Desperado

by Lisa Bingham

  She must have caught a portion of his thoughts, because she glanced at him, then blushed furiously, and threw her pickle back into the box.

  “I probably should get going,” she said hastily.

  Elam stopped her headlong departure by reaching out to lift one of the errant curls away from her forehead. The strand had a will of its own, wrapping around his finger, flashing copper in the sunlight. He became entranced by the color, the texture, the weight of her hair. And then, unable to stop himself, he skimmed the back of his knuckles down her cheek.

  P.D. leaned into the caress, her eyes closing as she savored the contact. He wanted to kiss her—more than he’d wanted anything in a very long time. But even as he bent forward, reality loomed over him like a vulture. This was Bodey’s girl. Bodey’s. And he was about to kiss her, here, in Annabel’s favorite spot.

  The thought was like a dousing of cold water. Elam snatched his hand back as if it had been burned. He must have tugged her hair because P.D.’s eyes flew open and he watched a montage of emotions cross her features: desire, surprise, and then humiliation.

  Jumping to her feet, she gathered up the cooler and her own lunch box. “I guess I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Tonight?” He couldn’t tow his thoughts into line. Not when he was reeling beneath the impression that he should have kissed P.D. when he’d had the chance and let the consequences be damned. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt or embarrass her.

  “Helen will drop by Vern’s to help us with our costuming around eight and you’ll want to grab a bite to eat first,” she continued, her tone too bright.

  “Sure.” Elam nodded absentmindedly, but his attention was on the blush staining her cheeks and the wounded shadows that darkened her blue eyes. She couldn’t possibly know why he’d pushed her away at the last minute.

  He opened his mouth to explain, but P.D. was already backing away from him to the roughed-out staircase. She hadn’t even bothered to grab the tablecloth, which still held part of his food.

  “Bye, then.”

  Shit. Before he could even react, she’d bolted. Dropping the remains of his lunch into the box, he rushed to follow her, catching her wrist just as she opened the truck door to throw the cooler inside.

  “Look, I’m sorry, but I—”

  Before he could say another word, she launched herself into his arms, her mouth touching his—and it was as if a match had been touched to gasoline. Elam clutched her tightly against him, his lips slanting over hers as he pressed her back against the side of the truck. Her mouth opened, and his tongue plunged into her silken warmth. Passion flared through him like a wildfire, and he ground his hips against hers, one hand dropping to cup the luscious weight of her breast.

  Dear God.

  God.

  She moaned against him, fighting to pull him even closer, her fingers gripping at his back, tunneling beneath his vest. More than anything, he wanted her to reach beneath his shirt and caress him, skin to skin.

  But nearly as quickly as she’d thrown herself into his arms, she pushed him away.

  Elam stood trembling like a kid on a first date, tongue-tied, not sure what to do. So he began with, “I’m sorry, I—”

  P.D. held up a hand to silence him. “Don’t. Just … don’t.” She stared down at the toe of her shoe for the longest time, then she slid into her truck and slammed the door.

  He felt a moment of inexplicable panic. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

  When she met his gaze, he could see the determination in the crystal blue depths. Even more, he read an expression that looked very much like a dare. “I’m sure as hell not about to run away.”

  Then she revved the engine and drove down the hill.

  FIVE

  FOR several long moments, Elam stood in the grip of P.D.’s challenge. His body still pounded with the effects of her nearness and his brain …

  Well, his brain didn’t know what to make of her. For too long, he’d been slogging through his days like a bad-tempered bear, and most people had been willing to give him his space. But P.D. Raines was intent on testing the emotional bulwarks he’d constructed. And her skirmishes, far from being the gentle probings he’d encountered from a few of the braver women in town, were nothing short of full-frontal attacks. Literally.

  And damned if it hadn’t left him with the urge to pump his fist into the air in triumph.

  Cursing softly under his breath, he moved through the trees so that he could catch one last look at her truck as it barreled around the turn at the base of the hill, then threaded the narrow bridge over the river at near race car levels.

  If she weren’t Bodey’s girl …

  No. He couldn’t go there. He wouldn’t. Nothing broke the bro code.

  But as he returned to the cabin to clean up the remains of their meal, he couldn’t deny that he suddenly felt … as if he could breathe again. And damned if he wasn’t tired of struggling—with his grief, his emotions, and even this damned cabin. Where only hours ago, he’d looked upon his attendance in the Wild West Games as a chore to be finished, he now relished the mental challenge, the physical demands, the …

  The intriguing woman who would be alongside him.

  Hell. He couldn’t start thinking like that. He was going to have to spend every waking minute with P.D. Raines. And he couldn’t start looking at her as a …

  A woman.

  But how in heaven’s name was he supposed to ignore that fact when she was so … so …

  Hot.

  A grunt of humor emerged from his throat, taking him by surprise. Hell, yes, she was hot. Hot to look at and hot in his arms. But that didn’t make it a good idea to even consider going down that road. She was probably one of his brother’s ex-girlfriends—and wouldn’t that make family gatherings awkward.

  Hey, Elam, I’ve seen her naked.

  Good hell Almighty! Why was he even thinking about such a thing? He wasn’t planning on dating the woman. He would help her win her freaking Wild West Games and then they’d probably never see each other again.

  Yeah, right.

  In a town the size of Bliss, they were bound to bump into each other—and why, oh, why, did that thought lead to an entirely different interpretation of “bumping into each other”? Did he honestly think he’d be able to keep his hands off her while they competed?

  “You’re a dumb ass, Elam,” he muttered to himself. But this time, by focusing on the absurdity of his situation, the tightness eased from his chest and he took a deep shuddering breath, and another. And another.

  And suddenly, he was out of his head and more in tune with things he’d forgotten to notice—the warmth of the day, the satisfaction of a good meal, and a hard-on that wouldn’t quit.

  He was committed to the Games, he reassured himself. And there’d be hell to pay if he tried to back out. Bodey would ream him a new one.

  But even as he insisted such a thing to himself, he realized that he wasn’t even tempted to renege on his deal with P.D. Somehow, disappointing P.D. carried more weight than disappointing his brother. So that meant he and P.D. were stuck with each other for the duration.

  And why, oh, why, did that cause “little Elam” to perk up again in joy?

  Moving quickly, Elam gathered up the rest of the picnic items, carefully folding and stowing P.D.’s tablecloth in his truck so that he could return it later that evening. Then, reaching across the cab to the jockey box, he riffled through the receipts and weigh slips until he found his cell phone and the car charger. Revving the Dodge, he waited for enough power to operate the device and then quickly called Russell Branson, an old friend from high school who had a construction business.

  Russell answered on the first ring. He apparently had caller ID because he said, “Elam, you son of a bitch. I was beginning to believe you’d forgotten how to use your damn phone.”

  Elam felt an unaccustomed tugging at the corners of his lips. “I guess all this clean living has gone to my head.”

  “
Next, you’ll be telling me you’re Amish and you haven’t bothered to connect the power to that hut you’re building on the hill.” There was a pause, then, “You haven’t connected it yet, have you?”

  “It’s got power.”

  “Bet the wiring’s done but you’ve still got nothing more than a generator going to charge your tools.”

  “You got me there.” Elam tapped his thumb nervously on the steering wheel. “Actually, that’s why I’m calling. I wondered if you had any time in your schedule? I’m about sick to death of this project, and I was hoping you could finish it up for me.”

  There was a moment of silence. Two. Three. Elam lifted the phone away from his ear, wondering if the call had been dropped, but then he heard Russ laughing and exclaiming, “Fuck, yeah! I told you I’d help when you started digging your hole, if you remember. It took you long enough to call.”

  “Yeah, well …” Uncomfortable with explaining his reasons, Elam said, “I don’t know when you’ll have a minute—”

  “I’d reschedule all my projects if I needed to, but as luck would have it, the house my crew is working on has some drainage issues. For the past two days, an excavation crew has been pissing around up on the bench. In the meantime, my men have got their thumbs up their asses. How about we get going tomorrow morning?”

  “That would …” Elam fought an unfamiliar tightness in his throat. “That would be great. Can you recommend a decorator as well?”

  “Don’t want to spend your time picking out paint chips and carpet samples, huh?”

  “You know me. I’d rather have my head stapled to the floor.”

  Russ offered a blazing expletive in agreement. “Tell you what … my sister-in-law Noreen has been helping us out with that kind of thing—and she’s really good at what she does. I’ll have her gather her crap together and we’ll all meet you in the morning. Then you can get on to doing whatever it is you need to be doing.”

  “Thanks, Russ. I owe you.”

  He’d no sooner ended his call with Russ than Elam dialed the number of the Big House. This time, it rang several times before an eager boy-man voice said, “This is Barry Taggart from Taggart Enterprises. Bodey’s gone and there’s no one here but me and Jace, and Jace is in the bathroom. He’s swearing—even though he’s told me I’m not supposed to swear. Ever. He must have eaten too much chili. How may I direct your call?”

  Somewhere in the background, Elam heard Jace shouting back, Damnit, Barry, don’t tell them that!

  “Tell Jace to relax, Barry. It’s Elam.”

  “Elam?” Barry echoed excitedly. Then, without backing away from the mouthpiece, he bellowed, “Jace! It’s Elam! Elam’s on the phone! I don’t think he cares what you’re doing in the bathroom!”

  “Barry, try not to yell,” Elam reminded his younger brother.

  “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” But even after the reminder, his voice remained an ear-splitting level. “Elam, are you coming to see me? I haven’t seen you in a long, long, long time.”

  In truth, it had been less than three days, but to Barry, who’d suffered brain damage in the same accident that had killed their parents and little sister eight years ago, days were often confused with an eternity. As his little brother hurried on to tell him about the litter of kittens they’d found in the barn loft, and the trip on horseback to check on the summer pastures, Elam realized that even though he regularly came to the ranch to work, he hadn’t really interacted with Barry much. He’d unconsciously isolated himself from his brothers as well as from the community.

  As Barry continued his ecstatic monologue, Elam felt a wave of shame. After his return home, his brothers had been there to support him all along, and he’d withdrawn from them. Even when his actions had proven painful to them, they’d allowed him his space. But it was clear from Barry’s reaction at least, that they hoped that he’d soon change his mind.

  “Hey, Barry,” Elam interrupted. “I’m coming down to the Big House to pick up some of my gear. Do you want to get a treat from the Corner?”

  The “Corner” was nearly eight miles away and was one of Bliss’s few gas stations and convenience stores. Barry loved the place because it had a small lunch counter in the back. Over the years, it had become the hangout for farmers and ranchers who needed something quick and hot to eat.

  “Can we?” Barry asked excitedly. “Really? Can Jace come?”

  “If he wants.”

  “And can we ride in your new truck?”

  Elam’s truck was a year old, but it would remain “new” to Barry until Elam purchased another one.

  “You bet.”

  “I’ll get my boots on!”

  “No, wait! Barry?” The phone clattered, and Elam realized that Barry had abandoned it in favor of getting ready for the outing. Luckily, he must have been caught in the act because Jace’s voice could be heard growing closer.

  “Barry, did you hang up … No. You didn’t. Hello, Elam.” Jace’s voice rumbled with barely concealed surprise. Clearly, he hadn’t expected to hear from Elam so soon after their impromptu, late-night dinner.

  Elam quickly explained, “I made the mistake of inviting him to go to the Corner before telling him to give you the phone.”

  “I hope you’re already on your way here, because he’s hopping around the living room, trying to—Barry, put your socks on first! You can’t put your boots over bare feet!” Jace’s tone returned to normal. “What’s up?”

  “Hey, I don’t want to interrupt if you’ve got important business in the bathroom.”

  Jace choked on an expletive. “For your information, I was in the bathroom cleaning up all the mud”—his voice rose pointedly—“that a certain somebody left when he tried to wash his irrigating boots in the tub!”

  Not for the first time, Elam was struck by the way Jace had slipped into a father role with their youngest brother. Barry would turn sixteen this summer, but he required the supervision of an eight-year-old. Jace’s parenting skills might be a little rough around the edges, but he was carefully straddling a line between sibling support and parental authority.

  “This can wait,” Elam said.

  “So can the mud. What’s up?”

  “I … uh …” It had been so long since he’d asked for anyone’s help that Elam felt suddenly awkward. Even his voice emerged with a rusty rasp. “I’ve called Russell Branson about doing the finishing work on the cabin. It’s about time I wrapped up that project and spent more time working at the ranch.”

  There was a pause, then, “That sounds good. Real good.”

  There was no hiding his brother’s pleasure at the idea.

  “Anyway, I wondered if you’d mind checking on things while I’m gone.”

  “No problem. Barry would get a kick out of riding up that way. He’s always happiest on the back of a horse.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate the help.”

  “All you have to do is ask.”

  Elam’s throat tightened, but before he could think of a response, Jace suddenly swore and shouted, “Barry! Not those boots! I haven’t got the mud off the—” He broke off what he’d been about to say. “Five minutes. You’d better be here in five minutes. Because if you aren’t, Barry is probably going to meet you halfway.”

  *

  P.D. wasn’t sure what kind of mood Elam would be in when she saw him next. She still couldn’t believe she’d driven away after uttering a remark that could only be interpreted as a flat-out dare. She’d probably sent the man fleeing into the hills.

  But even as she tried to reassure herself that he’d responded to the kiss—in fact, he’d damn near come unglued when their lips had met—she couldn’t help thinking that she’d plunged impetuously into a situation she might not be equipped to handle. But damnit, she hadn’t been able to keep her hands off him another second! After a day spent with his arms around her, steadying her aim, she’d been wound tighter than a guitar string.

  Which left her with two distinct consequences to her actions: Ela
m would back out of their agreement; or she’d be spending four days with him on the mountain fighting to keep her hands off him all over again. Either way, things were bound to get awkward. Really, really awkward.

  “He’s here.”

  “What?” P.D. had been so deep in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard the door to her office open. Becky, one of her waitresses, leaned her head inside.

  “Elam Taggart is here. So’s Helen. They met up in the parking lot.”

  As quickly as she’d appeared, Becky disappeared again. With the weekend crowd, Vern’s was filled to capacity and the waitstaff were busy. Because of that, P.D. had arranged for dinner to be laid out in her office, where she and Elam could have a few minutes of privacy. But Helen had arrived early, snatching away the chance for P.D. to talk to Elam before their costuming session.

  “Damn, damn, damn,” she whispered under her breath. She’d hoped to give him room to renege on their deal if he was determined to do so. But Helen would catch one look of him and start matchmaking.

  Crap!

  P.D. heard the rear service door open and Helen’s familiar voice echoing off the walls.

  “… a sight for sore eyes, Elam Taggart! I swear, after a week of my husband’s shooting buddies loading brass in my garage, I could use a change of scenery.”

  P.D. jumped from her office chair, nearly sending it crashing backward. “Crap,” she muttered under her breath as she glanced in the mirror, then winced. Her cheeks were overly pink from an afternoon spent in the sun. Even worse, she hadn’t thought to repair her makeup or run a comb through her hair.

  Quickly, she smoothed a hand over the tresses, drawing them to the nape of her neck and twisting them into a knot. Then, she scrounged in her desk drawer for a pair of warped hairpins, just as Helen burst into her office.

  “Look who I found in the parking lot,” she exclaimed.

  Elam stepped more hesitantly into the room, and suddenly, the walls shrank. P.D. saw the way his eyes roamed the small space, taking in the battered antique swooning couch and wooden dressing screen in one corner, the overstuffed leather wing-back chair and turn-of-the-century wood filing cabinets in the other, and the sturdy oak partners’ desk and slag glass lamp that took up most of the remaining floor space. Then he looked at P.D. and she knew that somehow he’d interpreted the antique pieces for what they were, a symbol of her need for permanence. A place to belong.