Paradise County (39 page)

“Yes, oh, dear. I gather that your sister and her friend painted stripes in their hair in honor of tonight’s event, and Jen wanted some too.”

“Oh, my,” Alex said, still smiling. “So what did you do? Give her a stern lecture on the danger of hair streaks and send her to wash them out?”

“I didn’t see them until she was on her way out the door. She rode
over with her choral group, and I saw her hair and her dress at the same time. It was an eye-opener, I have to admit. But I’m sure pink hair stripes are hot.”

“They’re called streaks, not stripes, just so you’ll know.” Alex smiled up at the night sky. Stars twinkled down at her as if they shared in the joke. “And yes, they’re hot.”

“You haven’t heard the worst of it, either. Know what else your busy little sister did?”

“What?” Alex asked with some trepidation, as his tone conjured up hideous visions of body piercings and the like.

Joe pushed her hair behind her ear. Then his mouth nuzzled right up against it as if he didn’t want to be overheard. His lips were hot and his breath was moist, and the sensation tightened her loins and started a quake, rhythmic and slow, between her legs. Alex gritted her teeth, and tried to concentrate on what he was saying.

“She told Jen that she if she
really
wanted to look hot, she should buy a padded bra.”

That wasn’t so bad. Joe, obviously, had no idea of the range of possibilities, most of them far more hideous, that Neely could have suggested. “Is that all?”

“Is that
all?
That’s plenty, believe me. Know what my daughter wants me to do this weekend? Take her to the mall in Louisville to buy a padded bra.” There was an undertone of only semi-amused savagery in his tone.

At the thought of Joe wandering around a suburban mall in search of a padded bra for Jenny, Alex relaxed enough to grin.

“Victoria’s Secret has some very nice things,” she said primly.

“Victoria’s Secret?
For
Jenny?
Oh, my God… . Quit laughing, it’s not funny.”

“You’re
what’s funny. She’s a girl, you know. Sooner or later, she’s going to have to start wearing a bra.”

“Yeah, but not now. And not a padded one, for God’s sake. She’s eleven years old, and flat as a pancake. A little girl. And I’d like to keep her that way, thank you very much.”

Glancing up at him, she saw him frown. His mouth brushed her ear again, and the quake deepened into a real hunger. Her toes curled in instinctive response.

“Joe, little girls have to grow up.”

“It’s getting harder, you know.” His voice was suddenly almost stark. “Raising her by myself, I mean. Boys I know. A girl …”

“I think you’re doing a great job,” Alex said in a softer tone, releasing her knees to curve her arms over his where they were wrapped around her waist, “on all of them.”

“Yeah, I’m a regular Mr. Mom.” There was an undertone to that that made Alex turn her head and look up at him.

“Joe, is something wrong?”

Seen in profile with the glittering sky as a backdrop, he was almost sinfully handsome, she thought. She let her gaze wander over his face with what was close to being an ache of pleasure. His features were classically even. He had a high forehead, a long, straight nose, a strong chin. His eyes were shadowed by short, thick black lashes as he glanced down at her. His beautiful mouth curled in a faint, sardonic smile.

“No, not really.” His arms tightened around her waist. “Tell me what you did today.”

It was an obvious attempt to change the subject. Whatever was bothering him—and she was fairly sure something was—perhaps, she thought, he felt that this was not the place to talk about it. Not with, potentially, listening ears on all sides. And watching eyes as well.

His call.

“Besides expose your daughter to a world of pink hair streaks and padded bras?” She was reaching for a carefree note, and wasn’t quite sure if she hit it. To her own ears the question sounded slightly forced.

“Yeah, besides that.” He was smiling for real now. She could see the faint gleam of his teeth as moonlight struck them.

“I talked to Andrea today.” The feel of him against her—the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the rasp of his chin against her cheek when he moved his head, the occasional shift of his legs—created a weakness that seemed to afflict every single muscle group she possessed.

“And what did Andrea have to say?”

“The newspaper series ended today. She said we can go home in another week. If we want to.”

He went suddenly very still. The arms around her waist seemed to grow harder, heavier.

“That’s good news.”

“Is it?”

“Isn’t it?”

She was breathing too fast, she realized suddenly. He must be aware of it, just as she was aware of the steady rhythm of his breathing. If she moved her head just a little, she could touch his jaw with her mouth… . It was all she could do to resist.

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“On you.”

He said nothing. Alex was supremely conscious of the feel of him holding her. His chest was hard against her back. The arms around her waist were solid, even possessive. His legs cradled her with their strength. She felt almost happy suddenly, and the feeling was so foreign to her after the last wrenching weeks that she immediately took stock to try to figure out why: She was breathing in the crisp November air, looking up at the cloudless night sky with its glinting stars, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, wrapped in Joe’s arms.

Ah, wrapped in Joe’s arms. That was the key. Joe’s arms were what had chased away the worst of her grief and pain, and made everything better. Joe’s arms were what made her happy.

She didn’t want to just fly away.

“Andrea was telling me about Paul.”

“Oh, yeah?” The tone of that was promising. The back against which she rested stiffened, and his head lifted so that his chin no longer brushed her cheek.

“She said she didn’t think he was liking his new marriage very much.”

“Hmm.” More promising still. That single syllable was almost a growl.

“And
I
said I didn’t care. I said I was
so
over Paul.”

He didn’t say anything, so after a tiny pause she snuggled closer. When she continued, her voice was as soft as the wind caressing her face.

“I said there was somebody new.”

“Oh, yeah?” He took a deep breath. Alex felt the rise and fall of his chest against her back, and the tensing of his arms around her waist. She slid her own arms down along the slick, puffy sleeves of his coat so that her fingers, oh, so lightly, could rest atop the warm backs of his hands.

“Yeah.” She shifted a little so that she could see more of his face. His eyes met hers, silvery in the moonlight, but his expression was impossible to read. “If you want there to be.”

“Alex?”

“Yes?”

“Could you do me a favor?” His voice was curiously devoid of expression.

“Like what?”

“Just sit there and don’t move.”

She was still looking up at him, waiting for his answer, her head thrown back against his shoulder, her lips almost brushing the underside of his jaw. She could feel a new tension in the legs that cradled her, an unusual immobility in the wide chest against her back, a hardening in the arms around her waist.

Before she could ask him why he didn’t want her to move, she had her answer: his arms, almost imperceptibly at first, began to shake.

“Joe?” His name was no louder than a whisper. He wet his lips, and then his jaw tensed as his gaze slashed down to meet hers.

“Just give me a minute,” he said.

Alex smiled. She had known it all along. He was as turned on by her as she was by him.

“Okay folks, hang on!” The driver called, and without further warning the wagon plunged off the road and lurched through an open farm gate into a field. Alex braced herself, and, from real necessity now, clung to Joe’s arms with both hands. Distraction had accomplished what
willpower had not been able to, she noticed: the tremors vanished as he planted his feet and held her tight.

In the distance a bright red glow lit up the sky. The bonfire, Alex guessed. It crackled and roared, the sounds growing louder the closer they drew. The smell of burning was strong.

“Can I move now?” she asked with husky pertness as the wagon lumbered up a hill.

“Only if you’re prepared to take the consequences,” Joe said, his mouth brushing her ear, deliberately this time, she thought. Instinctively she turned her face toward his—and the wagon jolted to a stop.

“Oh, I am,” she said, and smiled up into his eyes.

The driver turned in his seat.

“You all can hop on out now. We’re here.”

Thirty-five

T
he kids needed no second invitation. They plunged out of the wagon like lemmings over a cliff, and ran for the bonfire, which was situated in a field that was really more of a small valley. Knobby hills encircled it on three sides, and on the fourth, which was flat, there was a woods. The bonfire itself was a pyramid-shaped stack of logs piled as high as a two-story house. It was already furiously ablaze, painting the surrounding countryside and the sky above it with a flickering red glow.

“Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” asked a pleasant voice out of the darkness. Alex realized that the speaker was the woman who had ridden along with them. Alex was very aware that she was still sitting almost in Joe’s lap with his arms around her waist. She tapped his uppermost arm, silently asking to be set free. The woman was getting to her feet and at the same time brushing off her clothes as she peered in Alex’s and Joe’s direction. The man who’d been sitting beside her was getting up too. He was no more than a shadowy figure just beyond the woman.

“It certainly was,” Alex said, hoping no one else recognized the falsely cheerful note in her voice as she scrambled to her feet, aided by a boost from Joe’s hands on her waist. She felt horribly self-conscious suddenly
with the other woman’s eyes on her, as though her thoughts had branded her with a glowing scarlet
A
that was visible to all eyes.

“Alex, have you met Patsy Whelan? Patsy, Alex Haywood.” Getting to his feet behind her, Joe sounded perfectly at ease.

“Oh, I guessed who you were right off,” Patsy said, as Alex stepped carefully through the hay to shake her hand. All Alex could see in the darkness was that Patsy was shorter than herself and plump, with short dark curly hair. She wore jeans, a shiny baseball jacket, and sneakers. Alex was still wondering what to make of her last comment when the woman added, “We don’t get that many strangers around here.”

“Patsy’s the mother of Terry, our center. Like me, she and Bill there”—Joe nodded to the man behind Patsy, who was also dressed in jeans and a baseball jacket, although he was lean—“are on chaperone duty for the pep rally. That’s Bill Whelan.”

“Welcome, Alex,” Bill said, shaking Alex’s hand in turn. “Terry’s told us about your pretty little sister. She’s made quite a hit with the boys, it seems.”

“Bill!” Patsy poked him. “No telling tales on Terry. Come on now, those kids are going to eat up everything before we get there.”

“You’re right.” Bill Whelan jumped off the wagon and Patsy clambered down behind him by the simple expedient of sitting down on the edge and then scooting off. “You comin’, Joe?”

“Yeah.” Joe passed Alex and jumped down too. Alex reached the edge of the wagon bed and looked over. It was a good distance to the ground, and she was wearing high heels. She hated to follow Patsy’s ungainly example and scoot off on her bottom, but …

Joe, who glanced back at her even as he chatted with the Whelans, saw her hesitate.

“Come on,” he said, turning and holding up his arms for her. Alex looked down for a moment at his tanned, handsome face limned now with firelight, at his tall, wide-shouldered form braced to receive her, and was conscious of a sudden fierce wish that the Whelans would vanish in a puff of smoke. But they remained as they were, watching curiously as she leaned forward and put her hands on Joe’s shoulders. He caught her
around the waist with his hands inside her blazer so that she could feel the imprint of his fingers through the fine cashmere of her sweater. With easy strength he lifted her down to stand before him. Their eyes met. It was a second before she dropped her hands from his shoulders and stepped to the side.

“Who you think’s gonna win tomorrow, the Rockets or the Bruins?” Bill Whelan asked Joe. It was apparent that the other couple expected the four of them to walk companionably down the hillside together. Joe started off with them, with Alex on his far side listening with half an ear to the conversation. She’d gone several paces before she realized that she was clinging to Joe’s hand.

“We’re gonna smoke ’em,” Joe said with certainty.

Alex rolled her eyes. Did these men talk of nothing but basketball when they were together? Even Joe was a bore on the subject.

The conversation continued with a spirited dissection of, apparently, every basketball game that had ever been played or ever would be played. Patsy was in on it as well, while Alex said nothing, tried not to stumble over the uneven ground, and savored the fact that, even when she tried to let go, Joe still kept a tight grip on her hand.