Twice in a Lifetime (23 page)

“Clara…” he moaned, breathing hard.

They sat on the bed together, still kissing. Clara lay on her back above the wool blanket, staring up into the face of the man she’d fallen in love with; a few twinkling stars were visible through the window over his shoulder. She felt as if she was adrift at sea, both unable and unwilling to stop the current from taking her. She closed her eyes and let pleasure wash over her.

Though it was obvious that Drake was almost bursting with desire to be inside her, he didn’t hurry. Clara trembled as his hands roamed her body; his thumb traced a circle around her nipple, his fingers danced across her rib cage, the flat of his palm brushed her stomach. Finally, his hand slid down the inside of her thigh to touch between her legs, feeling her warmth and wetness; she wanted him as badly as he did her. But while Drake knew she wasn’t inexperienced, he was still gentle, increasing in fervor only when she gave him a sign; a moan, the hiss of breath between clenched teeth, the arch of her back.

“Drake, I…I just…” But before Clara could say more, his mouth found hers, making words unnecessary.

Clara spread her legs and Drake moved between them, holding his body over hers, supporting his weight on strong, muscular arms. She was filled with nervous excitement. He positioned himself, moving until he could enter her, which he did slowly, gently; in seconds, he was all the way inside, filling her. Neither of them moved. She wrapped her arms around his broad back and held tight.

“I love you,” he said softly.

Clara could only nod as tears of joy filled her eyes.

When she had fallen in love with Joe Sinclair, Clara had imagined that there would never be another man in her life. Then Joe had died. For many long years, she was alone, convinced that things would never change. But then Drake McCoy had come to Sunset and enchanted her. Now she had rediscovered intimacy, the touch of a man, and she was overjoyed. Clara had found love again.

This time, she hoped with all her heart that it would last forever.

Drake began to move, slowly at first. Clara was so excited that he slid effortlessly in and out of her. It didn’t take long for him to start going faster, the small bed squeaking in rhythm with their bodies. Their breathing was shallow and came in pants. Sweat beaded on their skin, occasionally falling from Drake’s brow to land on her chest. Huge waves of pleasure washed over her, every crest rising higher than the one before.

“Clara…” Drake managed.

“Drake, I…I…It feels so…” But she couldn’t finish, the words lost as a spasm of pleasure ripped through her, causing her to grab his forearms tightly. Clara’s breath was trapped in her throat. She closed her eyes to a feeling of beautiful agony, an ecstasy so powerful that it almost hurt.

Clara gasped as Drake kept going, his hips pumping furiously, their bodies coming together again and again, wetly, passionately. He moved in and out of her until finally shuddering to a stop, his body pressed against hers, his arms quaking as his seed spilled, filling her with warmth. Clara peppered his face with kisses. Slowly, he lowered himself to rest beside her. Both of them panted with exhaustion.

“That was…that was…” Drake began.

“Incredible…” Clara finished for the both of them.

“How was I ever lucky enough to find you?”

Clara laughed.

Drake’s brow furrowed. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

“I was just thinking about where the credit for our being together
really
belongs,” she replied.

“Where’s that?”

“My truck. If it drove like it was just off the assembly line, then we wouldn’t be here right now, like this.”

Now it was Drake’s turn to laugh. “Crazy as it sounds, I reckon it’s true.”

Lying there, entwined with Drake, truly happy for the first time in longer than she could remember, Clara was finally grateful to that old hunk of junk sitting in her drive. It had been good for something after all…

Clara awoke slowly out of a forgettable dream, her eyes fluttering open. For a brief moment, she didn’t know where she was, but her confusion was short-lived. A smile spread across her face. She rolled over on the narrow bed and reached to touch Drake, to feel his warmth, but no matter how much she groped around in the darkness, her hand kept coming up empty.

She sat up with a start, worry teasing at the edge of her thoughts. Just then, she heard a board creak on the other side of the room. Clara looked up to find Drake standing at the stairs, fully dressed, peering down into the garage.

“What is it?” she asked, whispering.

“I heard a car door shut,” he answered. “I’m going to go take a look.” With that, he descended the stairs, leaving her alone.

Clara got out of bed, hurriedly threw on her own clothes, and followed. Stepping out of the garage, the evening’s chill making her shiver, she was surprised by what she saw. Frank Oglesby’s car was parked behind the Plymouth. The sheriff stood in the bright glare of his headlights, talking with Drake; the driver looked upset.

Her heart pounded. Watching them, she was suddenly fearful that the sheriff’s unexpected arrival had something to do with Tommy. Maybe he’d been arrested again. What if there had been an accident? Walking toward the two men, she silently berated herself, furious that she’d chosen her own pleasure over continuing to look for Tommy.

“Did something happen?” Clara asked when she reached them; she glanced at Drake and realized that she had misread him. He was angry.

She feared the worst, and that was just what she got, although it came in a way she never would have anticipated.

“I’m sorry to have to come over like this,” the lawman explained, “but it couldn’t wait till morning.”

“What is it? What’s so urgent?”

Sheriff Oglesby took a deep breath. “Mr. McCoy here is under arrest.”

C
LARA WAS SO STUNNED
by what the sheriff said that she had to put a hand on the back of the Plymouth to steady herself. She wondered if she hadn’t misheard, if there was another, more believable explanation for the lawman’s presence, but as she looked from one man to the other, both of their faces grim, she knew there was no misunderstanding.

“Let me make myself clear,” Sheriff Oglesby explained. “I’m not looking to put you in handcuffs or make a big scene. That won’t do any of us a lick of good. Until I can sort out what happened, you won’t be charged.”

“But until then, I’m going to be sitting in a jail cell,” Drake replied.

The lawman nodded. “There’s no other choice. I can’t just let you walk free, not with what you’ve been accused of doing.”

“And what is that?” Clara asked, as confused as she was frightened.

It was Drake who answered. “Naomi says that I attacked her,” he explained, “and this two-bit tinhorn actually believes her story. Isn’t that right?”

“Right now, it’s too soon to say which version is the truth,” Sheriff Oglesby answered, not acting the least bit put out by Drake’s insult. “But Naomi claims you grabbed her wrist, hauled her into the parking lot, and tried to force her into your car. She says that when she wouldn’t do what you wanted, you got angry and smacked her around a little.”

Clara listened in disbelief. What Frank Oglesby was saying was completely different from what Drake had told her. It was impossible. It sounded nothing like the man she knew and loved.

“I grabbed her wrist when
she
came after
me
,” Drake angrily defended himself. “The second time she did it, I pushed her and she fell. All Naomi has to complain about is a bruised ass.”

“Her face says otherwise.”

“What are you talking about?” Drake asked. “She was fine when I left the bar. Mad as hell, but she wasn’t hurt.”

“When she came to see me, she had a bruise the size of an apple at the corner of her mouth, a split lip, and she was crying so hard that it wasn’t easy to make out what she was saying. How do you suppose she got that way?”

“Beats the hell out of me!”

The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “Interesting choice of words.”

“Come on now, Frank,” Clara interjected. “Drake didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You don’t know that for certain,” he answered. Turning back to Drake, he asked, “Did you do any drinking tonight?”

“I had one beer.”

The sheriff pointed at Drake’s face. “Way I heard it, you had plenty more than that. Enough to put you in a fightin’ mood.”

Drake’s temper again flared. “I was just sitting there, minding my own business, when this big lug walked up and decked me!”

“Naomi said you came in and started poundin’ down drinks as fast as her father could pour them, and then you started getting too friendly with some woman. She said that Chet Miller tried to get you to stop and that was when you attacked him. By the time the dust settled, you’d given him one hell of a beatin’. It was then that Naomi’s old man managed to throw you out…”

“She’s lying!” Drake snapped. “Go ask any of the other people who were there! They’ll tell you!”

Clara stepped between the two men in the hopes she might defuse the rapidly growing tension. “Surely you don’t believe her,” she said to the sheriff.

“If you’d seen her face…”

“Everyone in town knows that Naomi is a liar,” Clara continued, trying to convince him. “It isn’t as if Pastor Hendrickson filed a complaint.”

“I can’t dismiss her claim out of hand.”

“Maybe there’s another explanation.”

“Like what?”

“If things happened the way Drake says they did, then it would stand to reason that Naomi would be angry enough to try to get revenge,” Clara suggested. “Or maybe someone else hurt her.”

“Someone like Tommy?” the sheriff asked.

Clara was taken aback. She thought back to when she’d sat across the desk from the sheriff after Tommy had been picked up in the cemetery. That morning, she had begged and pleaded, doing everything she could to convince him that her son was innocent; but now Clara understood that she’d failed. To Sheriff Oglesby, Tommy was always going to be under suspicion; that the lawman could even suggest that her son was capable of hurting someone, especially a woman, hurt deeply.

“That’s enough,” Drake growled, putting his arm around Clara’s shoulder, protecting her. “Her son no more hurt that girl than I did. Naomi’s lying.”

“She might be,” the sheriff agreed, “but the only way to find out for certain is if you come with me and we sort it all out.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Drake replied defiantly.

With that, what little remained of the lawman’s patience vanished. Making a show of it, Sheriff Oglesby snatched the handcuffs off his belt and held them up for both Drake and Clara to see. “There’s two ways we can do this,” he explained. “Either you get in my car, right now, without any trouble, or you can keep arguin’ with me and I force you in there. I don’t want this to get rough, but…”

He didn’t finish, but they knew what he was implying.

“I’m not sitting in a jail cell for something I didn’t do,” Drake repeated.

“Please, Frank,” Clara pleaded. “There has to be another way.”

The sheriff shook his head. “I have to do this. I know it’s nothing more than her word against his, but my hands are tied. There isn’t anyone else who has stepped forward to say they saw what happened.”

“There is now,” a voice spoke from the shadows near the garage. All three of them watched as a figure stepped into the bright glow of the sheriff’s headlights.

Clara gasped.

It was Tommy.

Drake was angry. Talking with the sheriff had been a lesson in frustration. No matter what he said, the lawman wasn’t listening. Early on, Drake had decided that he would never allow himself to be taken to the jail. He didn’t give a damn about tomorrow’s race, the money that was on the line, or even standing before some small-town judge; all that mattered was what it would look like to Clara. He wouldn’t go, not now, not after what they had just done.

Mostly, he was furious at himself. He should have known better. He should’ve expected Naomi to try to get back at him. And she’d almost succeeded.

But then Tommy had shown up. Clara rushed over to her son and threw her arms around him, hugging him close, thankful that he was home and safe; she started to ask questions, wanting to know where he had been, not accusingly but out of justified concern, but the sheriff’s deep voice spoke over hers.

“What are you talking about, son?” the lawman asked.

Tommy shrugged. “
I
saw what happened,” he answered. “I was there watching.” He paused and looked right at Drake. “I saw everything.”

Drake wondered if the boy was telling the truth. He was dressed in a simple white T-shirt and a pair of jeans; Drake tried to remember what the person he’d chased had been wearing, but the memories were too distant now, fuzzy, made up more of generalities than specifics. He couldn’t say it had been Tommy; he couldn’t say it
hadn’t
been.

“You were there? At the bar?” Clara asked her son.

Tommy nodded. “Outside.”

“Then you can clear this whole mess up,” she said hopefully. “Tell the sheriff that Drake didn’t do what Naomi is accusing him of. Tell him!”

“Stop that, Clara,” the lawman chided her. “All we want is the truth, not how we want things to be.” He turned toward Tommy. “All right then, son,” he said. “Why don’t you start at the beginning, and don’t leave anything out.”

Once again, Tommy glanced at Drake, his eyes flat; the race car driver suddenly understood how precarious, how dangerous of a situation he was in. He thought back to how badly the boy had reacted when they’d tried to repair the garage door, flying off the handle at the mention of Naomi’s name. For the bar owner’s daughter, he had practically abandoned his own family. Even if Tommy hadn’t seen a thing, had instead been miles from the seedy bar, all he had to do was agree with whatever story Naomi had cooked up and Drake would be spending a long time behind bars, no matter how loudly he proclaimed his innocence. His fate rested in Tommy’s hands.

“Well,” the boy began, “it happened like this…”

Tommy stood down the street from Sheriff Oglesby’s office, smoking a cigarette as he watched the front door. Darkness had fallen; other than the occasional car, no one was out. Almost two hours had passed since he had watched Naomi’s run-in with Drake McCoy; it had been half that since he’d followed her here, staying out of sight. For reasons he didn’t completely understand, he hadn’t revealed himself to her. All that time, one question kept racing around in his head.

What the heck is she up to?

He had a few guesses, none of them good. To Naomi, everything was a game. He saw it in the way she argued with her father, brutally, as if she was trying to draw blood. It was there in how she manipulated him into doing what she wanted. And it was painfully obvious in the way she strung him along, offering up a kiss here, a touch there, but always stopping him just before things went too far. Deep down, Tommy had begun to suspect that she was playing him for a fool.

Lately, he had started to notice the way other men looked at him in the tavern and around town, as if they were holding back laughter; if the rumors about Naomi were true, then a good number of them had likely shared her bed. Tommy often thought about what his mother had said, her many warnings about the bartender’s daughter, about how she would lead him down the road to ruin. Not that he wanted to admit it, but Tommy had wondered if she was right. It bothered him enough that he had been pacing, trying to sort through his tempestuous thoughts, considering whether to go into the bar, when Drake had spotted him and given chase. It had been easy to ditch the race car driver, but when he hung around, Tommy had gotten more of a show than he’d expected.

Suddenly, the sheriff’s door opened and Naomi stepped out. From where he stood, Tommy could see she was a mess; mascara had run down her cheeks and her shoulders heaved as if she was crying. But then, as she began to walk toward him, something changed. She straightened up, her gait quickened, and a triumphant smile spread across her face; the sight of it made Tommy nervous.

He waited until she was only a couple of feet away before he stepped into her path, startling her so badly that she yelped.

“Jesus, Tommy!” she shouted. “You scared me half to death!”

“What were you doing in there?” he asked.

Naomi followed Tommy’s eyes over her shoulder; when she turned back to him, her smile had grown thinner, more malicious. “I had an idea,” she said gleefully. “A wicked one. Something that will be lots of fun.”

“
What did you do?
” he demanded, the words coming out so brusquely that Naomi looked momentarily taken aback.

“I had a run-in with that fella you were talking about, the one who races cars and is sweet on your mother,” she explained. “He got too rough with me, so I decided to return the favor.”

Tommy saw that Naomi had failed to mention that she’d followed Drake to his car and thrown herself at him,
twice
. After she had slapped the driver for rejecting her, he’d finally had enough, accidentally knocking her to the ground. Tommy wondered if she’d ever willingly share these details with him; he doubted it.

“You’re out for revenge,” he said.

“Exactly. That’s why I did
this
,” she answered, stepping into the soft light of the streetlamp, tilting her head to give him a good look at her face. Tommy recoiled at what he saw; an ugly bruise bloomed at the corner of her mouth.

“But Drake…he…” Tommy stumbled.

Naomi laughed, short but loud. “After he drove off, I went back into the bar and convinced Chet Miller to sock me one.” She frowned. “I told that idiot not to hit me very hard, but I swear he loosened a tooth. Hurts like hell.”

“You had him hit you…
on purpose
?”

“It had to look convincing.”

Tommy was stunned. “But…but why would you do that?”

“So I could blame it on McCoy.” She smiled; doing so made her wince on account of her new bruise. “I went to Oglesby and told him that your mother’s sweetheart forced himself on me and that when I fought back, he got rough.” Naomi’s voice rose, as if she was particularly proud of herself. “I was such a good actress that I think he bought every word.”

“Did the sheriff say what he was going to do about it?”

“Arrest McCoy,” she answered. “I just wish I could be there to see the look on his face.”

“But it isn’t true. You’re lying,” Tommy managed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. All the time they’d been together, Naomi had talked about how important her looks were, how she was beautiful enough to become a model or Hollywood starlet; that she would allow herself to be hit, for her face to be marred, just so she could have her revenge showed how unhinged she had become.

“So what?” she answered with a scowl. But then her anger suddenly vanished and her eyes grew wide, like she’d had a brilliant idea. “You can help!” Naomi declared. She grabbed Tommy’s wrist and began pulling him back toward the sheriff’s office. “We’ll tell Oglesby that you were there, that you saw the whole thing. Together, we’ll make sure McCoy gets locked away for a
long
time!”

Tommy yanked his hand free. “I
did
see everything,” he told her. “I was watching the two of you the whole time.”

“Wait…” Naomi replied, stunned. “You…you
what
?”

“I saw you throw yourself at him. I know that
you
tried to kiss
him
. Drake didn’t do a thing. What happened was all because of you.”

“No, it…it wasn’t like that—” she began, but Tommy silenced her.

“Stop lying!” he shouted. “I know what I saw!”

Just like that, something changed inside of Naomi, like a light switch had been flipped. Gone was the shock at his revelation; it was replaced with a seductive stare, her lips pursed, all of her charms on display.