by Naomi Horton
"Brice Thornton. And it was a Lamborghini Testarossa."
"Red."
"Of course."
"And you loved him?"
"No." The word popped out all of its own accord, surprising her a little.
"But you were going to marry him."
"I told myself I was." She stepped closer to him again, tucking her face into the hollow of his neck, taking refuge in the music. In him. "I don't think I would have gone through with it, but it was a comfortable game to play for a while."
"Game?"
"Convincing myself that I'm something I'm not. That I could actually be happy living in a mansion with a man named Brice."
Jett chuckled, a warm, comfortable sound that wrapped itself around her like a hug. "Tough for old Brice."
She didn't say anything, simply letting the slow, rhythmic beat of the music flow over her. She thought of Brice … or tried to. But his image kept eluding her, slipping away when she tried to pin it down. It had been like this for almost a week, ever since she'd come back to Burnt River. It was as though Brice and Baltimore and her job at Adams, Caldwell, and even the expensive, beautifully furnished town house she'd once thought important, were fading from memory, part of a life that had been becoming steadily less real with every day that passed.
It scared her a little. That life had been her reality not long ago, and Burnt River the dream-gone-bad. If she lost it, what did she have? She still wasn't entirely at ease in Burnt River, hadn't made up her mind about Gord's offer of a job, wasn't sure she would ever fit in here again. It was like hanging suspended between two worlds, neither quite real.
She didn't realize she'd sighed out loud until Jett's arms tightened slightly. She could feel the steady thump of his heart against her, the warmth of his body, the undemanding pressure of his hands on her back, and she smiled. This was real. This was here and now. For the moment, anyway, she was safe.
The music stopped finally, to Kathleen's regret, and then the band went right into a fast-paced, hard-driving, rockabilly two-step that soon had the entire place rocking.
But finally, too soon, the dance was over. They wandered out to the truck hand in hand, still laughing over something, and Kathleen took a deep breath of icy mountain air as she waited for Jett to open the door for her. The air tickled her throat like fine champagne, and she grinned up at the night sky, feeling half drunk on nothing more than laughter and good times. The sky was filled with stars, brilliant shards of light so clear and bright she swore she could reach out and touch them, and she just stood there for another moment gazing up at them in wonder.
"I'd forgotten how beautiful the sky is out here." She leaned into the welcoming curve of Jett's arm as he put it around her shoulders. "Remember how we used to put a blanket in the back of the truck and lie there counting stars?"
"I remember the blanket part just fine," he murmured, nuzzling the side of her throat. "I saw plenty of stars back then, all right, but not the kind you're talking about."
Kathleen had to laugh as his breath tickled her ear. She moved her face into the curve of his throat, loving the warm scent of his skin, and found herself running her lips along the angle of his jaw without even planning to.
Jett's arm tightened; then he kissed her on the cheek and stepped away from her, his eyes filled with memories as he pulled the truck door open. Not saying anything—not having to—Kathleen just laughed again and stepped up into the cab of the truck.
Jett walked around and got in the driver's side, then started the engine, letting it idle for a moment or two to warm up. "So." He draped his arm across the wheel and turned to look at her, eyes shadowed under the brim of his hat, a hint of lazy laughter warming his mouth. "Home, or…?"
To her astonishment, Kathleen actually found herself hesitating. Then she laughed quietly and shook her head, scattering the memories. The sudden, unexpected temptations.
Sixteen years ago, the question would have made her heart leap. She would have gone all hot and dizzy and wouldn't have said anything at all. And he would just have grinned and taken off in a spray of gravel. Minutes later they would have been on an isolated side road somewhere, the radio playing softly as they spent the next half hour lost in the hot, syrupy urgencies of sex.
"Home," she said firmly, fending off the too vivid memories.
Jett grinned lazily and took her hand to tug her across the seat toward him. "Sure about that?"
"Pretty sure." She laughed again and let herself be coaxed nearer. The truck radio had come on with the engine, and a woman was singing about a man with slow hands, in a husky, sensuous voice that sent a little quiver through every cell in Kathleen's body. Time seemed to stand still suddenly, the air filled with promise as she gazed into Jett's dark, dangerous eyes.
Those eyes dipped nearer, and she turned her face toward him instinctively, arms going around his neck as his slid around her, enfolding her against him and pulling her into the captive heat of his body. And then his mouth was on hers and she turned her head to capture it fully, letting her lips part and suppressing a shiver of delight as his tongue slipped easily and naturally against hers. And then he was kissing her with that deep, slow intensity that had once set every inch of her afire.
It had much the same effect now, she thought dizzily as tendrils of sudden desire shivered through her. As though sensing it, Jett's kiss deepened, and she could feel his breathing quicken, the tension in his body as he pressed her against him.
"Jett!" Giddy with just the taste of him, Kathleen pulled her mouth away and rested her forehead on his shoulder, trying to catch her breath, heart hammering like a drum.
"Remember what it used to be like, Kathy?" he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. "Remember what it used to feel like when I made love to you? Remember what we used to do?"
"I've got to get home…" It was just a moan of denial.
"Remember this?" Jett whispered, pressing his palm gently, so gently, against her breast. Even through the thin stuff of her blouse and the silk and lace of her bra, he could feel the nipple tighten. Driving himself crazy, he rubbed it slowly, hearing the catch in her breathing, relishing the near pain of his own body as it responded with a vigor that made him groan.
He couldn't remember ever wanting a woman this badly this quickly before, every cell of his body on fire for her, unable to think of a single thing but getting her out of her clothes and astride him, open for him, sinking himself so deep inside her that he would never be free. Sixteen years … it had been sixteen years since he'd felt this heat, this urgency, this need, and God help him, he wanted her right here, right now. Wanted to be inside her, wanted her all over him and around him, wanted to touch her and tease her and hear her cry out for him, her voice no more than a sob of desire and satisfaction. Wanted to lose himself in her, to—
A car maneuvering its way out of the parking lot swung in front of them suddenly, catching them in the full glare of its headlights, and a horn blared raucously, followed by shouts and catcalls and loud laughter.
Jett swore and moved to shield Kathleen from the glare; then the car was gone, the occupants' laughter still hanging in the cold air. Starlit darkness enfolded the truck again, and Jett let his hand drop from Kathleen's breast, breathing heavily as he leaned back against the door.
She sat back, too, lifting her hand to brush a spill of golden hair from her face, looking shaken.
He should be taking her home, Jett told himself resolutely. Right now. He should just put the truck in gear and head up Deer Jump Road without another word. And then he should kiss her good-night—a quick kiss, on the cheek—and turn around and get the hell out of there and consider it finished.
That would be the smart thing to do, all right.
Instead, he found himself taking her hand and setting it on his thigh. Then he put the truck in gear and headed toward the exit. "Let's find someplace a little less public."
* * *
Chapter 8
« ^ »
Kathlee
n drew a shaky breath, feeling as though she'd just been hit by a train.
But it hadn't been a train, of course. Just Jett Kendrick.
Old times.
"Maybe we should just call it a night," she half whispered, not sure if she meant it or not. Not sure of anything other than the fact that things were on the verge of getting seriously out of hand.
She'd spent most of the past two days telling herself that this dance—she'd refused to call it a date—was simply a chance for the two of them to get to know one another again. That it had nothing to do with the past, nothing to do with all those little sparks and sizzles up at Beaver Creek, nothing to do with anything. It was just two people who had known each other a long time ago getting reacquainted.
Kathleen nearly smiled. If that kiss had gone on much longer, Jett Kendrick would have reacquainted himself with a lot more than either of them had anticipated.
She did smile then, not taking her hand from his denimed thigh. "I'm half afraid to even ask what you've got in mind."
He grinned, catching her gaze in the rearview mirror. "You can stay out as late as you want, Kath. Your old man's not waiting up for you."
"No, but my big brother might be. And he's got the key to Daddy's gun cabinet."
"Your daddy's gun cabinet didn't keep me away from you sixteen years ago."
Kathleen had to laugh. "And now?"
He paused, his eyes capturing hers in the mirror again for a taut moment. "Guess that depends on you, Kathy," he said softly.
Kathleen's heart gave an odd little backflip. "This is all happening kind of fast, Sundance."
"It always happened fast between us." Jett took her hand and gently pressed it against himself. He was aroused and hard, and he heard her draw another unsteady breath. But she didn't pull her hand away.
Sixteen years ago he would have had the truck pulled into a quiet, sheltered spot on a side road by now, with them on a rough, wool blanket in the back, surrounded by saddles and a hay bale or two. He would have been lying between her thighs, so deeply embedded in the honied warmth of her body that he was unable to tell her heartbeat from his own.
He looked at her in the mirror again. "There's a motel not far from here."
"No motel." Her voice sounded tight and breathless, and Jett heard her swallow.
He could still take her home. There was still time. And yet, even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. That it was already too late for that. He'd known this was going to happen from the moment he'd knocked on the big front door of The Oaks. It had swung open, and there she'd been, standing there with that torrent of golden hair tumbling around her shoulders and those sky-blue eyes filled with laughter.
She was wearing a denim dress that pressed itself across the full swell of her breasts and then down and over her slender hips before flaring out gracefully, and he'd just stared at her, the blood thundering in his temples. She'd said something to him, but Jett had no idea what it was, hearing nothing but the drum sound of his own heartbeat. And then she'd stepped through the door, and her perfume had swirled around him, and he'd nearly lost it then and there.
It had taken all his willpower not to scoop her up in his arms and walk into the trees by the side of the house and skin her out of that pretty blue dress and make love to her then and there. Up against a tree or in a pile of leaves or any old place at all—just as long as he could ease himself all the way into the heat of her and hear her moan his name the way she used to and feel those long, silken legs tighten around him.
"I'm going to make love to you," he said very quietly, not even looking at her. "I just want to get that out of the way, because I don't think I'm going to be able to hang on long enough for a lot of sweet talkin'."
To his surprise, she gave a low laugh. "Been a long while, has it, cowboy?"
"Not so long I can't remember how."
"Somehow," she murmured, "I don't doubt that for a minute."
It wasn't until Stumpy Jones's old barn loomed into sight that Jett knew where he was going to take her. The Oaks was out on principle alone—hell, if Gordon didn't get him, her old man's ghost would. And the Kicking Horse wasn't much better. Jody would still be up, wanting to know all about his father's first date in almost a year. And Jett was in no mood to wait until the coast was clear to smuggle Kathy into his bed and then have to worry about every creak of the springs. He wanted to paw the dirt and beat his chest and throw his head back and bay at the moon.
But then, suddenly, he spotted the old barn rising lopsided against the moonlit sky, and a flicker of memory made him smile.
She'd snuck away from The Oaks to meet him on horseback that day. They'd gotten caught in a rainstorm and had tumbled into the dim silence of the barn, soaked to the skin and giddy with laughter. The dust-spangled air had been sweet with the scent of rain and clover, and in no time at all they'd been tucked into a nest of hay in the loft, pretending they had nothing on their minds but getting dry and warm.
He remembered that they were suddenly naked without being able to remember how they'd gotten that way. Remembered running his hand down the long, smooth sweep of her body and feeling his blood pound. Remembered easing himself between her slender thighs and the throaty little purr she'd made when he'd pressed himself into the taut, silken heat of her.
She'd sighed against his mouth, her hands clutching at his shoulders, and then he'd started to move, and she'd moaned something and clasped her long legs around his. They'd caught fire like lightning-struck prairie grass at the end of a hot, dry summer.
Near the end he'd looked down and had seen their bodies braided together, hers as soft and pale as satin, his dark and savage and wild, and he remembered thinking how right they were, how perfect…
"I wonder what ever happened to Cindy Braedon," she said out of the blue. "Remember when she and Darryl and you and I used to park out here in his car and neck up a storm?"
"Yesterday, wasn't it?"
She laughed quietly. "Sure seems like it."
"She married some guy from Billings. And Darryl's doing five-to-ten for armed robbery, last I heard."
"I never could figure out what Cindy saw in that guy."
"A lot of people couldn't figure out what you saw in me."
"You were cute and dangerous and looked real good in jeans, mainly."
"That was it?"
"That was enough. I was fifteen, remember."
"You told me you were sixteen."
"Of course I told you I was sixteen. If I'd told you the truth, you wouldn't have looked at me twice, let alone … do what you did."
"And what exactly did I do?" he asked lazily.
"What you did," she whispered, "was take me to heaven and back."
The old road was just ahead, twin tracks that meandered through the hay field. Jett turned onto it without saying anything, aware of Kathy's amused glance as they bounced and rattled along the rough trail, headlights swinging wildly through the darkness.
Jett pulled the truck in behind the barn where it was out of sight, then cut the engine and lights. The night was like sapphire, all hard edges and blackness, and it closed around them, the silence dropping down like a cloak. Jett reached over and turned the radio up a bit, then turned and draped his arm along the back of the seat, looking at her. "Well. Here we are. Again."
Kathy put her head on her hand and smiled at him through the shadowed starlight. "It's been a long time, Sundance."
"I never thought I'd see you again." The words surprised him. They weren't what he'd planned to say. But then, the night seemed full of surprises.
"You must have hated me."
"I guess that's what your father counted on."
"Did you think about me after I was gone?"
"All the time."
"Pam must have been delighted with that." She smiled.
"Pam was convenient."
Kathy looked startled, and Jett felt himself flush. "You were gone, and your old man made it clear I was never going to see you again. I'
d gone out with Pam a few times before I met you, and when you were out of the picture, she wanted to pick up where we'd left off. I—hell, I didn't put up much of a fight."
"She was very pretty."
"Yeah." Jett frowned and looked away, draping his other arm across the top of the steering wheel. He hadn't planned on talking about this. Hadn't planned on talking at all, in fact. Had just planned to drive in here and make love to her as though nothing had changed.
And yet, sitting here in the star-bedazzled night with her, Stumpy Jones's old barn and all the erotic memories it held only a few steps away, he realized he'd just been playing some sort of game with himself. It wasn't that easy. Could never be that easy again. Not with all that had happened.
"How did she die?" Kathy asked suddenly, her voice soft. "I heard it was a traffic accident."
"She'd been drinking. She … was doing a lot of that by then. We'd had a fight, and she took off, saying she was going to file for divorce and I'd be hearing from her lawyer."
He thought about it, as he had a thousand times over the past six years. "Maybe she meant it that time. She was in no shape to drive, and I tried to get the keys away from her. But when she got like that…" He shook his head. "She took off before I could stop her. About an hour later, I got a call from the sheriff. She'd missed a curve in the road and hit a telephone pole. They figured she'd been doing close to a hundred when it happened."
"I'm so sorry." Kathy's fingertips brushed his cheek.
Jett eased out a deep breath, not even realizing he'd been holding it. "It was pretty rough on Jody. He tried his best to be real grown up about it, but—" He shrugged. "He still doesn't talk about it much."
He stared out the windshield, seeing nothing but a million stars. He never talked about it much, either. Couldn't remember the last time he'd told anyone what had happened that day. But it was different with Kathy. She was different.
"This is a good time to tell you I'm sorry." Even as he said them, he thought how ineffectual the words were. How powerless to erase the past. She was looking at him curiously, eyes filled with moonlight and memories, and he had to take a deep breath.
