The Talk of the Town (17 page)

He strode off, and she watched him until he disappeared, swallowed up by the trees. The abandoned house drew her almost irresistibly. She wandered around it, peeking in windows at peeling wallpaper, dirty linoleum, a sagging pantry door, a rusted iron pump, and a hole in the wall where the cook stove was once vented. The gay profusion of tiger lilies growing willy-nilly around the perimeter of the backyard spoke to the fact that someone had once cared about the place. But now it was simply sad, for the dreams that might have been nurtured there were as dead as their dreamers.

Her mouth and throat were as dry as the dust she’d eaten on the motorcycle ride, so it was a relief to find that the metal pump near the back door still worked. She gave the handle a good draw then stuck her mouth under the spigot and guzzled the cold, clear well water that spouted out. When she’d drunk her fill, she wet her handkerchief and used it to wipe the dust and the sweat off her face.

Feeling somewhat refreshed, she stood in the doorway of a garage-like structure behind the house and looked around. A pith helmet with a protective veil hung from a nail on one wall and mason jars of every size sat on wooden shelves against another wall. Tools covered a bench in the middle of the room, and the gas burner standing near it told her that this was probably where Luke’s grandfather had processed his honey.

When she had finished exploring, Roxie sat down on the back step to wait for Luke. He wasn’t long in coming, and it was obvious from his expression that he was disappointed with what he’d seen. She gathered he wasn’t quite ready to leave yet, so she scooted over on the sun-warmed concrete to make room for him.

“It’s a crying shame, the way this place has fallen into ruin,” he said, and sat, resting his elbows on his knees.

“It’s what happens when no one is looking,” she said quietly.

“The hives are empty—I guess the bees moved on to greener pastures, so to speak, after Granddad died.”

“I didn’t see any when I looked in the garage, either.”

“The honey house.”

“The what?”

“It’s not a garage,” he told her. “It’s the honey house.”

“The honey house,” she repeated, and thought it a perfect name.

Luke raised a hand and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d give my half-interest in hell to know who owns the place now.”

Roxie thought for a second. “I know how you could find out.”

“How?”

“Call the courthouse and ask them to check the property tax rolls.”

He gave a decisive nod. “I’ll do that first chance I get.”

They fell silent then, basking in the warmth of the sun and the simple contentment of being together on such a beautiful day. Butterflies fluttered about on colorful wings while a pair of chipmunks played tag in and around the lilies. A bird in a nearby tree sang its heart out for them.

Roxie looked over at Luke and asked the question that had been in the back of her mind since the day she saw him step off the train. “What made you decide to come back to Blue Ridge? You’ve no family left here. Why didn’t you start fresh somewhere else?”

“You know, you missed your calling in life,” he drawled. “You ask questions like a prosecutor.”

His teasing smile told her that he hadn’t taken offense. “I just wondered. You might have had a better chance somewhere else, where people didn’t know you and didn’t care who your parents were or what you’d done.”

Years of secreting his thoughts, of hiding his reactions, of never letting on, made it difficult at first. It seemed to him that the machinery governing his finer emotions had rusted from disuse. But he wanted to share with her as he’d never done with anyone else and, eventually, he cranked the machine and opened up more fully than he had ever done.

“It was partly pure old Bauer bullheadedness.” A wry grin twisted his mouth, and he shook his head. “I never could do something easily if there was a harder way.”

“Well, you certainly didn’t pick an easy path, coming back,” she said in a wry tone.

“True enough.” Looking about him, he absorbed the simple beauty that surrounded them and felt a familiar sense of tranquility soothe him. “But family or not, Blue Ridge is my home. All those years behind bars, I kept dreaming of it. Building it up in my mind, I guess you’d say. Maybe even remembering things as being better than they really were.”

He fell silent for a moment and then added almost as an afterthought, “And when you come right down to it, I really didn’t have any place else to go.”

“I’ve always wondered why people say they’d never live in a small town.” She wasn’t really asking a question, just thinking aloud.

He slid her a sideways glance. “Because everybody in a small town knows everybody else’s business?”

“Which they do,” she said, adding an eye roll for emphasis.

“Because nobody in a small town ever really forgets that you made a mistake?”

“Which they don’t.”

His stared into her eyes. “And yet you, like I, came back to Blue Ridge.”

“Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, I did.”

It wasn’t fair to expect disclosures from him without divulging anything of her own, but she didn’t feel up to confessions at the moment. At the moment, she was fighting the urge to reach over and brush that errant lock of black hair off his brow. It was the craziest compulsion she’d ever had, and she wasn’t quite sure how to deal with it.

To cover her agitation, she clasped her hands tightly together in her lap. “Are you glad you came back?”

“I used to dream about days like this,” he said. “Of being wrapped in sunshine and silence, of wallowing in the smell of fresh air and ripening fruit, of walking where I wanted when I wanted, maybe even taking a dip in the pond out back of the orchard.”

“You love this place.”

“It’s the only home I ever really had.”

His tone was such a fusion of contentment and yearning that Roxie knew another piercing of her soul. What must it be like, to yearn for something as simple as being able to walk free? To dream of privacy the way most people dream of riches. The thought of it made her ache. The thought of Luke yearning and dreaming for such things made her ache with special poignancy.

“You make my old dreams sound mundane,” she said with a tinge of sadness.

He sent a lazy smile in her direction. “And what exactly did you dream about?”

“Oh, all the usual things.” Her shoulders bobbed in a brief, almost dismissive shrug. “A husband, a home, babies.”

“Do you still dream of those things, Roxie?” he asked in a husky tone.

She raised her hand as if to cover her eyes from the sun, but actually she was hiding from the perceptive power of his gaze. “Oh, no, not these days.”

His look said he didn’t believe her.

“Honestly,” she insisted. “Nowadays I dream of getting the warehouse’s books to balance or of getting my desk cleared off, if even for only ten minutes.”

His brows were pulled down into a deep V over his eyes. “Now that’s what I can’t make fit about you.”

Her smile faltered slightly. “What?”

“Why aren’t you married, with the home and the babies of your dreams? It doesn’t make sense to me,” he said almost to himself. “Don’t the men around here have eyes in their heads? How have they let you get away?”

He seemed determined to press the point. She was equally determined not to discuss it. This had been such a lovely afternoon, and she didn’t want thoughts of Arthur to spoil it.

“You make me sound like a prize bass,” she complained. “Nobody let me get away because I’m not a catch. I’m a person, not a fish.”

Though Roxie only meant to tease him, her words carried a stridency that caught Luke up short. The last thing he wanted to do was antagonize her for any reason. He should have known better than to pry; no one knew better than he how distressing unwanted prying could be. He thought perhaps it was time to end this idyllic spell before he once again said or did something to sever the slender thread of communication between them.

Standing, he stretched and said as easily as he could, “I know I was away from women for a long time, but believe me, it wasn’t so long that I can’t tell the difference between a woman and a fish.”

Flushing, she too came to her feet. “Sorry.”

His laughter was as warm and mellow as the buttery sunshine coating them. “No problem.”

He stretched again. He was stalling, and he knew it. But each moment with her seemed so precious, so filled with the companionship he’d yearned for throughout all the long, lonely, lost years, he wanted to linger over every sweet second he spent with her. Especially here, with the freedom and the solitude he’d so craved in all the years of captivity. He felt as if he could stay here with her for all time and be happy. But in the end, he did what he had to do.

“I hate to say it, but I think it’s time for us to go,” he said with reluctance.

“I guess so,” she said with equal reluctance.

Any hope that she would insist they stay longer was snuffed and he accepted the inevitable. Their idyll was over.

Chapter 9

Walking behind Luke down the drive, Roxie tripped on a tree root. Turning, Luke saw her start to fall. Instinctively his arms shot out, and he lunged for her. She crashed against his chest, sending them both toppling with a heavy thud. Cradling her in his arms, he landed flat on his back, taking the full impact of their combined weight as he hit the packed dirt. They lay motionless, heartbeat to heartbeat, for a long moment.

Gradually, almost of its own volition, his hand came up. His fingertips grazed her cheek as he brushed the honey-blonde strands of her hair back off her face. Her skin was satin-smooth. Her breathing sent small puffs of air against his eyes, his mouth. Her lips were close enough to kiss.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his heart thumping unsteadily.

Roxie knew she should get off him. But she was curiously loath to move a single muscle. Nestled against the length and warmth of his body, she could only look at him in utter wonderment as she felt all her inhibitions melting away.

The sunlight that filtered through the thick, leafy trees dappled over him, making him look romantic and handsome in the summer shade. His dark hair had curled a bit at the ends from the heat and humidity, and his gray eyes had gone as silver as a new dime. The smell of him, all hot and earthy, went straight to her head.

She shook her head fiercely, in both a delayed answer to his question and to deny the sensations rioting inside her. “No.”

Her sigh tickled Luke’s jaw. He sucked his breath in sharply, and her lowered lashes fluttered upward. Her eyes were a darker shade of blue than he’d ever seen them. Dark and liquid and shimmering like the finest silk. Shuddering, he fought against his surging need to kiss her, to touch her, to mold the soft contours of her body to the hard imprint of his own. Any other woman, and he swore he’d flip her onto her back and take her then and there. But this was Roxie, the one woman he could not have. And the only one he wanted.

He had long since learned the bitter lessons of self-control, but never had the lesson been so cruel. Never had he been so tempted to reject the constraints as he was now, totally captivated by her. But he knew how everyone else would view any relationship between them, knew she would be seen in a bad light by one and all, and he could not, he would not, subject her to such censure.

Through sheer force of will, he clamped his jaw tight and clenched his fists at his sides. That still didn’t stop the white-hot need that roared unchecked inside him. He closed his eyes, trying to hide his turmoil even as the warm weight of her, the summery scent of her, the intimate flexure of her, continued to torment him.

With a feather-light touch, Roxie skimmed a fingertip along the scar on his cheek. She heard his ragged breath and watched his eyes fly open, saw them darken with want, burn with desire. Settled intimately atop him, she was fully aware of his arousal. And seeing his taut expression, feeling his tensed muscles, she was fully aware that he was resisting his feelings. She knew she should stop, knew it was wrong of her to continue tormenting him like this, but an intense need to explore the wonders of him, to know the splendor of his body beneath her hands, trampled her scruples and left them scattered in the dirt.

The pad of her finger came to rest against the corner of his mouth, and she felt the moist heat of his low groan. It was a sensual mouth, full, with a deeply masculine indentation. Giving in to temptation, she traced the curve of his top lip.

“Roxie,” he said hoarsely.

She heard his warning but didn’t heed it. Couldn’t keep from gliding her finger on around, along that tempting bottom lip. She felt peculiarly detached from her actions, as if she’d stepped outside her body and was watching some other woman stroke him so provocatively.

Luke realized he needed to put an end to this. Now. She didn’t know; she couldn’t understand the shattering force of her effect. He opened his mouth to speak, and instead, turned his head a smidgen and gently closed his lips upon her finger, tasting the saltiness of her skin as he played his tongue against the tip. But in his mind his tongue sketched the puckered nipple of her breast, savoring the grainy texture.

Just the sight of her flesh imprisoned between his strong white teeth flustered Roxie no end. She wished she could think of a way to pull her finger out of his mouth without creating a fuss, but she was at a loss. At last he released her, and she pulled her hand back, feeling as though she had reached too close to a fire and hadn’t realized it until the flames singed her.

Knowing he must set her away while he still could, Luke brought his hands up to do exactly that. His thumbs skimmed over the sides of her breasts and his grip tightened on her ribcage. Yet in his mind his palms filled with the pliant softness of those breasts, the buds firming to his persuasive caress.

He lay beneath her, full and aching, straining to curb his excitement, willing himself not to lift his hand higher, fighting the compulsion to trail his mouth up her arm to the slender column of her throat and beyond. Mentally he held her without restraint, his hands and lips seeking freely, feverishly, as their bodies twined together. The images pulsed through him with such consuming intensity that he feared he might do something he would forever regret.