One Last Look

by Linda Lael Miller

  I hadn’t lost the baby.

  My mind slipped backward, toward the waiting darkness. I fought to stay awake, and lost the battle, but even as I sank, I knew I’d won the most important one.

  I was still carrying my child. My child, and Sonterra’s.

  Eight

  “I t’s a miracle you didn’t break any bones or rupture something,” Mrs. Kravinsky fretted, as I dressed to leave the hospital. Sonterra was working, so I’d had to bum a ride with friends.

  “Freakin’ A,” Shanda added, gathering the bouquets of flowers that had been arriving steadily since last Sunday morning. I’d spent most of my childhood and all of my life pissing people off. Who’d have thought I had so many friends?

  Mrs. K, resplendent in one of her caftans, with her dyed hair sprayed into submission, had dropped her latest secret-shopper gig to be there, picking Shanda up at her apartment as she zoomed south through Phoenix.

  Shanda looked striking in blue jeans, a red silk blouse, and high-heeled boots. She’d had her long hair braided since I’d seen her last, and she was, as Emma would say, “stylin’.” Every line of her seemed to say “black is beautiful,” and no one with eyes in their heads would have disagreed.

  Despite her own problems, Loretta had come through in the clinch, too, driving up to Scottsdale to fetch a terrified Emma, now fussing at the foot of my bed, and bringing her back to Tucson, so they could both hover and stare at me whenever Sonterra wasn’t around. He didn’t say much about it, but I knew he was personally inspecting every dented pickup in Pima County, looking for the one that had smashed into me.

  I also knew he hadn’t had any luck.

  I’d tried to distract him with questions about the coyote investigation, but he wasn’t easily distracted.

  I signed the release papers, and a male nurse wheeled me out of the hospital in a chair. Loretta went to get her Lexus from the parking lot, and Shanda was right behind her, with Mrs. K and Emma and most of the flowers—I’d left behind what we couldn’t carry, for the other patients on my floor.

  We had our own little parade going, all the way back to Dry Creek.

  I knew the movers had arrived during my confinement, and all the rooms in the tree-shaded Victorian were furnished with pieces from Sonterra’s place up in Scottsdale. Most of my own stuff was still in storage, and I felt a twinge of guilt. I was still on the emotional fence, one foot in the old life, one in the new.

  What the hell was I so afraid of?

  Bernice and Waldo rushed down the stairs, yelping with joy, while we were still in the entryway.

  I laughed and crouched to ruffle their ears and let them lick my face.

  “This is some house,” Shanda remarked, crossing the threshold with a vase of flowers in either arm. Mrs. K was behind her, carrying more.

  “Sit down, Clare,” Mrs. K insisted, relieving herself of a couple of bouquets to take charge. “Emma, please help Shanda bring in the rest of those flowers. Loretta, make tea.”

  Nobody gave her any guff. Maybe it was that helmet hair of hers. You could have hung a bucket on the side curl.

  Mrs. K pressed me into a chair in the living room. Sonterra’s big-screen TV took up one whole wall, almost dwarfing the fireplace.

  We were going to have to talk about that TV.

  My friend the psychic secret-shopping magnate plopped down on the hassock in front of me and took both my hands in hers.

  “I have good news and bad news,” she said, gazing thoughtfully at the tiny row of stitches visible through my bangs. With a chill, I remembered the apparition I’d seen at the foot of my bed in Loretta’s guest room. She’d been bleeding from the head. I was sure Mrs. K had made the connection, too, but mercifully, she didn’t mention it.

  Recovering from the insight, I let out my breath. “Let’s start with the good news.” I could hear Loretta in the kitchen, clattering around, trying to make tea.

  Mrs. K smiled. “Your pregnancy will continue.”

  “Okay,” I said, much comforted, “what’s the bad news?”

  The smile faded. Mrs. K leaned closer and lowered her voice. “When you saw yourself at Loretta’s, it was a warning,” she said. “And this isn’t over.”

  I didn’t want to believe that, for understandable reasons, so I went straight into denial. “It was probably road rage. The guy was drunk, or high on something. My bad luck to be there when his switch tripped.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. K said firmly, squeezing my hands for emphasis. “It was a deliberate attack, and you know it.” She drew a deep breath, exhaled slowly. “Loretta has a house in Sun Valley, doesn’t she? Get her to take you there. You and Emma. You can come back to Dry Creek when the danger is past.”

  Emma and Shanda ambled in, carrying two bouquets each. Both young women were all eyes and ears, and I knew they’d been listening from the doorway. I hoped they hadn’t caught the whispered parts.

  “I’m staying right here,” I said. If there was one thing this incident had taught me, it was that I wanted—okay, needed—to be near Sonterra. And it had taught me something else, too.

  There were no safe places.

  Nine

  “I ’m coming here to live,” Emma announced that night in the brightly lit kitchen of Sonterra’s Dry Creek digs. He was still working, so it was a hen gathering—Loretta, Mrs. K, Shanda, and me. And, of course, my very adamant niece.

  “I think I’ll check in at the bed-and-breakfast,” Loretta said. “I want to keep an eye on you, and the ranch depresses me anyway.”

  I was a little choked up by all this devotion. I didn’t have much trouble giving, but receiving was more of a challenge. I felt strong when I was taking care of other people and weak when the tables were turned.

  I do not like feeling weak.

  “What bed-and-breakfast?” I asked, leaving Emma’s statement about moving in strictly alone while I collected my thoughts. She’d been staying with her friend’s family up in Scottsdale, but she was scheduled to move into the dorm in a few days.

  “It’s three blocks over, on the other side of Main Street,” Loretta answered, reaching for her glass of iced tea. “It’s a great place. There’s a lodge, but the rooms are cabins, with little patios and kitchenettes.”

  Shanda looked at her watch. “I’d better call Mama. See how Maya is doing.” Her little girl was nearly three years old now, and every bit as smart and good-looking as her feisty mother.

  I nodded, and Shanda excused herself from the table, taking her cell phone from its holster on the side of her purse as she went out the back door.

  “That girl has come a long way since she walked into your office with a bad-check charge hanging over her head,” Mrs. K observed. My eldest friend had been a little subdued, ever since I’d refused to hightail it to Loretta’s ski chalet and hide from the bogeyman.

  I smiled, proud of Shanda. She had indeed come a long way, and mostly under her own steam, too, though she’d had some help from me and from Father Mike, her favorite priest and mine. We’d discussed my plan to telecommute, for the duration of my stay in Dry Creek, and she was enthusiastic. I meant to head up to Phoenix on Friday to help her close my storefront office and set up a new command station in the apartment she shared with her mother and Maya. My caseload was minimal at the moment, and I could handle most of it via telephone, e-mail, and fax. When I needed to make a court appearance or interview a client in person, I could make the drive.

  And I still intended either to find a job or set up some kind of temporary practice.

  I thought of my totaled Escalade and felt a pang. “Major Bitch” bites the dust. I hoped it wasn’t some kind of cosmic metaphor.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I told my niece lightly. “Move to Dry Creek, I mean.” Part of me wanted her to stay in Scottsdale. Another part yearned to have her close by, within the range of my eyes and ears, not just my heart. I’d missed her, and I knew Sonterra had, too. And then there were the dogs—to them, Emma was a goddess. They’d
been following her around since her arrival, sniffing at her shoes. The canine version of holy writ.

  “I’m moving here,” my niece reiterated, more forcefully than before. I saw Tracy in her again. And I saw my own stubborn self. “You need me, Clare. Besides, every time I let you out of my sight, you get into trouble.”

  I laughed. “What about your accelerated study program?”

  Emma’s slender shoulders rose and fell in a graceful, womanly shrug. Dear God, they grow up so fast. One minute, they’re seven, asking when Mommy will be back, and the next, they’re looking after you. “It’ll keep,” she said, in a that’s-that tone of voice. “I’ll go to Scottsdale with Shanda and Mrs. K tonight. Stay on with Tiffany and her folks until you come up this weekend to close the office. But when you head back here on Sunday, I’m coming with you.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said, but I was nervous. After all, somebody in or near Dry Creek wanted to kill me, and they’d damn near succeeded. What if Emma got caught in the cross fire?

  There are no safe places, I reminded myself. Not for you, not for Emma. Not for anybody.

  Shanda came in through the back door, smiling and putting away her cell phone. “You ready to hit the road, Mrs. K?” she asked. “I’m missing my baby girl something fierce.”

  Mrs. Kravinsky’s gaze slid to my face, thoughtful and worried. “Yes,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve got a big project on for tomorrow. I need my rest.”

  “Doesn’t anybody want cheesecake?” Loretta inquired mildly.

  “Well, now,” Shanda said, sitting down again. “Cheesecake. That puts a whole new slant on things.”

  “Not to mention a whole new layer of cellulite,” I replied.

  “I’ll take the dogs outside for a run,” Emma said. I thought it was ironic that she was the one member of the group who could have eaten that whole cake without putting on an ounce, and she wasn’t interested.

  God, I dreaded saying good-bye to her, even for a few days, and I knew Waldo and Bernice would mope after she was gone.

  The crowd was down to Loretta and me by the time Sonterra turned up, tired from a hard day’s work. He hung up his service belt, revolver and all, and looked askance at the leftovers from the deli. “Who’s been cooking?” he joked, bending to kiss me on the cheek and touching Loretta lightly on the shoulder. When nobody confessed, he built himself a grilled cheese sandwich.

  Loretta looked from me to him and back again, and sadness flickered in her eyes. “I’d better go,” she said. She smiled at me. “I’ll be at the Wagon Wheel B&B if anybody tries to kill you.”

  I squeezed her hand. “I’ll be sure and let you know,” I said. “If anybody tries to kill me, that is.”

  She kissed me on top of the head, found her purse, and left.

  “Emma’s coming to live with us,” I told Sonterra, when we were alone. By that time, his sandwich was ready, and he was pouring a glass of milk to wash it down with. “She insists.”

  Sonterra gave me a wry look. “Gee. No more monkey sex in the upstairs hallway.”

  My throat got tight. To Sonterra, Emma and I were a package deal, and his easy acceptance of her moved me deeply. I waited a few moments before I spoke again. “So, how was your day?”

  “Long,” Sonterra said.

  “Any leads on the coyotes?”

  “No,” he admitted with a sigh. “I’ve been concentrating on pickup trucks. Checking paint chips and databases, and all that. Interestingly enough, there have been a couple of similar incidents in the last few months.”

  “Better let it go for now, Sonterra. The feds want coyotes. They’ll be on your back if you don’t produce.”

  “Screw the feds,” he replied, chewing.

  “Great attitude.”

  He looked me over, his eyes warm and weary. “How are you, Babe?”

  I had to swallow again. “I’m okay. Honest.”

  Sonterra looked doubtful. “What’s with Loretta checking into the Wagon Wheel?”

  “She wants to babysit me.” I paused, smiled sweetly. “Have I mentioned, in the course of our relationship, that if you ever cheat on me, I’ll shoot off your kneecaps?”

  He chuckled. “Numerous times. I’m clear on that.”

  I frowned, thinking of Loretta moving into a cabin over at the B&B. It was as if she no longer had a home, and that gave me a bereft feeling. Was there nothing permanent in life? Nothing a person could count on to stay the same? My pragmatic side said no to both questions, but my emotions had trouble making the leap.

  “What do you suppose got into Kip—fooling around like that? I thought he loved Loretta.”

  “He does,” Sonterra said, finishing off his sandwich.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, Counselor. I’m not saying what Matthews did was all right. That boys-will-be—

  boys bullshit is just that—bullshit. But there could be a lot of factors operating here—anything from problems with the IRS to not getting it up to finding a bald spot one morning when he was combing his hair. The bimbo catches him in a weak moment, far from home, and bingo. He’s over the fence and lost in the woods.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “If you’re ever away from home, having a ‘weak moment,’ suffering from erectile dysfunction, and you happen to find some of your hair missing, just remember that life is very difficult without kneecaps.”

  He picked up his plate, carried it to the sink, rinsed it, and set it in the drainboard. For about the millionth time, I silently blessed his late mother for training him so well. Sonterra never left his clothes on the floor, belched on purpose, or forgot to put the toilet seat down.

  “Let’s get married,” he said bluntly.

  I bit my lower lip.

  “You chicken?” he asked. He spoke lightly, but I knew he wasn’t kidding.

  I looked away, looked back. Blushed. “No, I’m not chicken,” I lied.

  “Okay, then. Let’s do it.”

  “I’m all for doing it. It’s getting married that worries me.”

  It was a joke, but Sonterra didn’t seem amused. He ran a hand through his hair, and he looked even wearier than before. “Why?” he asked. It wasn’t the first time he’d put that question to me in this context and many others, but there was something new in the way he said it.

  “You’re busy with a new job. There’s Eddie, and Jimmy’s funeral—”

  “None of which have anything to do with our tying the knot.”

  I took a deep breath. Let it go. “Okay,” I said, and I don’t know who was more surprised—Sonterra or me.

  He crossed the kitchen, pulled me gently to my feet, held me. Kissed the tender spot on my forehead. “You mean it?”

  I nodded against his shoulder.

  Sonterra lifted my chin, looked into my eyes. I blinked back tears. He frowned inquiringly.

  “Hormones,” I explained.

  He chuckled. “Why can’t you just admit you’re scared?”

  “All right. I admit it. I’m scared.”

  He kissed me. My body, in a state of suspended animation since the assault, came alive. “Don’t be. You up for a little slow, easy sex, Counselor?”

  “I can tell that you are,” I said, feeling the evidence against my belly.

  His eyes danced. “Very astute observation.”

  “Slow and easy, huh?” I caressed him.

  “You just got out of the hospital. You’re bruised and scraped. If it weren’t for that, I’d probably bend you over the table and slam into you like a battering ram.”

  I went right on handling him. I loved the low groan he gave, loved the way his eyes smoldered with lust. “I might not be as delicate as you think,” I teased.

  “Don’t tempt me, Clare.”

  I nibbled at his lower lip, unfastened his belt. “Let’s go upstairs,” I crooned. “Right now.”

  He took my hand, tugged me toward the back stairway, switching off the kitchen lights as we passed. The dogs curled up on the hooked rug, i
n front of the stove, resigned to human mating rituals.

  The master bedroom was all set up, the bed made, the covers turned back. Talk about service—those must have been some movers.

  Sonterra undressed me tenderly, peeling away my clothes garment by garment, pausing to admire and caress me every time he uncovered another part of my body. I shivered with anticipation. I had been so close to death. This was life, and I was drawn to it like a poor wayfarer to a fire on a cold winter’s night.

  He laid me down on the bed, ran a hand over me, pausing to rest his palm against my abdomen. I reached for him, wanting to tear off his uniform, but he caught hold of my wrists, pressed them gently back to my sides. I watched, already quivering inside, as he stripped. The sight of his erection made my hips rise a little way off the mattress, as though magnetized to the corresponding part of his anatomy.

  He turned off the bedside lamp, stretched out beside me. Fondled my breasts while he kissed me senseless.

  “I’m not particularly delicate,” I told him, when I could breathe again.

  He grinned. Tongued my nipples in slow, torturous turns, until I whimpered.

  He stopped tonguing and sucked, taking his time.

  “I really, really need an orgasm,” I gasped. The battering-ram idea was sounding better and better.

  “I aim to please,” he murmured, and started kissing his way down my belly.

  I knew where he was going, and the mere prospect of the pleasure to come rolled along the length of my body like a huge, invisible fireball. I tried to turn over onto my knees, so I could grip the headboard and take him inside me from behind in one hard thrust, but he wouldn’t let me.

  He parted my legs, made me dance on the tip of his tongue.

  I begged. I moaned. I cursed.

  I wanted him bad, and he was making me wait.

  “Ummmm,” he rumbled, and sucked.

  Zero to sixty in ten seconds flat. Wheels throwing sparks, I crashed through the guardrail and tumbled over the cliff in a blaze of glory.

  Hot damn, it was good to be home.

  The phone woke us up around midnight, jangling on the bedside table. Sonterra and I unwrapped ourselves from each other, sorting out whose arms and legs were whose, and he sat up, swearing under his breath.