Matt

by Lori Wilde

  “Goon.”

  “I owed ’em gambling money.”

  “What has that got to do with my missing Gerts?” Savannah demanded.

  Matt quelled her with one strong stare. Chagrined, Savannah shut up and let him do his job.

  “And you couldn’t pay the debt. Is that correct, Clem?”

  The ranch hand nodded.

  “You knew Gary had taken out an insurance policy on the Santa Gertrudis herd and that if they were to come up missing, it would only help Savannah since she was having financial trouble. So you planted the seed of stealing cattle in Larkins’s brain to extricate yourself from him, didn’t you.”

  “No, sir,” Clem denied hotly. “It was their idea. They said they would let me off the hook if I got them onto the ranch and helped them steal Savannah’s Gerts. Because of those other thefts, Larkins thought the sheriff would figure it was the same hombres that hit the Circle B.” Clem pulled a wry face. “Guess they didn’t figure on you, huh?”

  “I guess not,” Matt concurred.

  Matt’s quick smirk told Savannah that Clem’s observation had stoked his already inflated ego. Yeah, he was a damned good lawman, but did he have to gloat? She rolled her eyes. All part of the arrogant package that was Detective Matt Forrester. A slow' bum heated her skin. Would she ever learn her lesson where this guy was concerned?

  “Anyway,” Clem continued. “I never meant to get Miss Savannah in trouble. Like you said, I thought the insurance money would help her pay the property taxes and cover Ginger’s wedding expenses.”

  “Well, that doesn’t quite cut it, does it, Clem?” Matt cocked his head to one side, stared down the elderly man.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Savannah,” Clem mumbled.

  “You think an apology is enough for what you put her through?”

  “No. But you’ll be arresting me instead.”

  “Not necessarily.” Matt stroked his jaw with a thumb and forefinger. “Not if you’d be willing to cooperate with the sheriff’s department.”

  “What do you want?” Clem asked, jumping at the chance to make amends for his mistake.

  “Help me snare Larkins and Thompson.”

  “With pleasure.” Clem rubbed his palms together. “Just tell me what to do.”

  Matt threw an arm around the older man’s shoulders. “Here’s the plan.”

  “You’re coming to stay at my place,” Matt told Savannah firmly.

  Clem had been dispatched into Sweetwater to find Larkins and Thompson and put Matt’s plan into action. After cooking supper, Savannah had fed Cody, put him to bed and now stood at the sink washing dishes.

  “No, I’m not,” she argued.

  “Don’t be pigheaded, Savannah. I’m not leaving you alone in the house as long as Larkins and Thompson are on the loose, thinking you’re in jail and the ranch unprotected. Mark my words, they’ll be back to steal the rest of your Gerts.”

  “This was your plan. Not mine. I will not be uprooted by your edict.” Savannah arched an eyebrow and waited for Matt’s response.

  “All right, then,” he replied. “If you won’t come to my place, I’ll put you up in a motel.”

  “Do you have any idea what a production it is to transport a one-year-old? You’re talking diaper bags and baby food and playpens and toys. No. Absolutely not. I refuse to leave.” She crossed her arms, raised her chin and stared him straight in the eye, daring him to contradict her.

  “Yeah, and what if Larkins and Thompson come back while you’re here? What if this time they’re not satisfied with simply stealing cattle?”

  “Do you think they’re really that dangerous?”

  “When they’ve been drinking they’re unpredictable.” “I’ve got Gary’s shotgun. I’m not afraid.”

  “Don’t be foolish. You’d be in over your head. These men are criminals.”

  “I don’t care. I’m not leaving.”

  “Then you leave me no choice. I’m staying here until they’re apprehended.”

  The idea of Matt spending the night in her home had Savannah thinking crazy, impossible thoughts. “You don’t really believe they’ll make a move tonight, do you?”

  “They might, and I’m here to see it through to the end.” He sat at her kitchen table cleaning his gun. He wore a white cotton undershirt and jeans, the leather holster strapped around his shoulder, his shirt thrown over the back of a chair.

  “Do you think things might get violent?” she asked, dreading to hear the answer. She let the sudsy water out of the sink, then dried her hands on a dish towel.

  “I’m not taking any chances,” he said grimly. “Not where you and Cody are concerned.”

  Matt appeared the epitome of a tough, rugged lawman- fierce, cagey, vigilant. Five years had weathered him into a seasoned professional. His mouth formed a firm, serious line. His ears were cocked, attentive for any strange sounds. The firm, taut muscles of his hard biceps glistened in the dim glow from the single light bulb over the sink. It was the only light he’d allowed her to keep on.

  His fingers moved with nimble, expert ease. The sight of his side arm sent a chill up her spine. Savannah was no stranger to handguns. She’d grown up in Texas, where firearms were considered a necessary evil. Matt had taken her to the firing range when they were dating, insisting she know how to shoot.

  She recalled how it felt to pull the trigger. The kick. The smoke. The acrid smell. And unexpectedly, the sense of power. Exhilarating almost. Observing him now with the cold steel in his hands, that pucker of a scar on his right upper arm, brought back ugly memories.

  Memories of Matt getting shot.

  She closed her eyes and tried to fight off the barrage of images that floated through her mind, to no avail. The fight in the bar. A flash of metal in the dim light. Jackie Spencer’s screams. A beer bottle shattering on the concrete floor.

  And then the gun blast. A deafening noise in the confines of the bar. A sound she would never forget. Nor could she forget the startled look of surprise on Matt’s face as he staggered, dropped to his knees, blood blossoming down the sleeve of his shirt.

  “Savy?”

  Matt’s voice broke through her remembered grief. She opened her eyes, felt a tear slip down her cheek.

  “Honey? You want to talk about it?”

  She shook her head.

  “You were thinking about the time I got shot, weren’t you?”

  Even after aii these years, the man still knew her so well, could see through her like a pane of glass. She swallowed a lump in her throat, put the back of her hand against her nose to stay the tears. “Yes.”

  Matt laid the gun down on the red-and-white checkered vinyl tablecloth, pushed his chair back and opened his arms to her.

  “Come here,” he whispered.

  And she went to him. Like a lost child seeking protection.

  She knelt on the floor before him and he pressed her head to his chest. She hadn’t meant to cry, but an avalanche of tears refused to be dammed up any longer. She sobbed in huge, shuddering gulps.

  “Shh,” Matt soothed. “It’s okay, baby. I won’t let them hurt you.”

  Her fingers curled against his chest, fisting handfuls of undershirt and curly black hair. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t her safety she feared for, but his own.

  He rocked her back and forth as gently as she might rock Cody. He pressed his lips to her ear and murmured words of reassurance. She breathed in his masculine smell—leather, oil, gunpowder. It stirred something primordial within her. Matt hugged her closer, rested his cheek on the top of her head, and she absorbed his essence, took comfort from his strength.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” he breathed, threading his fingers through her hair. “You can’t imagine how many nights I’ve lain awake thinking about you, about this, about what used to be.”

  Savannah knew she should draw away, put a stop to the fantasy he was spinning, but she couldn’t. Her arms refused to relinquish her grip on him, her legs wouldn’t obey her co
mmands. For now, she needed the sheltering security of his arms.

  He hooked a callused index finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. “I want you,” he said simply.

  Her heart accelerated like a herd of stampeding cattle, beating thunderously against her chest wall.

  Gently, he drew her to her feet, then eased her into his lap. His thigh muscles knotted rock hard beneath her bottom. She nestled her head against his shoulder, laced her arm around his neck.

  He angled his head and kissed her forehead—sweetly, tenderly. His arms encircled her, squeezed her. He kissed her eyelids, the tip of her nose, the delicate groove between her nose and mouth.

  He stopped at her lips and waited.

  She looked at him.

  “More?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  His lips touched hers. Soft. Smooth. Malleable.

  Moving his head, he traced her lips with his fingers, his touch feather fine. He quirked an eyebrow at her, smiled knowingly.

  “You sure you want more?”

  “Please.”

  “Remember, darling, you asked for this.”

  And she would have to deal with the consequences later— but for now, she simply floated, allowing herself to be enveloped in the power of his stalwart aura, her heart beating in perfect harmony with his own.

  His mouth returned to hers, this time not so benignly. Innocence became knowledge as he captured her bottom lip between his teeth and growled, low and raspy.

  A wave of love crested through her so effulgent, so vivid, she could scarcely breathe. Pure physical need for him grew, swelled resplendently inside her. Greedily, she drank from his lips, savoring the taste that was uniquely Matt Forrester.

  The kiss elongated, stretched into eternal joining. Man with woman. Soft against hard. Pressure building, climbing, escalating. Savannah pressed her body into his and let herself go free.

  Her open invitation excited him. Moaning deep and throaty, he upped the tempo by urging his tongue forward into the moist cave of her mouth.

  She accepted him. Accepted her own hunger. Accepted the moment for what it was. Pleasure. Luxury. Indulgence. She asked for nothing beyond this instant, knowing that more was not possible.

  Briefly, he pulled his mouth from hers, leaving her feeling as bereft as separated twins.

  “Oh, Savy, Savy, Savy.” He whispered her name like a litany, a prayer he revered every night. “You torture me so.”

  It wasn’t her intention to torment him, but she understood the double-edged blade slicing through him, because it lashed her, too. She wanted him so badly, yet if she allowed herself to give in to him completely, she knew that future anguish would dwarf her current pain.

  Only two things in her life had hurt more than breaking up with Matt. Her father’s desertion and her mother’s death. Even her mother’s demise had coincided with her separation from Matt, in fact had been one of the precipitating factors.

  If her mother had lived, she might not have panicked and married Gary Markum as a way to care for herself and Ginger. If she’d had time to think rationally, had not been immersed in grief, she might have made a different decision. But she’d been young and frightened and alone in the world except for a fifteen-year-old sister who’d depended on her.

  Matt had represented everything she feared—a risk taker, a dedicated lawman, a disaster waiting to happen. While Gary, on the other hand, had offered security, solidity, stability.

  Savannah gulped. That whole time period rode in her memory as a thick, grainy blob of pain.

  Matt stroked her hair. His breath warmed her cheek. Right here, right now, she felt protected. But she knew only too well that feeling of safety was false. One single crack from a gun, one bullet and that security would shatter forever.

  “I came on too strong, didn’t I?” he whispered.

  “We can’t pick up where we left off,” she answered. “We’re not the same lust-crazed kids we once were.”

  “No,” he agreed. “We’re not.”

  The bond between them flowed much deeper now. It extended beyond the external pleasures of the flesh, encompassed more than fleeting moments of fun, and that frightened Savannah.

  Instead of dissipating with time and distance, their feelings for each other had developed, grown into something more mature. Savannah couldn’t speak for Matt, but his touch evoked in her more sensations than she’d ever experienced.

  But despite these newfound emotions, she would not relinquish her heart to him again. She had an infant son to think about. Cody had already lost one father. Renewing her relationship with a man who lived life on the edge would signify disaster for them both.

  If she could make love with Matt Forrester and then just walk away, she would do it in a twinkling. But she was not capable of that. If they had ever actually consummated their love, she could never have left him and married Gary. Her feelings for Matt ran too deep. If she ever made love to him, Savannah knew the man would possess her, mind, body and soul. It was a risk she could not take.

  To salvage herself, she took a deep breath and wriggled off his lap.

  “It’s past my bedtime,” she said, her voice wobbling.

  He nodded as if he understood all the thoughts sprinting through her brain.

  “Yeah,” he said, his own voice none too steady. “We need our rest.”

  She stared down at her hands, unable to meet his gaze. “I’ll get blankets and pillows for the couch.”

  He picked up his gun and started reassembling it. She noticed his fingers trembled ever so slightly. “Don’t worry, Savy, I’ll protect you.”

  “I know you will, Matt. It’s what you do best.”

  She moved to go past him, but he reached out and snagged her arm. She looked down at him, her thoughts chasing each other like kids playing tag under the street- lamps.

  “One last kiss, Savy? For old times’ sake?”

  With an ache welling inside her, she wrenched her arm away. “I can’t, Matt. Please don’t ask me. I just can’t kiss you again.”

  The grandfather clock emitted one resounding bong. He’d lain on the couch for hours, his feet hanging off the end, his mind spinning in a random pattern, his blood surging through his body, thick and hot.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about Savannah.

  Her cool vanilla scent rose up from the linens, wrapping him in a cocoon of sweet agony. Her soft, pliant lips haunted his memory. His arms ached to hold her.

  She slept just yards away. Down the hall. Only a thin wooden door separated them.

  He fought visions of himself kicking down that door, hollering her name. Insisting that they were meant to be together. He saw himself gathering her to his chest and making love to her throughout the night. Convincing her once and for all that they could end their miserable loneliness lost in each other’s arms.

  But in his rational mind, he knew that couldn’t happen. None of the problems separating them had been resolved. Savy still feared and resented his job. And he refused to give up the career he loved just to please her. A man had his pride. If he kowtowed to her on something as important as this, she’d lose all respect for him, even if she didn’t realize it. Of course, if he even suggested such a thing, she’d accuse him of conceit.

  Matt blew out a slow, deep breath. Think of Larkins and Thompson, a voice in the back of his head insisted. The same workaholic voice that had driven him to succeed these last five years. The voice that had kept him sane when Savannah married Gary.

  Her betrayal still hurt, although now he understood her motivation better. She’d been a scared twenty-one-year-old, her mother dead, a little sister to support, and he’d been no help at all, getting shot in a bar fight, then disappearing on her to attend specialized training school for investigative officers. Matt winced at the memory and his own youthful arrogance.

  Before the shooting at Kelly’s bar, he’d asked Savy to wait for him and she’d agreed, but afterward, she’d dumped him. The whole time he was awa
y at school, he kept thinking she’d come to her senses once she calmed down. But then one day, straight out of the blue, Jackie Spencer had called to tell him Savannah’s mother had died and Savannah was getting married.

  Gary Markum had offered her a home, money in the bank and a baby. She’d jumped at the chance.

  Waves of sorrow washed over him. Savannah had wounded him something awful.

  So after graduation, he’d accepted a job with a large sheriff’s department in Tarrant County. It had given him the opportunity to learn, to concentrate on his career. But deep in his heart, he’d always known he would return to Sweetwater.

  If he admitted the truth to himself, he would confess the news of Gary Markum’s death had given him hope, but after being with Savy again, he realized that hope was futile.

  It was too late to change the past. Too late to start anew. She’d told him so herself and she was right. He loved being a lawman, wanted to do nothing else with his life. And she couldn’t get over that fact. To her, a career in law enforcement spelled instant death. They were at an impasse and he saw no way around it.

  Matt’s eyelids drooped. He’d had precious little sleep over the last few days.

  Exhaustion had almost claimed him when the creak of a floorboard jerked him awake. Disoriented for a second, he lurched to a sitting position, his blanket sliding to the floor.

  Another creak.

  Matt reached for the handgun under his pillow and squinted into the darkness, every muscle tense, alert. Four years working for a large metropolitan police force had sharpened his natural instinct to a heightened perfection.

  His gut twisted.

  Savannah drifted down the hallway, a pale, shimmering ghost in her white cotton nightgown.

  “Savy?” he croaked, placing the gun on the coffee table.

  Had she come to him after all? Had she decided she wanted him as much as he wanted her? The possibility sent a rapturous shudder coursing down his spine.

  She didn’t answer him, didn’t move.

  “Honey?”

  She floated across the floor. Her eyes staring straight ahead, unseeing.

  “Mama?” she whispered.

  That single word cleaved a hole through Matt’s heart. He realized with a start that Savannah was sleepwalking. Obviously, she’d never gotten over the trauma of her mother’s death, never resolved her buried feelings. He’d always admired her strength, her sense of responsibility. He’d never guessed her indomitable spirit disguised a frightened, needy girl.