Dangerous Lies (27 page)

“How was work?” he asked.

“I set a personal record for tips earned.”

“Sounds lucrative.”

“At the end of the night, Inny and I line up our pennies and see who has the one with the oldest mint date. She won tonight—1938. Right before World War II. It’s almost overwhelming to think how many people have touched that penny since. How was the ranch?”

“I like the penny tradition. The ranch was good. I had to rescue a couple stray calves out of a mud hole. Like I said, never a boring day.”

“Isn’t that sweet. A cow’s knight in shining armor.”

“I had to wash my hair three times before I was presentable enough to come over. I was head to toe in mud. Worse, the sun baked it onto me before I could rinse off. Had to scrub so hard, I must’ve taken off at least a couple layers of skin.”

“I think you missed a spot.” Before I realized it, I brushed my thumb near his eyebrow. There wasn’t any mud. I just wanted to touch him. His hair was still damp from his shower, and he smelled clean and earthy, like rain. He’d put on jeans and a button-down denim shirt rolled to the elbows, and he looked great in both. The jeans accentuated his long legs, and the shirt was snug enough to show his muscles. Paired with chiseled cheekbones and those stunning blue eyes, his attractiveness was hard to ignore.

“Did I?” he asked, rubbing his thumb self-consciously over the spot. “Didn’t mean to come over muddy.”

The mosquitoes were beginning to land on me, so I said, “Let’s go inside. I hope you brought your own baseball bat to fend off any monsters lurking in the shadows. I don’t think Carmina owns one.”

“She does. She keeps it in the umbrella stand. Don’t ask how I know.”

I unlocked the front door, but I didn’t reach for the hall light right away. I could feel Chet standing close behind me. My limbs felt loose, and a slow, liquid warmth filled me. It was so quiet, I heard the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

I closed my eyes and willed everything inside me to slow. If I let him in, I had to promise myself to keep my head.

“I like the outfit,” Chet told me, his voice drifting through the darkness. “Camo and leather. It suits you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Tough. Feisty. Sexy.” He cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t have said that. What I meant was—”

I turned. “You think I’m pretty?”

I still hadn’t switched on the light. My eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, distinguishing the outline of Chet’s body. Broad, athletic shoulders stood directly in front of me. He was so close, I could have touched him. I could have curled my fingers into his shirt and pulled our bodies together.

“No,” Chet said, his voice low, husky. “Not pretty.”

My breath caught.

“Stunning,” he continued in that same low voice. “Mesmerizing. Smart. Sassy. I haven’t been able to think straight since I met you. I can’t think of a day when you haven’t been in my thoughts. There are a hundred other things I should be thinking about, but I think about you. What you’re doing, when I’ll see you next, what you’re thinking.”

“Do you want to know what I’m thinking?” I asked softly.

“Yes.”

That slow, liquid heat swirled faster in my belly. I felt dizzy, unsteady. I could come back from it now, I thought. It wasn’t too late. I could step outside and clear my head.

But at that moment, I didn’t want a clear head. I didn’t want control. I wanted to touch Chet, and I wanted him to touch me.

I looked up at him. He watched me just as closely. I was sliding into him. I felt the draw, that slippery pull, that wonderful, wild sensation of falling fast.

My restraint unraveled in a flash. Chet lost his at the same moment.

He pushed me inside, kicked the door shut, and flung me back against it, his mouth hot and fervent on mine. I locked my arms around his neck, drowning in sensation. He felt warm, solid, and tough. His weight crushed me, delicious and real. I’d imagined this moment. I’d dreamed about it, but my imagination was a poor substitute for the real thing. My blood seemed to melt, pouring through me in throbbing surges and leaving me light-headed.

He ran his hand up my arm, and I quivered.

At my response, his arms, which had been braced on either side of my shoulders, tightened around me.

I hung my fingers on the waistband of his jeans, trying to balance myself. My knees felt slippery, weak. Desire washed over me, each new wave quicker and sharper. When my fingertips brushed the smooth skin where his jeans rode his hips, he shivered and kissed me harder.

He picked me up, carrying me to the sofa. I felt the cushions under my back, his body braced above mine. He kissed me deeper, sliding his hand up my thigh in a tantalizing caress. His mouth was warm and wet, unabashedly doing things to me that made me want to scream out. I felt like I was on fire. I could feel myself spinning wildly, but no amount of willpower could bring me back to that still, rational place. I let myself soar, leaving it behind.

Chet stopped. His eyes were deep and full as he stared at me.

“What’s wrong?” I panted.

He bowed his head, pressing his face to my neck. His breath sounded ragged in my ear. “This feels wrong, doing this on Carmina’s couch.”

I let go of a little moan.

“Carmina will kill me,” he added.

“Only if she finds out.” If he didn’t start kissing me again in five seconds, I felt like I might wither up and die.

“It doesn’t seem sneaky to you? Disrespectful? She’s in the hospital. She’s depending on me to look out for you.”

Now I let out a full-on groan. “Why do you have to be so . . . moral?”

“I want to do this the right way. I don’t want to look back and wish I’d treated you better.”

I tipped my head back against the pillows, not sure if I should laugh or cry. “You are the most confusing guy I’ve ever met. I’m right here, and I’m willing.”

“Don’t do this, Stella,” he said, nuzzling his face deeper into my neck. “If you don’t tell me to stop, I’m not sure I have it in me to walk away on my own.”

His body felt rigid, all that desire held in check with quivering restraint, and I believed him. If I said yes, he wouldn’t stop.

I sighed, letting my body slacken. “I feel like I’ve been transported to a parallel universe.” I plowed my fingers through my hair, which had tumbled out of its ponytail sometime in the middle of all that kissing. “This is a first for me. I’ve never had a guy say no.” I studied him quizzically. “Are you a virgin?”

Chet rolled off me, exhaling slowly to release some of the built-up energy. “Yes.”

“Now I
know
I’m in a parallel universe. A guy who admits to being a virgin? We have definitely left earth behind.”

He looked at me sideways. “Are you?”

I hadn’t expected him to ask me so bluntly. Which I supposed was unfair, since I’d just hit him with the same question. “No.”

“Your boyfriend. In Tennessee.”

I swallowed. My lies haunted me, and at the very least, I had to be honest now. “He was the only one.”

“Did he treat you right?”

More questions I hadn’t anticipated. “What kind of question is that? When you’re in the throes of passion, you aren’t really thinking about the other person.”

“I was thinking about you just now,” Chet said quietly. “If I’d been thinking only about myself, I wouldn’t have stopped. I wouldn’t have cared if you really wanted to be with me. I would have taken what I wanted.” He paused. “I don’t want you to say yes because you feel sorry for me, or because you’re lonely and there’s no one else around.”

“That’s not why I kissed you tonight.” It wasn’t, was it? I didn’t think I was trying to get over Reed or exorcise his memory. I
was
lonely, but less so than when I’d first come to Thunder Basin. I was attracted to Chet. That’s why I wanted to be with him tonight. Because I cared about him. Because it hurt to keep so many secrets from him; for once, I wanted him to know something intimate about me. Sharing this with him—this physical connection—felt like giving him something of me, the real me.

“I feel like you’re keeping something from me,” Chet said. “I don’t know what it is. But I feel it there, under the surface.”

I ached to tell him everything. To finally come clean. But it was too risky, and so I forced myself to bite down the words.

“It’s stifling in here,” I said, gathering my hair off the back of my neck. “I wish Carmina had AC. It’s too hot outside to open the windows, but I feel like I need fresh air. It’s too hot to think.”

“I have an idea,” Chet said after a moment, a daring smile glinting in his eyes. “If you’re game.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“Ever been to a swimming hole at night?”

“I’ve never been to a swimming hole, period.”

“Hot air, cool water. Not a bad combination.” He made a weighing gesture with his hands. “But if you’d rather stay here and try to sleep in this heat . . .”

“I’ll grab my swimsuit now.”

Upstairs, I changed into my suit, a solid black number that was as classy as I could find at Kmart, and selected a faded towel from the linen closet that I didn’t think Carmina would worry about getting soiled.

While I located my sandals in my closet, I thought about what Chet had said. With my head cleared, I tried to remember my first time with Reed. It was a little rough, a little flawed. When we finished, I remembered hoping I’d done it right. In fact, every time we had sex, I hoped I was good enough that Reed didn’t go looking elsewhere.

I’d never once wondered about my own fulfillment.

And he’d never asked.

THE COOL WATER OF THE
swimming hole still tingled on my skin when I crept to bed later that night. I left the lights on downstairs, but it didn’t make the house feel safer. Suddenly I wished I’d asked Chet if I could sleep at his place. A spare room or the sofa, it didn’t matter. I didn’t want to be alone.

Lightning flashed outside, followed by a rumble of thunder. The wind picked up, knocking branches against the house. A few raindrops splashed the window. I shuddered and wrestled the sheets higher.

I wondered how Reed had felt moments before Danny Balando’s men ambushed him. Had he felt ice in the pit of his stomach, like I did now? Did every creak and thump in his house cause him to freeze, and bring his senses to full alert?

It was impossible not to wonder what they’d done to Reed. I tried to squeeze all speculation from my thoughts, but the worst ideas flooded in. Had they butchered him? When his body was found, would I recognize him?

Did Danny dream of doing the same things to me?

I had no way of knowing if he was any closer to finding me. I had to try to make a life outside that constant and relentless fear.

I knew Danny dreamed of me. And I dreamed of him.

I feared my dreams.

*  *  *

The following afternoon, Chet helped me drive Carmina home from the hospital. As we rounded the tall hedge bordering her driveway, her eyes went wide with surprise.

“What on earth have you two done?”

A small crowd was gathered on her lawn, and as Chet bumped into the drive, they sprang to life, waving balloons and flowers, and scurrying forward to meet us. Pastor Lykins led the way, instructing Chet where to park with a few arm gestures and a jovial smile.

“This wasn’t my idea,” I said, excusing myself of any responsibility. But I felt a twinge of annoyance—and jealousy. I should have been the one to throw Carmina a welcome-home party.

“Nor mine,” Chet said.

He’d barely parked when the Scout’s doors were flung open from the outside, and the little group began cheering and clapping. I could see now that there were casseroles, salads, and desserts in their hands as well.

“Welcome home, Carmina,” Pastor Lykins said, stepping up to take her hand and help her down. “You missed Sunday’s linger longer, so we decided to throw another pot luck, right here on your lawn. We hope you don’t mind.”

“Nonsense,” Carmina said, flushed. “As long as Stella has left the house in a state befitting company, we can set the dishes in the kitchen and eat on the back lawn—plenty of shade at this hour. Chet, would you get the front door?”

*  *  *

Carmina’s home was filled with sounds. Happy voices, silverware clanking, laughter. The chirping of birds floated in through the open windows. Under Carmina’s direction, Chet spread picnic blankets on the lawn and set up folding chairs in a wide circle. The potluck dishes were arranged on her kitchen table, which was conveniently close to the screen door leading out back.

I piled my plate with a roll and the fixings for a ham sandwich, then went to the fridge for mustard.

“I suppose you heard what happened to Trigger McClure,” a woman said, coming up behind me and cornering me against the fridge. She leaned in and kept her voice hushed. I could tell she’d been eating from one of the platters of barbeque; sauce smeared her cheek.

“I haven’t,” I confessed, trying to hold a neutral, if not indifferent, tone. It wasn’t public knowledge he’d beat me up, so I couldn’t fathom how she knew. But the mere mention of Trigger’s name had soured my mood.

“The police department kept it hush-hush,” the woman continued in a quietly excited voice. “Fact is, only a select few know they took him in. My sister works as a court reporter and gave me the scoop. Trigger was arrested for what he did to you. Charged him with simple assault, they did. Not aggravated, ’cause there was no deadly weapon or serious bodily injury. The judge gave him five hours of community service, and he’s required to take anger management classes. What do you say to that?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with gossip.