Before she entered the barn, she caught sight of the truck through the open door. The relief she felt was tangible, and was followed by a rush of anger. Where the hell was Nick? As she stepped into the doorway she saw him, sitting in the driver's seat, his hands on the wheel, his eyes locked to hers.
"Going somewhere?" she asked calmly as she approached the truck.
"I thought about it, but someone took the keys."
"They're in my purse," she said, leaning against the driver's door and peering in through the open window. She felt oddly betrayed. How dare he try to desert her like this? "You're not ready to leave, not just yet."
He locked those ice-blue eyes on her and her heart skipped a beat. She couldn't help but remember the kiss, the offer she already regretted turning down. What if she never again felt like this? What if no other man but this one could send her heart racing and her knees trembling?
"You're a good person," he said softly. "I don't want you any more involved than you already are."
It sounded like an excuse, but she believed him.
"If we part company now, you can still claim you were kidnapped and held against your will all this time. No one has to know you helped me."
She opened the truck door and offered her hand, in case Nick needed assistance leaving the driver's seat. He moved easily, didn't need any help, but he took her hand anyway. Sparks flew the minute their fingers touched. She felt it and so did he. What would she have done if she'd come home and found him truly gone?
"I'm already in too deep," she confessed. "If the state trooper ever makes the connection—"
"What state trooper?" Nick interrupted, pulling her close.
She bumped into his chest, and decided to stare at the buttons of the checked shirt Lenny had given him instead of looking into his face. "I had to stop for gas on the way here," she said simply. "A trooper came in, and I … I pretended you were my husband and we were on our way to Florida to see my mother."
"You lied."
Shea nodded. "And then the trooper came outside, and you took off your hat, so I … I kissed you so he wouldn't see your face." Her face flushed warm, and she could only imagine how brightly she blushed. How embarrassing! "It was necessary," she said in a matter-of-fact voice.
He cupped her chin in his hand and forced her to look up, into his eyes. "You shouldn't have done that," he whispered.
"He didn't recognize me. He might never make the connection."
Nick towered above her. "And then again, he might. Dammit, Shea. I don't want you involved in my mess! I want you out of here!"
"I think it's too late for that," she said softly. "I'm already involved."
Nick ignored the urge to kiss Shea again, taking her arm and leading her out of the barn and toward the big white house. At least now he knew why her taste and smell, her gentle kiss, had seemed so familiar. She'd lied and then kissed him in order to hide him from a state trooper! Foolish woman.
He had never intended to involve her this way, to pull her into his own hell and make her a part of it. She was a good person, and while he might make fun of her sense of justice and old-fashioned views on sex, he also admired her. She knew who she was and what she wanted. Few people were so lucky.
"If he remembers you, we'll say I had a gun and I forced you to kiss me."
"I will say no such thing!" she said. "Besides, the gun was back at Lenny's and there isn't another one."
"I will not have you thrown in jail for helping me," he insisted. "As a matter of fact, I don't want your help anymore. My leg is better. I can handle things from here on my own."
"No way."
"Not enough story for you?" he snapped. "What else do you want?"
"I want to find out who really killed Gary Winkler."
"You can't do that from your Aunt Irene's house."
"We can start, but you're right. To finish this we'll have to go back to Huntsville."
He shook his head as he reached for the kitchen door. "There is no we, weathergirl. Get that through your head." The door slammed behind them, and Shea took the time to lock it. She was a careful girl. "There is most definitely a we, Nick Taggert," she said as she turned to face him. "You might not like it. I might not like it. But there is most definitely a we."
She took his arm and pulled him gently toward the dining room. He followed willingly, watching the back of her head, the curve of her neck and the seductive swell of her butt in those tight denim shorts. She didn't stop in the dining room or head up the stairs, but led him into the parlor and to the sofa where he'd kissed her, where he'd propositioned her and been turned down flat.
"Sit down," she ordered, releasing him to sit where he had before, with the ottoman at his feet. He propped up his throbbing leg and tugged gently until Shea sat down beside him.
He placed his arm around her shoulder, and she didn't protest, but laid her head there and relaxed. She seemed to melt into him, soft and compliant, restive and anxious. All that and more. When had he decided that it was his duty to protect her? He had kidnapped her, threatened her and frightened her. If anyone else did those things to Shea he would be sorely tempted to kill the guilty party.
"I just don't want you hurt," he said softly. "Dammit, you shouldn't be here."
"What would you have done without me?"
Bled to death in the middle of nowhere, most likely, though he wasn't prepared to admit that fact out loud. "I would've done fine without you."
She snorted. "Unlikely."
"Want me to thank you again?" he teased.
She hesitated, and his insides twisted. "You'd better not," she whispered.
Ah, she was close to giving in, to collapsing. But Shea didn't have casual sex, and he didn't have time for anything else.
She snuggled against him and rested one arm across his midsection. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him?
"I thought you were gone," she said softly. "And I guess if I'd left the keys to Lenny's truck you would be."
"Yep," he admitted.
"You're not ready to be on your own, and I'm not ready to let you go."
"We don't have a lot of time—"
"I know," she interrupted. She lifted her head and glanced up at him, looking so clean and pretty and naive he wanted to soak her up. He wanted to inhale her, absorb her. Just when he had begun to believe that there was no such thing as honesty and goodness in the world, just when he'd begun to believe that everyone was against him … in walks Shea Sinclair to turn all his beliefs upside down.
She raised up and kissed him briefly, surprising him. "I wish we'd met differently, like you said before. I wish a friend had introduced us and we went on a date, dinner and a movie, and at the end of the evening we could be surprised that we actually liked each other." She kissed him again, the touch as brief and light as the last time. "You could ask me out again, and we'd do something silly the next time. Miniature golf, maybe. Or bowling. I'd expect to find out you're competitive and overbearing and you'd expect me to be bossy and too chatty for your tastes, but we'd surprise one another again and have a good time." She placed her hand on his neck, threading her fingers through the hair at the back of his head. "And then on the third date, I'd cook for you. You'd come to my apartment expecting something dreadful, but I'd surprise you again." She smiled. "I'm a pretty good cook."
"I know," he said huskily.
"And then…" she began, her hazel eyes locked to his.
"And then what?" he prodded when she became silent. But his imagination took over with no help from Shea. And then he'd seduce her. Or she'd seduce him. Is that what she was trying to do now? Is that why she was leaning into him, her hand on his neck, her eyes glowing…
Oh, no. Girls who didn't have casual sex were looking for love. And that's what he saw in Shea's eyes as she gazed at him. Love. She was so naive her heart was in her eyes, hopeful and romantic.
He liked Shea, and he wanted her so much he hurt with it. But there was no room in his life for love. He w
ouldn't lie to her about that. He wouldn't tell her what she wanted to hear just to get what he wanted. She deserved better.
Before he could come up with a proper response, a shadow fell over them. Without letting go of one another they looked up.
Nick saw the revolver first. It was a big one, and it was pointed directly at him. The revolver was gripped in two pale, wrinkled hands. Next he saw the dress, a monstrosity of pink and purple flowers. Pearls hung at the neck, below a face as wrinkled as the hands. He met suspicious, narrowed eyes beneath blue-gray hair sprayed to within an inch of its life.
"You don't look kidnapped," a shaky voice said.
* * *
Shea would've disengaged herself from Nick's arms, but she was afraid if she backed away Mrs. Wilton would shoot. Since the gun she held was pointed at Nick's chest…
"Mrs. Wilton," she said, trying a smile. "We didn't hear you come in."
"I can't imagine why not," the old lady answered sarcastically. "You have some explaining to do, Missy."
Maude Wilton, and her sister, Abigail Bates, lived in the house next door. The widowed sisters were both in their eighties, and had lived together in that old house for more than twenty years.
"Why don't you put the gun down first," Shea said calmly. "Then we can talk."
Mrs. Wilton eyed Nick suspiciously. "I think I'll keep the gun right where it is, for the time being."
Shea explained, as succinctly and quickly as possible, that she was fine, that Nick was innocent and that they were in hiding until they could prove his innocence. As Shea told her story, the gun dropped and Mrs. Wilton's wrinkled face took on an excited glow.
"This is so exciting!" the old woman said as she dropped the revolver into the oversize white purse that hung from her shoulder. "Just like Murder She Wrote or Matlock." She winked at Shea. "I love that Matlock."
Nick got right down to business. "Did you tell anyone that you saw us in the house?"
Mrs. Wilton looked properly confused. "Of course not. I didn't even know you were here until I came into the parlor to water the African violets." Shea glanced toward the doorway and saw a watering can on the marble table. "You two were too busy to hear me, I imagine," she said with a disapproving narrowing of her lips.
"Why the firearm?" Nick asked.
"Oh, I always carry a gun with me these days." She leaned slightly forward. "A girl can't be too careful, you know."
Mrs. Wilton sat in the wing chair and fanned herself with her hand. "I can't remember the last time I had so much excitement. I need to sit a spell."
Nick glanced at Shea, his eyes full of questions. Could they trust the old lady? Did they have to leave this place right this minute? Where would they go?
"Mrs. Wilton," Shea began carefully, leaning slightly forward on her sofa. "Can we trust you?"
"Of course you can, and call me Maude." She gave Shea a bright smile. "You're all grown up now."
Shea responded with a smile of her own. "No one can know we're here. Please…"
"Oh, I won't tell anyone, not even Abigail." She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "She can't keep a secret. Never could. If I tell her you two are here it'll be in the next edition of the Selma newspaper."
Maude pinned her eyes on Nick, and her smile dimmed. "So, you're innocent."
"Yes, ma'am."
Her smile drifted back. "Ma'am. I like that. So few young men have manners these days. Still, it isn't exactly the best of manners to kidnap young ladies."
"He tried to let me go—" Shea began, but Nick grabbed her wrist and squeezed, silencing her.
"Yes, I kidnapped Shea," Nick said, his eyes and his full attention on Maude. "When this comes to a head, I want everyone to understand that she was held against her will the entire time. Is that clear?"
Maude wrinkled her nose. "You're trying to protect her. That's very gentlemanly of you. Naturally I will do and say what's best for Shea."
Nick nodded, satisfied.
"I don't need you two covering my involvement in this," Shea said indignantly, "and I won't have Nick accused of something he's not guilty of, like holding me hostage all this time."
"You're not going to jail," Nick said, glancing down at her. "I won't have it."
"And you're not going back," Shea whispered. "I won't have it."
Maude was beaming when Shea looked at the old woman again. "What can I do to help?" she asked.
"Nothing, really," Shea said. "Just don't tell anyone we're here."
"Food," Maude said with a lift of her eyebrows. "You must need food."
"I went to the grocery store this afternoon," Shea said. "We're fine for a few more days."
Maude tsked and shook her head. "You shouldn't have done that. What if someone had seen and recognized you?"
Shea shrugged her shoulders. "I didn't see any other way."
Anxious to help, Maude straightened her spine and nodded her head crisply. "From now on, if you need anything you send me out for it. Your face is too well known. Heavens to Betsy, Shea, you've been all over the news."
"I know," she muttered.
"We'll just be here a few more days," Nick said. "As soon as we have a few answers and my leg is sufficiently healed, we'll be out of here. I don't want to involve you any more than I want to involve Shea. This is my fight, not yours."
Maude raised her eyebrows indignantly. "Young man, sometimes even the best of us needs help." She jumped as if surprised, reached into her large handbag and withdrew what Shea at first thought was another gun. She soon realized it was a cell phone. "Whatever you do, don't use the telephone here to call anyone." She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "The coppers might trace the call. I got this cell phone from a company in Birmingham, so that's what comes up on caller ID. Birmingham and the number. You can block the number, though, unless the person you're calling has that thing where they don't take private calls." She fluttered her fingers. "Annoying cusses, each and every one of them. In any case, it would probably be a good idea if you called your folks. They must be worried sick."
"I already called a friend and had him relay a message to my parents and my brothers, so they won't worry."
Maude laughed. "Your brothers? Not worry? Good heavens, they've probably torn Huntsville apart by now."
Shea didn't feel like laughing. "Probably so."
* * *
Chapter 9
« ^ »
Maude was not quite five feet tall, Shea realized as she followed the woman, to the kitchen. She was softly round, with wide hips and a massive bosom and a penchant for pastels and pearls. Shea remembered the woman bringing her and her cousins cookies and lemonade, pies and cakes, and offering comforting, mothering bear hugs when it was time for her to go home.
The old woman glanced over her shoulder as they reached the kitchen. Her gray eyebrows twitched and she flashed a smile. "He's a hottie."
"Maude!" Shea said, shocked.
"Well, he is. Don't tell me you didn't notice." Maude pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. "You were so busy noticing you didn't even hear me come in, put down the watering can, open my purse and take out the revolver!" She didn't seem angry at all, but was clearly amused.
"It's been rather intense," Shea said by way of explanation.
"Love usually is," Maude said with a sigh.
Love? "I don't, uh, love Nick. I just met him a few days ago."
"A few days is plenty of time to fall in love," the old woman said wisely. "Why, I fell in love with my Walter the first time I saw him. I knew then and there that he was the only one for me." Her eyes went dreamy as she remembered her late husband. "We were married five days later."
"Five days?" Shea had known Nick five days…
That wasn't the way she had imagined love. First there was the initial physical attraction, and that could come quickly, immediately even, but then … two people had to get to know one another. They had to learn the good and the bad, the foibles and the quirks. You had to know what kind of movies and bo
oks a person liked before you could love him. Didn't you?
"Five days," Maude repeated. "And the honeymoon lasted forty-three years." Her eyes misted, but she continued to smile. "I used to look at him the same way you look at your Nick." She sniffled, cleared her eyes and straightened her spine. "So we'd best get crackin' to prove him innocent so you two can get on with what's important."
That "we" terrified Shea. Maude apparently assumed she was now a part of this drama. "It's very nice of you to offer your help, but really, Nick and I can handle it."
Maude ignored her protest. "I'll bake some cookies and bring them by tonight. That boy needs fattening up, and it wouldn't hurt you to put on a few pounds."
"That's very sweet, but—"
"I can make the police chief a cake—he loves my lemon pound cake—and take it to him and see what kind of information I can cajole out of him. If the coppers suspect you two are in the area, we should know about it."
"Yes, but—"
"Do you think Nick likes chocolate chip?"
Shea sighed and surrendered. "I imagine he does."
"Good." Maude beamed as she headed for the door. "And don't you worry. I won't tell Abigail a thing. She lives in her own little world, anyway, painting those pictures of hers."
"She's still painting?"
Maude nodded and snorted in disgust. "Fruit. After all these years, all she can paint is fruit. Bananas, apples, oranges, the occasional grape." She shook her head. "You'd think she'd want to paint a flower now and again, but no. She says fruit is her specialty."
Maude left the house with a roll of her eyes, and Shea smiled as she watched the old woman march across the lawn toward her own house.
But her smile faded as she made her way through the dining room and back to the parlor and a waiting Nick. Love? Shea's stomach knotted; her mouth went dry. Maude hadn't really seen anything so extreme happening here. Her musings were no more than a sentimental old woman's fantasy. Maude was just confusing love with physical attraction.
Shea stopped in the doorway and stared at Nick. His eyes were closed. His face was too pale.
HOT ON HIS TRAIL Page 9
