Surrender To Sultry (5 page)

“Christ, Avery!” Colt held up one hand to block the image. He didn’t want to think
about his sister that way. He liked to pretend she didn’t have girly parts or a sex
life—that Emma was conceived immaculately. “Just go.”

“Thanks. I owe you.” She blew a kiss at her daughter and told Colt, “Don’t give her
any candy.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. Of course he wouldn’t give the kid any friggin’ candy—it
was nine o’clock in the morning. What kind of moron did Avery take him for?

“How about a doobie from the evidence room?” he asked. “Can I give her one of those?”

“Love you too, Colton,” she sang in an unnaturally high-pitched voice, her child-friendly
way of saying
Fuck
you, and the Harley you rode in on
. “Be a good girl, Em,” she added before rushing off to her appointment.

Emma didn’t miss a beat. “Look, Uncle Colt.” She thrust out her belly to display a
sticker, pointing to a cartoon character dressed in a harem girl costume. “She’s my
favorite princess.”

“Oh, yeah?” He scanned the cartoon’s heavy-lidded bedroom eyes and the cleavage spilling
from her off-the-shoulder halter top. Jeez, whatever happened to Strawberry Shortcake
and Rainbow Brite? He shook his head. “She’s not my favorite.”

Emma’s tiny pink lips parted with a pop. “She’s not?”

“Unh-uh.”

“Then which princess is your favorite?”

Colt scrambled for a name, coming up empty. “Uh,” he made a wide circle with his hands
and guessed, “the one with the poofy dress.”

“Belle or Cinderella?”

“Cinderella.” He recognized that one. Nodding at Emma’s sticker, he said, “I don’t
like the way this girl is showing off her tummy and her—”
ginormous
tits
“—uh, her bosoms.”

“Oh.” Emma nodded in understanding. “Her bubbies.” She craned her neck to inspect
said bubbies. “She’s sexy. One day I’ll have big bubbies too, then I’ll be sexy.”

Good God. As if kids these days didn’t have enough to worry about. “You’re only six,
hon. I don’t want you thinking about what’s sexy.”

“But my friend Shayla said boys like big bubbies. She has three brothers, and they
told her so.”

“Well, first of all, that’s not true.” In all the years since Leah left town, he’d
never seen a pair of breasts that compared to her flawless, pink-tipped B-cups. But
he wasn’t about to share that tidbit with Emma. He thought for a moment, then warned,
“And besides, you wanna stay away from boys. They’re gross.”

“Really?”

“Yep. They pick their noses and don’t wash their hands.” Then he hastily added, “Except
for me.”

A new voice from the doorway said, “You wash your hands after you pick your nose?”

Colt glanced up to find Leah watching them. A thrill ricocheted up and down the length
of his body from groin to chest. “Every single time,” he told her. “I have standards,
you know.”

“Hmm. I’ve heard mixed reports on that.” She folded both arms beneath those magnificent
bubbies, and Colt’s mouth broke into a grin. No matter how exotic, that buxom cartoon
character had nothing on Leah.

He let his eyes trace the gentle curves of her denim-clad thighs and a teasing swell
of hips peeking out from beneath an oversized Vikings sweatshirt. Nothing screamed
sexy!
like a woman who loved football, even if she did pull for a shitty team like Minnesota.
Leah didn’t need to put all her goods on display to make Colt’s heart thump. She was
a natural beauty without even trying.

“Emma,” Colt said when he’d finished ogling, “this is Miss McMahon. She and I were
real good friends once.”

Emma turned her wide, brown eyes on him and tipped her head. “But you’re not friends
anymore?”

He glanced at Leah and lifted his brows, a silent message that it was entirely up
to her.

“Is she yours?” Leah asked, ignoring the question.

He shook his head. “My sister’s. You never met Avery. She was still in Oklahoma when
my folks sent me to live here. She moved to town about seven years ago, right before
she had Emma.”

“Nice to meet you,” Leah said, crouching down to Emma’s height. “I like your sparkly
pants. Oh, and your sticker! She’s my second favorite, right behind Ariel.”

With that, Emma was sold. She skipped over to her new best friend and began twirling
Leah’s hair between her fingers. “I like Ariel, too, but I don’t think Uncle Colt
does.”

“No?” Leah asked. She raised her gaze to his. “Why not?”

Colt shrugged. He didn’t know Ariel from an areola.

“’Cause he don’t like it when girls show off their belly and their bubbies.”

Leah tipped back her blond head, laughing in a warm, high tinkle that settled in Colt’s
chest and radiated outward until his fingertips went tingly. She glanced at him with
those crystal-blue eyes all lit up like the noonday sky, and for an instant, she was
his angel again.

It felt like heaven, but it didn’t last nearly long enough. The smile died on Leah’s
lips, her gaze dimming as she pushed to standing and took two steps toward his desk.

“Rachel said you wouldn’t give her my license.” She pressed her lips together and
peered at him a moment before taking a sudden interest in his stapler. “I need it
so I can get tags for my car.”

“Oh, sure.” He stiffened his spine in an effort to hide his disappointment. “Got that
right here in my desk,” which was a bald-faced lie. He kept her license in his shirt
pocket, where he could pull it out during the day and gaze at her. To appease her,
he tugged open his center drawer and rooted through paperclips and invoices until
he found Benito Alvarez’s registration.

“Here you go,” he said, handing it across the desk. “By the way, who is this guy?”
Based on what Colt knew of Alvarez—age sixty-one, widowed, one child, clean record,
owner of B&A Home Health Services—he guessed Leah worked for the man, but some secret
part of him feared Alvarez was more than just a boss. Colt added with a wink, “You
didn’t steal his Escalade, did you?”

Leah took the document but didn’t meet his eyes. “If I did, you think I’d be stupid
enough to tell the town sheriff?”

“Probably not,” he conceded, pretending to search the drawer for her license. “You
always were a smart girl.”

A humorless chuckle shook her chest. “That’s debatable.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t have passed Senior Chem if it weren’t for you.” After Colt had transferred
to Sultry High, the science teacher partnered him with Leah, who’d offered to bring
Colt up to speed. Within a couple of weeks, they’d started meeting after school in
his granddaddy’s shed to make a little chemistry of their own. “You were a real good
tutor.”

The light flush that stained her cheeks told him she remembered all the study sessions
where they’d never once cracked a book. Where he’d memorized each fragrant curve of
her body instead of chemical equations. Where he’d lifted her onto a sawdust-coated
worktable, stroked her into a frenzy with his fingertips, and then taken her virginity
to the backdrop of a violent late-summer storm.

He remembered, too, and the mental echo of her gasps of pleasure made his pants suddenly
snug in the front. He rolled his chair forward until his belly bumped the desk. For
good measure, he did an algebra problem in his head.

“I don’t remember it that way.” Leah went quiet when her eyes darted to Emma. Clearly,
she had more to say, but not in the company of a princess-in-training.

“Well, you put up with a dumb jock like me.” Emma tugged on Colt’s sleeve. He ignored
her and added, “I was mighty grateful.”

Leah seemed to warm at that, shrugging one shoulder and favoring him with half a smile.
“You weren’t stupid. I always hated that you thought so.”

“Uncle Colt?” Emma interrupted. “I’m hungry.”

“Just a minute, hon.” He waved her away and focused on Leah. “You used to get so mad
at me for saying that. Remember?”

“Uncle Colt?”

“Because it wasn’t true,” Leah insisted.

“Uncle Colt?”

“Tell it to my transcript,” he countered.

“Uncle Colt?”

“There’s more than one kind of smart,” Leah pressed.

“Uncle Colt?”

“Only one kind that counts for anyth—”

“UNCLE COLT!”

Colt sucked a loud breath through his nose and closed his eyes while fishing inside
his pocket for a dollar bill. Damn it, he was finally beginning to crack Leah’s shell.
If he could only get rid of Emma for a few minutes…

He pushed the money into her little fist. “Go find Miss Darla at the front desk. She’s
selling Hershey bars for the school marching band.”

Emma’s face brightened. “Reese’s Cups too?”

He gave her another dollar. “Buy one of each.”

“Thanks, Uncle Colt!” After hugging his arm, Emma skip-ran from the room and left
them in peace.

Colt tried resuscitating the conversation, but when he returned his gaze to Leah,
he found her studying him in open-mouthed surprise.

“You’re letting her have chocolate,” she peered at the old analog clock on the wall,
“at nine in the morning?”

“What?” Colt shrugged. “It’s not gonna kill her.”

Those warm blue eyes turned frosty, and just like that, he lost her. She held out
one hand. “Where’s my license?”

Wait, what had he done wrong? A little candy never hurt anyone. And what did Leah
care? Emma wasn’t even her kid. Oh, all right, he knew it wasn’t the best move, but…

“My license,” she repeated.

“Can’t find it.” Scooting back, he pulled his drawer completely open and pointed inside
to show her. “Want to stay while I keep looking?”

“Forget it. I’ll just swing by the courthouse and get another.”

“No, wait.” He couldn’t let her do that. Holding onto her license gave him a sliver
of hope—no matter how slim—that she’d stay in town. “I think I gave it to Horace.
When he comes off patrol duty, I’ll ask him.”

She heaved a sigh. “Fine.”

“I’ll track you down once I have it. You gonna be at Trey Lewis’s party tonight?”

Her eyes flew wide. “Why? Are
you
?”

Colt wasn’t book smart, but he had enough intelligence to understand that Leah hadn’t
expected him at the potluck. Nor did she want him there. He didn’t hesitate to tell
her, “No, I hate those kinds of things.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed a few inches. “Too bad. I’ll bet he’d like to see you.”

“I’ll catch him another time. Small town, remember? We’re bound to run into each other,
probably before lunch.”

Leah grumbled something that sounded like, “Tell me about it,” and with a halfhearted
wave good-bye, she made her exit.

Colt hoped he’d told a convincing lie. The last thing he wanted was for Leah to hole
up inside her daddy’s house again. She didn’t know it, but Colt had big plans. Big,
sneaky plans.

Tonight, he’d get Leah back in his arms or die trying.

Leah straightened the bodice of her cherry-print sundress as she crossed the dark
parking lot, gravitating toward the sound of Toby Keith’s “Red Solo Cup.” The sharp
autumn breeze brought goose bumps to her bare arms, but she resisted the urge to return
to the car for her sweater. She knew from experience how sweltering the fellowship
hall could get when filled to capacity, and judging by the distant din of laughter
and conversation, the party was already in full swing.

The familiar scents of Lit’l Smokies and Hawaiian Punch greeted her beyond the hall’s
double doors, bringing back a flood of childhood memories—everything from her baptism
social to the youth group mixer where she’d stolen her first kiss from Josh Schroder
behind a dusty silk ficus tree in the corner. The ficus was gone, but little else
had changed.

Like the old junior high cafeteria, dozens of long plastic tables and folding metal
chairs claimed the floor in two parallel rows. Right now, the eggshell tile wasn’t
visible beneath hundreds of shuffling sandals and boots, but Leah knew Ms. Bicknocker
kept it waxed to a high gloss that would reflect the overhead fluorescent lights during
clean-up later. The decorating committee had peppered the walls with an assortment
of photographs of the Lewises, and white paper streamers crisscrossed the length of
the room, leading to a faded, well-used
Welcome
Home!
banner that hung above the head table.

A prickle of envy tugged at Leah’s heartstrings. As the daughter of the town preacher,
this church had been her second home, its people a natural extension of her family.
If she’d told anyone about her plans to return to Sultry Springs, would they have
thrown her a party like this?

She doubted it. Daddy’s congregation was too angry with her for “running away and
breaking his heart.” But they didn’t know the real reason she’d left. They didn’t
know
her
. Nobody did, and it made her feel like a stranger in her own hometown.

She lost a few inches as she strode toward the punch bowl for a little high-fructose
fortification. Just as she’d predicted, the air heated the farther she waded through
the crowd. By the time she lifted a cup of fruity red punch to her lips, she wasn’t
surprised to find it warm and watered-down. Thank goodness she’d discovered this old
summer dress at the back of her closet. She only wished she’d brought an elastic to
lift the heavy waves of hair off her neck.

“Hey,” June’s voice called from behind. “You made it!”

Leah turned with a grin on her lips, which immediately fell once she caught a glimpse
of her friend.
Oh, Lord
. June looked more bloated than a wet breadstick. Her taut, dewy cheeks could barely
manage a smile, her fingers so puffy she’d removed her wedding band and looped it
though a chain around her neck.

“Are you okay?” Leah asked.

“Mmm-hmm.” June fanned herself with a discarded church program. “Why?”

Leah stalled. She couldn’t very well say
You
look
like
a
tick
about
to
pop
. “I noticed your hands are a little swollen. When’s your next doctor’s appointment?”

“Oh.” With a nod, June touched her face and seemed to blush. It was hard to tell,
because her skin tone already resembled the inside of a ripe watermelon. “I just saw
him last week, so I won’t go again for another month. I’m retaining water. It’s probably
time to lay off the Doritos.”

“How’s your blood pressure?” Leah didn’t mean to be nosy, but after what happened
to her mother, she couldn’t help it.

“A little higher than pre-pregnancy, but the doctor’s not worried.”

“Any headaches or spotty vision?”

Laughing, June squeezed Leah’s arm. “No, Nurse McMahon.”

“Preeclampsia’s nothing to mess around with,” Leah warned. “Keep an eye on your blood
pressure. And not with one of those machines at the drug store—sometimes they’re not
calibrated. Come see me if you can’t get in with your doctor. I brought my cuff.”

“Will do,” June promised, tugging Leah toward the head table. “Come on. I want you
to meet Trey and Bobbi.”

As they wove between tables, Leah scanned June’s swollen feet and ankles, wondering
if she’d made a big deal out of nothing. Most women suffered from edema, especially
in the third trimester. She certainly had. Birkenstocks were Leah’s best friend during
her last month of pregnancy.

It’s probably fine
, she decided.
June’s doctor knows best
.

Once Leah quit obsessing and glanced up again, it was to the shock of two faces so
gorgeous she expected to spot a Hollywood camera crew nearby.

“Hey there,” said a blond-haired, blue-eyed beefcake, extending a hand. “I’m Trey.
You must be Pastor Mac’s daughter.”

“Leah.” She grasped his palm and studied him as he pumped her arm up and down. He
wore a Cubs baseball cap and an easy, genuine smile that made her like him immediately.
Just when she thought he couldn’t get any cuter, a pair of deep dimples appeared in
his cheeks. If she looked up
All-American Boy Next Door
in the dictionary, she’d expect to find his photo there. He reminded her of a young
Brad Pitt.

“Easy, Golden Boy,” chided the stunning redhead at his side. “You’re gonna shake the
arm out of her socket.” The woman claimed Leah’s hand in a firm grip and said, “I’m
Bobbi. You probably don’t remember me, but—”

“Sure I do,” Leah told her. “Mrs. Eckleman’s preschool class. We used to eat Play-Doh
when she wasn’t watching.”

The group laughed at that, except for Bobbi, who only smiled and studied Leah with
a critical eye. Having grown up in
Sultry
Springs, population: 975 righteous souls
, Leah knew that look. Someone had filled Bobbi in on some juicy gossip, most likely
having to do with her mysterious departure ten years ago.

By now, Leah was used to the judgment, but she didn’t expect Bobbi to say, “So you’re
the girl who broke Colton’s heart.”

Leah froze as everyone around her drew a collective breath.

Luke Gallagher pinched the bridge of his nose and whispered to his sister, “You just
had
to go there, didn’t you?”

Leah shook her head in shock.
She’d
broken
his
heart? More like the other way around! Everyone in town knew what he’d done to her.
Everyone! Mothers throughout Sultry County still recounted
The
Shameful
Misfortunes
of
Leah
McMahon
to their teenage daughters in hopes of warning them away from the likes of Colton
Bea. Had the jerk spun his own twisted version of their tale?

She gulped enough air to demand, “Is that what he’s been telling people?”

Panic sparked behind Bobbi’s widened eyes as she flashed a defensive palm. “No, no,
no! Not at all. In fact, he told me you didn’t do anything wrong. He said it was all
his fault. I just meant—”

“Leah,” Trey interjected, wrapping a casual arm around his wife to rein her in. “I
forgot to ask how Pastor Mac’s doing. Didn’t he just have the ol’ ticker fixed?”

Heat rose into Leah’s face, and she shot Trey Lewis a glare that said she didn’t appreciate
the change in subject. “This wouldn’t be the first time Colt’s spread rumors about
me. I want to know what he’s told y’all.”

“Hardly anything,” Bobbi said. “It takes a crowbar to get information out of that
man.”

“Or a bottle of whiskey,” Trey added. “Look, Leah, it’s none of our business.” He
delivered a pointed look to his wife when he said, “And we agreed to stay out of it,
didn’t we?”

“
We
didn’t agree to jack squat,” Bobbi retorted before returning her attention to Leah.
“I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea. I got to know Colton a couple of years ago.
Your name came up, and I could tell how much he still cared for you. He’s been looking
for you a long time. That’s all.”

Leah had a hard time believing Colt cared for anything other than his motorcycle and
his willy, not necessarily in that order.

The doubt must have shown on her face, because Bobbi promised, “Really. I have video
footage I could show you from
Sex
in
the
Sticks
. You can see how much he’s hurting.”

“Sex and the what?” Leah felt her eyeballs bulge. “Is that some kind of adult film?”

Trey laughed with a mouth full of punch and wound up sputtering fruit juice into his
fist. He used the back of his hand to wipe red dribble from his chin. “Sounds like
a porno, doesn’t it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Bobbi said, elbowing him in the side. “It’s a documentary about
me and Golden Boy” nodding at Trey, “finding love in this small town. In fact, we’re
wrapping up a special feature tonight.” She pointed across the room to a mammoth,
blue-haired Asian man with a camera perched on his shoulder. “Weezus is about to start
filming.”

“Filming what?” Leah asked, instinctively backing up a pace. She didn’t want any part
of this.

“Mostly the two of us,” Bobbi said, then gesturing at the crowd, added, “and a few
shots of our friends and family. You know, to show community support.”

Leah took another step back. “I can’t be on camera.” The tremor in her voice didn’t
escape Bobbi’s notice. Those relentless green eyes narrowed in scrutiny while Leah
scrambled for damage control. “Uh,” Leah added, pointing at her own face, “no makeup!”

“Uh-huh,” Bobbi said, clearly not buying it.

With a nervous twitter, Leah pressed one hand over her stomach. “I’m starving. Think
I’ll grab some of Pru’s famous German potato salad.” She waved while continuing to
back away from the group. “Great meeting you.”

Before anyone had a chance to respond, she turned and began picking her way through
a swarm of bodies. When she reached the hors d’oeuvres table, crowded with simmering
crock pots and sandwich platters, she decided to continue to the dessert station at
the far end of the room. No one could film her back there. But just to be on the safe
side, she faced the wall and pretended to consider the assortment of fruits and candies
spread out before her.

As she scanned the melon balls and brownie bites, she wondered how soon she could
leave the party without appearing rude. She probably shouldn’t have come in the first
place, but Daddy’s house was starting to feel small, and she needed a break.

Fifteen
more
minutes
, she decided.
Then
I’ll
—

All thoughts froze when her gaze landed on a tray of Richman’s éclairs.

Oh, holy Moses. Richman’s éclairs!

Like dewy manna from heaven, a thin sheen of condensation made each pastry shimmer
in the light. Thick layers of fudge icing had softened, oozing down the sides, just
the way Leah liked it—the chocolaty flavor was so much stronger when it melted on
her tongue. A faint scent of cocoa lingered in the air, titillating her senses, tempting
her to surrender to a thousand-calorie devil in disguise.

With one hand, she pulled back her hair and bent at the waist to inhale a lungful
of pure, unadulterated sweetness. It smelled so good, she closed her eyes and did
it again. Her mouth watered in rapture. She simply had to have one.

When she stood, a new sensation interrupted her confectionary haze. She felt the heat
of a large body close behind her, the bold scents of shaving cream and soap filling
her head. More than that, an energy charged the air, a force so signature and electric
she didn’t need to turn around to identify the man who wielded it.

“Go ahead, honey,” Colt whispered in her ear. “You know you want it.”

She closed her eyes again as chills lifted the tiny hairs along the back of her neck.
The floor seemed to soften and tilt beneath her feet, forcing her to grip the table’s
edge for support. Just as she opened her eyes to orient herself, Colt eliminated the
space between them and settled one hand on her hip while he reached past her to grab
an éclair. In that moment, every inch of her Judas body flashed hot in recognition
of the touch she hadn’t felt in over a decade. The pulse rushing through her veins
didn’t seem to care that Colt had ruined her life. Her tightening nipples didn’t give
a damn either.

Why couldn’t she crave healthy things, like carrot sticks and accountants?

She swallowed a mouthful of desire and said, “Actually, I don’t,” then pointed to
a fruit platter. “I’d rather have fresh strawberries.”

The hard contours pressed into her back shook with silent laughter. “For a preacher’s
daughter, you sure lie a lot.”

Using the table ledge as her guide, she scooted aside and put some precious distance
between them. “I happen to like berries.”

“Dipped in vanilla yogurt,” he said. “I remember.”

“Then what makes you think I’m lying?”

“’Cause I also remember the little noises you used to make every time you ate one
of these.” He tipped his éclair as if toasting her health, then brought it to his
mouth for a bite. Stopping just shy of his lips, he added, “Like you were coming.”
Smiling, he shook his head at the memory. “Best sound in the world.”

Refusing to acknowledge his lewd comment, she folded her arms and watched him devour
his pastry. He’d undone the top buttons of his uniform, and he wore his hair loose
tonight, shaking it back between bites. The action reminded her of all the times Daddy
had complained,
That
boy
needs
a
haircut!
But she’d begged Colt to keep it long. Like his barely street-legal Harley, those
silken locks had epitomized the lure of the forbidden.

Now she knew better. She might not be able to control her body’s reaction to the drug
that was Colton Bea, just like she couldn’t help wanting to inhale a dozen Richman’s
éclairs, but she
could
control whether she acted on it. Sexual chemistry loaded the gun, but she wouldn’t
pull the trigger.