by Cindi Myers
“We should talk about what happened,” Dwight said.
She turned to him. “I gave you my statement.”
He frowned. “I don’t mean the events that occurred—I mean, what’s going through your head right now.”
“Nothing’s going through my head right now.”
“And you don’t think that’s a problem?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
He scooted forward to the edge of his seat and set his drink beside hers on the table. “Then I’ll be frank. I’m worried about you. You’ve been through more awful things in the past few days—much less the past four years—than most people have to suffer through in a lifetime. Yet you go on as if nothing has happened. That’s not normal.”
She stiffened. “I’m not the hysterical type,” she said. “And I did break down after Andy died.” For months she had barely been able to function. She didn’t want to go back to those helpless, out-of-control days.
He moved closer. “I’m not saying you have to get hysterical,” he said. “But it’s okay to let yourself feel. To acknowledge that some awful things have happened. And that it’s not fair.”
She nodded. She’d heard this advice before—read it in the books she turned to after Andy’s death, told it to herself even. But taking the advice and letting go wasn’t so easy. “Life isn’t fair,” she said. “I know that. And I don’t see any point in dwelling on it.”
Dwight took her hand. “I know you’re tough. I admire that about you. But if you keep trying to bear the weight of all this by yourself, I’m afraid you’re going to crumble.”
His fingers twined with hers, so warm and strong. She held on in spite of herself, wanting to draw courage from him. “I don’t know what you want from me,” she whispered.
“I want you to trust me enough to believe that you don’t have to put up walls between us,” he said. “You’ve been hurt and it’s okay to acknowledge that.”
She stared down at her lap, her vision blurring. “I’m afraid,” she said.
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid if I let myself think about how awful things are right now, I’ll start crying and never be able to stop.”
“I’m no expert,” he said. “But I think sometimes, if you let the hurt out, it makes room for good things to fill up that space.”
“What good things?” The words came out harsh and full of bitterness she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. “I don’t have a home. I may not have a job soon. Some maniac is threatening to kill me.” Her voice broke. “I’ve never been so afraid or felt so alone.”
He drew her to him, his arms a firm barrier to keep away harm. She buried her face against his shoulder, her tears flowing unchecked. She hated breaking down like this, yet it was such a wonderful release to do so. As the first wave of emotion subsided, she became aware of him stroking her back and gently kissing the top of her head. A different sort of emotion welled within her—a fierce awareness of Dwight as a man. New tears flowed, but these were tears of relief that after all she had been through, she could still feel the things a woman should feel—she was still alive and capable of desire and passion.
She tilted her face up to his and found his lips, pressing her body more firmly against his. He responded with an urgency that matched her own, pulling her onto his lap, one hand caressing her hip while the other cradled her cheek. She wrapped both arms around him, her breasts flattened against his chest, her mouth open, tongue eagerly exploring his mouth, reveling in thrilling, too-long-forgotten sensations shooting through her.
She rocked her hips and smiled as he let out a low groan, his erection hard and hot between them. He pressed his lips against her throat and spoke in a voice ragged with lust. “We’d better stop now unless you want it to go further,” he said.
“Oh, I want it to go further.” She trailed one hand along his cheek, the prickle of five-o’clock shadow along his jaw sending a fresh wave of heat through her. “I want you. I think I have for a while now, I just wasn’t ready to admit it.”
He grinned in answer and shoved to his feet, carrying her with him. She laughed, and he gripped her tightly and kissed her until she was dizzy and breathless. “Put me down,” she pleaded, laughing.
“Oh, I’m not putting you down,” he said. “Not until neither one of us is capable of standing.”
He stalked toward the bedroom, her legs wrapped around his waist, his fingers digging into her buttocks. He didn’t release her until they both collapsed onto the bed, and then only to begin stripping off her clothes as she tore at his shirt and pants.
Only when they were both naked, cuddling together side by side, did their fury give way to tenderness—still urgent, but more deliberate, each intent on savoring the moments. She trailed her fingers across the taut skin of his shoulders, tracing the contour of muscle and bone, memorizing the shape and sensation of him. He did the same, brushing kisses along her jaw and down the column of her throat, his tongue following the swell of her breasts and dipping into the valley between them, then sliding along to suck at first one breast and then the other, until she was quivering and all but whimpering with need.
She reached between them and grasped him, satin-smooth and hot, all but pulsing in her hand. “Do you have any protection?” she asked.
In answer, he gently pried her fingers from him and slid over to the side of the bed and took a condom from the drawer of the nightstand. He ripped open the package and rolled on the rubber, the movement leaving her dry-mouthed and ready to pounce on him.
Instead, he lay back and pulled her on top of him. “Ready to go for a ride?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah.” She lowered herself over him, closing her eyes against the exquisite pleasure of him filling her. When she opened them again, she found him smiling up at her, his eyes full of such wanting and tenderness that it all but undid her. She began to rock, gently at first, then with more movement, drawing out their pleasure, holding back as the need built between them. He grasped her hips, encouraging her, and they began to move together, thrust and withdrawal, advance and retreat, until she shuddered, her climax overpowered her, filling and overflowing. “Dwight!”
His name still echoed around them as he found his own release. He pulled her close to him and kissed her hard, then rolled with her onto his side, where they lay, still connected, his eyes reflecting all the wonder she felt. “Feel better now?” he asked.
She laughed. “I do.” She kissed the end of his nose. “Thank you.”
“No thanks needed,” he said. “I’m just glad you’re here.”
“Me, too.” She hadn’t felt all that glad to be anywhere in a long time, and though he wouldn’t let her thank him for it, she was more than grateful that he had given her back this part of herself—this ability to feel so alive and whole.
Chapter Nine
Dwight never got around to taking Brenda up to the main house that night. His parents could see his cruiser parked at his cabin from their house, and he suspected they would draw their own conclusions about Brenda’s whereabouts. He was happy to have her stay with him, and he wasn’t about to put a damper on the new closeness they shared by suggesting she leave. Whatever barriers she had erected before had melted away somewhere between her flood of tears and the passion they had finally given in to.
She slept in his arms that night and woke early to make love again, a satisfying, leisurely coupling that left him so ridiculously happy he was afraid the grin he wore was permanently etched on his face.
He made breakfast while she showered, and when she joined him in the kitchen, smelling of his soap, damp tendrils of hair curling around her face, he had to focus to get his breathing under control. “Did you find everything you needed?” he asked, deliberately playing it cool.
“Oh, I think so.” She moved to the coffeemaker and filled a cup.
Dwight turned back to t
he frying pan. “How do you like your eggs?” he asked.
“However you want to cook them. I’m not picky.”
He scrambled eggs and made toast, aware of her eyes on him. Conversation, which had before now been easy with her, was apparently choked off by the lust that hovered like a cloud around him. How was it that at thirty, he could be reduced to the incoherence of adolescence?
She smiled when he set the plate down in front of her. “I could get used to this,” she said.
“So could I.”
She said nothing, but polished off the breakfast as if she were famished—which she probably was, considering they had never gotten around to eating last night. When she finally pushed her plate away, she sighed. “That was delicious.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I’m no gourmet, but I manage to feed myself.”
She put her chin in her hand and studied him, her silent scrutiny making him nervous. “What is it?” he asked. “Why are you looking at me that way?”
“I’m just wondering why it is you’re still single.”
That definitely wasn’t a question he had expected. “Last I heard, being single isn’t a crime,” he said.
“Of course it isn’t. But you’re an attractive man with a good personality, a nice home, a good job. There are plenty of unattached women in this county who would love to go out with you. But I can’t remember you ever being in a relationship with any of them. Why?”
“You worried I’m gay?”
The pink flush that spread across her cheeks made her look even sexier. “Um, no.”
“I’ve dated,” he said. “I’m just discreet about it.”
“Then you definitely have a talent for subterfuge. It’s not easy keeping a secret like that in this town.”
“I like to keep my private life private.”
“So do I,” she said. “But I haven’t had much luck with that, so far. The Examiner might be broke by now if it weren’t for me and those I’m close to supplying them with juicy headlines.”
“You’re not responsible for the things Andy did,” he said gently.
“No, but I’m part of them. I can’t get away from that. And as you might imagine, it hasn’t made me eager to trust another man.”
“You can trust me.”
“Can I?” The expression in her eyes had hardened. “Haven’t we already established that you’re good at deception?”
“I don’t deceive people I care about.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest that.” She looked away. “It’s not you who’s messed up, it’s me.”
“Don’t say that.” He leaned across the table toward her. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect.”
A choked laugh escaped her. “Oh, no I’m not.”
“You’re perfect for me. I’ve always thought that.” He straightened. “Maybe you’re the reason I’m not married. I was waiting for you.”
“Dwight.” She shoved out of her chair and stood, backing away from him. “Last night—what happened between us was amazing. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready for more, I—”
“I know.” He resisted the urge to move toward her, forcing himself to remain still, to rely on his words to reach her. “I’m not asking for anything. But you asked me an honest question—I figured I owed you an honest answer.”
She considered this for a moment, then nodded. “All right. But what happens now?”
“Now I think I should take you to work.” He stood, the movement slow and easy, as if she were an easily frightened animal. “Your car is still there, right?”
“Right. I’ll get my things.” She started to turn away, then stopped. “Thank you for being so understanding.”
Oh yeah. He was understanding all right. Understanding that when it came to Brenda Stenson, he was pretty much at her mercy. Not a position he liked to be in.
* * *
BRENDA PRIDED HERSELF on keeping her emotions in check, but Dwight’s declaration that he had been waiting for her had left her reeling. While last night had been an incredibly pleasurable and yes, healing, experience, she hadn’t been prepared for what amounted to a declaration of love from a man she had always considered as taciturn and frankly, hard to read.
And now she had to sit here beside him in his cruiser and pretend that her emotions weren’t all over the place. Wouldn’t it be nice if she could have even a single day that wasn’t full of drama? She’d almost forgotten what that was like.
Her morning didn’t get any better when Dwight drove her to the museum and she spotted Eddie Carstairs seated on the bench beside the front door. “What is he doing here?” she asked as Dwight pulled his cruiser to the curb.
“Let’s find out,” Dwight said.
Her first instinct was to tell him that she could take care of Eddie herself, but maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to have a witness to back her up if things got heated. For whatever reason, Eddie seemed to have the mayor on his side, and since the town council was Brenda’s employer, she ought to tread carefully.
“Hello, Eddie,” she said as she climbed the steps to the front porch of the museum. “Did you need something?”
“Just keeping an eye on things,” he said.
“I thought you were a night watchman,” she said.
He ignored her, turning instead to Dwight. “I heard there was some excitement yesterday afternoon, up at Eagle Mountain Resort,” he said.
“I imagine the news is all over town by now,” Dwight said. But he didn’t elaborate on what that news might be.
Eddie shifted from foot to foot. “Pretty funny to find Henry Hake up there after all this time, don’t you think?” he said.
“I don’t know of anyone who found it amusing,” Dwight said.
Brenda opened her mouth to tell Eddie to get lost when he turned to her. “You were there, weren’t you?” he asked.
“Yes.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “But I don’t have anything to say to you about it.”
“I heard the body was practically mummified,” Eddie said. “I figure his killer stashed him up there in one of those caves up on the cliffs. The Indians used to do that and the cool, dry air just desiccates the body. Sort of like beef jerky.”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Brenda said.
Eddie turned to Dwight again. “You must know how he died,” he said.
“If I did, I wouldn’t share it with you,” Dwight said.
“You ought to think twice about that,” Eddie said. “I know a lot of people in this town, see a lot of stuff. I might have information that could help you.”
“If you have information, tell me what it is,” Dwight said. “But the exchange doesn’t work both ways.”
The two men glared at each other like two roosters about to face off. Brenda was grateful when a new arrival interrupted.
“Hi, Brenda,” Parker Riddell said as he headed up the walkway. “You said you might need help with that new display today.”
“Yes, Parker.” She offered him her warmest smile. “I’m glad to see you.”
The two slightly older men studied the younger one as he mounted the steps to stand by Brenda. “Hello, Deputy, Eddie,” Parker said.
Dwight greeted Parker, but Eddie only nodded, his lip curled in a sneer. Neither man gave any indication of budging. “Eddie, Dwight, you need to take this conversation elsewhere,” Brenda said. “Parker and I have work to do.”
Dwight’s eyes met hers. She remained firm, but gave a slight nod, to show she wasn’t holding anything against him. “Come on, Eddie,” Dwight said. “Let’s get out of Brenda’s hair.”
“This is public property,” Eddie said. “I have a right to be here.”
“Yeah, but if you waste the whole day standing around here, people are going to get the wrong idea,” Dwight said.
“Wh
at do you mean?” Eddie asked.
“They’re going to figure you don’t have anything better to do. That you’re too washed up to get a job.”
“I have a job,” Eddie said. “I’m establishing my own private security company.”
“Right. Then go find some more clients. Don’t stand around here harassing Brenda.”
“I’m not harassing her. I—”
“Eddie!” Brenda snapped the word, more than tired of this conversation. “Get out of here or I’ll call the mayor and tell him you’re interfering with museum business.”
She could tell he wanted to argue with her, but he set his jaw and stalked down the steps and across the yard to his Jeep.
“I’ll be going, too,” Dwight said, keys in hand.
“I’ll see you later.” Then, without another look back, she walked into the museum. For now, at least, this was her domain—the kingdom she ruled without a consort. Yes, it was lonely, but there was a kind of security in that loneliness, a way to keep her heart safe even if her head argued she was being stupid.
Parker followed Brenda inside, where she greeted Emma Waide, who had been volunteering at the museum since it first opened. “We’re going to be working on the new exhibit if you need anything,” she said.
“How is school going?” she asked Parker as they climbed the stairs to the second floor.
“It’s okay. My history class is pretty interesting. Just basic American history, but still, the professor is good.”
“The classes will get more interesting if you pursue the degree,” she said. “You can home in on areas of particular interest.”
“I like the World War II era. There was so much happening all over the world back then.”
The exhibit in progress was just as she had left it the day before yesterday, with most of the material they would display still in boxes. Brenda consulted the plans she had drawn up. “I hope you’re ready to work,” she said. “I need you to move some shelves and tables around for me. Some of them are pretty heavy.”
