MIDNIGHT CINDERELLA

by Eileen Wilks

  Mark stared at her. "What are you talking about?"

  "He should never have been convicted. How would we go about getting a six-year-old verdict of murder overturned?"

  "Forget it. He had a good lawyer, but the best deal the lawyer could get for him was probation."

  "That's not good enough."

  "Nate isn't going to like it if you go digging around in this," Mark warned.

  "He won't know about it. Not right away, anyway." Hannah's mind was made up. Nate said he hadn't spent much time in jail, but she didn't think he had been free, either. Not for years and years. She was going to find a way to clear some of the shadows from his past, and once the law and his friends and neighbors realized he was innocent, he might believe it, too.

  Maybe if he started believing in himself again, he could begin to believe in her, too—and in the future she desperately wanted them to have.

  The place to start, she decided, was the library.

  * * *

  Hannah had an opportunity to practice her patience, because she couldn't get to the library for several days.

  They went into town that same afternoon, but that was for Trixie's surgery. Hannah thought it was hopelessly sweet that Nate wanted to be there while his dog was operated on, even though he wouldn't be able to take the animal home until Tuesday or Wednesday. It apparently didn't occur to him that he didn't have to make the thirty-minute drive into town so he could sit in the waiting room throughout the two-and-a-half-hour surgery. She suspected that, deep down, he intended to be close enough to will Trixie to be all right. It was totally irrational, of course.

  Of course she had to be there with him, so she could add her prayers to his.

  She hadn't expected him to take her hand there in the waiting room, but he did—just before one of the gossips from church, Ona Biggs, came in with a flatulent pug that looked remarkably like his mistress. The woman stared at the two of them as if they were performing an indecent act in public. Hannah wanted to stick her tongue out, but settled for staring right back at her.

  * * *

  This time, he wanted to take her in the dark.

  When Nate came out of the bathroom after his shower, naked and halfway aroused, Hannah was waiting for him in his bed. All day, he'd looked forward to this moment. Whatever he had done—feeding cattle, checking on his bull, talking to Abe, waiting through Trixie's surgery—at the back of his mind he'd known that tonight he would have Hannah in his bed again. The thought had filled him with satisfaction, anticipation … and uneasiness.

  He didn't want to want her this much. Nate was a highly physical man, but sex had never been this important to him before. He didn't like it. And when he saw Hannah now, sitting up in his bed with her silly, prim, oversize flannel nightgown covering up everything but her face, glowing with pleasure at the sight of him, desire hit him so hard that he stopped in the doorway.

  He reached out and turned off the light.

  "Nate? Are you sleepy?"

  Maybe in the darkness he could forget who he was with. Maybe it wouldn't matter so much. "No." He started across the room, knowing the room well enough that he didn't need sight to make his way to his bed.

  She chuckled. "Want to tell ghost stories, then?"

  "I had another game in mind." He put his knee on the bed. When he reached for her, she was there—her body warm and generous, her mouth opening easily beneath his. She tasted of hunger and life. Hannah. The darkness was no help in his effort to fool himself.

  She pulled her head back, her fingers threading themselves through his hair. "Ah, that is nice. There's something I wanted to talk about, though."

  "Not now," he said, and bent to find her throat with his mouth.

  "It's about your brother."

  "Hannah, I don't want to talk about my brother when we're in bed together." He cupped her breast, rubbing the material over her nipple. "Why do you insist on wearing this flannel sack?"

  "It's about your brother and Jenny."

  He went still.

  "You need to talk to him, Nate."

  "No. I don't know what you think you know, and I don't care," he said harshly. "What happened is in the past, and that's where it will stay."

  She didn't sound impressed. "Oh, sure it will. The way the two of you act around each other—"

  "Hannah." He cupped her face in his two hands, but he could see nothing of her in the blackness. "I cannot stand to have my failures poked at." And he'd failed Mark, failed him miserably. He'd been blind to what was happening when his sick wife decided to seduce his sixteen-year-old brother, and then, when it was too late, he'd sent his brother away instead of his wife. He would never forgive himself for that.

  "Nate—?" Her hands soothed their way up his back. Her touch gentled one kind of tension in him, even as it built another.

  "I don't want to talk," he said, and covered her mouth with his.

  * * *

  Tuesday morning the vet called and said that Trixie had bounced back from the surgery beautifully and could go home. Nate didn't ask Hannah to go into town with him. When she said that she might as well, so she could get a few groceries, he told her he really couldn't spare one of the hands to stay with Mark, and offered to get what she needed. Hurt, but determined to be reasonable, she gave him a list.

  He returned at lunchtime. She held the side door open for him when he reached it, carrying eighty pounds of excited Labrador retriever. Trixie was alternately licking his face and panting happily. For once there was no pretense about the dog staying outside. Nate carried her into the kitchen, where he'd fixed her a bed with an old blanket and pillow.

  "What did the vet say?" Hannah asked, following. "What are we supposed to do for her? Oh, look at the poor thing's leg." It was shaved, of course, and slashed and stitched, and the pins he'd used to piece the bone back together stuck out. Hannah knelt to pet Trixie, whose head rested wearily on Nate's foot while her tail thumped happily.

  "She has to take antibiotics. He said to let her pretty much do whatever feels right. She can stand on three legs already, but she gets tired." He glanced at Hannah, his eyes unreadable. "Maybe you could bring the groceries in.

  Her eyebrows went up. "Well—okay." She went back outside to get the two sacks of groceries from the truck—and saw the bouquet laid carefully on top of the eggs, bread and milk. Waxy yellow petals beamed up at her like a slice of sunshine peeping out from the green florist's paper.

  Daffodils. He'd wanted to surprise her. Her heart stuttered happily. "How did you know?" she said when she'd set the bags on the table. "I love daffodils. They're like a promise. You bury the bulbs in winter, and then in the spring you have beautiful yellow flowers."

  He stood. "They're because of Trixie. I didn't hire you to take care of—"

  "Nate," she said warningly.

  "I wanted to thank you. That's all. I thought the flowers were pretty." He tugged his hat down and headed for the door as if he were late for an appointment with a cow.

  She frowned at his back. "Lunch is ready."

  "I'll eat later." The door closed behind him.

  What was that all about? she wondered, shaking her head. First Nate surprised her with flowers, then he hurried out the door as if he were afraid she might attack him right there in the kitchen. She grinned at the thought, but her grin faded quickly.

  Maybe the flowers had been meant strictly as a thank-you, and he'd left because he realized she'd taken them as a romantic gesture. Nate didn't exactly need to court her. He already had her in his bed, and he'd never indicated that he wanted more from her than sex.

  Oh, but she didn't believe that. She wouldn't believe it. He needed her, even if he was too pigheaded to admit it.

  * * *

  That afternoon, Hannah carried her suitcase from her old bedroom to Nate's. Little by little, she'd been moving her things in. So far he hadn't commented. She didn't know if he liked seeing her clothes hanging in his closet next to his things, or if he was annoyed at the way she
was invading his space.

  If so, that's just tough, she thought as she heaved the big old suitcase up on the bed. Whether Nate realized it or not, Hannah was staking her claim. For now, she'd settle for claiming his room by moving the last of her things in. She was sleeping here. This was her room, now, too.

  It was possible he wasn't going to like the idea.

  When she unlatched the suitcase, her fingers trembled slightly. All her life she'd heard how foolish a woman was if she gave herself too easily to a man. She could almost hear her father now, drawling out his customary warning in his raspy voice: "Remember, girl. A man never buys the cow if he can get the milk for free." Hannah smiled in spite of her nerves as she carried her jeans over to the big dresser. Some of Patrick McBride's ideas would have fit in comfortably a century ago.

  She wasn't letting Nate have everything his way, she told herself as she moved some of his jeans into another drawer, making room for her own. That's why she was doing this.

  But she knew she had been easy for Nate. She'd fallen quick and hard into his arms and his bed. He had everything from her now that a lot of men wanted from a woman—good meals, a clean house and a willing bedmate—and he hadn't had to give up much of himself in return. He'd made it clear he hated the idea of marriage almost as much as he hated the idea of love.

  She was not going to be a convenience for him, she promised herself as she put away the last of her things. She just had to be patient and show him how good they could be together. But Hannah hadn't given any man very much of herself since her disastrous teenage marriage. However firm her resolve to woo and win Nate's trust, sometimes her confidence was no more than a thin and shaky film over the fear that churned below.

  There. She closed the bureau drawer and straightened, glancing around to make sure she'd tidied everything.

  Nate had built himself a big, comfortable nest in his bedroom, with a television against one wall and his books filling the shelves near the bed. The furniture was oversize, built along masculine lines, and, now that Hannah was here, it was polished to a fine gloss.

  There was nothing here from the years he'd spent with Jenny.

  Mark had told her what had happened to Jenny's things. Hannah thought about that as she lugged her suitcase over to the big walk-in closet. Nate had been in jail for murder when Jenny and her brother came to get her things, but Jenny hadn't taken everything. She'd left quite a bit behind, and Hannah couldn't help thinking the woman had meant to claim a place at the house and in Nate's life that way, much as Hannah was doing today by moving her things in.

  But Nate hadn't accepted Jenny's claim. The day after he was released on bail, he'd made a huge bonfire from everything of Jenny's that remained.

  Hannah shivered. She was sleeping here, she told herself as she looked for a place in the closet to store her suitcase. He wasn't going to toss her things out in the yard. But if he thought she was pushing him, pressing for more than he wanted to give… Never mind, she told herself firmly. She didn't need to worry about that flow. Now, she just needed to put her suitcase away.

  There was room on one of the built-in shelves along the back wall, she decided, if she moved things around a bit. She'd barely begun when she found a large metal box. The latch had been broken at some point, and when she tried to pick it up, the lid came open.

  Inside were photographs. Among other things.

  She told herself she had no right to go through anything as personal as this without permission. But the voice of Hannah's conscience was drowned out by her need to learn everything she could about the man she loved. After staring at it, frozen, for a few seconds, she sank to the floor of the closet and pulled the box up beside her.

  Beneath the top layer of photos she found memories. Memories of grade school, junior high, high school. Carefully she removed football trophies, swimming trophies, yearbooks, clippings. She looked at each of them, and she learned. And what she learned made her ache, deep inside.

  Nate had been the quarterback for his high school team. Newspaper clippings described his skill on the football field, articles that glowed with the pride his hometown had taken in him. He had sung in the choir of the church that he would no longer set foot in. He'd been on the student council in high school, and in his senior year he'd been voted homecoming king.

  Jenny had been his queen.

  She stared at the picture in the yearbook of the homecoming king and queen. It was the only picture of Jenny she'd found, and it wasn't very clear. Hannah couldn't see the resemblance everyone else claimed existed between her and Nate's ex-wife, but it was obvious that Jenny had been a very pretty girl, with long, shiny hair and elfin features. She was smiling at Nate as if he were her entire world.

  It was the pictures of Nate that got to Hannah the worst. He'd been serious even then, but he'd had so much hope for the future. She could see it shining in the captured image of his young eyes. Her own eyes were damp as she put away the photo box. She was sliding her suitcase onto the newly-cleared shelf when she heard Nate's voice.

  "Hannah? Are you in there?"

  Her heart jolted. He'd almost caught her looking through his things. "I'm in here, Nate," she said, leaving the closet as quickly as any criminal ever left the scene of the crime. "What are you doing back at the house so early?"

  He stood in the center of the bedroom. His eyes were hooded, his mouth tight. "Do I need a reason?" His hand went to the buttons on his shirt.

  "No, but you never…" Fascinated, she watched as he unbuttoned his shirt. The sight of his bare chest made her forget what she'd been about to say. "Did you come back to change clothes?"

  "I'm not changing clothes." He tossed the shirt to the floor. His eyes held hers—eyes as hot and dark as the nights that they'd lain together.

  Hannah bit her lip. She ought to object, shouldn't she? He was taking a lot for granted, walking in and stripping, acting as if she were available to him any time he held out his hand. But … oh, my, she thought as he tossed his shirt on the floor and the first slick twists of desire spiraled through her. He did have a beautiful chest.

  His hands paused at the snap of his jeans. His lip curled sardonically. "Enjoying yourself?"

  She licked her lips. "Nice view. You planning to take a bath?"

  "You know damn well why I'm here. I started thinking about you. I couldn't stop." He sounded furious about it as he jerked his zipper down. "I was fixing that blasted windmill in the south field, but all I could think about was how you feel beneath me. The way your eyes get all hazy when I push inside you." He kicked his pants and underwear aside. "I want to be inside you, Hannah."

  She swallowed. "You didn't close the bedroom door."

  "Mark's at the other end of the house, and no one else is here." He stood beside the bed, naked and magnificent and held out his hand.

  And, dammit, that was all he had to do—reach out for her. She went to him. Her heart was pounding, the pulse of it thrumming down low as her body responded to his urgency.

  He wasn't patient. His mouth was hard and his hands were demanding as he tumbled her to the bed. He kissed her like a man already at the edge, shoving her clothes aside so he could taste and touch. She matched him need for need, hurrying her hands over him, kissing whatever part of him she could reach. They rolled together. She ended up on top, exhilarated, breathless. She wriggled against him, sending delicious thrills throughout her body.

  "Not today," he said, and grabbed her hips, stopping her. "I can't take any teasing this time. I need…"

  "What?" she whispered, her heart stumbling.

  His hands went to her face. His own face was fierce and troubled. "Why do I need you so much?" he asked harshly. "I don't like it, Hannah. I don't want to need you."

  Hope and hurt crashed inside her, and desire won. "Tough," she said, and slid down over the length of him. "You need me, and I—"

  He pulled her head down and kissed her into silence and right out of her mind.

  * * *

  Cha
pter 14

  «^»

  On Thursday Hannah ran out of patience.

  Mark had his checkup that afternoon. The specialist who was monitoring the way his bones knit was in Amarillo, so Mark and Nate would be going there for the eleven o'clock appointment. But Bitter Creek was on the way.

  Hannah was no good at lying, even by omission. Her palms were clammy when she asked Nate if he would drop her at the library in Bitter Creek on his way to the doctor so she could get a couple of books.

  "I'd forgotten all about your wanting something to read. Of course you can go to the library. We can meet for lunch, if you like—assuming Mark gets the okay to spend some time in a wheelchair. He'll be ready to celebrate."

  She almost confessed her real motives then and there. Three hours later, Hannah was on her way to Green's Drugstore, four blocks from the library. She had a paperback book and two hardcover novels in her backpack—and a sheaf of copies she'd made from some of the texts she'd looked up.

  She hadn't ever dipped into law books before. They were a mess. It had taken her forever to figure out how to look up the information she needed, since she hadn't wanted to ask the librarian for help, and she wasn't sure she'd understood everything. In fact, she was pretty sure she hadn't, which was why she'd copied a lot of it to study later.

  From what she could tell, though, there were two basic ways to exonerate Nate: obtain a retrial, or a pardon from the governor. There was something called an "expunction order" that erased all records of a conviction, but if she understood that part right, Nate would have to get a pardon from the governor first, then apply to have his record expunged. It was all terribly complicated, and it would all take much longer than seven weeks. And seven weeks was all she could be sure she had left with Nate.

  He hadn't said anything about her staying with him once he didn't need her to take care of Mark anymore. And if he did ask … if he did, what then? If he wanted her to continue to live with him without marriage, what would she say?

  She had seven weeks, Hannah reminded herself as she reached the old-fashioned drugstore. All sorts of things might happen in seven weeks.