Risk of a Lifetime

by Claudia Shelton

  “I forgot them, okay? You can put me down anytime now.” Balancing herself on her tummy atop his muscles, she actually enjoyed the view from where she was. She slapped him on his backside. “You know, I missed you.”

  “Did you now?” His hand popped onto her rear and stayed. “I missed you, too.”

  Felt good. Good enough that she smiled to herself as he carried her to the cabin porch and sat her back on her feet. She blocked the doorway. He picked her up by the waist, set her aside, and walked on through. After quickly shaking out the throw, she followed him into the cabin’s warmth and closed and locked the door behind her.

  JB laid his Glock and holster on the table, then filled their plates and poured them each fresh coffee. “Let’s eat.”

  She shook her head, then took her hip-cocked out, hands-on-hips stance. The one that meant she was prepared to wait however long it took. “Not until we get this settled. First you ask whose shirt I’m wearing. Then you go jump in the freezing lake. There has to be a reason.”

  “You want to know the reason?” His voice growled calmly. “Do you really want to know, Marcy?”

  “Yes.” Suddenly, she wished she hadn’t pushed for an answer. Her throat tightened as she flattened her mouth in an attempt to convey strength. “Yes, I do.”

  “No man…” He looked her down and up, pointed, then caught himself and put his hands on his waist. “Aw, hell. Never mind.” He grabbed his cup of coffee, took one long gulp, and sat it in the sink before starting to the front door again.

  She ran in front of him and turned to face her crazy, bullheaded husband. The man who hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on when he got dressed from his swim. Damn, he was making this hard to concentrate with all the tempting muscles staring her in the face. “No man what?”

  He stopped and braced his arms above her and to the sides. Tilted his forehead to hers. “No man wants to see his woman in another man’s shirt. Okay? Least of all me. I know I don’t have much right to say—”

  “You think this is another man’s?” She picked at the almost white, long-sleeved shirt now covered with dirt and sticks from her fall. That’s what this was about? All this because he couldn’t admit he was jealous. If she hadn’t been mad as hell, the scenario would almost be touching.

  “Well, I sure as heck didn’t have one in my duffle.” He pulled his forehead back. “I don’t want to know whose it is, Marcy. Just don’t wear it in front of me again.”

  Son-of-a-gun, he was trying to play the martyr. Baloney on that. She wouldn’t let him off that easy. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Giant ego or not, this time he’d come face-to-face with the fact he wasn’t always right.

  “Get out of my way, you big lug.” She laughed, pushed on his chest again and again and again. Tilting to get around him, he blocked her way with his body. She tried the other side. “Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

  He moved, and she stomped across the floor to the bedroom door. On second thought, this wasn’t over. She stomped back even quicker. Pushing him against the front door, she took her stance. Toe-to-toe, forehead-to-chin, you might say. She had him right where she wanted him.

  …

  JB had her right where he wanted her except for one thing. If she couldn’t understand how he felt about the shirt, then they’d need to have a good, long talk. Not what he’d planned for the rest of the day.

  Her hands gripped the collar of the shirt she had on and began to pull the material up over her head. She got stuck. “Dang it.”

  She undid a couple more of the top buttons. All sense of propriety disappeared when the shirt gapped, and the smooth roundness of her breast made him long to reach out. He kept his hands to himself. She was riled. And he was still none too happy about the man’s shirt.

  Again, she grabbed the collar and pulled upward, her head disappearing like a turtle hiding in its shell. What was she doing? The hem on the shirttail slid up her legs, all the way to her hipbones. Heaven help him. Staying mad was not going to be an option. Not at this rate. In fact, his groin had already made up his mind for him. He inhaled deep and blew out a long sigh.

  She tugged one more iota, and the front of the shirt tail bottom exposed her soft mound. He placed one hand on her hip, easing her toward him. Shifting himself toward her. One hand shouldn’t get him in too much trouble.

  “Stop that.” She swatted his hand away, then reached for the collar again.

  Maybe it would. Or, maybe he just caught her by surprise. He reached out again. This time she didn’t push him away, so he caressed her upper thighs, creeping higher in small increments. She felt good and warm and, in his Marcy-starved state of mind, almost-willing. He was for sure willing.

  Her finger pointed in the general direction of the inside of the shirt collar. Where laundry marks are made. “What does that say on the collar?”

  What did it say? At the moment, he didn’t give a darn what happened to be on the collar. Still, he looked. Looked closer. Son-of-a-gun. Fool…that’s what it said. “Says JBB.”

  His inter-looped initials, his trademark signature, stared back at him.

  “And, what does it say on this side?” She pointed in the same general direction.

  “Says NBD.” Never back down.

  These letters, along with his initials, were the way he’d marked his belongings since he was old enough to go to the store and buy an indelible marker. His fingers inched higher on her body, and she pulled the shirt back into place. He didn’t remove his hold, even made lazy palm circles on her lower, lower back. Her cute little derrière.

  She shoved him away. “Now whose shirt is this?”

  “I never had a lavender shirt in my life.”

  “This was white until I accidently washed it with my purple sweatshirt.” She kept him at arm’s length, tapping her foot. “Answer my question. Whose shirt?”

  Sheepish, he glanced at the floor. “Mine.”

  He found his hands empty and shoved them in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. Dang, he wanted this woman. But, from her expression, the irritated look on her face, he wasn’t sure where he stood at this point.

  “I kept this shirt when I packed your duffle years ago. And I’ve slept in this shirt more nights than you can imagine.” She wadded the material in her hand, blushed. “Imagined you there beside me more times than I want to remember.”

  As he stepped forward, she braced her hand against his chest, and for a moment, he thought she’d come to him. Let him hold her. Make everything right in their world. But, she didn’t. Instead, she pulled her hand away and placed it on her heart.

  “I know I’m the one who shoved you away, but I also waited for you, JB. I cried and I yelled and I crawled in our bed alone. Every single night…I slept alone. I woke up alone. I ate alone. I showered alone.” She paused. “I curled up in the swing on our anniversary…alone.”

  The look on his wife’s face was agony. He could see how he broke her heart by staying away so long.

  She twined her fingers through his, then let them go. Her heat stayed with him. “I called you. Time and again, I called. Why didn’t you answer the phone?”

  Yeah, he’d seen her number on his caller ID many times, but he’d only returned the call once. Right before an undercover assignment.

  Looking back, he couldn’t believe he’d put her through all those days. No. She’d said he wasn’t good enough…or had she? Not those exact words, but that’s what he heard. And when she set the bag on the front porch and locked the door, it was a blow that took him back to all the doubts he had as a child. Still, that hadn’t been the worst.

  The worst he remembered was her turning away from him at night every time he got hurt on the job. Not feeling her warmth against his side had come close to making him quit the force. And being a lawman was what kept him getting out of bed every stinking day. What made him know he meant something in this world. Of course, she was what made him lay down at night.

  He stroked his palm through her hair, twisting his
finger in the softness. “You sent me away, and I told myself that’s what you wanted. Thought I was making you happy by being gone. Maybe you found someone else. Now I see it was my own damn male pride that kept me away.”

  The day he signed the divorce papers she sent had been the first time he felt the coldness of having a hole in his heart. Seeing her in anguish now was worse. Ten times worse.

  “I don’t want anybody else.” Her fingertips brushed across his lips, then she closed the distance to his body. “Ever. And, I don’t want to be alone any more. I just want to lay by your side every night. Be your wife.” She laid her cheek against his chest. “I’m sorry, JB. I’m sorry I ever threw you out.”

  “I’m sorry, too, sugar. For everything.”

  His heart felt like it might burst. He scooped her up, nuzzling her neck as she looped her arms over his shoulders. All he wanted was her warmth surrounding him. Every last inch of him. Now and forever.

  Pausing only long enough to grab his gun and holster from the table as they passed, he carried her to the bedroom and placed the Glock on the nightstand by the bed. After laying her down, he tangled his fingers through her hair. Spread it across the pillow like a blanket of temptation. A temptation he’d been drawn to since the day the soft, reddish-brown strands had first brushed his cheek as she’d leaned over to help him with an algebra equation.

  She circled her palm around the back of his head, but before she could pull him to her, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him. His bare skin craved the feel of her heat. He slid his hand between them and searched for the buttons to set the shirt free. She sat up, her knees soft and tight against his sides, then she undid the rest of the buttons. Slow and sensual, one at a time, until the shirt fell open, stopped only by the fullness of her breasts.

  He stroked his fingers across her skin until she arched, flinging her head back while her breaths came in tiny gasps. Pulling him to her, his mouth replaced his fingers. She opened her eyes and smiled, gliding her palms over his chest, his shoulders. He heard his own groan.

  She blew her breath against his ear. “Now, JB. Now.”

  He shoved the shirt down her arms and off, then rolled her to her back. Covering every spot he knew she liked, he streaked a trail of kisses down her body. His hand caressed her inner thigh, then inched upward. She moaned as her body tensed. He gave her more, more until he felt her release, then clasped her to him as she trembled.

  “Don’t stop.” Her voice softened, buffered by emotions only she possessed, and only he could spark.

  “Oh, Marcy. I’m never gonna stop.” He walked to the bedroom door, closed and locked it. Then he shoved the chest of drawers in front of the door. The villain wasn’t likely to try to break in during the middle of the day, but, if he did, the lock and chest would give JB a few seconds to grab the gun.

  Smart enough to know danger lurked, she didn’t ask any questions. She crawled to the end of the mattress and stood, her arms reaching for him as he walked into their hold. Her hands slid to the top of his jeans and undid the button a moment before she pushed them to the floor.

  Her hands caressed the bruise on his side. There was no pain. Her lips kissed the brand on his chest. There was no pain. Her fingers traced the scars on his abdomen. There was no pain. He sighed heavily as he held her against him. Body to body, skin to skin, heat to heat.

  Being in her arms felt good. Really, really good.

  He was home.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Marcy woke to the scent of her well-satisfied husband and cuddled closer against his chest. They’d spent the afternoon in bed, getting to know each other again and again. The clock on the nightstand read 4:00 p.m. “You awake?”

  “Yep.” He tilted her face up and tweaked her nose. “I thought you’d be too worn out to wake up anytime soon.”

  “I think I need some food.” The cold eggs and biscuits they’d eaten a few hours ago had long since worn off. Her stomach rumbled for more now that her body was happy. Pleasured and happy. “I love you, JB Bradley.”

  “And I love you, too, sugar.”

  She’d never tire of those words. “How about I make some dinner?”

  “Sounds good to me. I’ll just lay here like a man of leisure.” He grinned. “In fact, I’d like my meal served in bed.”

  She dressed, tossing his jeans at him. “You’ve been served in bed all day. Now get up and move the chest from in front of the door, so I can get to the kitchen.”

  Not bothering with the pants, he jumped up and shoved the chest aside. “Think I’ll take a quick shower. Where’s your gun?”

  Oops. He would not like her answer. Even she didn’t like her answer.

  “I laid it by the front door when I went to save you.” She scurried out the bedroom door.

  His look said he wasn’t happy with that answer. “Where?”

  “Under the sofa cushion. Don’t worry. I’m getting it right now.” She pulled the Glock out and checked the load. Years ago, JB had drilled into her mind how to handle a gun. Right now, she was thankful he had. Ever since the sun came up, she’d felt safe. She could see anything headed her way. Night time would be different, and dusk was settling in.

  JB glanced around the doorframe. “Don’t go outside.”

  “I won’t.” She double-checked closing the curtains in the kitchen and the shutters in the living room before she pulled out the first pan. Her cooking skills in her own home weren’t bad, but here might be a different story.

  The sound of JB’s cell phone echoed from the bedroom. Good news? Maybe it meant good news. Maybe she should answer. After all, he was in the shower. The ringing stopped, but no voice mail beep sounded. The sound of running water ended a couple minutes later. His phone rang again, and she walked to the open doorway to the bedroom. He slammed out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips.

  “Yeah? Tell me you got him.” The look on JB’s face clenched with tension from the response on the other end. “Then why did you call?”

  She heard the sizzle of the hamburger in the skillet and returned to the stove. Straining to hear the conversation, she couldn’t make out anything but a few ‘okay’s before JB closed the bedroom door.

  Willing the bedroom door to open, she stirred the meat till it browned. What was wrong? He wouldn’t close the door unless something had happened. After flicking off the stove, she crept to the bedroom door, placed her ear against the wood. Nothing. Had he gone into the bathroom with the phone? Things would really be bad if he went to that extreme to keep her from hearing. She gripped the doorknob and turned—it didn’t turn. She tried again, jiggled the handle. Locked.

  A chill chased down her spine. But she mustn’t panic. She leaned against the wall, hands clasped in front of her, eyes focused on the door. She swayed, bumping her hip on the wall to center her thoughts.

  “Please open the door,” she whispered. “Please let everything be okay.”

  Earlier had been wonderful. Love and sex and rekindling. That’s what she wanted, how she wanted to live. No danger to him. No being so weak on her part that he had to shut her out in order for them to have a chance at being together. All she wanted was for them to close the door and live their life free of the outside world.

  She felt the panic rising in her throat. The tightening of her chest. A sticky feeling lingered just below her skin. Breathe…exhale, breathe…exhale. She’d let herself believe everything had changed, that she could face whatever the future held as long as JB was part of that future. But what if she couldn’t? What if the old insecurities came back?

  Didn’t matter. That would be then. This was now, and she needed to focus on keeping them alive. Her and JB’s future would take care of itself. Right now he needed her to be strong.

  “Breath,” she said to herself. “Just breathe.”

  Even if they survived what was to come, this afternoon might be all they ever had.

  …

  JB tucked the towel around his body and raced for his pho
ne. Caller ID showed Patrolman Kennett, and he flicked the button to on. “Yeah? Tell me you got him.”

  “Afraid not.” The rookie sounded hoarse. Professional. Hard.

  “Then why’d you call?” He searched his mind for what could possibly cause their non-communication plan to be broke. His mind’s eye saw Marcy at the door. The moment she walked away, he closed the door and set the lock. Knowing her, she’d listen from the other side, so he stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. His knees bent as he slid to the floor and settled, his back braced against the wood.

  Kennett cleared his throat. “Sheriff Davis was following up on a lead this morning when Leon rammed him. Shoved him and his cruiser off the road.”

  Shoved? He braced for the worst. “Where?”

  “Tourist lookout number one at the lake. A lead had been called in on a cell. Something about a suspicious hitchhiker.”

  He cringed. Once you went over the edge, that hill went straight down. What had he brought to this town? “How’s the sheriff?”

  “He’s been airlifted to the medical center in Jefferson City.” Kennett sucked in air and blew out hard. “They’ve got him in ICU. He’s in bad shape. Probably gonna lose a leg. Lucky he’s even alive.”

  Jumping to his feet, JB stared in the mirror and tried to wrap his mind around the questions rattling through his mind. “Tell me everything you know.”

  “Leon’s body was found in the dump truck that pushed the sheriff over the edge. Deputy Evans thinks he got all doped up, and once he realized what he’d done, he shot himself.” Kennett paused. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “The cab of the truck looked like a scene from police 101. You know…gun angle, bullet casing, body position…everything seemed too perfect. And if you’re about to do something that could land you in jail again, why would you settle up your bill at the hardware store yesterday? Tell the bank to get a payoff balance on your house ready for tomorrow? Wait. I need to take this other call.” Kennett put JB on hold.