really go with the mottled green pattern of the countertop. But still, nothing fancy, nothing strange. She stared at the door as she backed up to turn on the taps.

  She liked the smooth, sealed log walls, the floor tiles made to look like slate. He should have gone for gray towels, she thought, or tried to match the green in the countertop.

  She tried to concentrate on that idea, and the simplicity of the room while she backed into the shower.

  She grabbed the soap and raced her way through the multiplication tables. The soap squirted out of her jerking hand when the knock sounded on the door.

  Psychos don’t knock, she told herself. “Brody?”

  “You expecting someone else?” He opened the door, and a moment later, tugged the shower curtain back an inch. He was buck naked. “Why do you care what eight times eight is when you’re taking a shower?”

  “Because singing in the shower is too ordinary for me.” She tried to figure out what to do with her hands without making it obvious she was covering herself. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “I think I saw all there was to see of you last night—or does water make you shy?”

  “No.” She made herself drop one of her arms, then push a hand at her dripping hair. But she kept her free hand lightly fisted at her chest.

  Ignoring the wet and steam, Brody reached in, tugged her hand down. And when she brought it up again, he lifted his brows and tugged it down more firmly.

  He gave the scar she’d tried to hide
a glance. “Close call.”

  “You could say that.” She tried to angle her body away, but he made that impossible by tightening his grip on her hand and stepping into the tub with her.

  “Are you worried about the scar because you think it makes you imperfect?”

  “No. Maybe. It’s just not—”

  “Because you got other flaws, you know. Bony hips for one.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah, and with your hair wet I can get a good look. I don’t think your ears are quite level on your head.”

  “Of course they are.” Instinct and insult had her reaching up to check. He moved right in, wrapping his arms around her.

  “But, other than that, you’re not half bad. I might as well make use of you.”

  He backed her up against the shower wall, and did just that.

  16

  RATHER THAN a merry month, May plagued Angel’s Fist with a series of wicked storms that thundered over the mountains and blew wild over the lake. But the days stretched longer with the light pulling farther and farther over the dark. Reece could all but see the snow melting along the lower ridges, while in her little valley the cottonwoods and willows began to haze with green.

  Daffodils popped in cheerful yellow even when the wind and rain pelted them. She felt nearly the same. She’d been blown around and she’d been drenched. But she, too, was starting to bloom again.

  And on this monumental day, she was going to venture beyond the Fist.

  For most women getting a cut and style was a simple part of life. For Reece, it held all the excitement and terror of a parachute jump. And like a novice jumper, she clutched at the door.

  “I can easily reschedule,” she told Joanie. “If you’re pressed today—”

  “I didn’t say I was pressed.” Joanie poured pancake batter on the griddle.

  “Yes, but with the weather breaking, you’ll probably be swamped at lunch. I don’t mind pitching in.”

  “I handled this kitchen before you came along.”

  “Sure, sure, you did. But if you need an extra hand today—”

  “I’ve got two of my own. And isn’t Beck standing right here?”

  Beck, sturdy as an oak, homely as a pot of overcooked rice, shot a grin over and kept shredding cabbage for coleslaw. “She’ll work me to the bone, Reece, with you not around to stop her.”

  “You don’t have that slaw ready by eleven sharp, she won’t stop me from booting your ass, either.”

  “Aw now, Joanie,” he said, as he always did.

  “You want to be useful?” she said to Reece. “Top off Mac’s coffee on your way out the door.”

  “All right. I’ll have my cell phone if you change your mind. I’m not leaving for an hour.”

  She dragged her feet a little, but she grabbed the pot, moved to the counter where Mac sat waiting for his pancakes.

  “You and Joanie having a round?”

  “Hmm? Oh no, nothing like that.” She poured the coffee. “I just stopped by. Day off.”

  “That so? Big plans?”

  “Yes. Sort of. Linda-gail and I are going into Jackson.”

  “Shopping spree, huh?”

  “Probably some of that.” Linda-gail had certainly threatened it. “I’m getting my hair cut.”

  “Going all the way to Jackson for a haircut?” Fist loyalty had him frowning. “We’ve got the Curry Comb right here in town.”

  The Curry Comb was a two-chair establishment that ran to buzz cuts and poodle perms. But Reece smiled a little as she passed him the sugar bowl. “Sounds silly, doesn’t it? Linda-gail says we’re going to have a splurge. I really don’t need to.”

  “Get out.” Joanie delivered the pancakes with the side of elk sausage herself.

  “I’m leaving.” Reece picked up her purse, and the file folder she’d brought along. “I thought I’d show the sketch Doc made while I’m there. You still haven’t come across anyone who recognizes her?”

  As was her habit, Reece took one of the copies out, showed it to Mac again.

  “Nope. Got it posted right there at the front counter at the store, incase.”

  “I appreciate that. Well, Jackson’s a big place.” Reece slipped the sketch back in the folder. “Maybe I’ll have better luck there.”

  “Don’t come whining back here if they scalp you over there,” Joanie called out. Then barked with laughter when Reece paled. “Serve you right if they did, not spending your pay here in the Fist. You be here at six sharp tomorrow morning, whatever you look like.”

  “Could always wear a hat,” Mac suggested.

  “Thanks. Thanks a lot. I’m leaving.”

  She sailed out, and made sure she was out of sight of the big front window before she raked a hand through her hair. She’d make Linda-gail go first, hang back, get the lay of the land. She didn’thave to get her hair cut. It was a choice, an option.

  A possibility.

  But going into Jackson was a good idea, and gave her the opportunity to pass out copies of the sketch. There hadn’t been a single hit on it in the Fist. Excluding Liquor Store Jeff’s claim that it looked like Penélope Cruz.

  If the woman had been traveling through the area, the odds were better she’d swung into a bigger, flashier place like Jackson Hole than the small, scraped knuckles of Angel’s Fist.

  Now, since she had a little time to spare and didn’t want to spend it obsessing about her hair, she walked down to the sheriff’s office.

  It had been nearly a week since she’d asked Sheriff Mardson if he’d learned anything new. Of course, she’d been spending a lot of that week working, or in Brody’s bed. But thanks to the distractions, Mardson couldn’t accuse her of nagging him.

  When she walked in, Hank O’Brian was at Dispatch. He had a full black beard, a fondness for chicken-fried steak and a Shoshone grandmother who was a local legend for her pottery.

  At the moment, Hank was drinking coffee with one hand and pecking at his keyboard with the other. He glanced over. “How you doing there, Reece?”

  “Good, thanks. How’s your grandmother?”

  “Got herself a boyfriend. Tribal elder lost his wife a year or so back. Guy’s ninety-three and sniffing around, bringing her flowers and candy. I don’t know what to make of it.”

  “That’s sweet.” But since he looked pained, she added, “And she’s got you to look out for her. I wonder if the sheriff’s busy? I just wanted to—”

  Even as she spoke, she heard the trill of laughter. Mardson walked out hand in hand with his wife.

  That was sweet, too, Reece thought. The way people looked together when theywere together. Mardson had an easy smile on his face, and Debbie was still laughing, swinging their joined hands a little as they walked.

  She was a pretty, athletic-looking blonde with short tousled hair and emerald green eyes. She wore snug jeans, chestnut brown cowboy boots and a red shirt under a faded denim jacket. A pendant at the end of a sparkling gold chain hung around her neck. A shining sun, Reece noted. Pretty.

  Debbie ran the outfitters On the Trail, next door to the hotel, helped arrange hiking tours with the hotel, sold fishing and hunting licenses. And was tight with Brenda. Sunday afternoons, she brought her two girls into Joanie’s for ice cream.

  She sent Reece a quick, friendly smile. “Hi! I thought you were heading into Jackson Hole today.”

  “Um, well, yeah. Later.”

  “I ran into Linda-gail yesterday. Big plans. Getting your hair cut? It’s so pretty—but it gets in the way, I bet when you’re at the grill. Still, men like long hair on a woman, don’t they? Poor Rick,” she said with another laugh. “I’m always having mine chopped off.”

  “I like it just fine.” He leaned down to peck her cheek, flicked a finger at the ends of her hair. “You’re my sunlight.”

  “Listen to him.” Smiling, Debbie bumped Rick, arm against arm. “Sweet-talking. And after I came in to try to talk him into taking an hour off and taking a ride with me. Turned me down
flat.”

  “Not all of us can play hooky. This woman gets on a horse, and an hour lasts half the day. Something I can do for you, Reece?” Rick asked her.

  “I thought I’d stop by before I left, just to see if you found out anything new.” She waited a beat, then pulled out one of the sketches. “On her.”

  “Wish I could say I had. No reports in this area of a missing person matching her description. And nobody recognizes her. Not much more I can do.”

  “No. Well, I know you’ve done what you could. Maybe I’ll have some luck in Jackson. I’m going to show the sketch around while I’m there.”

  “I’m not going to tell you not to,” Rick said slowly. “But you need to understand—and nothing against Doc—but that’s a pretty rough sketch. Without more details, you’re liable to run into a lot of people who’ll think maybe they’ve seen somebody like her. You’ll end up chasing a lot of wild geese.”

  “You’re probably right.” Reece put the sketch away and didn’t miss the look on Debbie’s face. If there was one thing Reece recognized, it was quiet pity. “I feel like I have to try at least. I’d better go. Thanks, Sheriff. It was nice seeing you, Debbie. Bye, Hank.”

  She felt the heat rising up the back of her neck as she walked out. Because in addition to the pity aimed her way, she knew there was speculation mixed in with it.

  Just how crazy was Reece Gilmore?

  Screw it. Just screw it, she told herself as she walked back to Joanie’s to get her car. She wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t see what she’d seen, wasn’t going to stuff the sketches in some drawer and forget about it.

  And she wasn’t going to let it drag her down, not today.

  Today she was going to town and getting her hair done.

  God help her.

  THE SAGE FLATS were waiting to bloom. Reece thought she could almost hear them take that deep, long inhale that would burst into color on the exhale.

  A trio of pelicans soared in military formation over the marsh, but it was her first sight of a coyote on its slinking lope over the flats that had her telling Linda-gail to stop the car.

  Though Linda-gail called it an oversized rat, she indulged Reece.