Bulletproof Heart

by Sheryl Lynn

  “I haven’t seen Pat since high school.”

  “Even so, with Tuff on the loose, maybe it’s best if you took off for a while. I don’t have a man to put out here to guard you. I’d stay myself, but I’m too busy.”

  “I can’t leave. It’s impossible.”

  “Go visit your friends in Kansas City for a week or two. We’ll have Tuff in custody by then.” A sharp squeal cut off whatever else he meant to say. He worked a pager off his belt. “Mind if I use your phone?”

  “Help yourself.” She rested her face on her hands. Putting Tuff in jail hadn’t lessened the harm he could do to her in the least. While in jail, he may have hired a man to hurt her—maybe even kill her. She wasn’t surprised. But she was very frightened.

  Mickey dropped a heavy hand on her shoulder. “I have to go, honey. Duty calls. If you want, I’ll come by tonight.”

  “I’ll be all right. Joey will be back soon.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Right. As soon as he walks in that door, you tell him to get his butt into my office.” Mickey retrieved his hat and settled it carefully on his head. He worked his arms into his rain poncho.

  She saw him out the door and turned the dead bolt. It locked home with a soothing clunk. She remained at the door, watching him drive away. The rain had eased off again, but the wind had picked up so it shuddered and howled against the house. Down at the creek the cottonwood leaves had been blown inside out, so the silver sides showed.

  “Emily?”

  She broke out in goose bumps from head to toe. Shivering, she hugged herself. “Were you listening?”

  “I caught part of the conversation,” Reb said.

  “Mickey thinks Joey is in cahoots with Tuff. And there’s a rumor that Tuff hired a man to hurt me, maybe kill me.” Saying the words aloud made her feel sick and scared all over again.

  “You should follow the sheriff’s advice.” He helped himself to a cup of coffee. “Leave until this blows over.”

  “I can’t. Despite what Joey says, he needs me.” She pushed away from the door, and Reb rubbed her shoulder. She looked up at his face and loved him all the more for his worried eyes and the unhappy pull of his mouth.

  “Think about yourself for once,” he said.

  She laughed bitterly. “I thought about myself when I married Daniel. Look at the mess I caused. I can’t desert Joey. If I do and Tuff comes here, then Joey will help him.”

  “Putting yourself in danger will make things better?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right. I don’t.”

  She wasn’t certain if she understood fully, either. “He’s my brother. I let him down once, and I’ve regretted it ever since. It won’t happen again.”

  “Your grandfather had no right to make you promise to watch out for Joey.”

  “He had every right. We’re family.” She pulled away from him. “I need to finish the laundry.”

  He followed her to the laundry room. Leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb, he crossed his arms. His eyes were indigo, shadowed by narrowed lids, and his disapproval shone through loud and clear.

  She transferred her and Reb’s clothes from the washer to the dryer, then she measured out soap and started another load in the washing machine. “Haven’t you ever loved anybody? What’s the use of living if you’ve got no one to care about but yourself?”

  “Look how Joey treats you,” Reb said. “If you think acting the martyr is noble, think again. He doesn’t deserve what you’re doing for him.”

  “You really don’t understand.” She faced him, and the sight of him filled her with regret. He was good and strong with gentle hands and gentle ways. She knew deep down where it counted he was capable of great love and loyalty. She suspected he knew it, too, and it spooked him.

  “I know exactly what Joey is going through. When my husband had a heart attack, it was sudden, no warning. One minute he was in the restaurant, laughing and talking the way he always did. Then…he wasn’t. He was dead. Gone.” She snapped her fingers. “Like that. After the shock wore off, I was angry. Every night I’d cry into my pillow. When I sold the restaurant, I swear a part of me was saying, See, that’s what you get for leaving me. It took me a long time to get over being angry.”

  “That excuses the way Joey treats you?”

  “Not exactly. But it doesn’t make me love him any less.”

  He snorted. “I don’t know whether to admire you or think you’re an idiot.”

  “I’m not saying I’m smart, Reb. I’m just telling you how it is.” She shrugged. “Speaking of stupid, maybe we should discuss why you’re hanging around.”

  His mouth curved into a slow, sheepish grin. “Touché.”

  “I won’t think any less of you if you do the smart thing and skedaddle. I’m guessing you weren’t looking for trouble when you hired on.”

  “There’s that little matter of the yellow streak down my back. I resent the implication.”

  It took a moment to understand what he meant. “Oh, I get it. Proving you’re a big, strong, brave man is so much more sensible than my family loyalties.” Thankful for the touch of lightness, she managed a smile. “Truth is, doing the smart thing doesn’t make you chicken.”

  “I don’t want to leave.”

  The poignant note behind the statement touched her. Maybe he never had any intention of caring about her and Joey, but he cared anyway. Maybe, just maybe, he loved her a little bit, too. She held out her arms to him. He averted his gaze.

  “I’m scared. Hold me, Reb.”

  His features tightened, turned dark and pained. He pushed away from the doorjamb and gathered her into his arms. When she reached upward for a kiss, he captured her mouth with a mixture of ferocity, yearning and soulful sweetness. Embers of desire caught fire, stripping her of any thought except of him. He caught her waist in both hands and hoisted her atop the washing machine. Moist heat seeped through her sweatpants, and the vibration of the motor heightened her excitement. She kissed and kissed him, absorbing the wet freshness of his mouth and the soapy scent of his skin. She wrapped her legs around his hips, and he thrust his pelvis at her, leaving no questions about his arousal. She raked her fingers through his damp hair and worked her other hand inside his robe. Her breasts ached, grown turgid, and she felt silently desperate for Reb to work his hands underneath her shirt.

  But he abruptly broke the kiss. She stared into his eyes and was lost in their black, gleaming depths. He stroked her waist and ribs, and his thumbs grazed the sides of her breasts.

  “We shouldn’t do this,” he said, his voice raw. “The timing is bad. Your defenses are down.”

  “I don’t need any defenses against you.”

  He cocked his head, his expression touchingly puzzled.

  “Do you think this is spur-of-the-moment?” She nuzzled her nose against his. “You’re not that dumb, Reb Tremaine.”

  He slipped both hands under the hem of her sweatshirt. Her back arched in a spasm of pleasure as his hot palms resumed lazily, sensuously caressing her sides.

  She wanted to tell him they should do this because she loved him…to say that a little while with him was far, far better than never being with him at all. But words were inadequate. She clasped his face in both hands and drew him toward her for another kiss.

  “Ah, Emily,” he whispered, and kissed her again.

  Chapter Eleven

  Reb made love to her slowly, thoroughly, passionately. What he refused to say with words, he spoke with his hands tenderly against her skin, with his lips hot against her mouth. Lost in his loving, she cried out her pleasure and whispered his name and begged him to stay with her forever. He answered her pleas with gracefully expert hands, holding back nothing, drowning her in the intensity of his passion and the depths of emotion in his eyes.

  Afterward they lay entwined on her narrow bed, tangled in the sheets and blankets. She sprawled halfatop him, with one leg thrown over his thighs. Cold air against her cooling ski
n tingled pleasantly. She breathed in his sweet, musky scent. Reb lay on his back with an arm hooked behind his neck. His expression was remote, his gaze troubled.

  His distance saddened her. A few minutes ago they’d been as one. He’d denied her nothing of himself. Now it was as if a wall had dropped between them. She saw regret in the thin set of his mouth. Or perhaps guilt.

  She searched for light words, reassuring words. She had no regrets. The only guilt she felt concerned being warm and happy while her brother was out in the storm.

  His chest rose and fell in a heavy sigh.

  Did he love her? she wondered. A little bit? She wanted to ask if he’d ever been in love, and if so, had the woman wounded him and turned his heart stony.

  “The rain stopped,” she said. Though still cloud covered, the sky had lightened. Moisture made lace patterns on the window glass. “I hope the sun comes out. Every bit of hay we can harvest is that much less I have to buy.” She frowned. “Do you know if Claude called the haying crew yet?”

  He merely grunted softly.

  “You were right before when you said I don’t like ranch living,” Emily mused. “There’s too much stuff to worry about. Running a restaurant is ten times easier.”

  He turned his head to look at her.

  Subdued, she asked, “Do you want me to be quiet?”

  He petted her hair, fingering the long curls. His silence wore on her nerves. Uneasy laughter rippled through her as she remembered the box of condoms he’d purchased. Protection neither of them had mentioned in the heat of the moment. She debated mentioning it now, but if he wasn’t thinking about it, she sure didn’t want to bring it up. No sense giving him more cause for regrets.

  She struggled upright, clutching a corner of the bed sheet over her breasts. The floor was cold under her bare feet. “Guess I ought to finish the laundry.”

  “Finishing the laundry is how this got started.”

  She looked over her shoulder. He smiled at her, relieving her greatly. Warmth filled her. With it came a yearning for a child from this union. Even if Reb left her, she wanted a piece of Reb to keep forever. She placed a hand low over her belly, and hoped.

  Crazy hope, ridiculous hope, unrealistic and selfish hope—but she hoped anyway.

  Tearing away from him, she slipped on the emerald green robe, went downstairs and started water boiling for a cup of tea. Then she stood at the window. Backed by pale silver clouds, the mountains looked sharp, as if they’d been carved by a razor. The landscape was fresh washed and bright, the colors having an extra sparkle. Tiny chickadees and juncos gathered at the edges of puddles. Hens scampered around the chicken house.

  “Any coffee left?” Reb asked.

  She reached for the cupboard where she kept cups. She couldn’t make herself look at him. As a child she’d been deeply superstitious, seeing signs and omens in every night-bird cry and oddly grown flower. The childish beliefs filled her now. If she turned too fast or looked too hard at him, he’d disappear. Ergo, if she didn’t look at him, he had to stay.

  She filled a cup and set it on a counter, keeping her back to him.

  “I want to drive over to Claude’s. He may have an idea where Joey went.”

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  She thrust out a hand, showing him her rigid palm. “No, we don’t.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Emily.”

  He had that dead wrong. He was going to break her heart. For now it didn’t matter. What mattered was the scent of him clinging to her skin and the sweet memory of him kissing her.

  “Let’s just be quiet for a while,” she said. She wanted the luxury of believing that what they shared would last.

  The teakettle began to whistle. While she fixed a cup of tea, chair legs scraped the floor. His image was burned in her brain; his scent and the feel of him and the sound of his loving were fixed firmly in her heart.

  “Our jeans aren’t quite dry yet. You might as well run over to the bunkhouse and get dressed in fresh clothes. We’ll drive my car over to Claude’s place. That is, if you’ll go with me.”

  “Emily…”

  She shook her head and cradled the teacup in both hands. “We’re not going to talk about us, Reb. Not right now.” Emotion climbed her throat. She wanted to fling herself onto his lap and cover him with kisses. She really wanted to talk about tomorrow and the day after and babies and couldn’t he at least consider settling down?

  Behind her she heard the chair legs scrape again. The back door opened. She tensed, wondering if he was angry, frustrated or what—and unable to make herself turn around to see. The door shut softly.

  “You’re acting like an idiot, Emily Farraday,” she murmured. Nothing new. Daniel had always teased her about being naive. A country girl who once upon a time believed in fairy tales and fortune-tellers and Sasquatch. The best person at fooling her had always been herself, though. She wanted to believe in a better tomorrow and the goodness in most people, and if they weren’t good, then they were bad guys who always got what they deserved. Sometimes reality was too hard to contemplate.

  She carried the tea upstairs. Sipping tea, warming her face in the steam, she looked at her bed. She was half-tempted to never wash those sheets again. She could store them away, and when the nights were too lonely, she’d bring them out, wrap herself in memories and take comfort from Reb’s scent.

  Except, she knew, in the end she’d be practical. She’d wash the sheets and do her mourning in private. She sighed. Where men were concerned, she had no luck at all.

  She dressed warmly in jeans, a flannel shirt and sweater. Reb waited for her in the kitchen. Now fully dressed, she could look at him. He wore clean jeans, a striped shirt and a denim jacket. He’d combed his hair, but unruly hanks escaped to fall over his brow and ears.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Couldn’t be better.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “For putting the sadness back in your eyes.”

  She tried to smile, but her face refused to cooperate.

  He held out a hand. For a long moment she stared at it. He had big hands, scarred by hard work, burned brown by the sun. Tendons and veins stood out in sharp relief. Gentle hands, clever hands, unselfish hands…loving hands. She placed her hand against his, palm to palm. Her body reacted with a heavy thump in her midsection and shivery weakness in her knees. He closed his fingers over hers and drew her gently toward him.

  He kissed her. A tender kiss, and sweet. In the gentle play of his lips against hers, she felt his goodbye.

  WHEN REB TRIED TO PULL open the garage door, the damp wood resisted him. He gave the door a good jerk to open it all the way. Emily’s Oldsmobile shared the building with a 1949 Ford pickup. She unlocked the driver’s door to the Olds. This far into the country with the car safely inside the garage, she shouldn’t have to keep it locked. Except she had no one to trust.

  Least of all, him.

  Every lie Reb had told her gnawed at his soul. And mingled with the pain was the lingering pleasure of making love to her. Sex, he tried to correct in his head. Made love, came the insistent reply. He wouldn’t walk away from her unscarred—if he could walk away at all.

  She invited him into the car. Despite being three years old, it was as clean and fresh smelling as a new car. He buckled his safety belt.

  To reach Claude’s house they had to drive out to the main road, follow it around the ridge, then negotiate a rutted, twisting path barely wide enough for the car. Emily inched around the worst potholes and washouts, but still bottomed out several times. She winced with every jarring jolt.

  Reb kept an eye out for official vehicles, but saw no sign of any. Manpower shortage, he guessed.

  “Another item for the to-do list,” she muttered, looking anxiously at the rearview mirror. She searched the road behind them as if expecting to see transmission parts strewn in their back trail. “By spring not even the cattle trucks will b
e able to get up here.”

  “Rent a grader and I’ll do it.” Surprised by his impulsive offer, he scowled.

  “You know how to do road work?”

  “Jack-of-all-trades,” he murmured. Now he feared looking at her. No telling what might fall out of his mouth next.

  She parked in front of Claude’s house, clutching the steering wheel with both hands. Lights were on inside the house. Claude’s border collie lay on the porch, his muzzle on his paws. His unnervingly intelligent eyes were alert and watchful.

  “I always feel like an idiot around Claude,” she said, and pulled the key from the ignition. “He’s the meanest man in the world.”

  “Why do you keep him on?”

  She shrugged. “Where would he go? He’s too old to find another job and too cantankerous to live with relatives. If he has any.” A bright laugh bubbled from her mouth, and she shot Reb a mischievous glance. “If he were forty years younger, I’d march that old goat off this ranch at gunpoint.”

  Her expression turned thoughtful. “But a long time ago he saved Grandpa’s life. There was a blizzard. He and Grandpa were checking the cattle and got caught in an avalanche. It killed their horses, and Grandpa hurt his leg. They were snowed in and couldn’t use the roads, so to get help, Claude would have had to ride or walk twenty-five miles. Instead, he carried Grandpa off the mountain.” She shook her head, her eyes filled with wonder. “Grandpa was your size, maybe a little bigger. But Claude carried him off the mountain. Grandpa never forgot. I can’t, either. So I’m stuck with him.”

  “You’re an amazing woman, Emily Farraday.”

  “I don’t feel amazing,” she said as she got out of the car.

  The border collie rose to his feet.

  “It’s me, Paco,” Emily said, her voice soft and soothing. She and Reb climbed the porch stairs with measured steps. The dog watched their every move. She rapped her knuckles against the weathered door.

  When Claude appeared, he made no effort to conceal his dislike of Emily. Openly reluctant, he invited her inside. He smiled at Reb and offered coffee.

  As Emily moved gingerly to the center of the room, Claude launched into a diatribe about ruined hay fields, managing to make it sound as if Emily had conjured the rainstorm and freezing weather to make life hard for an old man. With a tight little smile on her face, she folded her arms and said nothing. Her eyes glazed.