Can't Hardly Breathe

by Gena Showalter

  Out of habit, her gaze lifted to the sky. No stars in sight, the bright pinpricks of lights obscured by cirrostratus clouds. A whitish veil with a smooth sheetlike appearance.

  "Dorothea!"

  A car idled beside her, she realized, Lyndie Scott behind the wheel.

  Warm relief washed through her. "Hey, you. What are you doing out so late?"

  The strawberry blonde was as beautiful as ever with wide amber eyes and flawless porcelain skin, but...she looked sad. She always looked sad, even when smiling. At the age of twenty-one, Lyndie had married the police chief of Blueberry Hill. By twenty-three, she had become a widow.

  Dorothea had only seen pictures of her friend with Chief Carrington; their relationship had taken place during her years away. She hoped they had loved each other deeply, madly, the way Dorothea had always yearned to be loved, but she suspected the couple had had their fair share of problems. Otherwise Lyndie would have kept her married name? Maybe?

  "I actually came by the inn a few hours ago." Lyndie gazed at her with concern. "Are you all right? Your sister said you didn't want to be disturbed because you had a case of--" she glanced over her shoulder and whispered "--raging diarrhea."

  Dorothea nearly choked on her tongue. "Holly lied." What else had the girl told the townspeople? Chronic flatulence? Hemorrhoids and anal fissures? "I promise I'm perfectly healthy."

  Lyndie pressed her lips together only to burst into laughter. "I'm sorry! I am. But oh, wow, your sister is a character."

  "Yeah, a character in a horror novel." Though Dorothea had done a lousy job of keeping up with her dear friends while living in the city--she'd worked too much and foolishly poured all her free time into Jazz--the two had called and texted her often. Tidbits here and there about what they were up to, or inside jokes about their high school days. For instance, the time they created the ten commitments for any relationship, even though they were invisible to boys.

  A boy shalt not:

  Lie to anyone, ever, not even to flatter;

  Cheat with so much as a look;

  Steal even when desperate;

  Harm others in any way;

  Make excuses for bad behavior.

  He shalt:

  Compliment when merited;

  Help when needed;

  Treat others with kindness, always;

  Consult you when making big decisions;

  Do his best, not just what's good enough.

  Looking back, she comprehended Lyndie and Ryanne had seen through Jazz's charisma to the slimeball within. By reminding her oh, so subtly of the list, they'd hoped she would see the truth.

  She had, only far too late.

  "Ryanne has the night off," Lyndie said, "and she's fixin' me breakfast for dinner. Of course, by 'me' I mean 'us.' You're coming, and I won't take no for an answer."

  A fun, spontaneous night with friends? "You don't have to drag me kicking and screaming. I'm in!" She climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up.

  They drove to the Scratching Post a few miles outside of town, once owned and operated by Ryanne's fourth stepdad, Earl.

  Her mother--Selma Martinez-Wade-Lewis-Scott-Hernandez-Montgomery--had married Earl after divorcing Lyndie's father for reasons neither girl had ever discussed with Dorothea. In fact, both girls tended to act cagey whenever the subject came up, so she'd stopped asking questions. Eventually she'd stopped feeling hurt by the secrecy, too.

  Whatever had happened, the two had obviously been hurt deeply. Dorothea flattened her palm over her tattoo. Some hurts worsened when they were discussed, never able to heal.

  Ryanne lived directly above the bar. She'd moved in a couple years ago to take care of Earl, who'd later died of cancer.

  What seemed to be millions of cars littered the parking lot. Inside the smoky, two-story warehouse, crowds of people stretched wall-to-wall. A few months ago, Ryanne had begun selling a house-made fruit cocktail moonshine; now patrons came to the Scratching Post in droves.

  Directly behind the counter, a narrow hallway led to offices as well as a secret stairwell guarded by a weathered door and some kind of weird-looking digital lock. Lyndie punched in the code known to very few people, and together they climbed to the top, where they found another lock. This time, Lyndie knocked.

  When you lived above a bar, you had to take precautions.

  "Come in," Ryanne called from inside.

  Lyndie punched in a second code and entered the apartment, Dorothea at her heels. The sound of clanging pots and pans drew them across the great room and into a spacious, industrial kitchen with state-of-the-art appliances, everything chrome or stainless steel.

  The scent of maple and bacon saturated the air, and her mouth watered. Her stomach growled.

  The gorgeous Ryanne bustled from stove to sink. She had long, dark hair, even darker eyes and flawless golden-brown skin. In a pink tank top and skinny jeans, her hourglass figure was on perfect display.

  A cloud of steam rose from the pan, painting her in a dreamy haze as she looked up and smiled in welcome. "Good girl, Lyndie. You managed to corral us a wild filly."

  Me? Wild?

  "Yes, ma'am, I surely did." Lyndie patted herself on the back. "I didn't even have to hog-tie her."

  Dorothea loved seeing the reserved redhead come out of her shell. "I'm not that bad," she said, only to sigh. "Okay, I'm worse. Sorry."

  "Hey. Don't worry about it. We understand." Lyndie gave one of Dorothea's fallen curls a tug. "Your heart is still in the process of mending."

  She offered a half smile, which was all she could currently manage. Lyndie and Ryanne knew the bare bones about her past: she'd gotten married and divorced after Jazz cheated on her. The pair had no idea she'd discovered the affair only because Jazz's girlfriend had wanted Dorothea out of the picture. They had no idea she'd walked in on the couple mid-act and had run out of the apartment in horror--only to fall down a flight of stairs.

  And lose her baby.

  A knot tangled in her throat. Don't think about the baby.

  Too late. The memories had been banging on the door of her mind, waiting for a chance to overtake her. She'd been five months pregnant, but because of a wonky cycle and a few extra pounds, she had only just found out.

  Falling down the stairs had caused her to deliver her precious baby prematurely. Though the little girl was already dead, she'd had to give her a name. She'd chosen Rose. Rose Holly Connors.

  Rose...dead...beyond hope.

  A pang in her chest. Dorothea flattened a hand over the tattoo on her breast. She would forever carry her baby close to her heart.

  If Rose had survived, she might be walking by now. Pang. If she'd gone to term, she might be crawling. PANG.

  "Are you sure you're all right?" Lyndie asked her.

  "Excuse me. I need to use the bathroom." Fighting tears, Dorothea shut herself inside the small enclosure. After splashing cold water on her face, she breathed in and out with purpose until her heart rate calmed and the pangs subsided.

  By the time she rejoined her friends, she had her wayward thoughts back under lock and key.

  Lyndie smiled at her before settling on a chair behind the counter. "You and me, Dorothea, we're the first two members of the very exclusive Broken Hearts Club. Ryanne, honey, you need to pick a man, marry him, then have your heart broken by losing him. Then you can join us."

  Ryanne munched on a crunchy piece of bacon. "Sounds like a perfectly sane reason to begin and end a marriage. Consider me on board."

  Dorothea sat next to Lyndie and raised her hand, as if she were a student eager to give an answer. "Oh! Oh! I get to be your maid of honor, and I get first pick at the groomsmen."

  Her dark eyes sparkled. "Sorry, chica, but me and my imaginary guy are eloping. There's no way I'm doing the white dress and flowers thing." She shuddered with distaste. "I'm saving my money to travel the world and--Wait a sec. Did you say you want to do a groomsman?"

  "Ohhh. Good catch." Lyndie bumped Dorothea's shoulder. "Spi
ll!"

  "Okay, okay, but first..." She extended her hand to shake. "Let me introduce you to New Dorothea. I'm fun, spontaneous and wild, and I plan to hook me a man-fish. A really hot one!" Daniel had turned her down, yes, but there were other man-fish in the Testosterone Sea. "My first requirement is easy. He has to live in the city."

  No one else in Strawberry Valley would see her naked. That way, she could walk the streets with her head held high rather than cringing in embarrassment.

  "Hook you a--" Ryanne burst out laughing, and Lyndie grinned.

  The sight of her friends' amusement warmed Dorothea. As much as she'd missed the town, she'd missed this. No, she'd missed this more. Since her return, she'd mostly stayed cooped up inside the inn, too afraid to live, blaming her shattered relationship with Holly and her failure with Jazz. No more!

  "You got anyone in particular in mind?" Ryanne asked.

  Her cheeks flamed with heat. "Not yet." Next time, she would pick a sure thing. For a relationship, not just sex. She would prove to Holly--and herself!--that men could stick around for the long haul.

  Lyndie leaned over to snag a piece of bacon. "How can we help?"

  "I don't know. Point out the good ones, I guess?" So far, her bait had only hooked a shark.

  "Whoa." Ryanne spread her arms. "You're saying good guys aren't just a myth, like assassin werewolves and millionaire vampires?"

  Lyndie snorted. This time, Dorothea was the one to laugh. Ryanne had always loved video games involving fantastical nocturnal creatures.

  "Good can be a mask for evil," Lyndie said when Dorothea sobered. "If you find an honorable man--hello, oxymoron--never let go."

  "I won't have to worry about hanging on to him," Dorothea replied. "Because he'll be too busy clinging to me!"

  Ryanne wiggled her brows before pouring a glass of orange juice. "I bet there will be plenty of hotties at the spring festival next month. You guys going? Way I hear it, Daniel Porter's company is overseeing security, and Jase Hollister, Beck Ockley and Lincoln West are bringing friends to run the kissing booth."

  Beck Ockley, the husband of Harlow Glass.

  He's so rich, her mom once said, he buys a new boat whenever he gets the old one wet. Too bad he's as dumb as a box of rocks. Only a fool would choose to spend the rest of his life with a woman like Harlow.

  Carol refused to believe Harlow had changed. "Maybe," Dorothea finally said. Not to see Daniel in action, of course, but to check out that kissing booth. "Scratch that. Yes." She nodded. "I'm going, and you guys are, too."

  Lyndie's nod held a scootch less enthusiasm. "Fine. I'll be your incompetent wingwoman."

  "Bet I'll be more incompetent than you." Ryanne grabbed a carton of milk and a stick of butter from the fridge and asked Dorothea, "How do you want your eggs?"

  Mimicking a meme she'd read earlier, she said, "In a cake, please." She'd run five miles this morning, and she had internal wounds in need of soothing. Why not indulge her sweet tooth for once?

  Ryanne snickered. "I have a chocolate ice-cream cake in the freezer."

  "You've got a chocolate ice-cream cake on the premises?" Lyndie jumped to her feet and basically shoved Ryanne out of the way mid-race to the freezer. "Gimme!"

  Ryanne gathered three spoons. "I've never seen this chocolate-addicted side of you, Scott."

  "I usually only unleash her in private. But the fact that I'm willing to share with you should make you feel special."

  As soon as Lyndie placed the dessert on the counter, Dorothea crumbled the maple-glazed bacon over the top.

  "Hey! What--" Lyndie began at the same time Ryanne said, "You can't--"

  "Trust me," Dorothea interjected. "You're about to weep with rapture. Bacon makes everything better, even cake."

  They dug in and moaned with bliss, Dorothea a little more heartily than the others. The salty-sugary treat went straight to her head in a dizzying, delicious rush.

  "Who knew pigs in cream would rock so hard?" Ryanne said.

  "I did." Control nowhere to be found, Dorothea shoveled in another bite. "This is heaven on Earth."

  "Agreed." The familiar voice startled--and horrified--her.

  Heart thundering in her chest, she jumped to her feet. "Daniel." Daniel Porter. Here. "I don't understand."

  A glaring Ryanne extended her spoon as if it were a weapon. "How did you get in?"

  "I knocked. You didn't answer, but I heard voices and knew you were back here." He shrugged, unabashed. "Your lock is a joke, by the way."

  "You actually dismantled--" Dorothea shook her head. "But why?"

  He ignored her, saying to Ryanne, "I've already called the man who will replace the outdated lock with something even I can't bypass. He's tall, blond and has blue eyes. His name is Jude. Please don't hurt him with your deadly spoon."

  "I don't care what he looks like, or what his name is. If he shows up, he'll be trespassing, just like you, and he'll get locked up. I'm calling the...cops," Ryanne finished lamely, shooting Lyndie an apologetic look.

  Lyndie stared down at her wringing hands, her cheeks now chalk white. Fear radiated from her.

  Fear? Just how bad had things been with Chief Carrington?

  "Don't worry, I'm leaving." Daniel's intense, amber gaze finally locked on Dorothea. "But first I'd like to speak with you."

  The air in her lungs turned to steam and evaporated; she began to wheeze, the urge to both fight and flee screwing with her head. "No, thank you? I mean, no. I'm having a girls' night." Translation: leave! Please.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. "One way or another, I'm picking up where our last conversation ended. You sure you want to have an audience for that?"

  He wouldn't dare!

  Who was she kidding? He would probably dare in a heartbeat.

  "You guys had a conversation?" Ryanne lowered her spoon and arched a brow at Dorothea. "I'd love to hear the main topic...or were you guys too busy grunting to use actual words?"

  Lyndie's eyes widened like saucers. "Is he the raging diarrhea you were having?"

  Kill me. Kill me now. Could this night get any worse?

  She'd known a meeting had to happen sooner or later. Postponing it had been a mistake. If she allowed Daniel to say his piece now, she could say goodbye. Forever.

  "Fine. If you'll follow me..." Chin high, the rest of her trembling, she strode past him.

  Heat pulsed from him as he followed her. Goose bumps broke out over her skin.

  Once she reached the front door, hopefully out of the others' hearing range, she faced him. Crap! He was so close she could have tripped over his shadow.

  Bones threatening to melt, she moved two steps back. "How did you find me?"

  "How did you know I was looking for you?" he countered. "Did you, perhaps, see me at your door and run?"

  "I... Well..." She licked her lips. His hooded gaze followed the motion of her tongue, and the heat he was throwing off cranked up about a thousand degrees. In the next instant, he was looking at her as no man ever had. Not even her ex-husband. As if she were a mystery he had to solve. A dessert he wanted to eat. A treasure he expected to claim.

  Her hands fisted. Someone needed to tell him a look like that made promises he couldn't keep. And dang it, she hated that look almost as much as she loved it. It meant nothing to him but everything to her.

  "Dorothea," he prompted, "did you run away from me?"

  Lying would lead to complications. How could she be expected to keep falsehoods straight when she could barely remember her name in this man's presence? Still, there was no way she would admit to her cowardice.

  "What I did or didn't do doesn't matter." As she spoke, she waved her hands through the air to punctuate each word. A bad habit she'd fought most of her life, whenever her emotions got the better of her. "Tell me why you're here."

  He closed what little distance separated them, and she backed up another step, then another, determined to remain at arm's length. It wasn't long before she smacked into a wall, and crap
, he just kept coming until they were only a whisper apart.

  A dark, dangerous whisper...

  Her tremors redoubled as she breathed him in. He smelled like her favorite mix of essential oils: sandalwood, lavender and vanilla. And there was a good reason for that. She made soap as a special gift for the inn's guests. A mistake, she realized now. She wanted to breathe him in forever.

  "I'm here for you." He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth. Out came his tongue, licking away a smear of chocolate. "I want to take you back to the inn and give you that orgasm you asked for--plus a couple more."

  What! He's here to pleasure me?

  "I didn't... I mean..." Wet heat branded her core. "You're too late? Stop tasting me?" Questions? Really?

  "Mmm. You sure you want me to stop?" His voice deepened to a sensual purr. "Let me assuage my curiosity and find out if you're this sweet all over. Let me see the exquisite body that haunts my dreams."

  The--exquisite--body in question experienced a thousand different reactions at once, namely tingling skin, hardening nipples and a quivering belly. Ohhhh! Her blood began to sizzle in her veins.

  Daniel Porter had not just implied he wanted to go down on her...right? She was mistaken?

  "I don't understand what's happening," she said.

  "Tell me you still want one night with me." He kissed her knuckles, leaving a white-hot ember behind. "This time my answer will be yes."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HAVING BRAVED ENEMY territory in the bright light of day and in the dark of night, Daniel had learned to recognize the signs of impending danger.

  Dorothea was stiff as a board, her hands balled into fists. Tension crackled from her.

  Incoming!

  She beat at his chest. "You...you...prick! Three days ago, I wasn't worth a pity screw, and now that you're desperate for sex, you decide to turn on the charm, expecting me to thank you for the scraps you toss my way?"

  He took a moment to admire the pale blue paint on her nails. Adorable.

  He had a feeling he would like her nails even if they were puke green or bowel-movement brown.

  Ever since she'd flashed him, he'd been turned on, unable to turn off.

  Earlier today he'd walked past the inn. Through the window he'd seen her leaning over the reception desk, her pants pulled tight over her ass, and his decision to avoid her had crashed and burned. He would have paid any price to stand behind her, rub against her and hear her purr with satisfaction.