Sunny Chandler's Return (9 page)

“It doesn’t bear repeating, okay?” Sunny said testily.

“And I suppose the dragonfly is self-explanatory, too. What are they, code names or something?”

“Fran-nie.”

“Okay, okay,” Fran said, starting the car. “But if you find out firsthand what we’ve been speculating on, it’s your duty as a best friend to tell me everything.”

Sunny was concentrating so hard that the telephone rang several times before she cursed, threw down her pencil, and got up to answer it.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

Ty Beaumont’s voice lost none of its sensual punch through the telephone lines. She could swear she felt his breath in her ear. Her skin broke out in cold chills, even though it was the hottest time of the afternoon. She sank down onto the nearest chair.

“Wake up on the wrong side this morning?”

Sunny could hear the grin behind his words. “I’m sorry if I sounded cross. I was busy.”

“Sorry to catch you at a busy time.”

She lifted her heavy hair off her neck. “I needed to take a break anyway.”

“Working on the dragonfly?”

“She’s resolved. I’m working on a sea nymph now.”

“A sea nymph, huh? That sounds promising.”

“Yes, I think I have the very client in mind.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.”

He laughed easily. “Did you enjoy your lunch yesterday?”

Until you came along
, she thought. “Dairy Mart cheeseburgers are almost as legendary as Woolworth’s cherry Cokes.”

“You and Fran have been friends for a long time, I take it.”

“Since grade school.”

“You must be enjoying your visit with her.”

“Very much.”

“Got a lot to talk about?”

“Always.”

“Did you talk about me?”

His intuition was exceeded only by his ego. “Look, Sheriff,” she said impatiently, “don’t you have any leads to follow up on? Any crimes to solve? I’m busy.”

“Is this what the famous Sunny Chandler brush-off sounds like?”

She wouldn’t even honor his question with an answer. “Was there something you wanted, Mr. Beaumont?”

“There’s plenty I want from you. Should I give you an itemized list?”

“I’m hanging up now. Good—”

“I’ll be there at seven.”

“Where?”

“There. To pick you up.”

“What for?”

“Charles Bronson.”

“Pardon?”

“The drive-in. There’s a Charles Bronson double feature tonight.”

“No thanks, I don’t like violence.”

“I wouldn’t think of getting violent. Not on our first date.”

“On the screen,” she ground out.

“Who goes to the drive-in to look at the screen?”

“Precisely. That’s why I don’t want to go with you.”

“How come? Afraid I’ll win my bet two days early?”

His audacity appalled her into speechlessness. She was left holding a buzzing receiver after he said, “Seven,” and hung up before she could get out a word in reply.

Sunny wasn’t sure why she was dressed, ready, and waiting for Ty at a few minutes before seven. Probably because she couldn’t resist his dare and, too, because she hadn’t liked his remark about the “Sunny Chandler brush-off.”

He’d been listening to gossip, and, while she wanted to pretend that it didn’t bother her, she had to admit that it did. She had no idea why she cared what he thought of her. But it seemed important that Ty Beaumont not consider her the fickle, heartless, femme fatale that the rest of the people in this town did.

She heard his car drive up and peeped through the shutters. Surprisingly, it wasn’t the patrol car, but a silver Datsun 280Z. Fran’s talk about healthy fantasies came rushing back to Sunny’s mind when he pulled his tall frame from the low-slung sports car and walked toward her door. She was grateful for the opportunity to look at him without his knowing it. That way she was prepared for the snug fit of his jeans and the thin cotton shirt through which his chest hair was a beguiling, fan-shaped shadow.

She had a sound argument against fantasies being harmless, though. Even prepared as she was, her palms grew moist with tension as she pulled open the door and bravely confronted those blue eyes and white teeth.

“Hi. Ready?”

“Almost. Come in.”

As soon as she closed the door behind him, he pulled her into his arms. She was so taken by surprise that she offered no resistance. His kiss was long and thorough, his tongue searching. He lifted her arms up around his neck and patted them into place there. He pressed his thumbs into her vulnerable underarms, then slid his open hands all the way down to her waist.

Slanting his mouth over hers at a more advantageous angle, he drew her body closer. On the move again, his hands paused at the sides of her breasts. The heels of his palms applied a light pressure to the fullness while his tongue had carnal knowledge of her mouth.

When he released her, she drew drafts of air into her collapsing lungs as she stared up at him. To lambaste him for taking such outrageous liberties would be tantamount to admitting that the embrace had disturbed her.

Instead she murmured, “I’ll be right back.” Somehow she found her way into her bedroom, though she was moving in a daze. The disheveled image reflected in her mirror snapped her out of the trance. Her eyes were fever-bright. They looked back at her with the dilated vacancy of a woman thoroughly aroused. Her lips were red and swollen and moist. She touched them. They still throbbed.

And her hair!

She had spent half an hour arranging it into that “casual” topknot. It was now hanging loose around her shoulders. He had taken it down without her even knowing it!

Irritated with herself, she hastily reapplied her lip gloss and picked up a perfume atomizer. On second thought, she slammed it back down on the dresser. Then, averring that it made no difference if she doused herself in perfume, absolutely nothing was going to happen in that Datsun at the drive-in, she used the fragrance liberally, even defiantly misting it between her breasts.

“All set?” he asked politely as she reentered the living room.

“Yes.”

As he opened the door for her, he held out his hand. Her hairpins were lying in his palm. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. His complacent smile spoke volumes.

“I thought you’d be driving the patrol car,” Sunny remarked once they were under way.

“I’m off tonight. George is in charge of the office unless there’s an emergency.”

“Would you mind rolling the windows up?”

“Yes. I like the wind.”

Sunny didn’t doubt that. It was doing him a big favor by keeping her blouse plastered to the front of her body. The shape of her breasts was detailed for him in profile every time he turned his head to look at her, which was frequently.

She lapsed into stony silence. If he wouldn’t think her a coward, she would demand that he take her home. As it was, she was resigned to spending several hours in verbal skirmishes. Those she could handle adroitly. What she wasn’t sure she could withstand was his assault on her senses.

He made something sexual of shifting the car’s gears. His powerful muscles moved with unconscious precision, contracting and relaxing with hypnotic suppleness. The car responded to him like a well-tamed animal. A mere flick of his wrist, a fluid motion of his leg, and it performed.

“The drive-in is on the other side of town,” Sunny said, tearing her eyes away from his lap as he downshifted.

“We’ve got to stop at my place first.”

“What for?”

His smile would have embarrassed a tomcat. “I never go to the drive-in unprepared.”

She stared at him with dismay, then disgust, before turning her head away. She kept her gaze steadfastly on the windshield until they pulled into the driveway of a small but well-kept house on a tree-shaded street. It wasn’t the kind of place she expected him to live in.

It was a family neighborhood. Children were playing on the wide lawns. Several boys on bicycles waved to Ty as they rode past. Two women were chatting over a row of dwarf crepe myrtles in full bloom. The man across the street was mowing his St. Augustine grass.

Ty came around and opened her door. “Come on in.”

“I’ll wait here.”

“Have you got something to hide?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Myself.”

“Staying hunkered down in the car will only increase their curiosity.”

He was right. By now most of his neighbors had noticed that their sheriff wasn’t alone. They paused in their various pastimes to stare unabashedly. Sunny shoved open the car door. Declining to take the hand Ty offered to assist her, she alighted by herself. She also shook off the hand he placed on her elbow to help her as they took the wide brick steps up to the porch, where he swung open the front door of his house.

The living room was bright and airy. Sunny had expected something dim and iniquitous. It wasn’t spotless, but it was neat, as though clutter had been shoved off the modern furniture in expectation of her visit. His dust rag hadn’t been as thorough as it could have been. His plants needed watering.

But it was a pleasant room that looked well lived in and hospitable, a room where books were read as often as the television was watched. Sunny would have felt comfortable stepping out of her shoes as she crossed the hardwood floors. The room inspired that kind of hominess.

“This is nice.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Want to see the bedroom?”

“No.”

“Designer sheets. I changed them today.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Then let’s go in the kitchen.”

“The
kitchen
?”

“That’s where I keep them.”

Sunny was too stunned not to follow him into the room that overlooked a deep backyard. Ty went to a pantry and pulled the door open. He reached inside. When he withdrew his hands, Sunny closed her eyes, not believing that he could be so . . . crude.

“Popcorn and Cokes.” Her eyes popped open. He was juggling a plastic sack of popcorn and a six-pack of Cokes.

“Popcorn and Cokes!”

“I never go to the drive-in without them.”

She wanted to scream at him. “I thought—”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Her lips clamped shut.

“What did you think I came back here for?” His blue eyes narrowed on her. “Why, Miss Sunny, you can’t mean—you thought . . . ? When I said I always went to the drive-in prepared, surely you didn’t think I was referring to . . . I’m downright ashamed of you.”

“Will you stop that nonsense? Just hurry up so I can get out of here.”

Chuckling, he started to pop the popcorn. He turned on the burner beneath a pan and poured cooking oil into it, then tore open the package of popcorn with his teeth and shook the kernels into the oil.

“Make yourself useful and watch this while I ice down the drinks,” he told her. “And don’t let it burn. I hate it burned.”

Sunny, wearing a rebellious expression, moved to the stove. Ty had placed the lid over the pan. Kernels were already exploding against it. “Doesn’t the drive-in still have the concession stand?”

“Sure does,” he replied as he noisily emptied ice trays into a small, portable cooler.

“Then why are we popping our own popcorn?” She shook the pan, determined not to let it scorch after his superior admonition.

“I don’t consider it real popcorn unless it’s popped like this. My mother used to make it this way, before automatic poppers.”

“Where are your parents?”

“Neither of them is still living.”

“Oh. Brothers and sisters?”

“None. You like butter, don’t you?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

She nodded absently. “I think this is done. What should I pour it in?”

He produced a large plastic bowl with a tight lid. Since the drinks were ready, he took over the corn popping and popped two more batches before dropping half a stick of real butter into the hot pan. It hissed and sizzled and filled the kitchen with its milky aroma.

“Your domesticity surprises me,” Sunny remarked, watching him as he whirled the melting butter around in the bottom of the hot pan.

“In all honesty, popcorn is the only domestic thing I do really well.” His eyes moved from his task to her face. “In the kitchen, that is.”

Sunny dodged his piercing stare. “Fran said that you don’t eat too many dinners at home.”

“So you
did
talk about me.”

“I didn’t ask,” she said waspishly. “Fran volunteered the information.”

“I see. What all did Fran say?”

“That you are a real bastard where women are concerned.”

He wasn’t the least bit insulted. In fact, he laughed. “That doesn’t sound like something Fran would say.”

“You’re right. I drew that conclusion myself.”

“So, you and Fran discussed my love life.”

“I wouldn’t call it
love
life.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t consider sleeping around love.”

“What do you consider love? Jilting a poor schmuck at the altar?”

Sunny reacted as though he had struck her. For a moment she didn’t move, but only stared at him. When she did move, it was with a swish of cotton skirt and a swirl of golden hair that almost slapped him in the face as it came around.

“Wait! Sunny!” She didn’t stop. She didn’t slow down. In fact, she speeded up. He blocked her path by stepping around her and bracing himself against the doorjamb. “That was unforgivably rude.”

“Damn right it was. Now get out of my way.”

“I’m sorry. Truly. And you’re absolutely right, sometimes I am a bastard. It comes from practice.”

“You admit that you are?”

“No, I admit that I
was
. Brusque. Rude. Insensitive. I’ve changed in the few years I’ve been here, but sometimes I have a relapse.” He laid his hands on her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to say that to you. It just came out.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Mr. Beaumont. Not even courtesy. I’m not one of your lovesick ladies.”

His mouth twitched with the need to smile. “Fran did some fancy talking, I see.”

“Apparently so do you. It gets you into a lot of bedrooms.”

The teasing glint faded from his eyes. “I’m not a monk, and I require more than the clinical detachment of a prostitute, so, yes, I’ve cultivated sleeping arrangements with a few women in town. But I’m always honest. I’ve never taken advantage of a woman by making promises I know I won’t keep.”