He winced at the bitterness in his voice and wished he could snatch back the words he'd just spoken. He'd revealed too much of himself, too much that he didn't want Becca, or anyone else, to know. But it was too late. Becca was too damn perceptive. She always had been. And now she'd take his hasty words and run with them.
But she didn't. She looked at him, her eyes troubled. "I'm sorry, Grady," she said, and he didn't understand the regret in her voice. "Sorry that you feel that way, sorry your life didn't end up the way you wanted it to. Sorry you can't appreciate Cameron. Why don't you sell the Flying W and go back to the rodeo circuit?"
"I can't do that," he said, his voice flat. "What is it that you wanted to talk about, anyway?"
Slowly she shook her head. "This isn't the time or place to talk. And maybe it doesn't matter now. I think you just answered some of my questions."
She bent down to brush some hay off her jeans, and he saw that her hand was shaking. When she stood up again, her eyes shimmered like she was about to cry.
"For God's sake, Becca, what's the matter?"
"Nothing." She shook her head. "But I have to be going."
"You're just going to take off, after what happened here?"
"Are you suggesting that we do a replay? Maybe we could invite Tucker and some of the hands this time." Her voice was tart.
"Come into the house. You wanted to talk. We could have a glass of tea."
"No, thanks, Grady. I have to go. I have other clients I need to visit, and other responsibilities at the clinic."
"Maybe we could go out sometime. To dinner, or something." He was willing to get to know her better, as she'd said. Only to find out what it was she wanted from him. Because there was something; he knew that for damn sure.
"Maybe we could." She didn't look at him as she bent to pick up her bag.
"Name the time."
"I'll have to check with my baby-sitters and see when they could watch Cassie for me. I'll let you know."
He knew when someone was giving him the brush-off. "What's going on, Becca? A few minutes ago you were hot to get to know me again. Now you're acting like I have bad breath, dandruff and pimples."
A brief smile flitted across her face. "Maybe it would be easier if you did, Grady. I do still want to get to know you. But it's not that easy for a single mother to go out on a date. I don't have the freedom to pick up and go whenever I want."
The mention of her daughter was a small stab in his heart that he tried to ignore. "Fine. You're not giving me a brushoff. Then tell me when you can go."
She looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights of his truck. "How about next Saturday?" she finally said. "I'll see if Amy can watch Cassie."
"Great." He watched her bend over to pick up the container of used syringes, and his body stirred at the way her jeans and T-shirt outlined her body. Now he knew exactly how she felt and tasted, and it would be a hell of a lot harder to tell himself he didn't want anything to do with her. There were a lot of things he could imagine doing with her, every one of them more tantalizing than the previous.
As he followed her out of the barn, his leg throbbed with pain. He wasn't used to lying all over bales of hay, and his leg was reminding him. The pain reminded him of what Becca could do to him if he let her get close to him again. Forcing himself to forget about his leg, he listed all the reasons why he wanted nothing to do with Becca Johnson. But he was forced to admit that he was lying to himself. He very much wanted to get to know her better, as she had suggested. But only for one reason.
His body burned for her. He wanted her so badly that he could taste the need, feel it in his mouth, filling his senses. He lay awake at night, hard and aching for her. When he finally fell asleep, it was only to dream of Becca.
He wanted her so he could forget about her. Once he'd had her, once he'd satisfied the need that was an aching pain inside him, he could forget about Becca and get on with his life. The way she'd done with him.
That was the only reason he'd agreed to get to know her better. Because he already knew everything he needed to know about her. He'd learned it the first time around.
He watched her truck pull onto the long driveway, and far in the distance he followed its progress back toward town until it was out of sight. He didn't turn away until it had turned the final curve on the road into Cameron, and all that was left was a cloud of dust.
Becca was no longer a part of his life. There was no room for her in his heart, he told himself. She'd destroyed that part of him nine long years ago. And as he walked back to the barn, he hoped that he was telling himself the truth.
* * *
Chapter 8
«^»
Becca leaned back against the seat of the truck, deliberately unclenching her hands from the steering wheel and forcing herself to relax. As she'd driven away, she'd seen Ron Perkins, standing by the edge of the house. The look on his face could only be described as one of hatred, and her heart started pounding again as she thought about how close she and Grady had come to being discovered. She had been incredibly stupid, but being caught with Grady by Ron was unthinkable. It would only give Ron another excuse for the hatred he seemed to feel for her.
Why did he think she was a threat to him? Was he afraid she would tell Grady what he'd done nine years ago? Was he afraid he would lose his job because of it?
She didn't know, but suddenly she wondered if Ron might have been her prowler the other night. There was no one else in Cameron who had any reason to hate her, she thought Sy Ames's face flashed in front of her eyes, and she pushed it uneasily aside. Sy had always frightened her, but she hadn't seen him since the day he'd come into the clinic. Everyone had assumed he'd left Cameron, and she knew she would have heard if anyone else had seen him. She shifted on the truck seat, uneasy about the possibility that Ron was the prowler. She didn't want it to be anyone involved with Grady.
Grady. What on earth had she been thinking about, she asked herself? She tried to ignore her still aroused body. They had almost been caught by Grady's manager, a man who hated her. Shifting in the seat again, she told herself that she had learned her lesson.
She hoped.
She was supposed to be working, she reminded herself fiercely. She had a job to do, and people counted on her. Ranchers were probably waiting for her right now, with sick and injured animals that needed her care. Instead of helping them, she'd been rolling around on a bale of hay with Grady Farrell.
But in spite of her harsh words to herself, when she thought about Grady a shimmering of the desire she'd felt earlier rippled through her. It is only physical, she told herself firmly. That was all it was. And it wasn't very surprising, after all. She hadn't been involved with anyone since she'd said goodbye to Grady. Nine years was a long time.
And it was going to get even longer. She stared grimly out the windshield, trying to concentrate on the drive back to town along the winding road. Until Grady knew the truth, all of it, she had no business getting involved with him in any way. And once he knew the truth, he'd probably run as fast and as far as he could. His words to her today left little doubt of that.
She had no doubt now that he wouldn't be happy when she told him Cassie was his daughter, but that made no difference. He had a right to know. When they went on their "date" next Saturday, she'd suggest that they park somewhere out in the country, somewhere they wouldn't be overheard, and she'd tell him everything.
It was the right thing to do. Selfishly, a part of her wanted to wait. A small voice whispered that maybe she didn't know Grady well enough yet, but she ruthlessly ignored it. She knew enough. And it didn't matter how right she felt in his arms. Her feelings weren't the issue here. She had to tell Grady before she did something terrible, like succumb to her need for him, to make love with him again.
And it wouldn't be casual sex, as she'd told him. At least not on her part. But that didn't matter. She couldn't be intimate with him, share herself that way, when there was something so important she had
n't told him. She would be careful to stay away from him in the meantime, so what had happened in the barn today couldn't happen again.
She refused to think about what would happen after she told Grady about Cassie. She didn't want to think about it. Grady would be angry, and he had a right to be angry. All that was important to her was protecting Cassie. She didn't have to know that her father was living in Cameron. And if she thought Grady would hurt her in any way, Cassie would never know.
The houses on the edge of Cameron came into view, and Becca slowed down. She pulled into the parking lot of the clinic and started to jump out of the truck, then had second thoughts. Pulling the rearview mirror around so she could look into it, she examined her appearance. Did she look like she'd been romping with a client just a few minutes ago?
She straightened her shirt, finger-combed her hair and pulled out a stray wisp of straw. Then, assured that she looked as close to normal as possible, she jumped out of the truck, grabbed the container of used syringes and hurried into the clinic.
"Hi, Doc," Stella greeted her as she walked in the door.
"Hi, yourself," she replied, glancing around the waiting room. Not too many people waiting, she thought, and drew a relieved breath. "What's going on?"
"We've got a couple of calls for you," Stella said, handing her a few files with sticky notes attached. "Nothing critical, though." The receptionist gave her a curious look. "I thought you only had to vaccinate some horses out at the Flying W. What took so long?"
Becca fought to keep the heat from creeping up her neck. "There were a few more horses there than I had planned. Mr. Farrell had some of his own that needed vaccines, so I waited while he found their records, then vaccinated them, too." As an excuse, it sounded pretty lame.
But Stella apparently didn't think so. "Good idea. It'll save you a trip back there." She nodded decisively. "Dr. O'Connor has the clients here in the office covered. Go get some lunch, and then take these calls."
Becca couldn't eat if her life depended on it. She reached for the files, studied the notes for a moment, then went into the surgery area to get the supplies she thought she would need. On her way out of the clinic, she said, "It should take two or three hours to get these calls. I'll see you later in the afternoon."
* * *
Several evenings later Becca sat at her kitchen table, her hand wrapped around a mug of tea, as she looked over the accounts from the clinic. There were no animals in the clinic tonight, and she thought about her bed upstairs with drowsy longing. Cassie was already asleep, and as soon as she checked her entries in the accounts log, she was going up to bed, too.
A piece of gravel skittered down the driveway and bounced off the wall of her house. Becca raised her head, listening, but when it wasn't repeated, she gave her attention to the accounts once more. Some animal wandering around the house, she thought sleepily.
When she heard the scraping noise coming from the garage behind the house, her hand flinched on the mug of tea, slopping a small puddle onto her fingers. Silently she pushed away from the table, sucking on her burned hand as she stared in the direction of the garage. That was no animal. It sounded as if something hard had brushed up against the aluminum siding.
She couldn't see anything outside. The kitchen lights prevented it. Her hand hovered over the light switch, but she slowly pulled it back. If someone was outside her house, she didn't want to alert him.
Edging into the dark dining room, she stood next to a window and slowly pushed the curtain aside. The hardy bushes and desert flowers she'd planted stood like sentinels in the darkness. For a while she couldn't see beyond them, then her eyes began adjusting to the lack of light.
Her plants left grotesque shadows covering her yard in the faint moonlight. Nothing moved except the bushes swaying in the wind. She stood there for a long time, her eyes straining, but didn't see anything out of place.
Just as she took a deep breath and chastised herself for being foolish, there was a movement in the shadows that wasn't the swaying of one of her bushes. It was a deeper black than the shadows that surrounded the house, and as she stared at it, she realized it was an arm and a leg. The wind blew again, and the figure was once more obscured by the undergrowth.
Fear rose in her throat, choking her. A person hid in the bushes in her backyard, waiting. For what? For her to go upstairs to bed? So he could break into her house?
Her hands shook as she let the curtain fall into place. She was frozen to the spot, afraid to move in case the watcher saw her. Would he leave? Or would he storm the house?
Think! she commanded herself. Do something. Don't just stand here. Finally she dropped to the floor and crept, on her hands and knees, back into the kitchen. Grabbing the phone, she slid back into her chair, out of sight of the windows. Her hands shook as she dialed the number of the sheriff's office.
"Sheriff's office." The deep, reassuring voice of Devlin McAllister came on the line.
"There's someone outside my house," she whispered. The words seemed to catch in the back of her throat, and she was afraid to raise her voice.
"Who is this?" Dev said sharply.
"Becca Johnson." She swallowed hard. "Someone is hiding in the bushes in my backyard."
"I'll be right there." Dev didn't even hesitate. "I'm not going to use my siren, so you won't hear me coming, but sit tight. I'm on my way."
The dial tone buzzed in her ear as she replaced the phone. Sit tight. She had to clamp her lips together to hold in the bubble of hysterical laughter. What did Dev think she was going to do, run outside to confront the prowler?
She sat frozen in her chair for what seemed like forever, straining to hear the slightest noise from outside. But she heard nothing but the wind, sighing around the corners of her house and rustling the leaves of her bushes.
Or was the rustling the sound of her prowler coming closer? She gripped the edge of the table, praying for Dev McAllister to hurry. Suddenly she thought of Grady, and how he'd appeared at the front door of her clinic when a prowler had been there. She longed for him to ring her doorbell right now.
A sharp rapping at the back door made her jump out of her seat. "It's Dev, Doc," he said.
Sliding out of the chair, she opened the back door with fumbling hands. "Thank goodness you're here. Did you find him?"
Dev shook his head with disgust. "Not a sign of him. But he could have run into any of your neighbors' yards when he heard me coming and be a half mile away by now. Do you think you could show me where you saw him?"
She nodded, but hesitated before walking out the door. "What if he's just waiting for us to leave the house? Cassie's asleep upstairs."
"Ben," Dev called, and one of his deputies stepped out of the shadows in the yard. "Ben Jackson here'll keep an eye on the back door for me."
The deputy faded into the shadows, and Becca looked around nervously as he seemed to disappear. Dev saw her and smiled. "Ben's real good at this, Doc. No one'll see him until he wants to be seen. Believe me. And no one'll get into your house."
Reassured, Becca led the way into the backyard. Her house had always been her refuge, the place where she and Cassie were a family, the place where nothing in the world could touch them. Now it had been violated, and she looked at the tall bushes and rows of flowers in a different way. Now the garden she loved had become a place where an intruder could hide.
"It'll be fine in the morning," Dev said gently. "It'll be just a garden again."
"How did you know what I was thinking?"
"Everyone feels that way after something like this happens."
"I don't know if it'll ever be the same."
"It will. It just might take a little time." He stopped in the middle of the yard. "Where did you see him?"
Becca thought for a minute, mentally reviewing what she'd seen from her dining-room window. Then she stepped over to a dense mesquite plant. "He was behind this bush."
Dev nodded, then pulled out his flashlight. He crouched next to the bush f
or what seemed like a long time, looking but not touching anything. Finally he stood up. When he turned to face her, there was a grim look on his face.
"There was someone here, all right" He shined the flashlight at the base of the mesquite, and Becca could see what looked like shoe prints. "We might be able to get a good print from one of these, but they're pretty trampled. You go on back in the house. Ben will take your statement while I look around out here."
He escorted her to the door, and when Ben glided out of the shadows, Dev took him aside and murmured instructions to him. Becca walked into the kitchen, feeling numb. Who had been outside her house tonight, and why was he there?
A half hour later, she'd answered all the questions Ben had and leaned back in her chair, drained and even more tired. Dev rapped on the door, then walked in and sat down across from her.
"Who might want to hurt you, Doc?" he asked without preamble.
Fear clawed at her again, and she looked at him numbly. "I have no idea, Sheriff."
"I heard Sy Ames has been giving you a hard time."
"Stella must have been talking," she said after a moment. Dev lifted his shoulders slightly. "You know how it is in Cameron. Everyone talks. I make it my business to listen."
"Sy was a client," she said carefully. "We had an unpleasant confrontation at the clinic a couple of weeks ago, but as far as I know, he's gone. No one's seen him, and he has no place to live in Cameron."
"Does he have a legitimate beef against you?"
"No, he doesn't. Sy just doesn't want to take no for an answer."
Dev looked at her with knowing eyes. "I take it the no had nothing to do with your services in a professional capacity."
Becca squirmed, uncomfortable with discussing her personal business with anyone, even the sheriff. "No, it didn't. He wanted me to go out with him."
"It's all right, Doc," Dev said gently. "I don't gossip."
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