“I’m not telling.”
Her lips parted and she stared into his eyes, issuing a silent challenge of her own.
He reached under her shirt and cupped her bare breasts, watching her eyes drift closed, her lips part a little wider. As hard as he tried to contain himself, he shuddered at the feel of her pearled nipples pressed to his palms, her fluttering heartbeat. Knowing that she had on nothing below drove him crazy. All he had to do was slide his hands lower….
His heart pounding, he brushed his mouth across hers, moving his head until he was at the perfect angle, and bit lightly at her quivering bottom lip. Her soft whimper went straight to his cock and pushed her taut breasts against his palms. Her fingers dug into his backside and she pulled him closer until his erection pulsed hot between them.
Reluctantly, he released a breast and skimmed his hand over her hip, around to the firm curve of her buttock. Giving the smooth flesh a light squeeze, he pushed his arousal against her tense, feverish body. What he wanted was to reach between them, find her wet and ready for him to bury himself inside her. The battle for control and patience strained him to the breaking point.
In the breathy quiet, the phone rang.
No, he had to be wrong. Please, God, be wrong.
The insistent ringing echoed off the muted-yellow walls—not his cell, but the landline—and Alana shrank from him. She tugged at the bottom of her shirt, her cheeks flushed and her gaze skittering.
Dammit, he wanted to ignore the intrusive sound, yank the phone from the wall to make it stop. He looked at the clock over the door. No one called this early on a Sunday unless it was an emergency.
Shit.
He kissed her, fast and hard, and then drew in a deep breath before lunging for the receiver in the middle of the fourth ring.
“Sheriff Calder.”
He heard the slurred murmur of his mother’s voice and briefly closed his eyes. She’d already been drinking. Or more likely, she hadn’t been to sleep yet.
“Mom, it’s six-thirty in the morning.”
He glanced at Alana and shrugged apologetically. She seemed to be in a daze. He knew the fog had barely lifted for him. But he hoped she’d leave in case the conversation got tricky. The kitchen phone had a cord, so he wasn’t going anywhere, although he didn’t plan on talking long.
“I didn’t wake you, did I, son?”
“No, I was awake.”
“I wanted to check with you about supper tonight.”
“I talked to Pop yesterday and told him I wasn’t coming.” Noah rubbed at the suddenly tense spot at the back of his neck and carefully avoided Alana’s gaze. “Didn’t he tell you?”
“He did, but I don’t understand. You never miss Sunday dinner. Did I do something wrong?”
“No, Mom, it’s not you. You know better.” He hated turning his back to Alana but didn’t know another way to hint that he needed privacy. “It’s work related.”
“Everyone knows where to find you on a Sunday evening if they need you.”
Luckily, she didn’t sound as drunk as he’d initially feared. But she wasn’t usually this adamant, either. “I’ll come another night. Maybe Tuesday or Wednesday. How’s that?”
“It’s tradition, Noah. The family is supposed to sit down together on the Sabbath.” Her voice caught. “You know how hard it is for your father and me since your sisters left.”
His father didn’t give a damn about what happened in that house anymore, and Noah could hardly blame him. Though there was no point in taking that road. He loved his mom and at the same time hated that she drank herself into stupors.
He sighed and turned to glance at Alana. She was at the door. It was beginning to get light, and she’d apparently found something to stare at outside.
“Okay, Mom, maybe I can swing dinner tonight.” He had to be getting punchy to even consider this, he thought, staring at Alana’s back, at her long bare legs. “But I have a guest, and if she wants to come with me, I’m bringing her.”
Alana heard him. He knew because she straightened with a slight jerk and then smoothed back her tangled hair. She didn’t turn around, though.
“A woman?” His mother sounded excited. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
“I’m not. She’s—a friend…from out of town. I’m sort of helping her out.”
“Oh, yes, do bring her. I can bake a pie. What kind do you think she’d like?”
“That’s not necessary.” Already he regretted bringing up the idea. Most times he ended up making dinner. “Will you feel up to having company?” he asked calmly but pointedly.
After a brief silence, she said, “I’ll be fine, Noah. I promise you.”
He smiled sadly. He doubted she had a clue as to how many broken promises had strained the family ties. “Let’s keep the meal simple, okay? I’ll help when I get there.”
“You’re a good son. Have I told you that lately?” she asked softly.
“Why don’t you go rest for now? I’m gonna do the same. I’ll see you around five.”
After he hung up, he waited until Alana turned to face him. Her arms started to lift to her chest, then detoured to tug down the hem of her T-shirt. She gave him a tentative smile.
“You don’t have to come,” he said, not bothering to pretend she hadn’t overheard.
“I want to,” she said without hesitation, surprising him, because he’d misread her body language.
But obviously, she had something else on her mind. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it. Man, what a difference a lousy phone call could make. A few minutes ago he’d wanted to drag her into his room and lay her down on his big bed. And now… “Alana—”
“Shh.” She moved closer and put a finger to his lips. “Talk later. Sleep now. Go.”
When he tried to kiss her, she gave him a gentle shove toward the hall. Amazing. She knew exactly what he needed.
10
ALANA ROUTINELY PITCHED IDEAS to multimillion-dollar clients and sometimes spoke at seminars to audiences of a hundred or more people. Rarely had she been nervous, not even her first day on the job. But pulling up in front of the modest brick ranch house in Noah’s truck had her clenching her hands.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into wearing this awful T-shirt and Levi’s. And to Sunday dinner on top of everything. Your parents will think I’m a total slob.” She eyed the old barn that was sorely in need of paint and repair, then looked at Noah. “What?”
“I’m wearing a flannel shirt and jeans,” he said drily.
“That’s different. You’re their son.”
“And you’re their son’s friend.” He turned off the engine. “If you’d worn your fancy silk blouse and tailored slacks, my mom would be jumpy and wishing she’d dug out her mother’s china.”
Alana watched him lean back and sigh quietly. He didn’t seem as rested as he should be after sleeping for seven hours. “What are you going to tell them about me?” she asked.
He shrugged. “The truth.”
Which version? she wondered. For all she knew Noah made a habit of taking in strays. He seemed to be the type. Maybe that’s all this was between them; he was a rescuer and she’d needed rescuing. Oh, hell, what did she expect? It wasn’t as if he was taking her home for dinner for any other reason than to be nice.
God. The altitude was making her soft in the head.
“They must be wondering why we’re sitting out here so long.”
“Nah, Dad’s either in the barn or out in the pasture, and Mom’s in the kitchen, which faces the mountains.” Noah reached for Alana’s hand, then gave her a smile that warmed his blue-green eyes. “I want to kiss you.”
Her heart fluttered. “Where did that come from?”
The smile faded. “Today did not go as planned.”
“Oh, you had a plan?”
“It was my day off. And I had a half-naked woman in my kitchen—”
“Shut up, dammit. You aren’t allowed to bring that up.”
&
nbsp; He stared at her in amusement. “You’re blushing.”
“I am not.” She was. Heat stung her cheeks for the second time in two days. What was with this crazy Montana climate?
Smiling again, Noah leaned over and kissed her briefly on the lips. She wanted more, much more, and just the thought of it made her flush again. If she could get away with it, she’d convince him to turn the truck around and go back to his house.
“You’re evil,” she said, her breathing a little ragged. This was so high school she couldn’t stand it. “Now I have to go meet your parents.”
She looked away, wanting to get her act together before she went inside. But one quick glance at the house had her turning back to Noah again, fast. “Oh, crap, your mother’s at the door.”
He smiled as if he didn’t believe her, and started to lean toward her once more.
“She can see us. Please, Noah.”
He frowned and glanced out her window. His mother waved. “Well, shit.”
“Okay, I’m waiting in the truck.”
“I have tinted windows. Don’t worry about it.” He opened his door. “Even if she saw us, she’s not going to say anything. It was just one friendly kiss.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Oh, great. Here comes my dad with his shotgun. He’ll make you marry me for sure.”
Alana practically shrieked, her gaze flying toward the barn.
Noah laughed. “I’m kidding.” He got out, then came around the hood and opened her door. When she hesitated, he said, “I could bring your dinner out to the truck, but that might raise some awkward questions.”
“Told you…you’re evil.” Alana let him give her a hand down. It was a really big truck, not at all like getting out of a Yellow Cab.
She smoothed her hideous red T-shirt and walked alongside Noah toward his waiting mother, who stood holding the door open. Alana was relieved to see the woman also wore jeans, paired with a blue sweater that matched her eyes.
“Hello, you two. Come on in,” she said, all smiles. Her sandy-blond hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail. Her cheeks had a rosy glow and she had a reasonably trim body, but up close she looked older than Alana had expected.
Noah kissed his mother’s cheek, then held the door open above her head. “Go on in, Mom. I’ll make the introductions inside.”
“Please, come in,” she said to Alana, the excitement in her voice and eyes really quite sweet.
Alana followed her inside, Noah right behind.
“I’m Celia.” She dragged her palm down the front of her jeans, then appeared to be trying to decide between a handshake or a hug.
Alana settled it by extending her hand. She’d never been a hugger. “I’m Alana Richardson,” she said. “So nice to meet you, Mrs. Calder.”
“Oh.” She waved off the formality. “Call me Celia. Son, don’t wear your hat in the house.”
“Right.” With a faint smirk, he removed the Stetson, which left a slight ridge that had Alana wanting to push her fingers through his hair. He hung the hat from the top of an oak coat tree standing near a grandfather clock. “Where’s Pop?”
“In the barn, as usual.” Celia offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sure he heard your truck and will be along in a minute. Please, make yourself at home,” she said to Alana, and gestured to a small, cozy room with a worn but neat plaid couch and two brown overstuffed chairs angled on either side of a brick fireplace. “What can I get you to drink? We have beer, coffee, wine, whiskey….”
“Wine?” Noah snorted.
Celia sniffed. “Yes, Chablis.” She gave him a quick glare as if to tell him to quit being a heathen. “I keep a box of it in case we have guests.”
Noah’s mouth opened, and the second the teasing glint entered his eyes, Alana cut in.
“Chablis would be nice, thank you,” she said quickly. “Would you like some help?”
“No, please sit.” Celia wiped her hands on her jeans again. The poor woman seemed nervous, as though she didn’t have many guests. “I’ll be right back.”
Alana noticed the knitting basket tucked beside one of the overstuffed chairs, and a pipe in an ashtray on the table next to the other. So she took the couch, then crooked her finger for Noah to join her.
While she carefully occupied the right side, Noah sat in the middle, close but not touching, which was surprising considering how he spread his legs in typical male fashion.
Still thinking about the wine, she leaned over and whispered, “I think your mother’s very sweet. And she’s clearly trying her best.”
He cast her a swift, curious glance. “What do you mean?”
Alana blinked. “I didn’t mean anything….” He’d told her nothing about his family other than his sisters had moved away with their families. “I got the impression your parents don’t have company often.”
“No, they don’t,” he agreed with a slight frown. “I’ll likely have to help her with dinner.” He paused, studying Alana for a moment. Probably waiting for her to offer her services, which she’d already done and was really glad about being turned down. “Okay?”
“I can set the table and pour beverages.” She wasn’t sure what she’d said to earn her a funny look, but she glanced in the direction she presumed was the kitchen and let out a frustrated sigh. “I can’t cook.”
He smiled. “We’re not having anything fancy, I promise you that.”
“No, I mean, I really can’t cook. Boiling an egg, yes, I can manage, but that’s about it.”
Shrugging, he said, “Mom’s not such an ace in that department, either. That’s why I might have to help.”
Pleased, Alana settled against the couch. “I like her more already.”
He was sliding an arm along the back, leaning toward her, when a loud bang startled them both.
Instantly alert, he jumped to his feet. “Mom, you okay?”
“Fine,” she called out. “I dropped a pan.”
“Stay here.” His face drawn in a concerned frown, he walked at a fast clip toward the rear of the house.
Alana’s impulse was to follow him so she could help, but she did as he asked, wondering what was nagging at her. Something wasn’t right. Noah was a laid-back guy, but from the time they’d left his house she’d sensed an aura of tension around him. Nothing obvious, in fact so slight she could easily convince herself that it was her imagination.
After all, she barely knew the man, so it was pretty absurd that she was giving the matter any thought. He might simply be nervous about bringing a woman home, lest his parents get the wrong idea. God, just thinking about introducing a man to Eleanor was cause enough to hyperventilate.
They were taking a really long time, so Alana got up to look at a collage of pictures hanging on the hallway wall. She smiled when she saw the photos of a young Noah, clearly high-school age, one with him in a football jersey, another in a tux and boutonniere, looking stiff and ready to bolt. Even as a teen he’d been broad and muscular.
Several other photos were of two women who had to be his sisters, both of them blonde like their mother, and with stunning blue-green eyes similar to Noah’s. And the kids…wow. A studio portrait of a gorgeous towheaded toddler with a round cherub face, long curls and big blue eyes was flanked by older twins with the same light hair, same eyes. All three kids could easily be used in print ads. They had to be his nieces. Alana wondered if the pursuit of modeling careers for the girls was the reason his sister had left Blackfoot Falls. Sad for Celia. She had to miss her grandkids like crazy.
Alana’s mind drifted to Eleanor. So not the grandmotherly type. She’d probably check herself into a psych ward if Alana even got pregnant. Though she doubted that would ever be an issue. Alana couldn’t see herself as a mother. Sometimes it bothered her that she didn’t have a single maternal instinct. Her career was what motivated her.
At least she knew where she stood. Eleanor had had no business having a child.
“Sorry I took so long.” Noah passed her
the white wine, filled to the brim of a sherry glass. “It was this or a tumbler,” he said, his gaze going to the collage. “Those are my nieces.”
She noticed he didn’t have a drink, and wondered if he might have to go to work later. “Is everything all right?”
“Yep.” He peered closer at one photo of the twins. “Cute kids, huh?”
“They’re beautiful. Truly. They could be models if your sister wanted. When did she move?”
“Vicky left six years ago, and it’s been about three since Tina packed it in.”
Odd way to put it, Alana thought, studying him for a moment before looking again at the pictures. “The kids weren’t born here, then?”
He pressed his lips into a thin line. “No. They visit once or twice a year.” His voice had lowered. “Do me a favor and don’t bring them up in front of my mom.”
“No, of course not. She has to miss them. Guess it’s up to you to fill the void.”
He snorted. “Not likely.”
“What? No kids for you?” Alana had absolutely no stake in his answer, and still her pulse quickened in wait.
“Didn’t say that.”
Expecting him to elaborate, she took a sip. It was pretty awful stuff, but then she was a certified snob when it came to wine. “I don’t get it,” she said, when it finally appeared he had abandoned the subject. “Either you want kids or you don’t.”
From the amused lift of his brows, she assumed he thought she was being nosy. She preferred to think of it as mild curiosity.
“I wouldn’t mind having a couple, but I’m not going to get married just to have kids.” He cast a fond look at his nieces. “What about you?”
“Oh, God, not me, I’d be a terrible mother.”
“Why would you say that?”
“I have no experience with children. I had a dreadful role model. I’m completely selfish when it comes to my career. I have never been nor have I ever wanted to be responsible for another human being. Frankly, the thought terrifies me.” She met his eyes, annoyed that she was feeling defensive. There was no reason for it. She was simply being honest, not trying to be popular or politically correct. “Does that answer your question?”
Own the Night Page 11
