by Nancy Gideon
"I'm not subtle, Bess. I didn't mean to give you a right hook but I'm not going to apologize for speaking the truth. And I'm not going to pretend that the thought of you locked away in that store doesn't make me crazy."
A pause came with the coffee, then Bess took the offensive once more. "I don't want you to pity me because my dreams are tied up within the town limits. Just because you and Julie had to get away or suffocate, doesn't mean others can't be satisfied with a simple day-to-day existence."
"Are you?"
She responded to his soft challenge truthfully. "Yes. Yes, I am." Or at least that had been true before his return. Having Zach Crandall back in her life had a ripple effect, unsettling every aspect of who and what she was. The rest of her answer was even more defensive. Perhaps because she was working to convince more than just him. "I don't have elaborate needs. I don't wish for pots of gold. I like what I have. I like who I am."
"So do I."
His statement startled her, but not so much as the light figure eights his thumb sketched around the knuckles of her imprisoned hand. He studied the contrasts between them; hers pale, delicate, engulfed by his powerful, coarsely furred grip. He framed his next words carefully.
"I'm envious, Bess. You belong in a way I never could."
His poignant claim melted her guard.
"Don't envy me, Zach. You, you've seen the world, you know what it's like to be free."
His laugh held a metallic ring of irony. "Free? Is that what you think? I've been beating my wings against the bars all my life, but I've never flown." He released her hand, then looked up as their waiter presented his card and the receipt which he signed with an aggressive scrawl. Zach nodded to the "thanks and come again" speech and stood.
"Let's air out this conversation before it gets too claustrophobic," he suggested with a tight smile and the offer of his hand. Bess took it shyly, letting him guide her from the booth.
Unaware that in the bar area, one of the town council members chose that moment to glance up from the pretty young thing he was charming with drinks and flashes of his overstuffed wallet. Unaware of his resentful glare as Zach slipped her jacket over her fair shoulders then shrugged into his own. Unaware of the dark schemes turning within an even darker soul as they stepped out into a surprisingly cool night.
* * *
They roared up the highway, along the thin white ribbon illuminated by the bike's single beam. Zach yelled something back at her but the wind snatched his words away. She leaned in closer.
"What?"
When he turned his head, she was right there, her chin on his shoulder, her mouth only inches away. Too much distraction for the speed they were going. He looked ahead quickly.
"Are you warm enough?" he shouted again.
"Fine."
But her arms tightened, maintaining that flush contact, her breasts flattened to his back, her face tilted up to taste the wind over his shoulder. He tried to keep his eyes on the road, away from the airy chiffon fluttering back to bare even more firm thigh. His body thrummed in time to the growling machine.
The feel of her against him quickened memories of another time, of a hormonally supercharged eighteen-year-old driven to urgent madness by the clutch of Bess Carrey's legs around him. He'd been a quailing libidinous mass all during that first awkward dinner, and it had taken all his willpower to keep the motorcycle on the road as they headed home. Finally, to save their lives, he'd pulled off into one of those roadside rest areas where a chained-down picnic table and waste can offered a respite to travelers, and to one sexually ravenous pair of teenagers. Shaking with uncontrolled eagerness he'd turned to the fresh-faced innocent behind him to say the first incredibly artless thing that entered his desire-drugged mind.
And as he cut the motor, seventeen years later and took off his sunglasses, the words felt just as clumsy.
"So, do you want to neck, or what?"
Bess remembered the place, the event and even the tactless question. A husky chuckle vibrated through her. "Such a smooth, worldly approach. No wonder I fell for it."
Zach laughed at his own gracelessness. There was a catch to the sound. "Have a heart, Bess. I was a kid. You had me backed up so bad, my eyeballs were swimming."
"Oh, that's a delicate turn of phrase. You are such a poet, Mr. Crandall." She eased off the seat, still feeling the bike's power quivering through her. Or was that her response to Zach and her own memories. She walked to the rickety table, needing to put a little room between her and the object of those long-ago fantasies. "I seem to recall being more than ready, myself."
When she closed her eyes briefly, she could feel, again, the hot desperate yearning to "go all the way" with Sweetheart's least-favorite son. The want. the fear, the guilt and defiance had pulled her in a million different directions at once as he'd retained the presence of mind to lay his jacket atop the carpet of leaves, providing a cushion as he'd laid her down for the first time on that frosty spring night to claim her virginity just as he'd claimed her heart and soul; with a rough uncertain sweetness.
They both sat in the darkness a lifetime later, remembering how it was, consumed by the curiosity to know how it could be.
"So?" Zach asked softly, still straddling the motorcycle. "Do you?"
She said nothing, her gaze wide, welcoming, in the moonlight, as she watched him approach. She didn't move as his large hand fit to her cheek, tilting her head back as his mouth came down. Hers was already open, ready to receive the reacquainting thrust of his tongue. Her low moan spoke a language of pure sensation.
His free arm curved around her waist, lifting her, dragging her up against him so she could feel exactly how much he wanted her now, as he had then. The knowledge made her tremble all along his rugged planes as he tore his mouth off hers to plant scorching kisses to the arch of her throat, feasting on the chaotic rhythm he created as passion thundered in her blood. His hands clasped her small waist for a restless moment, then began to push upward over the filmy chiffon, to heft the weight of her small breasts, shaping them to fit his palms, spreading his fingers upward to hook the thin straps of her dress and brush them off her shoulders even as she shrugged to let her jacket fall. The night air brought a sudden shiver that matured into a shudder of exquisite passion. Her back arched in tangible evidence of need.
It never occurred to Bess to say slow down or stop. Her own desires had all but run away with her last scrap of coherent thought. Her physical being was alive, her sensory self crying out to experience everything he might give her. Then surprisingly, the braking power of restraint came from him.
It was hell to pull back while his head whirled and his blood ran thick and hot. But this wasn't how he wanted their reunion; not with the same hurried carelessness of two kids afraid of being caught in the forbidden. Bess deserved better. He wanted more. So he reined in hard, prying himself off her soft lips, defying the attraction of her nearly bared breasts and the intoxicating scent of her flushed skin. The years of military discipline served him, not well, but well enough. His thumbs restored the straps of her shift to their proper place, but as he lifted his head, his noble intention was almost thwarted. Bess caught his face between the press of her palms, holding him for the sudden ravishment of her kisses.
"Bess," he murmured against the eager mash of her lips over his, fighting for his sanity. "Not like this."
She paused, breathing hard and fast, not comprehending. Especially when she opened her eyes to see that the hungry flicker started over dinner now raged, a hot blue flame.
His hands moved upon her bare shoulders, not in caresses but with gentle distancing pressure. "This was a bad idea. I wasn't planning… I'm not prepared," he ended lamely.
"Zach—" His name rumbled from her, all throaty invitation as she pushed against his bracing palms.
He stepped back so quickly she almost lost her balance. She stumbled forward, catching herself, peering up at him in bewilderment.
What was meant to be a gentle discouragement
came out all wrong.
"Bess, I can't afford to make another mistake with you." Few things he might have said just then would have jolted her out of her dazed and desirous state. But those words had the shock value of ice-cold water. She blinked rapidly and swallowed. Her mouth moved as if to say something but then gripped tightly shut.
"I'm—"
She cut him off brusquely. "Don't say you're sorry. I understand and I agree. Take me home, Zach."
"You don't understand, Bess. I meant—"
"I know what you meant."
But as she strode back to the motorcycle to pull the helmet down over the tousle of pale hair, her agitated movements said she didn't. She had no idea what was behind his words, for she heard something entirely different.
She heard her dreams die on the one word: mistake.
Zach hesitated, sensing he'd fouled everything up somehow, but there was no time to fix it. He'd promised Melody he'd pick her up from work. She was afraid to go home, alone, to their empty house after discovering the vandalism the night before. Cursing under his breath, he swung astride the bike and waited for Bess to settle behind him, which she did at a frigid distance. Her fists touched his sides gingerly as if she were loath to get closer. He caught them and yanked her arms around his middle, hearing her gasp as she bumped against his back.
"Hang on," he ordered in a tone so taut she didn't dare disobey him as he angled the cycle back up onto the road and jammed through the gears to send them flying.
A mistake. Bess blinked hard, blending blurriness into tears that the wind wiped away. That was how he saw the treasured relationship they'd had and the blessings that sprang from it. That was how he defined their getting back together. No way she could misinterpret that message.
Her anguish numbed her to the approach of danger until it was right on top of them.
The car came up behind them from out of nowhere, headlights glaring, blinding, not intent upon passing them but in running right over the top of them. Bess screamed as the wide chrome grill loomed up at her back like a shark on the attack. She clung to Zach as metal rasped against rubber with a stunning jolt. She buried her face in his jacket to blot out the reality of their impending deaths.
For just as the big automobile bore down on them from the rear, the road swung into a tight curve. A camper lumbered toward them from the opposite direction. Instead of slowing down to combat the hairpin angle of the road, Zach opened the throttle wide, jolting the bike forward, steering it purposefully into the oncoming lane. The camper's lights glared briefly as the blare of its horn cut through the night. Zach didn't return to his lane, aiming the cycle for the far shoulder, where they slid precariously on gravel as the camper roared by within a yard of mangling them.
As Bess squeezed her eyes shut and prayed aloud, Zach fought the loose stones threatening to upend them. Finally he muscled the cycle to a shuddering stop. The large dark car that had come up from behind continued on as if the driver had never seen them.
Zach twisted on the seat, adrenaline pumping.
"Are you all right? Bess?"
Her fingers were imbedded in the leather of his jacket. He had to pry them loose to drag her up in front of him to take her in his arms. She remained stiff and still against him until shock rolled through her in a loosening spasm.
"Oh, my God! We could have been killed!"
Her arms banded his neck in a choking circle, and he simply held her as her teeth clattered too fiercely for her to speak. He unfastened the helmet, letting it fall to the gravel as he stroked her hair, trying not to think of how close he'd come to losing her. His insides knotted with nausea, then were steadied by a calmer anger.
By then Bess had recovered enough to sit back and look up at him. Her features were stark and pale. Her brows knit with fear and agitation.
"What was wrong with that guy? He almost ran us down. How could he not see us?"
He couldn't. It was no accident. Zach kept that piece of grim news to himself as he rubbed her arms so the friction would restore her body heat.
"Sorry I scared you. I couldn't ditch on the other side. There was a drop-off."
She bought his explanation, saying gruffly, "Sorry? That was the best bit of driving I've ever seen. You saved our lives."
Yes, he probably had. If the incident was meant as a warning, it was an intense one.
Their lives weren't in jeopardy, his was. Who was bent on taking it wasn't quite as important as the fact that they'd been willing to sacrifice Bess to have it. That scared him so deeply, so profoundly, he fell into a pattern of instinctive preservation. He had to get both Bess and Melody out of the line of fire as quickly as possible. If someone was out to end his life, he wouldn't risk theirs by association.
Something was going on in Sweetheart. Something darker and more dangerous than just a rebellious teen's return.
And he had to find out before it killed him. Or anyone close to him.
"C'mon," he said to the still-trembling Bess. "Let's get you home."
"Shouldn't we report this to someone?" she argued with a bit more spunk.
"Yeah. To me. I could write up a report, but there's not much to go on. Did you get a make or model or license number?"
"I was too busy wondering what I'd wear to my funeral."
Under the fragile exterior, she was a gutsy piece of work. He fought the need to kiss her wildly, desperately, until passion devoured his fears. Instead, he smiled thinly.
"A big dark car of uncertain make and model tried to run us off the road. Not much of a report."
She frowned. "Guess not. Probably some drunk or some salesman driving on too little sleep." She looked up at him for confirmation.
"Probably."
"I'll say this for you. Being with you is never dull, Zach." She touched the collar of his jacket, punctuating her bittersweet claim with a reluctance to let him go. He was this close to collapse when she let her hands drop and bent to retrieve the helmet. His gaze sketched over the tempting curve of her hips, increasing his self-imposed torment. Only Bess Carrey would cause him to require a cold shower atop a near hit-and-run, to cool down his libido.
* * *
Bess slid off the bike at her back door and handed Zach his helmet. He said nothing, not with words, not with his expressionless eyes. She couldn't quite make herself say thanks. Not after he made it clear there was no future for them—at least not the future she'd hoped for. She schooled her features into a matching impassivity while her heart broke quietly within.
Don't leave me, Zach. Not after I've waited all these years for you to come back for me.
But apparently she wasn't included in the reason for his return.
After fixing the helmet on his head, he geared up and rumbled off into the darkness.
* * *
Chapter 10
« ^ »
Mary Crandall came home to Sweetheart.
It wasn't the usual welcome a convicted felon received, for Mary was one of Sweetheart's own; well loved, well respected and much pitied for the lot she'd chosen as a foolish young girl. Her only crime in the eyes of the town was falling for the wrong man. In marrying Sam Crandall, she'd stepped outside Sweetheart's protective circle, and for the years that followed, though old friends might shake their heads in sorrow, none would lift a finger to help her escape the terror her life had become. Folk minded their own business. What lay between a man and his wife was no one else's concern.
At least, those were the platitudes the good citizens hid behind to excuse their cowardice and shame.
The fact that Mary blamed none of them, at least not directly, only made them feel more wretched and eager to make amends. They respected Melody, even after the scandal of her divorce. She never made trouble for anyone nor made her problems theirs. She worked hard to maintain a private life, a quiet life, and they pretty much left her to it. The only stumbling block between the town and the Crandall women was Zach. His presence kept them from crowding close to exorcize their guilt, as
Mary, older, frailer, spindly as a delicate water bird, was carried up the front walk in her eldest son's arms.
Bess heard all the details as the rumor mill came and went through her store all that day. She didn't run to gawk, herself, feeling the family deserved their privacy. Feeling she wasn't exactly welcome to intrude. And deeper down, afraid to face Mary Crandall with so much weighing upon her heart.
Still, she couldn't escape hearing about it, over and over, just as she'd listened to step-by-step descriptions of Zach's every move all week long. It didn't help to pretend she wasn't interested. Since the pie incident, the entire populace considered it their duty to protect her from making Mary's mistake all over again. Zach Crandall was no good, just like his daddy. The uniform didn't change the man inside. He'd only hurt her. He was taking advantage of the friendship she'd given a troubled boy to weasel his way back into the town's good graces.
The longer he stayed away, the easier it grew to half believe them.
She might have been able to, except for one thing.
She knew Zach hadn't killed his father. And her silence fed the hostility of a whole town toward an innocent man.
Better she stay away from the Crandalls before her secrets were dragged to light. There was more than her own future at stake.
* * *
The homecoming exhausted Mary Crandall. Prison was a poor place to recover from heart surgery, especially with the added stress of awaiting her release. By the time she was able to breathe free air again, she was almost too weak to enjoy it. The ride home was strength sapping, but she hung on valiantly for the sake of her children, as always.
Though she'd said nothing of her fears, her return to the site of so many nightmares filled her with dread, but in the end the expected trauma was absent. Instead of taking her to the room she'd shared with her husband, Zach laid her down on the comfortable bed in Ross and Jordie's room. The interior was newly remodeled in soft pastels and fresh flowers, a balm to her weary senses. Though so many things remained for her to do and say, to her dismay, she fell instantly and deeply asleep, to wake hours later to a darkened room on the edge of hell.
