Never Let Go

by Deborah Smith

  Now she looked at Rucker with the painful knowledge that she was going to leave him again, and soon. She’d do whatever it took to come back and bring their daughter with her, but he wouldn’t know that.

  Once more she touched him, and this time she unfastened his jeans, her fingers moving with great care. If she could give him this unselfish pleasure, perhaps he wouldn’t be able to hate her.

  His breathing quickened as she uncovered him, tugging his shirt tail up to reveal the tight, muscular abdomen she remembered so well. Dinah nestled her face in the crook of his neck and inhaled his masculine scent, trying to commit everything about him to memory. She eased her hand inside his jeans and stroked gently.

  The feel of his smooth, rigid length against her fingers was so erotic that she moaned from bittersweet desire. They were right for each other in so many ways, not just this one, but it was all she could share with him on this cold March morning, their anniversary.

  Suddenly his back arched. He strained against her wantonly caressing hand, hot and pulsing. Dinah anxiously drew her head up and looked at his face, dreading the moment when he would open his eyes and see her through a haze of anger.

  His dark auburn lashes flickered. Dinah moaned softly and kissed him, dabbing her tongue to the center of his mouth seductively. A shudder ran through him and he twisted his mouth away from her.

  Dinah wretchedly watched his eyes open. He looked up at her, blinking slowly, obviously stunned by what she was doing to him and his body’s virile reaction. He stared at her tormented expression. A frown began to crease his forehead.

  “No. No,” she begged in a hoarse whisper. Dinah took his mouth before he could answer.

  He gripped her shoulders as if to shove her away, but he groaned under the tantalizing assault of her mouth and hand. Dinah realized that his pleasure was so advanced that he couldn’t ignore it.

  She used the advantage, slipping her tongue into his mouth, making soft yearning sounds that drew a responding quiver through him. He shifted roughly in the small confines of the truck’s cab, his body struggling under her touch. His hands rose to her long hair, twisting it, then grasping her head and holding it as he kissed her back.

  The knowledge that she gave him so much pleasure made her bones dissolve. She was collapsing inside, falling apart in sweet sync with him. His head tilted back and his body pressed upward into her hand.

  “Dee,” he murmured hoarsely, as a wracking shudder signaled his release.

  She cried then, hearing the old nickname for the first time. Dinah slid one arm under his neck and clung to him, her face burrowed in his shoulder while her hand feathered over his wet stomach.

  His chest rose and fell harshly; his hands knotted in her hair then grasped her shoulders. He cursed in a soft, broken voice, then put his arms around her.

  They were still and silent for a long time, caught up in the elemental sensations of holding each other again. Dinah feared that speaking would break the charm. She didn’t even want to risk looking at him. With her head still resting against his shoulder, she reached out and fumbled with his clothes.

  Her hand brushed over him intimately as she tucked his shirt and refastened the jeans. Rucker’s embrace tightened.

  “Why did you do it?” he demanded.

  “Because you’re still the only man in the world that I can’t resist.” Dinah raised her head and looked at him. “I don’t have any ulterior motives. You’ve already agreed to help me, so why would I try to bribe you with sex?”

  “Unless your conscience is botherin’ you. I don’t want you to touch me out of guilt.”

  “Oh, Rucker,” she said with soft frustration. “It’s not guilt.” Dinah pulled one of his arms from around her. She guided his hand inside her poncho, then under her sweater and bra.

  When his fingers touched one of her hard, wet nipples, a look of bewilderment came over his face. “Why is your milk comin’ now?”

  Dinah shut her eyes as exquisite sensations radiated from his touch. “It’s a natural reaction to arousal. It happens to some women.” She shifted forward, unable to resist the pleasure when his forefinger circled slowly.

  “You’re so warm and swollen. Does it hurt to be touched?” he asked in a barely audible voice.

  Dinah gazed at him. His eyes were dark with emotion, but there was very little anger in them now. She smiled shakily. “It hurts good.”

  He slid his hand to the other breast and stroked it gently. “I guess you do want me,” he murmured, studying her half-shut eyes and flushed face. His jaw stiffened. “How could you leave me last summer if you want me so much?”

  Dinah frowned sadly and shook her head. “Don’t. Don’t ask questions like that.”

  He jerked his hand away from her and tugged her sweater back into place. “Time to hit the road again.”

  “Rucker—”

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  He guided her away from him. Dinah sat on her heels and edged her fingertips under the truck seat. She found the keys and closed them in her hand.

  Rucker straightened up and glanced at her, still sitting in the floorboard and gazing at him with an expression of regret. He abruptly put one hand under her arm and helped her rise to the seat.

  “Thank you,” Dinah said softly.

  “Don’t wake me up like that again, dammit.”

  “It wasn’t premeditated.” He put a hand on his front pocket. “Wait,” Dinah interjected, her breath shallow. “I need a moment.” She gestured out the window. “Don’t you?”

  “I can wait.”

  Dinah teased with hidden desperation. “When we went camping you thought it was a duty. A way to mark your territory and scare small animals.”

  Rucker eyed her ruefully and jammed his hand into his front pocket. He frowned as he searched it. “Damn.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The keys are gone.”

  “They must be here somewhere.” That was true enough. Dinah bit her lip and looked around vaguely, hating the deception. She clasped both hands in her lap.

  Suddenly he grabbed her wrist. She jerked her gaze to his and saw suspicion in his eyes. They stared at each other for several seconds. The color rose in his face.

  “You’re losin’ your expertise,” he said in a strained tone. “When you’re not with Valdivia you don’t lie as well.”

  Dinah’s shoulders slumped. She pulled her hand away, turned it palm up, and offered the keys along with quiet defiance. “I only wanted to do what was best for you.”

  Breathing harshly, he snatched the keys from her. “Everything you do is for somebody’s good besides your own, isn’t it? Just like a whore with a heart of gold.”

  She reeled inside. He’d always had a rough and colorful vocabulary, but in all their years together, he had never turned that vocabulary toward her with ugly intent.

  Dinah gulped for breath and her stomach twisted sickly. She craved his trust and comfort; she’d dreamed of it to keep despair at bay. And now …

  Her head snapped up. Her eyes glittered with anguished fury and her voice vibrated. “I didn’t seduce you so that I could steal the truck keys when you were distracted. Don’t you ever call me that name again. And stop acting as if you’re the only one who has suffered.”

  Dinah shoved the truck door open and stumbled out. She sank to her hands and knees, fighting nausea.

  Dimly she heard Rucker’s booted feet hit the truck’s running board as he climbed out after her. He knelt beside her and held her forehead in his wide, strong hand. The other hand clasped her waist, steadying her.

  “I warned you to keep your distance,” he reminded her, but his voice was hoarse. “I also warned you that I could be cruel.”

  “I know. All right.” She moved away from him and got wearily to her feet. He stood also, his hands clenched. Dinah waved him aside and climbed into the truck without help. He slammed the door.

  By the time Rucker settled in the driver’s seat, she sat facing forw
ard with her shoulders squared. “I won’t try to sneak away from you again. And I won’t touch you again,” she said with great dignity. “I swear it.”

  The roar of the truck’s engine was the only answer she received.

  Potsbog, Tennessee was so small that it made Mount Pleasant look like a metropolis, Dinah thought. They stopped at the town’s one gas station and convenience store. Dinah went to the restroom, where she assessed her face in a mirror and estimated her age at about ninety-five.

  When she went inside the store Rucker stood at the cashier’s counter, a gasoline credit card in his hand. Dinah swept a gaze behind the counter and noted the computerized equipment with dismay.

  She stepped close to Rucker, took the credit card from him, and smiled sweetly at the elderly man behind the cash register. “Excuse us, sir.” He didn’t smile back.

  Rucker followed her outside, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

  Dinah returned the card and looked up at him grimly. “Jeopard undoubtedly has access to a computer network that will let him know the minute you use that. As soon as the clerk runs it through a credit check Jeopard can find out where we are.”

  After a stunned moment, Ricker’s eyes narrowed. “I guess Valdivia trained you well.”

  Dinah nodded. “Just use cash. No problem.”

  “A problem. I have exactly ten dollars and I just bought twenty dollars worth of gas. I didn’t have time last night to get any extra cash, and I gave most of what I had to Boaz. I figured on using a bank card to get more.”

  “Checks?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Didn’t bring my checkbook.”

  They shared a worried gaze. “The last thing we want is for the cashier to call the sheriff,” Dinah noted.

  “Let me handle this. I never met a country boy I couldn’t reason with.”

  Drawing himself up, Rucker sauntered back inside. Dinah trailed after him.

  “Friend, I’ve got a problem,” he told the cashier jovially. “My wife forgot to pay the gas company this month and she says they’ll pounce on my charge card like a duck on a june bug. And she spent most of my cash on a fancy breakfast this mornin’. I said, ‘Edna, you don’t need that extra side of ham.’ But she’s got an appetite like a fat nanny goat, so—”

  “Boy, you ain’t got enough to pay for your gas, and that ain’t my problem,” the cashier interjected. “That’s the sheriffs problem.”

  “Please, sir,” Dinah said quickly. “We need to get home to my sick mother, up in Kentucky. Have you got any work we could do to pay for the gas?”

  “Nope.”

  “Has anyone in town got some work? We can do anything. My husband here, Bo, he’s good with his hands.”

  “Either of y’all ever worked a diner? Cookin’, waitin’ tables?”

  “Sure,” they said in unison.

  “Man down the street needs somebody this mornin’. His people didn’t show up for work. Maybe he can help you. But that don’t solve my problem.”

  Dinah lifted Rucker’s arm and pointed to the heavy gold Rolex on his wrist. “We’ll leave this as collateral. And well let you hold the keys to our truck until we come back with some cash.”

  The clerk nodded. “I’ll call the diner and see what I can do for you.”

  Minutes later, as they walked down Potsbog’s main street toward a sign that said Eats Eats Eats, Rucker gazed at his watchless wrist. “I’ve got no use for fast-talkin’ women,” he grumbled mildly. “Especially smart ones.”

  Dinah eyed him with amusement. “When did you ever work in a diner?”

  “Never. But my mother was the best truck-stop waitress in Texas. That ought to count for something. And I’ve eaten in more diners than a dog’s got fleas.” He eyed her back. “When did you?”

  “I waited tables for a charity dinner at the country club once. When I was sixteen.”

  The desperate absurdity of the situation brought them together as nothing else could. As he opened a door posted Eats Eats Eats Welcomes You! No Pets! No Guns! Shoes and Shirts Must Be Worn! Rucker patted her on the rump and whispered, “Edna, good luck.”

  Dinah glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Good luck, Bo.”

  The owner was a nervous man, Rucker could tell. He had a diner full of hungry people, most of them burly types who didn’t waste patience on waiting for breakfast. And now he had a dedicated but bumbling waitress.

  At least she was gorgeous. What man could care about food when she flashed that Miss America smile?

  “Here. I’m confused. Just a second.” She moaned under her breath and spread out a half-dozen order tickets on the long cutting board that fronted the grill. “This man wants his eggs over easy and still runny. No, that’s over easy and well done. And this, this is an order for grits with cheese. Swiss cheese. No, American cheese. And this man wants cow toast. I understand world economics. Why can’t I understand this?”

  When she looked up from her frantic perusal of the tickets, Rucker saw wistful chagrin in her eyes. “What’s cow toast?” she asked plaintively.

  “You butter it, then broil it in the oven, instead of cookin’ it in a toaster.”

  “Bless your heart.” She lifted the hem of the coarse white apron she wore and dabbed at her perspiring face. She studied the deft way he shifted eggs, hash browns, ham, bacon, and steaks on the huge grill. “You look like you were born in a diner.”

  Rucker wiped a hand on his T-shirt, adjusted the white bandanna he’d wrapped around his forehead, and nodded proudly. “Almost was. Ma got off work and went straight to the hospital.”

  “Pretty Long Legs, can I have some more coffee, please?”

  Rucker turned around and scowled at the big construction worker seated at the counter. “Her name’s Din—Edna.”

  “Dinedna, can I have some more coffee, please?”

  Rucker and she shared a droll look, and he wished suddenly that he could carry her out of this place to a private spot where they could make sense out of what was happening to them. “Hop to, Dinedna,” he muttered.

  She hurried to get a coffeepot, and he watched the determined, energetic way she moved. Whatever her secrets were, whatever truly motivated her, it worked well. She’d had very little sleep, she’d eaten only a package of cheese crackers for breakfast, and the morning had been decidedly traumatic. She was running on adrenaline and courage.

  Katie. That’s what drove her. Rucker drew a soft breath and went back to his work without concentrating on it. His wife had a baby, there was no doubt about that. But he had no way of knowing whether the baby was his or whether it was in danger.

  He wanted to believe that the baby was his daughter, and that Dinah could explain why she’d left him last summer, and that she’d touched him out of love this morning. All he knew at the moment was that events during their separation had changed her, somehow hurt her, and had finally merged her strength with a compelling sense of purpose that he couldn’t help but respect.

  “Bo save me!” Dinah Sheridan McClure, a highly intelligent and highly competent woman who knew all the Chopin piano etudes by heart and who read philosophy for fun, was beside him again, looking anxious. “What’s a naked steak?”

  He loved her. God, how he still loved her.

  Five

  “I never thought I’d be so happy over thirty dollars,” Dinah admitted. “Minus ten for gas.” She folded the remaining bills and tucked them into Rucker’s shirt pocket, then leaned back on the truck seat and watched the Tennessee hills pass by.

  “I was nineteen years old the last time I earned so little for so much work,” he grumbled.

  “Hmmm. Was that the summer you worked at the dog-food factory?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t have enough money to go back to college, but I had a lifetime supply of dog treats.”

  “You joined the Army that fall, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was ten years old. I think that was the summer Mom and Dad took me to Europe.”

 
“Lord, Dee, you and I are a strange pair.”

  His second use of her nickname subdued them both. Rucker’s thick brows drew together in a pensive expression.

  “Thank you,” she said quickly. “I’ve missed it. You can even call me Deedee.”

  “Nah. You never liked that.”

  “I pretended not to like it.”

  “How many other things did you pretend about?”

  Dinah inhaled sharply. Despite the companionable mood created by their morning’s work, his anger and pain still lay just beneath the surface. She stared resolutely out the window.

  “When are you gonna tell me where we’re headed?” he asked in a grim tone.

  “When we get there.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that Jeopard may be listening to everything we say? It’s unlikely, but possible, You wouldn’t believe the sophistication of electronic listening devices—some are the size of postage stamps—and he could have put them in the seams of your clothes, your boot heels, your wallet. He’d plant bugs on you just in case I contacted you, and you’d never suspect it.”

  “You really think Jeopard’s got me bugged?”

  “Probably not. Otherwise, we’d be in custody by now. But I can’t be certain. I won’t risk it.”

  Rucker popped the truck into a lower gear as they hit a steep grade. The engine made a straining sound. “Hope it’s not all like this. We won’t make it.”

  Dinah’s reply was troubled. “We have to make it.”

  A half hour later, Boaz Halfacre’s old truck climbed to a mountain plateau, decided enough was enough, and choked to a halt.

  After inspecting under the hood, Rucker came back to the cab and muttered, “Jeopard, if you’re listenin’, you sneaky bastard, would you call Triple A?”

  “What’s wrong with the engine?”

  “Probably the carburetor. I can’t be sure, but if I had a decent toolbox I might be able to fix it.”

  Dinah stepped out, braced a hand on the door frame, and began to push. “Then we’ll find someone who can loan us one.”