by Jill Gregory
“We can discuss that over a couple of steaks.”
She yanked her arm free. “I’m late.”
“See you at six.”
His gaze followed her as she nearly ran to the cash register. She obviously couldn’t get out of the diner fast enough, he thought, taking a seat in the nearest booth. But she hadn’t said no. Still, frustration overwhelmed him. What the hell was he doing—aside from screwing things up?
Kissing Faith the other night after all these years apart was the last thing he ought to have done. It wasn’t fair to her—and it was driving him crazy. There was nothing between them anymore and he’d had no right to behave as if there was—as if no time had passed and they still belonged to each other.
They’d been kids back then, that summer they’d lived and breathed for each other. Stupid, young, anything-is-possible-when-you’re-in-love kids.
Now they both knew better. He sure as hell did.
Why on earth had he gone to Blue Moon Mesa anyway?
And worse, why couldn’t he forget what it had felt like to kiss Faith again? To hold her. Different from the last time. This time had felt more dangerous, more heady. Like spiked liquor, 200 proof. Delicious but sure to burn his gut in the end.
And it did.
He’d stayed up half the night, trying to forget the softness of her lips against his and how right her slender curves had felt in his arms. Just as right as she had felt all those years ago.
His mouth on hers, he’d wanted to taste her, every part of her, slowly and completely. He’d longed to slide his hands under her tank top, cup her breasts, watch the heat simmer across her face.
Though it almost killed him, at least he’d stopped at just a kiss.
Just a kiss? Who was he kidding? Kissing Faith could never be just a kiss.
But she was so different now from the carefree girl he remembered. That laughing, daring girl. She was withdrawn, complicated, cool as lake frost. At least to him.
But she was sexier than ever. And just as fascinating.
What the hell had happened to her in the intervening years? Was it all his fault, the way he’d left her, let her down? Or had someone else hurt her? Maybe life itself had wounded her. He knew what that was like.
Let her go, man, just let her go, Zach thought as the waitress with the pierced eyebrow set place settings and water glasses on the table.
He’d said the same thing to himself the other night, until five in the morning.
There was only one problem. He wasn’t sure anymore that he really wanted to let her go. He’d done that once, and he had the scars to prove it. But maybe, just maybe, there was a reason why he was back here now in Thunder Creek, and she was too.
Maybe fate was trying to tell him something.
The idea of it, the flick of hope, teased him that night like the perfumed caress of a mermaid, a dreamy figure splashing away as the sun came up.
Faith. If he could try . . . if he could get through to her . . . tell her . . . ask her . . .
But with sunrise had come reality. He’d pushed the hope away. And yet, sitting here in Bessie’s Diner, watching her hand over some bills to Ada, chatting with that warm affability she reserved for everyone but him, he realized something.
He wasn’t quite ready to let the dream go—a dream he’d thought he’d relinquished ten years ago.
“Dad. Dad! Can I go to Brett’s after lunch? His mom said it’s okay. His boxer just had puppies—five of ’em!”
He dragged himself out of his thoughts and focused on his son. “You can look at them, but don’t bring home another pet or Neely’s going to up and quit.”
“Nah, she won’t. She likes us too much.” His son grinned at him, his eyes dancing, and Zach ruffled the boy’s hair.
It was worth it, everything was worth it, for this. For Dillon’s smile. His stability, sanity. He leaned down suddenly and hugged his boy close.
“Dad!” Dillon squirmed away, embarrassed, afraid his friend would see. “Let’s order fast, okay? I want to go see those pups!”
They sat facing each other and as usual Dillon ordered a hamburger with fries and a Coke.
“You’re going to turn into a hamburger one day,” Zach warned him dryly, but his son, who’d heard the comment too many times to count, paid no attention.
He was watching Faith walk past them to the door. When she gave the boy a faint smile, he waved at her.
“How do you know her again?” he asked after she’d left.
“I met her here in Thunder Creek that summer I visited.”
“The summer when that boy . . . your friend . . . got hurt,” Dillon said in a low tone, glancing around.
Zach had told him everything following the encounter with Fred Harrison. Needless to say, Dillon didn’t really understand it all. All these years later, Zach wasn’t sure he did either.
“She’s nice,” Dillon declared as the teenage waitress set his Coke in front of him. He stuck the straw in it. “She made that mean man let go of me.”
He took a slurp of his Coke. “And she’s pretty. Real pretty,” he added.
Zach’s brows rose. “You have a crush on her?” Like father, like son.
“Eeewww, no.” Dillon made a disgusted face, the same one he made whenever he talked about any girl at school. “Girls are gross,” he said. “But . . . you like them. Maybe you have a crush on her.” He grinned suddenly. “Do you?”
Zach’s eyebrows quirked. “What’s this all about? Why all this talk about Ms. Barclay and how pretty she is?”
Dillon shrugged. “It’s just because . . . sometimes I wish I had a mom who lived with me. Like Brett and Ethan do.” He hesitated a moment, then went on slowly. “I try to picture what she would look like, you know, tucking me in at night and stuff, but I can’t ever see her face.”
Zach was stunned. He stared at his son, feeling unaccountably guilty. “I didn’t know you felt that way.” He cleared his throat. “You miss your mom a lot, I know, but—”
“It’s okay, Dad. I don’t miss her as much as I used to. I like living with you and Neely and Gabe. Besides, Mom wouldn’t let me have any pets, not even a goldfish,” he said, adding quickly, “That doesn’t mean I don’t like seeing her or anything. I do. Sometimes I . . . I wish I could live with both of you.”
He took another slurp of his Coke. “But don’t worry, I’m gladder than anything that I live with you—and with Batman and Jelly and Zena and Tigger.”
“That’s good to know.” Zach paused as their food arrived, hoping he was handling this right. He didn’t have much of a role model when it came to parenting. His own mother had been too distracted with her clubs and her charities and her social life to pay much attention to either Zach or Jock, and his father had single-mindedly worshipped one son and despaired of the other.
He intended to do a lot better than either one of them when it came to raising Dillon.
So Zach had read some books, but mostly he was going by instinct. Suddenly, though, as Dillon took a huge bite out of his burger, Zach had a startling thought.
“Are you trying to tell me that you were thinking about Faith Barclay for a . . . a mom?” he asked in astonishment.
Dillon blushed. “Maybe. I don’t really know her that well. I like Brett’s mom too, but she’s already married. But Ms. Merck . . .” Dillon shook his head as he chewed. “She’s pretty and all, but . . . she wears all that icky perfume. Last time she came over, the house smelled so bad I wanted to throw up.”
“Really.” Zach still hadn’t touched his own burger. “Do I get a choice in who your new mom should be?”
“Sure. I mean, if she’s going to be your wife, you should at least like her a lot,” Dillon said carelessly, but his eyes twinkled. “So . . . does this mean you’re looking for a new wife?” he asked, sounding hopeful.
“At the moment, no.” But the crestfallen expression on his son’s face made him add, “I have a lot of business dealings to get settled over the next few months,
and we’re still getting settled in at the ranch. But, eventually, if you want . . . maybe I’ll see what I can do.”
“Maybe?” Dillon said challengingly.
Zach crumpled up a napkin and tossed it at the boy, who caught it, giggling delightedly.
“Give me a break. I’ll think about it.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Dillon popped a french fry into his mouth. “And you should keep Ms. Barclay in mind,” he added.
“It probably won’t be her,” Zach warned. “She doesn’t like me much these days.”
“Why not?” Dillon stared at him. “Were you mean to her?”
“As a matter of fact . . . I was.” Zach grimaced. “I didn’t mean to be, but I was. I left for home at the end of that summer I was here without saying good-bye.”
“Is that all? Sheesh, why don’t you tell her you’re sorry? That’s what you always tell me to do when I hurt someone’s feelings.”
Out of the mouths of babes. Zach drew a breath. “I could try that, Dillon,” he said. “But sometimes—with grown-ups—things are complicated.”
It would be better if he didn’t even tell Dillon that he and Faith were having dinner together tonight. It wasn’t exactly a date, and it wasn’t as if something was going to come of it. In fact, it could be the last time they ever spoke.
He didn’t want the kid getting his hopes up.
Like you are? he asked himself as Dillon ordered chocolate cream pie for dessert.
He had the uneasy feeling that edging his way back into Faith Barclay’s life might be a disaster for both of them.
Did he really want to risk that?
It’s only dinner, he told himself.
And the other night was just a kiss, a voice inside of him jeered.
Zach told the voice to shut up.
Chapter 11
FAITH WAS PULLING ON HER BOOTS AT FIVE fifty-five when her cell phone rang. She shoved her feet into sleek black leather and scooped up the phone from her bed.
For a moment there was a split second of silence and she thought it was Bayman again, but then a familiar voice spoke crisply in her ear.
“Faith, it’s Liz. Sorry it took so long, but I’ve got that information you wanted on Hank Bayman. It isn’t good news.”
Her stomach dropping, Faith gripped the phone. “Hit me with it,” she said.
“His probation officer ran a check and found he hasn’t reported for work in nearly a week.”
“Damn it. That’s the last thing I wanted to hear.” She sat down on the bed, biting her lip. “Has he been seen around his apartment?”
“I asked Will to check it out when he was off duty, and you’re not going to like this either,” her assistant said. Will was Liz’s brother—a detective who had worked with Faith on several racketeering cases.
“No one’s seen him go in or out of the building the past six days.”
“Where the hell is that bastard?” Faith muttered. She raked a hand through her hair, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach.
“I wish I could tell you.” Liz sighed. “The probation officer’s issuing a bench warrant. I’ll have Will keep his eyes open. Anything else you want me to do?”
“No—thanks, Liz. I’ll . . . I’ll take care of it. But let me know as soon as you hear anything or if he turns up.”
“Will do. How’s Lightning Creek?” Liz asked.
“Thunder Creek. It’s just fine and dandy.”
Faith asked about the status of two upcoming cases, then snapped the phone closed. She swore under her breath as she began to pace around her bedroom.
She had to call Susan, warn her. Even though there was no way Bayman could have found out where she’d gone, she had to let Susan know that he’d dropped out of sight. It would scare her to death, but at least she’d be on alert—just in case . . .
Faith groaned, a sound of frustration and muted rage. Merely by disappearing, Hank Bayman had the ability to terrify Susan and her children again. She couldn’t bear thinking about it.
Flipping open the phone, she punched in the number.
She nearly winced when Susan answered cheerfully on the second ring, hating that she had to spoil whatever serenity she’d found.
“Susan, it’s Faith Barclay. I don’t want you to panic but—”
“Oh, God,” Susan gasped. “He’s coming, isn’t he? He found out where we are and—”
“No. Listen to me, Susan. He doesn’t know where you are. I’m ninety-nine percent sure of that. He hasn’t been to work in almost a week and he’s dropped out of sight, but he can’t possibly know where to find you.”
“He’ll find a way.” Susan sounded on the verge of tears. “He always finds a way.”
“Not this time, he won’t.” Faith took a deep breath. “There’s something else, Susan. I think he’s called me a few times on my cell phone. I don’t know how he got the number, but I think it’s him. He doesn’t say a word, but I know he used to do that to you, right?”
“Yes. All the time. And then he’d just be there. I’d come out of the shower and he’d be standing beside my bed. Or I’d wake up in the night, open my eyes, and he’d be leaning over me—” Her voice quavered.
“I have to get out of here, Faith. I have to get my kids someplace else . . . someplace safe.”
Faith heard the sound of a car coming down the lane. Damn. Zach was early. She moved into the living room, her attention still focused on the woman on the phone. “Hold on a minute, Susan, someone’s here. Don’t hang up until I tell you my theory.”
She saw Zach striding toward the porch and opened the door as he reached it. She motioned him inside, trying not to be distracted by the way his tall, lean cowboy frame filled out a navy shirt and gray slacks, or by the way his gaze lit as he took in her appearance—which was stark and serious, in her opinion. She was wearing jeans, boots, and a black sweater—and no jewelry except silver hoop earrings.
Bright little sex bomb Candy Merck she wasn’t.
“I’ll be right with you,” she muttered, and he nodded, stepping inside. As he closed the door behind him, Faith paced toward the opposite windows, near the dining room, then back, her boots clicking over the hardwood floor.
“Hank always called you first, before he showed up, didn’t he?” she said into the phone.
“Ye . . . es. I think so. Yes. But—”
“Well, he’s not calling you, Susan. He’s calling me. At least, I have every reason to believe he’s the person behind these calls. I don’t have any other enemies I can think of—certainly not the kind who would do something asinine like this.”
“So . . . you think Hank’s trying to frighten you? To come after you?”
“I think it’s possible. He suspects that I know where you are. Maybe he thinks he can scare the information out of me. If so, he’s in for a surprise. I’ll slap stalking and harassment charges against him so fast his eyes will spin.”
“Be careful, Faith,” Susan warned. “He’s dangerous. He likes to sneak up on you, not let you see him coming. Once he has you cornered—” Susan took a deep breath and changed the subject.
“So maybe you’re right,” she said softly. “Maybe he doesn’t know where I am yet. Do you think I should move, though, just in case?”
“No. Stay put. You’re settling in now, Susan, don’t let him push you around anymore, even from a distance. As far as we know, he hasn’t a clue where you are.” Faith stopped pacing and put all the reassurance she could muster into her words. “I only called to warn you. It’s good to be alert, but there’s no reason to panic.”
“Yes . . . you’re right. I know you’re right.”
Faith could picture Susan, chewing on her thumbnail as she’d done every time Faith had met with her or seen her in court.
“I don’t want to scare the kids,” Susan said in a calmer tone. “But I’ll sure keep my eyes open. You need to do that too, Faith. Hank is resourceful. And he just loves his sneak attacks.”
Faith promised
to call again when she heard anything further. After ending the call, she turned to find Zach studying her with a frown.
“That sounds like some bad kind of trouble.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
Her tone was brusque, shutting him out. He was getting used to that, but it didn’t make him like it any better.
“Where are we going for dinner?” she asked, grabbing her purse, slinging it over her shoulder. “Or would you rather just forget the whole thing?”
“We did that once,” Zach said evenly. “I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.”
Her gaze flew to his face, but he was already opening the door. “Come on. We have a long drive ahead of us.”
“Where are we going—Texas?” she shot back.
“Not quite that long. Casper.”
She froze, staring at him, as he held the door for her—a dark, rugged cowboy with the face of a fallen angel. And eyes that gleamed with grim amusement.
“Excuse me, but what’s wrong with Bessie’s Diner? Or that pizza they serve now at the Tumbleweed—”
“I’m taking you away from the eyes and ears of Thunder Creek, Faith. Someplace where we can talk.”
“Talk? What do we have to talk about? There’s nothing I have to say to you—not anymore.” A lie. A terrible lie. There was nothing she was willing to say to him. A big difference.
“Then we’ll be quiet together. Remember those days? We were really good at being quiet together, Faith.”
“That was another century—another lifetime ago, Zach.” She stalked past him. Her eyes were cold. She refused to meet his gaze, to acknowledge all the memories—of long afternoons lying in the grass in each other’s arms, or evenings in the hammock behind the Last Trail ranch, or up on Snowflake Mountain, kissing in the moonlight beneath a canopy of stars.
She vaulted up onto the seat of the black pickup before he could help her, and stared straight ahead as he circled it around the drive and headed back toward the road.
The night was chilly. As lavender-tinted shadows descended over the Laramies and crept across treetops and canyons, the breath of oncoming winter seemed to sweep away the vestiges of late summer, even the hint of a bright, crisp autumn. It was too soon, Faith knew. Golden autumn must come before the freeze, which would lock Wyoming in the throes of deep white winter, but tonight she almost tasted winter on her tongue and felt it brush like the first snowflake against her skin.
