Sleeping Beauty

by Dallas Schulze

  Dallas Schulze

  better than never feeling anything at all. Do you really want her to settle for good old Frank? Is that what you really want for her?*'

  Jack shifted restlessly, the car keys jangling as he pulled them out of the ignition and then shoved them back in again. **Maybe I am a litde overpro-tective of Anne," he said finally. *'But after...what happened to Brooke, I felt like I had to make up for not being there.*'

  *'That wasn't your fault." This time it was Lisa who reached out, her fingers brushing against his cheek, settling on his arm. **What happened to Brooke wasn't your fault."

  **Wasn't it?" The muscles under her hand bimched and shifted. The silence stretched between them. Somewhere a dog barked twice. *1 was late," Jack said, his voice thinned by the effort of saying the words, **That day when Brooke...when it happened. I was supposed to pick her up after school, but I was late. Afterward, I said I'd lost track of time, but that wasn't the truth. I was playing basketball with some buddies, and I knew I was going to be late, but I didn't want to quit until we finished the game. I figured she could walk home if she had to. And she did. And someone took her and killed her and cut her to pieces."

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  His arm was like iron beneath her touch. The silence was so thick that Lisa could hear the sound of her own pulse beating in her ears. She could feel the pain in him, a pain so huge that it was eating away at him, destroying him from the inside out.

  *'Brooke—^we all —^walked home as often as not," she said finally. **You couldn't have known that there was any reason why this time should be any different.'*

  *'But it was different, and she died because I didn't want to interrupt a damned basketball game."

  She wanted to put her arms around him and hold him, offer him comfort, but instinct told her that wasn't what he needed. She made her voice cool, faindy impersonal.

  *'She's been dead for fifteen years. Jack. How many more years are you going to spend feeling sorry for yourself?"

  He jerked as if she'd slapped him, and, even in the dim light, she could read the shock in his face.

  **I don't feel sorry for myself!" -

  "Yes, you do. You gave up medical school to become a sheriff. You're drinking too much. Oh, maybe you're not a fiill-blown alcoholic yet, but you're heading in that direction. I know the signs.

  Dallas Schulze

  You can't bring yourself to commit to marrying me or having a family." Her voice cracked, but she steadied it and went on, rushing the words, as if afraid she might not get them all out. **Your sister died, and you've spent the last fifteen years turning yourself into some kind of martyr on her behalf." Lisa's voice began to climb, and she let it, not sure she could have stopped it if she'd tried. '*You don't even remember Brooke anymore. Your whole family has tumed her into some sort of plaster saint so you can spend your lives mourning her perfection. Well, I'm sick of it. I'm sick of this town, and I'm sick of you. I'm leaving as soon as I can pack, and I hope Neill Devlin has the sense to get Anne away from the lot of you before you manage to sacrifice her life, too."

  She practically screamed the last words at him, her hand fumbling for the door handle.

  '*Lisa." Jack reached for her, but she jericed away.

  **Leave me alone. Just leave me alone." Shaking with sobs, she nearly fell out of the car in her haste to put some distance between them. Blinded by tears, she stumbled up the walkway and onto the tiny porch. The keys were in the bottom of her

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  purse, of course. Where else would the damned things be when she needed them?

  "Lisa." Jack was suddenly behind her, his hand on her shoulder, ignoring her attempts to pull away. **Don't. Don't cry because of me. Fm not worth it."

  **You're damned right you're not," she sobbed. *'And I'm not crying over you. I'm crying because I can't find my damned keys."

  *1'11 break a window," he murmured, pulling her into his chest and holding her despite her weak struggles. "I never meant to hurt you. I just...I guess I didn't think I deserved you."

  *'You're right, you don't deserve me." But she let her cheek rest on his chest.

  '*I...maybe you're right. Maybe I have gotten in the habit of feeling sorry for myself. I don't know. It's...I've felt guilty for so long. Maybe...maybe it helped to be able to blame someone, even if it was myself. When Brooke was killed, one of the hardest things to deal with was thc.randonmess of it. It wasn't that someone wanted her dead, it was just that she was handy. And the fact that she was handy because I was late—^it ate at me."

  Lisa closed her eyes and spoke without lifting her head from his chest. "You were twenty years

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  old, Jack. How many twenty-year-old boys do you know who would sacrifice a basketball game to pick up their sister when she was perfectly capable of walking home? Okay, so it was rade of you to let her wait. It was even selfish, but you didn't kill her. She wasn't dragged kicking and screaming into the killer's car. If she had been, someone would have seen or heard something. Whoever he was, he offered her a ride, and she took him up on it. Does that make it Brooke's fault?"

  She lifted her head and looked up at him. His face looked gaunt and haunted in the yellowish porch Ught. *'Do you really remember her at all. Jack? Do you remember the way she liked to play tricks on people, get everyone riled up? If someone—^a pleasant-looking stranger—stopped and offered her a ride home, or even to the next town, and she was annoyed with you for not showing up, she'd have taken him up on it"

  *'She knew better than to—"

  **Take candy from strangers?" Lisa's mouth twisted in a half smile. **Sure she did, but there was nothing Brooke liked more than stirring things up a bit. She would have loved to call home from thirty miles away and tell your mother that she'd hitchhiked there. The fact that your mother would

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  tear a strip off you for being late would have been a bonus, but the main benefit would have been to show Olivia that she wasn't the one in control."

  Jack shifted uneasily, and she reached up to cradle his face between her hands. ''IfthaVs what happened, if Brooke got in his car thinking that she was just going to stir up a little trouble, if she did something that stupid, that careless—^that young— does that make her to blame for her own death?"

  '*Of course it doesn't."

  **Then why is it different for you?" When he shook his head but didn't answer, she sighed and let her hands drop to her sides. She took a step back and faced him. *'I love you. Jack, but I'm not going to let myself become a part of this thing your family has going. I'm not going to hang around and watch you move from heavy drinker to fullblown alcoholic. And I'm not going to spend the rest of my life waiting for you to decide that you've been punished long enough and maybe you can grab a Uttle happiness. I want a home, and I want babies, and I want them before I'm too old to enjoy them. I wanted them to be your babies, but, if that's not going to happen, I'll find someone else and I'll be happy. It's your call."

  When he didn't say anything, she scooped up

  Dallas Schulze

  her purse and found her keys just where they were supposed to be, in an outside pocket. Without looking at iiim again, she opened the door and went inside, closing it behind her and leaning back against it, waiting to hear the sound of his footsteps moving off the porch.

  The silence stretched, and still she waited, her heart beating slow and heavy in her chest. Then she heard the creak of the screen door opening, and he knocked on the door. Her breath hitching in her throat, she opened the door and looked at him without speaking.

  '*How many?" he said.

  *'What?" She stared at him blankly. *'How many what?"

  *'Babies." He smiled uncertainly. "We don't have time for more than half a dozen, unless we work some twins in."

  ''Half a dozen?" It took her a moment to recognize the emotion welling up in her for pure happiness. "I...I
was thinking maybe one or two."

  "We can start out there and see how we like it" He reached for her then, holding her so tight that her ribs nearly cracked. "I can't make any promises except that I'll do my best, Lisa."

  "That's all anybody can do." She combed her

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  fingers through his pale hair, her heart achmg with love. *'That's all anyone can ask."

  **I want to get married as soon as we can," he said, catching her hand in his and turning his head to press a kiss in the palm. *'We can stay here, or we can move. I can find work anywhere. I don't care where we live. Just don't leave me."

  **I won't." She tilted her head back and smiled up at him. '1 need a father for all those kids you're planning on us having."

  He grinned, and for the first time there were no shadows in his eyes. *'Maybe we should get started on the first one tonight. I understand it can take some practice to get it right."

  Chapter Thirteen

  JNeill closed the little gate behind him and started up the narrow walkway. The warm twilight air was heavy with the scent of roses, and he could hear the sluggish buzz of bees, gathering a last few bits of nectar before hurrying back to the hive for the night. Lx)oking at the cottage, it struck him that he'd never seen such a feminine-looking house. The neat Uttle walkway, the whimsical colors, the tiny little porch with the roses scrambling across its roof. Just looking at it made him feel large and clumsy.

  It had been less than twenty-four hours since he'd seen Anne, and he was caught between an almost painful anticipation and nervous jitters wor-

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  thy of a teenager approaching his first date. He could have stayed with her last night, he reminded himself. If he'd asked, she wouldn't have refused. But he hadn't asked, on the vague theory that, after the intensity of the weekend, they both needed some breathing room. So he'd spent a miserable night alone in his motel room, and he was just selfish enough to hope that Anne had been every bit as miserable.

  He scowled down at the flowers in his hand. What was he doing bringing daisies to a woman who had a yard stuffed with enough roses to decorate a float? But Bill's Grocery didn't exactly stock an extensive array of floral decorations, and the yellow and white daisies had made him smile. Well, if she hated them, she could always throw them out after he left.

  Or after she kicked him out, whichever came first. He was determined to tell her about his books tonight. The longer he waited, the more it made it seem like it was a big deal. And it wasn't. At least, he hoped it wasn't.

  Drawing a deep breath, he rang the doorbell. Anne opened the door before the sound of the chimes had faded, and, looking at her, Neill felt something warm unfold in his chest. She was wear-

  Dallas Schulze

  ing jeans and a peach-colored shirt, her hair pulled back from her face but left to fall on her shoulders, and all he could think was that she was so damned pretty.

  **Hi." Her greeting was breathless, her eyes shining with pleasure at seeing him again.

  Without speaking, Neill stepped into the tiny en-tryway, wrapped one hand around the back of her neck and lowered his mouth to hers. He took his time about it, feeling her hands lift to his chest in a quick little flutter of surprise, then still against him, her fingers curling into the faded cotton of his denim shirt as her mouth opened to him. When he finally lifted his head and looked down at her, he was pleased by the dazed look in her eyes and the wami flush on her cheeks.

  *'Hi, yourself," he said, his voice husky. *1 brought you flowers.'*

  **0h." Anne stared at the bouquet he was holding out. Her mind seemed to be dipping and swirling, and her knees felt like overcooked noodles. She took the flowers automatically. There was something she was supposed to say. She was nearly sure of it. *'Thank you," she managed at last, dragging the appropriate response from her scrambled brain.

  Grinning, pleased with himself, he reached around her to close the door. *'Water's usually a good idea," he suggested, when she continued to stand there, staring blankly at the flowers. **My mom swears by putting an aspirin in the vase."

  Putting his hand on her shoulder, he tumed her in the direction of the kitchen. ^'Something sure smells good."

  "Chicken." Anne drew a shaky breath and released it slowly. '*I made a chicken casserole. I wasn't sure what you'd like, but chicken's usually pretty safe."

  She set the bouquet in the sink and opened a cupboard to take out a tall glass vase.

  "I eat most things," Neill said, sniffing appreciatively at the cake that sat cooling on the counter. **I didn't know you cooked."

  *1 enjoy it." Anne used kitchen shears to snip the ends off the flower stems before slipping them in the vase. **Of course, cooking for yourself can get to be pretty boring, but so can living on frozen food, so I generally make the effort."

  **Is that chocolate frosting?" he asked, leaning over her shoulder to eye the bowl on the counter.

  **Yes." She was nearly sure it was chocolate

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  frosting, but with him standing so close, it was hard to remember her own name.

  **I love chocolate frosting." There was such naked longing in his voice that her breath gusted out of her on a laugh. Without thinking, she brashed back the plastic wrap and dipped her finger in the bowl. It was only as she tumed to offer it to him that she realized what she'd done. Uncertain, she started to pull back, but Neill caught her hand in his and lifted her finger to his mouth.

  Anne sagged back against the counter as his tongue swirled around her finger, licking it clean before drawing it into his mouth and sucking gently. He kept his eyes on her face, watching the flicker of emotions. By the time he released her hand, the only thing holding her upright was the counter at her back.

  She sighed as he bent to kiss her. He tasted of chocolate, and there was something strangely erotic about the contrast between that sweetly innocent taste and the vibrating hardness of his body against hers.

  **Can dinner wait?*' he asked as his mouth slid down her throat.

  **Yes.'' She would have said the same if it had been a souffle in the oven.

  **Good," Neill said savagely. **Because I can't."

  By the time they got around to dinner, the chicken was dry and the noodles were overcooked. Anne didn't care, and, since he ate two helpings, she didn't think Neill did, either.

  *'If you're going to keep working me like this, I've got to keep up my strength," he said as she scooped the second serving onto his plate, and he laughed when she flushed pink.

  Considering the fact that she was wearing only his shirt, with not a stitch on undemeaih it, it was ridiculous to feel embarrassed. And she didn't, really. It was just the novelty of having someone want her the way he did. She'd never thought of herself as a sensual person, but obviously she'd been wrong.

  After dinner, Neill let her shoo him out of the kitchen while she tidied up and frosted the cake. He almost suggested that he could think of more interesting things to do with the frosting than putting it on a cake but decided she might not be ready for that. She was such a delightful mixture of shyness and sensuality. He'd had other lovers— women he liked, a few he'd simply wanted—^but

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  he*d never met anyone who stirred him the way Anne did.

  Reluctantly, he went into the living room. There was a cozy domesticity to the scene. All he needed was a pipe and slippers and a shirt, he thought, rubbing his hand over his bare chest. And maybe an apron for Anne. He wondered how she would feel about wearing an apron with nothing on un-demeath it—^maybe something black with ruffles. Aware that he was becoming aroused, Neill tumed his attention determinedly in another direction.

  There was a set of bookshelves flanking one of the windows, and he wandered over to them, curious to see what her taste in reading was like. There were a few novels—some romances, a handful of mysteries—^half a dozen books on growing roses, and the rest were travel guides. E
urope, the Pacific Northwest, South America, Australia. Skimming the titles, Neill felt something like anger rise in his chest. She had a bookshelf full of travel guides, but this past weekend had been her first visit to Chicago, which was driving distance away. How long had she been reading about places she was never going to go, dreaming about things she would never see? Choosing a book at random, he flipped it open and saw that she'd used a red pen

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  to mark sights that mterested her—^the Lx)uvre, the Champs Elysees, a bakery that claimed to have the best croissants in Paris.

  Hearing Anne come into the room, Neill tumed with the book still in his hand. *'Planning a trip?" he asked casually.

  She flushed lightly as she set down the coffee cups she'd brought in. '*Not particularly. I like to read about different places."

  ''Why not go yourself?"

  "Oh, well, I don't really...! mean, I've never traveled." She fiddled with the collar of his shirt. There was something about the way he was looking at her that made her nervous. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but he seemed almost angry.

  "Nothing stopping you, is there?" he commented, turning to slide the book back onto the shelf.

  "I suppose not. I'm just not sure how weU I'd do away from here," she admitted.

  "You seemed to do just fine this weekend."

  "Yes, but you were there." She lowered her eyes to the coffee, reaching down to shift the cups so that the handles were in perfect alignment with each other. "I suppose it seems stupid to you but I...after what happened to Brooke, I've always

  Dallas Schulze

  been a little leery of travel, and, of course, it upsets my mother so much. I almost went away to college, after high school, but she was afraid something would happen to me." She shifted the cups a fraction of an inch, keeping her eyes down, so missed seeing the quick flash of anger in Neill's gaze. *'It's understandable. After what happened to Brooke, I mean. You can't blame her for worry-mg.

  **Brooke was killed right here in Loving," Neill said softly. *'If she was going to be afraid for your safety, wouldn't she be afraid for you to stay here?"