by Sandra Brown
“Drifter,” she spelled out.
“Right. Well…” His eyes probed hers. “You haven’t asked why I live the way I do.”
No, she hadn’t. Furthermore, she realized that it wasn’t important to her. She knew what she needed to know about him—that he was kindhearted and gentle, proud, protective, strong, smart. Important to her was the man he was now, not his past, which obviously troubled him. Whatever the circumstances that had brought him into her life, she was glad for them, not regretful. But that was too much to say by spelling out each word, so she told him simply, “I know what is important to know, Jack.”
“I could argue that,” he said, frowning as though debating it. Then he said, “There’s something else you should think about. People are nasty. It’s human nature to be spiteful. You’re a prime target for gossip of the worst kind. It’s nobody’s goddamn business who you sleep with, but somehow, because you’re a widow, and you’re deaf, the gossip is juicier.”
She hated what he was saying, but she knew it to be the truth. “Did you hear any gossip about Delray and me?”
“Yes.” He must have read her distress because he rushed to say, “I never believed it. I knew it was a lie. But when they talk about you sleeping with your hired hand it’s going to be the truth.”
“Yes, and I’m glad.”
“Me, too.” He laid his palm against her cheek. The intensity of his facial expression said more than the words she read on his lips. “God damn me for a selfish bastard if you get hurt because of me, but I wanted to be with you, Anna. I’ve wanted this since the first time I saw you.”
She remembered him as she had first seen him in his battered straw hat, scuffed boots, and sunglasses, offering to help her with her car. That memory would be with her the day she died. Maybe she had started loving him right then.
She knew she loved him now.
Snuggling her body closer to his, she kissed him without restraint, hoping that her kiss conveyed a small measure of the emotion he had awakened in her. She placed her hand low and started to caress him, loving the musky smell, the heat and firmness of his sex. He indulged her. More than that, he seemed to revel in her curiosity.
But curiosity gave way to carnality and her touch became more erotic. His eyes turned dark with heightened arousal. His face grew tense with pleasure. When she took him into her mouth, she felt the vibration of his moan. Again and again she read her name on his lips, knowing when he whispered it softly with intense feeling, knowing when he mindlessly cried it out in passion.
They loved completely.
She thrilled to feeling him gloved snugly inside her, to watching his eyes move over her, appreciating the curves and contours of her body. She watched his lips fasten to her breast, but her eyes closed while experiencing the sweet tugging of his mouth. His tongue traced the grooves at the tops of her thighs. He pressed his face into the softness of her belly and kissed her navel. Turning her over onto her stomach, he kissed his way down her spine, then catnapped with his cheek resting in the small of her back.
Her own level of sensuality surprised her. She and Dean had enjoyed a healthy sex life, but she had never felt this free and uninhibited. Maybe because Delray was always sleeping in the room down the hall. Maybe because Dean hadn’t been as imaginative a lover. For whatever reason, with Jack she was shameless.
Never more so than when he parted her thighs and applied his mouth and tongue to her until she experienced a melting orgasm. Just when she would think it over, another sensation would ripple through her and she would ride it like a wave until it crested. Finally, she reopened her eyes to see Jack bending over her, smoothing the damp hair off her forehead and smiling tenderly. “You’ve never been loved like that before?”
She could tell it pleased him when she tiredly shook her head no.
“Ah, well, that’s good. I mean I’m glad I could do that for you.”
Angling her head up, she kissed him, tasting both of them on his lips, then smiled as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
After another brief nap, they made love again, this time face-to-face, more slowly and with less passion, but with heightened emotion and meaning. Then Jack wrapped them both in the sheet and carried her to the rocking chair, where he held her on his lap. They communed through their skin, with each breath, every heartbeat. Dialogue was unnecessary. They needed no conversation. They had their silence.
As dawn was breaking, without even raising her head from his chest, Anna told him what was in her heart. Although she signed, Jack understood. Because he lifted her hand to his lips and, after kissing her palm, spoke against it. She felt the words.
“I love you, too.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Carl had laughed himself sick. When he realized that he’d mistaken a crack of thunder for a gunshot, he’d rolled over onto his side on the grimy floor of the cabin and laughed until he cried.
“Shit, Myron, I thought we were goners for sure,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Thought some backwoods peace officer had got lucky and stumbled across our hideout.”
The joke had been lost on Myron, but he laughed anyway.
However, the thunder was a forerunner to a storm that was no laughing matter. There were times during the turbulent night when Carl had cursed fate for playing this last rotten trick on him. He had escaped prison without getting a scratch on him. He had executed a brilliant bank robbery and getaway. He was well on his way to a life of leisure.
A man with all that going for him was not supposed to die at the whim of a tornado.
Throughout the evening, he and Myron had stood at the windows and watched the dark, glowering clouds. The hushed, green atmosphere gave Carl the heebie-jeebies. With darkness came an even greater foreboding, punctuated by ferocious lightning the likes of which Carl had never seen in his life. Rain, hail, and high winds hammered the cabin for hours. The roof leaked like a sieve. It was a challenge to find a dry spot in which to try to sleep.
Carl harbored a secret fear that God was sorely pissed at him and that the storm was punishment for all his misdeeds. Between that worry, the spine-chilling sounds that accompanied the storm, the rain pouring in through the roof, and the stiffening corpses in the corner, he’d passed a miserable night.
This morning was a different story.
He had awakened to the happy chirping of birds, cooler temperatures, and sunny skies. After relieving himself against the exterior wall of the cabin, he got into the car and started the motor. “Come on, come on,” he said impatiently as he turned the dial on the radio, trying to find a local station.
Myron appeared in the open doorway of the cabin, his pink eyes even pinker from sleep, his white hair forming a frizzy halo around his head. “Wha’cha doin’, Carl?” He idly scratched his balls as he peed into a rain puddle.
“Bring me a Coke, will ya?”
He’d give one of the hundred-dollar bills out of the bank bag for a cup of strong, black coffee, but the tepid soft drink was the only source of caffeine available. For almost half an hour he remained in the car, sipping the drink and listening to the radio. When he went back inside, he felt refreshed and energized, and it wasn’t just a caffeine rush.
He tossed aside the empty cola can and rubbed his hands together vigorously. “Myron?”
“Huh?” He was stuffing packaged doughnuts into his mouth. His lips were dusted with powdered sugar, making him appear even more ghostly pale than usual.
“We’re getting out of here.”
“Okay, Carl.”
“I mean right now.” As though Myron had disagreed, Carl argued his case. “I’ve been listening to the radio. Know what all the news is about?”
“What?”
“The storm. Roads and bridges washed out. Damage estimated in the millions. Dozens of people killed. A lot more than that missing and feared dead. You know how those newsmen talk, all somber and serious like? Well, all they’re yapping about this morning is the storm. It hit East Texas h
ard. The weathermen couldn’t even count the number of tornadoes. Flash floods galore. Roofs blown to hell and back. Houses and businesses destroyed. Cars swept into flooded creeks. Power out just about everywhere. Phones, too. The governor asked the president to declare it a disaster area. This morning everybody’s busy trying to set things right again. Know what that means?”
Myron swallowed a doughnut whole. “What?”
“It means that nobody’s looking for us.” He pointed outside toward the car and its radio. “Not one word about us on the news. Not one. Do you think they’re gonna be chasing us down when there’s a granny lady and her kitty cat stuck in her floating house trailer? Hell, no! Search and rescue. That’s what they’re gonna be doing today. And probably tomorrow, and the day after that, too. Now’s the time for us to move.” He laughed. “This is what you call providence, Myron. Hell, we couldn’t have planned it better!”
“Cecil said we gotta stay here a week.”
“Yeah, Cecil said,” Carl repeated with a scornful snort. “Cecil didn’t know shit. He would probably quarrel with this decision, but I know an opportunity when I see one, and this one all but bit me in the ass. So let’s hump it. We’re leaving.”
They gathered up all the unused food so they could eat on the road. They also took a package of toilet paper, canned drinks and bottled water, and anything else Carl deemed useful. While Myron was placing his supplies in the backseat of the car, Carl went around to the trunk to make certain the duffel bag full of money was still there. He doubted Cecil would have double-crossed him, but he wouldn’t have put it past that Connie.
The bag was still there, and from what he could tell it hadn’t been tampered with. While he was at it, he slipped several hundred-dollar bills from the bag into his pocket. Spending money, he told himself. To cover travel expenses. Myron would never miss it from his share.
Carl watched his partner trudge from the cabin to the car with a case of soft drinks under each arm. Myron was always the same. He never got upset or afraid. He never lost his temper or got rattled. His idiocy protected him from normal human reactions and emotions.
It was a crying shame that such a sizable sum of money was going to be squandered on an idiot who would never fully appreciate its value and the possibilities it afforded. Maybe he should spare Myron the headache of appropriating his share of the cash. The responsibility would be too much for him. It would only confuse him.
Besides, how much cleaner could it be than to discard him here along with Cecil and Connie? He could check all his baggage here, so to speak. He would be responsible only for himself and accountable to no one.
Ah, the prospect of total freedom was sweet!
Myron placed the drinks in the seat of the car, then turned back toward the cabin. Carl pulled the pistol from his waistband, eased back the hammer, and took a bead on the back of Myron’s haloed head.
But before he could pull the trigger, he reconsidered. There were miles to go before he reached the Mexican border. Myron was dumber than dirt, but he was also an extra pair of hands and a strong back. He did what he was told without argument. He came in handy when it came to grunt work. He was a mule. You didn’t shoot a good mule just because it was ugly and stupid. You kept it around because it was useful.
Deciding to keep Myron for the time being, he tucked the pistol back into his waistband and closed the trunk of the car.
In under fifteen minutes they were ready to leave. Myron took his place in the passenger seat. Carl returned to the cabin for a final look around to see if they’d left behind anything that might later be needed.
His eyes came to rest on the two bodies. In the morning light, they looked grotesque. They were beginning to bloat. Their open wounds were fly-blown. Shortly they would begin to stink.
He felt a stab of remorse, but dismissed it as quickly as he had dismissed his fear of God’s wrathful punishment as soon as the storm had passed.
He didn’t let himself think anything other than that Cecil and Connie had got no better than they deserved. She had been a low-class cunt who had weaseled and fucked herself into a situation where she didn’t belong. She had been trouble waiting to happen. He’d known it the minute he met her.
It wasn’t so easy to gloss over his brother’s murder. But it, too, was justified. Cecil had been a hopeless coward. And a stubborn one. He just wouldn’t admit to his little brother’s superiority.
Survival of the fittest was the fundamental law of nature. Carl had rid humankind of two weak links, that was all.
He gave them a mock salute. “Adios, y’ all.”
* * *
“From what I picked up on the radio in my truck, the power is out nearly everywhere,” Jack told Anna over their breakfast of bread and jam. Food in the refrigerator had already begun to spoil. “They’re saying it might be days before the utility company can restore it. Everything is in chaos. For the time being, we’re on our own.”
Following breakfast, he climbed onto the roof of the house and assessed the damage. He would need shingles to make permanent repairs, but in the meantime he patched the leaks with tarpaper. He figured he could rebuild the toolshed as soon as he collected the necessary materials. The barn roof was a total loss and would require professionals to replace it. When telephone service was restored, he would call the vet about the horse’s injury, but he’d looked at it again, and it didn’t appear to be serious.
Those chores completed, he expressed to Anna his concern about the welfare of the cattle and suggested that she and David go with him to check it out. He was nervous about leaving them alone without a telephone.
Anna packed a picnic lunch of nonperishables, although David insisted on carrying his separately in his 101 Dalmatians backpack. Anna took along her camera and assorted gear, thinking that pictures taken directly after the storm might come in handy with insurance adjusters.
Evidence of the storm stretched beyond the iron arch demarcating the Corbett ranch. Jack maneuvered the pickup around debris and tree branches littering the road. Power lines had been ripped from toppled poles. They saw a signpost that had been folded double. A sheet of corrugated metal from the roof of the Corbett barn was spotted half a mile away, looking like a piece of crumpled tin foil. An old windmill lay on its side in the middle of the pasture, its blades scattered around it.
As Jack rounded a bend he nearly collided with a cow. He slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid running over the animal. Several head had wandered across the road and were grazing placidly in the ditch on the opposite side.
“Leave it to those smart Corbett cows to find the section of fence that’s down.”
Saying that, he got out of the truck. Waving his arms, flapping his hat, and whooping, he herded the cattle back across the road to their pasture. Luckily he’d brought along a tool kit and a few spare boards and was able to make temporary repairs to the fence. To his mental shopping list he added barbed wire.
He parked the pickup outside the cattle guard. “We’d better go the rest of the way on foot. I’d hate to get the pickup stuck in the mud.”
Anna had put on a pair of Delray’s boots. They were huge on her, but they protected her feet from the mud and standing water. David wore an old pair of boots, but Jack carried the boy most of the time as they walked the circumference of the pasture. The herd had weathered the storm well. From what Jack could see, they hadn’t lost a single head.
He thought that just short of a miracle, although he’d heard of these storms doing some peculiar things, like annihilating one side of a street while leaving the other side untouched. Sometimes they traveled along the ground for miles, leveling everything in their path. Other times they skipped along like a stone over water, leaving only patches of devastation. This twister must’ve veered sharply to the east, missing the pasture where the cattle were grazing and sparing the herd.
As they made their way back to the truck, Jack wondered what David thought about his holding Anna’s hand. If David noticed, he didn�
��t comment on it. In fact, he seemed unaware that the nature of their relationship had changed, but then they hadn’t blatantly advertised it. Jack had sneaked downstairs to the living room couch before the boy woke up.
It wouldn’t have done for David to surprise them where they shared the rocking chair by the window, Anna sprawled on his chest, her legs draping over the arms of the chair, both of them drowsy after making slow, sleepy sex, letting the motion of the chair do most of the work.
So he had kissed her one last time and carried her to the bed and left her there, although it had been damned hard to do. It was hard to keep his hands off her now. Every time he looked at her, he wanted to touch her. And he looked at her a lot.
It was the staring that David finally noticed.
Jack had spread out a quilt in the bed of the pickup because the ground was too wet for a bona fide picnic. They were eating a lunch of peanut butter sandwiches, fresh fruit, and bottled juice drinks. His gaze connected with Anna’s, and held, and she smiled at him in that special way a woman smiles at a man after good sex.
It was a small and subtle smile that spoke volumes. It said that she knew all your secrets and made you wish to hell you knew hers. Every time Anna gave him that you’re-thinking-about-fucking-me-aren’t-you? smile he wanted to pinch himself to make sure he hadn’t dreamed last night.
He hadn’t. It had been real. She had even told him she loved him, and she hadn’t been stoned or drunk or trying to get at his wallet. Incredible as it was, she had told him she loved him and he believed her.
Their stare lingered longer than either of them realized. That’s when David noticed. “How come y’all aren’t talking? Is something wrong? Are you mad?”
Jack ruffled David’s hair. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just staring at your mother.”
“What for?”
Jack looked across at Anna, speaking as much to her as to the boy. “Because she’s so pretty.”
“You think she’s pretty?”
