Desperado

by Lisa Bingham

She motioned to where they were stacked on the arm of the couch. “You’re going to stay?”

  The timber of her voice emerged with a hopefulness that she hadn’t meant to reveal, but she didn’t think she could sleep alone in the house after everything that had happened.

  He took her shoulders and turned her to face him. Then his hands looped around her back. “Yeah. I’m going to stay. On the couch.”

  She opened her mouth to suggest an alternative, but quickly changed her mind. It was clear that he’d considered the same arrangement. But there was also a storm of indecision raging in his eyes.

  His touch had the opposite effect on her, stilling her panic and bringing a peace that she didn’t quite understand. But while she was willing to experiment to see where these feelings might take her, she could tell from his expression that he’d begun to overthink things again.

  And for once in her life, she was willing to be patient.

  Rising on tiptoe, she briefly pressed her lips to his. “Thanks, Elam.”

  Before she could back away, he bent, deepening the kiss, wordlessly relaying to her that his reluctance had nothing to do with her and everything to do with him.

  When he released her, she smiled and cupped his cheek with her hand to show she understood. “Sweet dreams,” she murmured, then stepped out of his arms and moved down the hall.

  *

  ELAM wasn’t sure why he let her go. He wasn’t sure why he felt so conflicted. He was a widower, damnit, not a eunuch. No one would fault him for starting a relationship.

  A relationship. That’s where they were headed—if they weren’t there already.

  The thought didn’t scare him as much as it might have done a week ago. He was attracted to P.D. Hell, he only had to be near her a few minutes before he wanted to haul her into his arms.

  But as his desire for P.D. grew, his memories of Annabel were slipping out of his grasp. Even though logic told him it was natural, that nothing could eradicate his feelings for his wife, it felt … disloyal.

  He sat on the couch long enough to pull off his boots and socks, then, heading to the bathroom, he used the bar of P.D.’s lemon soap to wash up. But when he walked out again, turning off the light, he couldn’t stop himself from lingering opposite the door to P.D.’s room. She must have been exhausted, because she was already asleep, one arm unconsciously flung out toward him, the palm open, the fingers curled beseechingly.

  Elam was suddenly suffused with the need to touch that hand, to absorb the warmth that only another human being could offer. He was so tired, emotionally and physically. He didn’t want to run from the past anymore, nor did he want to avoid the future. So tonight, he wouldn’t think about any of it. He would simply do what felt right.

  Padding into her room, he set his pistol on the nightstand and carefully slid into the bed. P.D. remained asleep, but she sighed, rolling toward him until her head rested on his shoulder and her arm wrapped around his waist. Then she became boneless, melting into him as if she’d done it a hundred times before. And damned if he didn’t feel his own body draining of tension as well.

  How he’d missed this—not just having a woman in his arms, but the warmth of another person, the anticipation of the next encounter, the melding of purposes. So why, even after all this time, did he feel a niggling of guilt that the woman in question wasn’t his late wife?

  Logically, he knew that no one would fault him for moving on with his life. Annabel had been gone for three years—and even the hardest soul would have agreed he’d deeply mourned her passing. He’d had more than one person suggest that he begin dating, marry again. He was young; he deserved love in his life, a family.

  But all of those arguments couldn’t seem to fill the ache that lingered in his heart. He’d loved Annabel most of his life. From the moment she’d entered his kindergarten classroom, clutching her mother’s hand, Elam had felt a tug of affection. In middle school, his crush had deepened, and in junior high school, she’d been the first girl he’d ever asked to dance. When she’d agreed, he’d thought he was the luckiest kid alive—especially when he’d realized that his feelings were reciprocated. They’d been high school sweethearts, and when he’d joined the Navy, she’d been his staunchest supporter. He’d married her as soon as he’d made it through basic training. When they were together, it was like a honeymoon all over again. And when he was deployed, she wrote and called as often as possible.

  Probably he’d been selfish. He’d loved his job, loved the adrenaline rush it offered—loved the travel, the combat. He’d planned on retiring once he’d met his twenty years, so Annabel had followed him whenever possible. And when she couldn’t be near, she’d returned to the ranch, where he knew his brothers would watch out for her. They’d both held fast to the fact that their separations were temporary. He and Annabel would have their whole futures together.

  If he’d only known that life could reach out, grab you by the balls, and bring you to your knees.

  If only …

  Would he have done anything differently?

  The thought was sobering. Now he could see that he’d been a selfish bastard, focusing on his career first while Annabel had patiently supported him from thousands of miles away. He could tell himself that the decision hadn’t been his alone, and that Annabel had been the first person to urge him to continue his training. He could even believe that the Navy had made him the man that he’d become, the man Annabel had chosen to love.

  But deep down, he wondered what he would have done if Annabel had made him choose between the Navy and her. Would he have been happy staying on the ranch, stewing over what it would be like to travel farther than the state line? Or would his wanderlust have ruined his marriage?

  P.D. stirred, burrowing more securely into his side, and Elam felt his throat tighten as he realized that this was the moment, the precise instant, when he had to decide the course of the rest of his life. He’d loved Annabel, body and soul. But she wasn’t coming back. And he wouldn’t allow himself to get involved with another woman if he couldn’t fully commit to her. It simply wasn’t in his nature. Bodey might play the field and leave bruised hearts strewn in his wake. But Elam had always been the sort who gave his attention to only one woman at a time.

  His chest tightened. Logically, he knew the answer: that it was time to move forward. But saying good-bye to the woman who’d been his sweetheart for more than half his life wasn’t that easy.

  The song he’d heard only a few nights ago seemed to weave through his head. At the time, the melody had almost crushed him. Then, it had begun to haunt him—so much so, that a search on the Internet had yielded a filmed performance of the ballad on YouTube. But two lines began to echo over and over in his head.

  I know she’s in a happier place,

  With constant sunlight on her face,

  Someday she’ll visit us, this I know …

  And it was then that the tightness eased from his chest and he was flooded by a sense of peace that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  Us.

  It was as if, in that whisper of thought, Annabel herself had uttered the words. She wouldn’t have wanted him to be alone. She would probably have scolded him for taking so long to work his way out of his despair.

  His eyes stung with moisture, but this time they weren’t tears of sadness. Instead, after he wiped away the damp tracks, he tangled his fingers in the riotous curls spilling over his chest and fell asleep.

  NINE

  P.D. woke with a curious sense of déjà vu. The light slanting through the curtains revealed that it was late, although she hadn’t slept into the evening like the day before. A glance at the clock revealed that it was afternoon—past the time she was usually beginning her day at the restaurant.

  Normally, she would have been in a panic, but she’d slept so soundly and felt so refreshed that she pushed away the niggling guilt and stretched instead, enjoying the warmth of the featherbed and the softness of her pillow. Turning to her side, she clos
ed her eyes again, trying to remember something of her dreams. Her body hummed with curious electricity, as if the overtones of her midnight fantasies had been slightly erotic. She felt her cheeks grow hot, knowing that Elam had been a major part of them all. But when her eyes flickered open and she saw the indentation of a head on the pillow opposite, she realized that the warmth she’d imagined next to her hadn’t been a dream.

  The next wave of heat to suffice her body was filled with wisps of her own phantom desires, but it was quickly replaced by a wave of consternation. Please, please, don’t tell me I groped him in my sleep!

  Crap!

  P.D. threw the blankets back and scrambled for her clothes. She dressed in record time, all the while listening for any signs of life elsewhere in the house. But when she emerged into the living room, it was empty. The sheets and blankets she’d provided for Elam were still folded neatly on the arm of the couch—providing further evidence that he’d slept with her. And in the kitchen …

  Another note.

  She hurried to the table to find a terse message and a small bundle of keys.

  It’s Sell Day at the ranch, so I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, use these.

  Elam

  Lifting the keys, she turned them over, having no clue what they might open. As much as she might secretly relish the thought, she doubted they were to his cabin. But after pocketing them and hurrying to the front door, she suddenly understood. He’d replaced her hardware with shiny new knobs and deadbolts.

  She stood for long moments, staring at the pretty brass turnings, absorbing the fact that Elam hadn’t just picked utilitarian items. No, he’d carefully chosen designs that would reflect the eclectic period-inspired furnishings of her home. They looked solid and effective, yet somehow delicate.

  And why did his thoughtfulness, his obvious care for her safety, cause her heart to melt as if he’d given her diamonds?

  Grabbing her purse, she stepped outside and quickly secured the deadbolts. As she hurried down the steps, her heart lurched a little when she saw a pickup at the curb, but she came to her senses when she realized that it was Bodey’s vehicle.

  He stepped out of the truck and hobbled toward her, this time on a walking boot rather than with crutches.

  “Elam said you had some trouble here last night,” he said as he rounded the hood.

  She nodded. “He thinks I’ve got some kids using the back field for a drinking spot.”

  “Yeah. He let the sheriff know about it early this morning. Since he’s helping with the auction, he asked me to stay here until you left, just in case they came back for their stash.”

  Again, she was inundated by a strange pleasure. She’d spent so long taking care of herself, of relying on her own ingenuity to solve her problems, that having someone else concerned about her welfare was disconcerting and … wholly wonderful.

  She pointed to Bodey’s boot. “It looks like you’re making progress.”

  He scowled down at the offending orthopedic device. “Not enough, in my opinion.”

  P.D. suddenly realized that he blamed himself for putting her in the lurch. “You still want to do the Games.”

  He eyed her sheepishly. “Hell, yeah. It sounds like a lot of fun. And I feel bad for saddling you with Elam.”

  “We’re actually … getting along,” she said as blandly as she could muster, hoping she wouldn’t get struck by lightning for the gross understatement. She’d spent the night in Elam’s arms twice in a row—even if she couldn’t completely remember one of them.

  Bodey leaned back against his truck. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

  “Of course. I don’t plan on shooting myself if I can help it.”

  Bodey eyed her for several long seconds beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. “I mean you’ll be careful with Elam. He’s had a hard time of things these past few years. I was beginning to believe we’d never see him crack a smile again. But lately …”

  He left a wide opening for her to comment, but she refused to take the bait. She’d never been one to kiss and tell, and she certainly wasn’t going to share details with Elam’s brother.

  But her silence gave Bodey all the answer he needed because he grinned broadly, saying, “That’s what I thought.” Then, offering her a two-finger salute, he limped his way back to the driver’s seat, climbed into his truck, and drove away with a mocking, “Don’t have too much fun, y’ hear,” floating out the window.

  *

  THE weekend passed in a blur. But to P.D.’s consternation, she didn’t see Elam again. She’d spent Saturday meeting with her insurance representative, her banker, and her employees while Elam had been busy with a Sell Day of yearling colts. Sunday had been spent with Helen finalizing the details of her costumes.

  But by Monday morning, the first day of the Wild West Games, P.D. felt comfortable enough with leaving Vern’s in her manager’s capable hands. It would still be a few days before the fans could be removed. As soon as the insurance company’s contractor was given the go-ahead, they could begin the rebuilding process. With luck, the painters and flooring people could begin soon after P.D. returned from the Games.

  She was lucky. Insurance would pay for most of the staggering expense of restoring the restaurant to full operation. But with her deductible and some of the items not covered, she would still have to come up with more money than she wanted to think about—which made the prize money offered by the Games that much more tantalizing.

  Please, please let us win.

  As she paced in front of her living room window, waiting for Elam’s truck to appear, she had no doubts that Elam could hold up his end of the bargain. He excelled in everything she needed in a partner—athleticism, a keen mind, an ability to survive outdoors, and shooting skills that could rival Wild Bill Hickock’s. She merely hoped that she could keep up with someone who was clearly at the top of his game. Let’s face it, most of the time, her “aerobic exercise” came from running the restaurant. She’d rather surf the Internet than run. And she sure as hell wasn’t a camper. In her opinion, “camping” was being forced to stay in a hotel without room service. But knowing the rigors of the Games, she’d spent the past few weeks walking every night. She’d gone to a local gym whenever possible, and taken several hikes in the hills. She could only hope she’d done enough to keep up with Elam, who was clearly a natural athlete.

  “Just please don’t let me embarrass myself in front of Elam too badly,” she whispered in hasty prayer.

  She’d been about to add an addendum—“and please keep me from any unladylike sweating, swearing, or shooting myself in the foot”—but Elam chose that moment to swing into the drive.

  Grabbing the carpetbag that held only her most necessary supplies, she hurried outside, carefully locking the deadbolt and pocketing the keys. Truth be told, she still forgot half the time, but she didn’t want Elam to think she didn’t appreciate his gift.

  “What’s this?” he asked when she handed him the carpetbag.

  “Helen let me borrow it so that I’d have period appropriate luggage.”

  His brows rose as he tested its weight. “I thought the Games were only four days long.”

  “They are.”

  “Feels like you have enough for four weeks.”

  “I only brought what was absolutely necessary.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Before she could stop him, he opened the bag and dumped the contents onto the hood of his truck. A frothy pile of pantalets, camisoles, and petticoats lay jumbled up with her toiletries, an extra pair of shoes, and thigh-high cotton hose. Even though the garments were far from titillating, her cheeks heated.

  “You won’t need these, or these, or these …” He dropped the carpetbag on the ground and began throwing items inside—shampoo, conditioner, petticoats, camisoles, and pantalets. When he’d finished, she was left with only one change of underthings, socks, and a brush to comb her hair.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “We
’re only going to be out there four days, P.D.”

  “What if I get cold?”

  “We’ll build a fire.”

  “What if I get dirty?”

  “You’re going to get dirty. That’s why I let you have an extra set of underwear. If you absolutely need to, you can wash your stuff in whatever water we find and wear the extra set while it dries.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You want me to beat my clothes against a rock?”

  “If it makes you happy.”

  P.D. fought the urge to argue. “What about you? What are you bringing?”

  Elam reached into his pocket and withdrew a toothbrush. “That’s it.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “First rule of hiking: If you take it; you carry it. I’ve done worse in the military. This is a walk in the park.”

  She looked down mournfully at the carpetbag and her supplies. She thought she’d been so careful to keep things to a reasonable minimum. But she’d also thought Elam would volunteer to carry her bag.

  “What are you going to do if your … underthings need to be washed?”

  “Go commando.”

  Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged. The sudden image of Elam naked flashed into her head and she was struck dumb.

  When Elam continued to wait for a response, she said softly, “I don’t want to stink.”

  Elam sighed, then bent to snatch up a wrapped bar of her favorite soap. After sniffing it, he shoved it into the same pocket as his toothbrush.

  “I need something to carry these in,” she said grudgingly.

  He reached into his tool box and removed a canvas sack that had probably held potatoes or seeds a million years ago. Reaching inside, he removed a set of screwdrivers and gave her the dingy drawstring bag.

  She opened her mouth to state the obvious: that it was dirty and hardly a fitting container for her clean underthings. But knowing her objections would probably be overruled, she sighed and did what she’d been told.

  Returning to the house, she threw the carpetbag inside and relocked the door. Then, she marched toward Elam, wondering if going without the niceties of life was worth the chance at ten thousand dollars.