The Lawman Meets His Bride (21 page)

He nodded and began flagging down the car behind
them. He just shrugged before turning to the other driver.

“Either he’s just not telling us the reason for the delay,” Quinn speculated, “or maybe he doesn’t know. That’s possible if the FBI has set up a search point.”

“What if it’s a trick?” Constance suggested. “You know, they lay in wait at the next exit. See who takes the bait and turns off?”

“Yeah, you’re thinking like a gangbuster now. Damn! You know another route to Billings?”

“Off the top of my head, just this one and the Interstate. We could look at the map and work out some route by secondary roads. But they won’t be plowed yet. And anyway, we’d still have to either pass that checkpoint at Thompson’s Canyon Pass or turn off at the only exit between here and there.”

“He said until daylight,” Quinn pointed out. “If he was telling the truth, that’s maybe four hours from now. How far ahead is this pass?”

“Umm, maybe fifteen miles. If I remember correctly the last exit is about five miles before Thompson’s Canyon. It’s just a little crossroads place called Overland Station. I got water for my radiator there once.”

“Any motels there?”

She glanced over at him, but his face was inscrutable in the semidarkness. “I’m not sure. I’d guess so.”

“I don’t like the idea of any delay. Still—what’s your hunch on the trooper? I think he was being straight with us. Feds tend to push them around and insult them. I think he resents them, and they didn’t
clue the state troopers in. It’s crappy duty on a crappy night, etcetera.”

“I don’t know,” she told him honestly, miserable in her indecision. She was scared, and it was hard to choose an option that wasn’t dangerous.

“I know it’s risky to lay over. But we’ll never run that search point. Even with a four-hour stop at Overland Station, we could still make it to Billings in time, right?”

“If the weather doesn’t get worse than this, yes. Easily.”

“All right. That’s two votes for a motel room.”

It wasn’t really, but she said nothing. Despite the pyrotechnics his look had caused her only minutes earlier, she suddenly felt self-conscious, even apprehensive, about the idea of sharing a motel room with Quinn. Even so, her objections weren’t enough to overcome her indecision. If she refused, that meant coming up with a better plan.

It wasn’t his guilt or innocence she cared about right now, nor even his basic honesty and character. It was herself, her vulnerability and need. She did not want to make the terrible mistake of falling in love with this man. And one more passionate interlude in his arms might be too much to resist.

No, they were not exactly “two ships that passed in the night.” But one way or another, the time would come when Quinn Loudon no longer needed her help. She had already survived one hell when Doug left her life; she would
not
place her heart in danger again.

Judging from his next comment, he must have sensed the direction of her thoughts.

“We’ll have a long drive ahead of us, and we’ve both been through plenty lately thanks to my screw
ups. What say we put in for an early wake-up call and get some sleep? In separate beds,” he added pointedly, heading off any objections.

“I second your plan,” she agreed, grateful for his insight. And a good feeling suddenly came over her—the feeling that she was resisting temptation, being responsible and mature.

It’s about time I started listening to my head, she congratulated herself.

She had come dangerously close to the precipice; now there was no choice but to leap into the scary unknown or pull back to safety.

Overland Station had sprung up in the nineteenth century when a wagonload of disgusted pioneers gave up on their journey to Oregon and settled right where the axle had busted for the last damn time. Or so claimed a sign of dubious origin in the lobby of the hamlet’s only motel, the Cheyenne Lodge.

Quinn’s face had been on TV too much lately, so Constance took care of the registration while he waited in the Jeep.

It was past midnight, but someone was watching television behind the front counter when she entered. A middle-aged man with silver hair in a ponytail rose when she entered.

“Howdy,” he greeted her, flashing a sleepy smile. “My crystal ball tells me you need a room.”

Her gaze swept the lobby in an all-encompassing pass. Not only were the Ikebana trees in wooden tubs fake, but they didn’t exactly complement the buffalo-hide shields hanging on the walls. More like the Cheyenne-Shogun Lodge.

“Actually, two rooms, if possible. Two singles?”

He winced, checking the register. “Two rooms? No can do. You caught me at a bad time, ma’am. Quite a few truckers have taken rooms to avoid a big roadblock up ahead.”

That was good news, at least, she thought. The trooper was telling the truth.

“’Fraid the best I can do is one double. All I’ve got left.”

She hesitated, and he seemed to read something in her manner.

“We save that room for parents with a child,” he confided. “So there’s two beds in the room—double and a single.”

“I’ll take it,” she told him, flushing slightly at his curious scrutiny of her.

She handed him the cash, unwilling to use a traceable charge card. Then took her key and a remote for the TV from him and went back out to the crowded parking lot.

“Only one room left,” she told Quinn as she got in. “But there’s two beds.”

“Oh, praise the Lord,” he said with mild irony. “What number?”

“Sixteen—over there at the end.”

“That’s a good spot. Plenty of trucks will block us from the road.”

Quinn maneuvered through all the big rigs choking the lot. When they got out, he took a minute to walk around the Jeep, inspecting it.

The light, at this end of the building, was dim. But Constance saw how the rear bumper had twisted from the impact of pushing the SUV into the ditch.

“You know what?” he told her, gazing at the damaged vehicle. “I came out west to do a good job,
make a name for myself in the Justice Department.” He gave her a self-deprecating grin. “Man, I sure did a bang-up job of it. Literally bang-up, if your Jeep is any proof.”

Even in despondency, his face remained ruggedly handsome. She could just make out the faint line where the bullet had creased his cheek. Thinking how close that bullet came, her arms tingled and she felt what her mom called a “truth goose.”

“That vehicle rolled off an assembly line,” she reminded him. “It can be repaired or replaced. You have my blessing for the damage you did—your demolition-derby driving saved our butts.”

“I
was
pretty damn cool, wasn’t I?” he boasted playfully as they approached the door of their room. “I’d say the word ‘unflappable’ comes to mind.”

“I was duly impressed,” she assured him. “Joke all you want.”

She keyed the worn-out lock and had to play with it a little before the door swung open. The first thing she noticed, after she switched on the lights, was the brightly feathered object suspended from string over the double bed.

Quinn, peeling off his coat, stepped closer to examine the light hoop made of ash. It was strung with catgut webbing and adorned with brightly dyed feathers. “Too light to be a lacrosse racket,” he said. “What in the world is it?”

“You
are
an eastern greenhorn,” she teased him, stepping closer to look at it with him. “Haven’t you ever seen a Native American dream-catcher? It’s only one of the biggest souvenirs in the state. You hang it over your bed so you can catch your life’s secret dream and make it real.”

Their eyes locked. She was suddenly very aware of his proximity, only inches away. Desire stirred within her like a hungry beast coming awake. She almost expected a spark to arc between them.

“Well, but what if you have a nightmare?” he demanded. “Does it catch that, too, and then make it real?”

“No way. That’s the beauty of it, m’love.” She tapped the webbing. “It catches dreams, see, but it
blocks
nightmares.”

“Talented little doohickey, isn’t it?”

“Mm-hmm. Quite.”

By now less than three fingers’ width separated their lips. She could feel heat literally radiating from him.

“Hey,” he said, looking closely at her right cheek.

“Hey what?”

“There’s something on your face,” he informed her in a hushed voice.

“What?”

“A kiss,” he replied even as his mouth met hers.

She lost all sense of time or place as their hungry mouths tasted each other’s deliciously burning kisses. Warmth flared within her, and she felt his muscular arms press her even closer, as if he were trying to merge with her.

By some effort of will, however, she tore free from his arms and backed away, putting the double bed between them.

“Bad idea,” she reminded him. “We’ve got four hours until daylight and that roadblock comes down, remember? We have to sleep, then get to Billings.”

He still breathed heavily from their searing kisses.
“To hell with sleep. You want the same thing I want.”

“Wanting isn’t the issue,” she assured him.

“No? So what is?”

That, she realized, was the six-million dollar question. But she didn’t have the courage to answer it frankly, to tell him flat out that
love
was the issue. Despite the pop tune that claimed otherwise, love had everything to do with it. Everything in the world.

One more bout of pleasure in this man’s arms, and she knew she’d be hopelessly gone on him. She
had
to protect herself, knowing her own vulnerabilities. Quinn’s need was only masculine lust and his temporary dependence on her. And she had already sensed some terrible struggle going on inside him, some inner tension only he could resolve.

“What is it?” he demanded again, baffled by her long silence, and impatient too.

“Let’s just say,” she suggested in a dismissive tone, “that it’s more than a quibble, but less than a quarrel, okay?”

Despite his frustration, he couldn’t help laughing at the way she wriggled out of answering him.

“Nice sidestepping. Who’s the lawyer here, lady? That’s some mighty impressive verbal hair-splitting.”

Constance was headed toward the bathroom. “First dibs on the shower.”

“Can I hold the soap for you?” he called out behind her.

“Nuh-uh. And I’ll use up all the hot water,” she promised him. “Obviously, cold water is what you need, counselor.”

Chapter 13

D
espite teasing Quinn, it was she who took the first cold shower in a futile attempt to quell her desires. All it really accomplished, however, was to make her recall even more hungrily the heat of his body, his hot, solid masculinity touching her inside and out.

The bathroom was cold and drafty, with burned-out bulbs in the heat lamp. But it was clean and there were plenty of thick white towels. A big bath towel became her wrap-around nightie.

“All yours,” she told him as she came out into the cozy warmth of the room, still combing out her wet hair.

“Tempting words.” He sat on the single bed, removing his shoes. His eyes caressed the length of her body.

“I meant the
bathroom
is all yours,” she corrected herself. “And I even left you some hot water.”

But he made no effort to move, still watching her. “Connie?”

“Yes?” She paused halfway to her bed, watching him with expectant, curious eyes.

“Look, ahmm…we both made up our minds to…
sleep
while we’re here, right? No fooling around.”

Warily she watched him. “Yes?”

“That being the case, I have a request.”

“A…request?”

“Yeah, sort of a noncontact consolation prize.”

“And that would be…?”

Strong white teeth flashed at her when he grinned. “That would be you dropping your towel for a minute so I can get a good eyeful of you bare naked.”

She sent him a suspicious look, her skeptical dimple appearing.

“Just one good look at you in the buff,” he cajoled. “Look, I’ll stay right here on the bed. Scout’s honor. No attempts to touch you.”

A strange thrill slid down her spine. Actually, the idea rattled her, because it wasn’t his will she was worried about. She wanted to look into his eyes and feel his desire for her.

But she didn’t trust herself to stop, to resist once their little “game” got started.

“What’s the big deal?” he persisted. “We’re not exactly strangers, you know.”

The “big deal,” she thought, but couldn’t find words to say, was her fear of falling in love with him. Sure, the mechanics of sex were no big deal, that part was easy. Anyone could take pleasure when it was offered. But how would she fill the hole in her heart after Quinn stopped needing her help—when he was
gone from her life, and yet she needed him like she needed breath in her nostrils?

“Just a feast for my eyes,” he implored, “and then I’ll go take that cold shower. One peek to stoke my dreams.”

“I don’t trust you,” she demurred. “This is a clever ruse to seduce me.”

“A ruse? Are you saying that seeing a woman naked—a woman like you, anyway—isn’t its own reward? C’mon, shuck that damn towel, girl.”

She hesitated, self-conscious. The room was dark except for the light spilling out behind her from the steamy bathroom.

Seeing her debate inwardly, a sly smile tugged at his lips. One more little nudge, that smile said, and she’ll do it.

“Connie, think about this. Our sun, and all the rest of the stars,
must
die when they consume the last of the fuel at their cores. Nobody can stop it, not even Bill Gates. All of civilization is doomed. So you please tell me—what’s the big deal about letting me see you naked?”

They both smiled at his cosmic sophistry.

“Quinn Loudon,” she retorted in a mock Irish accent, “you’ve kissed the Blarney Stone, all right. But I like it.”

Even as she spoke, he grabbed the towel. By instinct she tugged it back to her but he pulled it to the carpet.

The mirth left his face, and she saw him swallow with difficulty as his eyes drank in the sight.