by Rita Herron
"You wanna try it, baby?" Mike whispered.
Casey froze at Mike's words. "Try what?"
Mike slipped his arm around her. "Mud wrestling. It's amateur night. They have sign ups after the show."
Casey stared at Mike in disbelief. "You're kidding, right?"
"Naw, baby. It's kind of fun. Nothing's sexier than watching two babes in bikinis crawl around and grab each other. Just look."
Casey peeked through downcast eyes. She'd avoided watching the "show" as Mike called it, ever since they'd walked in. Mike pointed to the arena where two women rolled and slipped in the thick vat of mud. Hair pulling, mud slinging, fighting, screaming, and dunking initiated catcalls and hoots from dozens of men. Testosterone oozed through the room.
Loud whistles and offensive gestures pierced the air. The smell of cigarettes and cigars hung thick around her. Worse, the man sitting next to her wearing a flannel shirt and overalls kept spitting something black and stringy into a small cup. At least most of the time, he hit the cup. A tiny stream ran down his jaw and he swiped it with one sleeve.
Casey wound her fingers around her soft drink and shook her head. "I... I don't think so, Mike."
"Ah, come on, baby. I'd like to watch you." Mike planted a wet kiss on Casey's neck and tickled her jaw with his tongue. Casey fought the urge to slap him. He smelled like motor oil and through the front of his thin faded t-shirt, she'd noticed an earring piercing his nipple.
And his kiss felt like Henry S.' or worse—Dog's. He drooled like a Saint Bernard.
So unlike the kiss Gabe Thornton had given her.
"It'd be a real turn on," Mike whispered. "And I'll help you clean up later."
Maybe to you, but not to me. The words were on the tip of Casey's tongue when she spotted a familiar face staring at her. Gabe Thornton. What was he doing here?
Casey's eyes widened when he threw up his hand and waved. His jaw looked etched in granite. His gray eyes were black, and he hugged the edge of his chair as if he might leap up and attack someone any minute. The direction of his dagger-look seemed focused on her date.
"Excuse me for a minute," Casey said, sliding out of Mike's embrace. "I'm going to the ladies' room."
"You want me to sign you up while you're gone?" Mike ran one finger down Casey's arm. "I'll help you clean up afterwards."
Casey glanced at Mike's hopeful expression, stood and dodged a swat on the behind. He was the first man she'd ever considered telling to shave his hands.
"No. I'm not a fighter," Casey said, wincing at her own lie. But his groping hands tempted her to knee him in the groin.
She definitely was a fighter. She'd learned to stand her ground at a young age. Without her tenacity, she never would have survived the streets as a teenager.
Gabe's mocking grin taunted her across the room. Tonight, though, she had in mind another kind of fight, one with a certain reporter who seemed to be following her.
Broken peanut shells covered the floor, creating a sticky mess that made Casey feel like she was walking on peanut butter as she strode toward him.
Lewd invitations followed her, but she ignored them. When she'd lived on the streets years ago, those kind of invitations had become routine. Now they reminded her of a life she'd tried desperately to forget.
By the time she stopped at Gabe's table, fury at all the men in the place had seized her, and she glared at him, her hands planted firmly on her hips. At least Gabe remained sitting down, making him more approachable than when he stood towering over her. Then he had the nerve to grin, and Casey's heart pounded so loud she could hardly hear the vulgar screams of the audience. Damn his dimple.
"What are you doing here?" Casey asked.
Gabe shrugged, relaxing in his seat. "Just enjoying the show." His gaze slid toward the women in the ring as he sipped his drink.
"I guess you would. After all, you are into mud slinging." Anger bubbled inside Casey. She was tempted to pick up a blob of the mud and smear it on Gabe's shirt.
He swung his gaze back to her, his smile fading. "I guess I deserved that. But I tried to apologize."
Casey frowned. "Are you following me for another article? Hunting for more dirt to write? What happened, Gabe? Everyone love the story so much you're going to do a whole series now?"
"No." Gabe looked directly into Casey's eyes, capturing her gaze. "As a matter of fact, my editor did ask me to do a series, but I turned him down. I'm not here for a story."
Casey hated losing control, but Gabe's serious expression frightened her more than the thought of another article. "Then what? You're here because you get all turned on watching these women mud wrestle, too?"
Gabe studied her with heated eyes. Several tense seconds later, he sat his drink down. "Is that what motorcycle man said? He wanted you to participate."
His husky voice made Casey back away. She wrapped her arms around herself in a protective gesture. Did the man have telepathic qualities? "I... have to get back."
Standing, Gabe blocked her path. "I'll take you home if you want." He inched closer, then lowered his voice so his next words sounded like a combination apology and seduction. "I would never have brought you here."
Casey shivered at the sultry undertones of his statement. A pot-bellied man staggered forward to accept his beer from the waitress and bumped Casey knocking her sideways.
Peanut shells crunched beneath her feet. Casey slid then clutched at Gabe's arm, and he steadied her.
For a fleeting second, she considered his offer. She'd be crazy not to accept. One more minute of this loud, heckling place, and she might scream.
But undisguised, raw desire turned Gabe's gray eyes a smoky hue that reminded Casey of hot steamy nights and cool, crisp sheets. She wasn't prepared to deal with the kind of passion a man like Gabe exuded. And he would probably laugh at her naive innocence. For goodness sakes, she was a virgin; he was a ladykiller.
"No, thanks. I came with Mike. It would be rude to just leave."
Gabe trapped Casey's hand in his, gently stroking each finger, sending shards of delight racing through her. "You don't owe the guy anything."
The tenderness in his voice intensified Casey's fear. The electricity in his touch heated her own desire. She had to get away from the man.
"I know that, but I'll ask him to take me home."
Gabe tightened his hold around her hand. "Are you sure he's not dangerous, Casey?"
No, but you are. Casey almost said the words aloud, but she didn't want Gabe to know the effect he had on her, so she shook her head. "I'm not afraid of him."
Gabe arched an eyebrow. "But you're afraid of me?"
Casey tugged her bottom lip between her teeth and looked down at their still joined hands. He could probably hear her erratic breathing. He could probably see the yearning in her eyes. How could she tell a man like him how she felt?
He would never understand.
"You're afraid of what's happening between us, aren't you? I can see it in your eyes. They light up and your pupils get all dilated and you..."
"I am not afraid, so stop it," Casey hissed. "And my pupils aren't doing any such thing."
The huskiness of Gabe's voice took Casey by surprise. "Oh, yeah, you're scared, honey." He traced her jaw with one finger. "It's okay. We'll take it slow."
Casey's pulse raced. "I really have to go now. Thanks for the offer." She eased her fingers from Gabe's.
His lips moved in protest, but the only thing Casey could think of was the way Gabe's lips had felt when he'd kissed her.
And that she wanted him to do it again.
* * *
Gabe made a fast phone call, then rushed from the mud wrestling rink and headed toward Main Street. If he couldn't be with Casey, he might as well work. He'd practically chipped a tooth from grinding his teeth together every time Mike touched her.
Slowing his pace, he ambled down an alleyway, hunching in his jacket against the evening wind. The smell of garbage and urine assaulted him and he exhaled i
nstead of absorbing the foul odors. Glancing quickly around, he searched for his contact.
"Psst."
Gabe swiveled at the sound.
"Psst. In here. Is it clear to talk?"
Quickly scanning the area, Gabe answered in a low voice. "Yeah, but where the hell are you, Quickchange?"
The soft clink of metal directed him to the trash can.
"Geez, is that the only place you could hide?"
Soft laughter echoed from the metal can. "What, you don't like the smell of trash?"
Gabe jammed his hands in his pockets. "Hardly. I suppose I should be thankful you didn't choose the fish market."
"Good idea."
"Let's make it fast. I look like an idiot talking to a garbage can." Gabe leaned against the metal can, his gaze perusing the area.
"You first."
An elderly couple strolled by, staring at him as they heard the muffled voice. Gabe waved and they rushed off, their faces panicked.
"You can pick up those magnets at any five and dime," Gabe said. "Any word on the prints?"
"Not yet."
"So far, the victims have all had electronic stuff stolen. Any news on the street about the goods?"
A harsh whisper echoed through the chilly air. "Word is there's a new gang around—the Switchblades. The robberies might be an initiation act."
Gabe nodded. "I'll check out the underground market."
"Done. Some of the merchandise has already gone through." He cleared his throat. "Don't tell the Lieutenant I gave you this info. He'd have my badge."
Gabe tapped the top of the can. "You're safe, Quickchange, I'll make you the hero in the story."
The man muttered a curse. "Let's just get the punks, Thornton. I owe you one for that junkie anyway. How about that ad you were going to check out?"
"A dead lead," Gabe said. "But don't worry. I'm not giving up." The hum of a motorcycle drew his eye. Was it Mike and Casey? No, a whole herd of motorcycles followed.
He turned and saw his friend climb from the garbage, grab a shopping cart filled with odds and ends, and amble off. Gabe headed the opposite direction. The young cop had more faces than a con artist.
He'd been dressed like a homeless old beggar.
* * *
He was obsessed.
He was possessed.
He was out of his ever-loving mind.
Never before had Gabe lost sleep over a woman. But Casey's dream taunted him, her eyes mesmerized him. Her soft voice played like music to his soul.
And like a fool, he had spent the better part of the morning thinking up another surprise.
Should he send blueberry muffins or a basket of bluebells? And what about Henry S.? Maybe he should send him a boat or one of those toy buckets to play with.
Hank knocked on his door and lumbered in without waiting for Gabe to acknowledge him. Gabe quickly shoved his notepad closed. If Hank saw his alphabetical list of love offerings, he'd never let him live it down. Someone in the newsroom would most likely write a piece about him and what a nut he'd become. They'd probably order him to see a psychiatrist.
"Working on that robbery piece?" Hank asked.
Gabe nodded. "I talked to Lt. Harper a while ago. There've been two new hits in the last two days, H and I, but so far, the only leads are those plastic magnetic alphabet letters."
Hank rubbed one hand across his chubby belly. "If anyone can help uncover this thing, you can, Gabe. By the way, did you think some more about that follow up series on the love-wanted ads I suggested?"
Gabe shook his head. The piece had brought him nothing but grief and an obsession with a woman who wanted nothing to do with him.
"Well, think on it." Hank closed the door.
The article idea only reminded him of Casey. Damn the stubborn woman. He'd probably have gray hair before he got to the letter "g."
Casey's eyes did light up when she looked at him, and they dilated, too. She could deny it all she wanted, but he recognized fear and passion when he saw it and he'd seen it in her eyes. He imagined the two of them lying together under that oak tree she'd mentioned in her dream.
Frustrated, he slammed his fist on his desk, then exhaled a sharp breath, picked up the phone and dialed the florist. Round two had just begun.
Hell, if he had to, he'd take her a stirfry dinner and prove that he could eat his vegetables all mixed together. He shivered at the thought of snow peas and carrots on the same spoon, then swallowed.
Maybe he'd save that as a last resort.
* * *
Bluebells.
Blue bonnets.
And a tiny little baby blue birdhouse.
Casey swiped at the tears streaming down her face as she read the florist's card.
The letter 'b' reminds me of how beautiful you are. I wanted you to have these things as a reminder of me. Gabe
"Why is he doing this?" Casey shrieked.
"Who doing what?" Henry S. asked. With a tiny finger, he pushed the little bird swing back and forth.
"Oh, nothing, honey. I was just wondering why Gabe Thornton sent Mommy these nice gifts, that's all."
"Waining, Mommy. Wook, a fwood." Henry S. pointed to the window and climbed up on the chair to watch the steady downpour.
"You mean a flood, Henry S."
Henry S. nodded, drawing circles on the foggy window. Gently Casey placed the birdhouse on the window sill and the flowers in front of her bay window. "It sure is raining, sweetheart. Guess we can't go out and play today. Maybe we can work on our 'dot' pictures. The car prints turned out great."
"Mommy, wook. Fwoating worms."
Casey peered through the window. "Oh, no, Henry S., they're not floating, they're drowning."
"Dwowning?"
"Yes, honey. The water's so deep they can't get out."
Henry S. jumped up and down, "Save worms!"
Casey grinned. "You read my mind, little buddy. Come on, let's get our rain slickers, or we'll be drenched like water rats."
Henry S. dragged his bright yellow slicker and boots from the closet. Casey kicked off her sneakers, pulled on a pair of knee high boots and a plastic orange poncho.
"Get your little shovel. We'll use it to scoop them up."
Seconds later Henry S. ran back with shovels and buckets. "Wescue worms."
"Lead on!" Casey and Henry S. marched outside into the heavy rain.
* * *
He should have called first. Grandma Maude always said a gentleman called before visiting a lady. But Grandma Maude had never met Casey.
Gabe rounded the corner and spotted her house. If he'd called, she would probably have told him not to come over. So he hadn't phoned. He'd sent gifts, driven over in the middle of a torrential rainstorm, and now he was showing up on her doorstep, unannounced, with a basketful of blueberry muffins plentiful enough to feed the entire staff at the paper. How could she turn him down?
Hell, she could though.
What if she had another date? Or what if he discovered Brick there again?
The possibility bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Last night watching Mike paw her had him panting like a wildman. Thinking about her crawling in bed with either Mike or Brick had sent him jogging at midnight, costing him a night's sleep. After finally dozing off, he'd woken up with his stomach in knots and was forced to eat pasty oatmeal for breakfast to settle his nerves.
Damn, the woman. If she didn't go out with him soon, he'd turn into a walking zombie. He couldn't stand these raging feelings. Gabe Thornton was an orderly man, methodical, detail oriented, always in control.
Until he'd met Casey. She had changed everything.
He rolled into her driveway, squinting to see through the heavy rain. His windshield wipers swished back and forth in tune with his frantic heart. One blade cleared a tiny path, and he narrowed his eyes. Was someone outside in Casey's yard?
Probably that beast Casey called a dog.
He glanced again. No, it wasn't Dog. Dog lay on the porch, safe fr
om the pelting rain. Who would be out in this weather? With one hand, he cleared a foggy spot off the windshield.
What in the world was going on? Casey's little boy stood in water over his knees. At least he thought he was standing. On second glance, Henry S. leaned over and dove head first into the muddy puddle. His little legs wiggled and kicked as he dug himself in further. Rain pelted down, ricocheting off the tiny little yellow blob.
Gabe grabbed the doorhandle. Children drowned in bathtubs and toilets all the time. A little guy like Henry S. could drown in a mud puddle.
Panic kicked in. Gabe swung his door open and jumped out. Where was Casey? Had Henry S. sneaked out or was she out on one of her damn dates? Doing the nasty with Brick and using up another dozen condoms in one night? Or maybe she was out with mud Mike and Brick was screwing some other woman in the house and poor little Henry S. was left on his own?
Oblivious to the rain soaking him and the mud seeping through his loafers, he sprinted toward the child. Squeals and shouts echoed above the thunder. As Gabe reached Henry S., the sky opened up again, and the rain poured harder.
Quickly, he scooped the boy up, but his foot slipped in the mud, and they both came tumbling down. Henry S. screamed and grabbed his shirt, half choking him. Gabe landed butt first in the puddle with the mud-soaked toddler in his lap. He glanced down and noticed Henry S. holding a small bucket in his hand. Dozens of worms slithered and wiggled over the sides.
"Mommy!" Henry S. cried.
Gabe's gaze flew up to see a nice round tush straight in front of him. A hideous orange plastic rainslicker disguised the body, but Gabe realized instantly that the great bottom and gorgeous legs belonged to Casey. She looked ridiculous in those boots and shorts, like a little girl playing in the rain.
At Henry S.' scream, Dog tore down the steps, then bounded up and licked his face.
Casey spun around, her mouth opening in surprise. "Gabe?"
Standing ankle deep in the streaming water, her eyes were the only visible part of her face peeking out from beneath the bright orange poncho. Rivulets of water streamed down her face and dripped from her nose and chin. Clumps of wet hair inched from beneath the hood. Her hands were muddy, the front of her poncho streaked with water and dirt.
