Christmas at Twilight (20 page)

And then she broke in a wave of sensation unlike anything she'd ever felt. It rippled through her muscles, claimed her, leaving her trembling and gasping in his arms.

“What,” she gasped when she was finally able to catch her breath. “What was that? What just happened?”

Hutch's chuckle was rich and deep. “Babe, unless I miss my guess, I'd say you just had an orgasm.”

H
utch carried her to bed and they lay there holding each other. Nothing had ever prepared him for this feeling. This pure love. He'd told Meredith that it didn't matter if she couldn't give him anything more than right now, but it wasn't true. He wanted to keep her with him forever. He'd never known he could feel love like this. Didn't know such a state existed.

His eyes stung at the intensity of his feelings. She felt so delicate in his hands. He wanted to cup his palms around her like a fragile china teacup and hold her safe from the ugliness of the world.

“I had no idea,” she whispered, her lips rasping against the stubble of his beard, “that it was possible for me to ever have this, feel this. You are . . . this is . . . amazing.”

Her words of awe flooded him with an abiding desire to heal, left his throat hurting as he tightened his arms around her, held her protectively, and felt her breath fan the hair along his neck.

Hutch combed his fingers through her short curls, and she murmured with pleasure. He massaged her scalp with slow, rhythmic motions . . . scratching lightly, kneading, caressing. Each stroke stirred her scent, the sweet, feminine aroma imbedding deep within his memory, forever branding her fragrance in his brain. Her hair was so soft, thick, and fine. It had grown out about a half an inch since he'd met her and he brushed his fingers up the nape of her neck, pushing it up and smoothing it back down, then tickling behind her left ear, his heart breaking as he etched along the jagged scar.

She shivered and whimpered in the back of her throat.

Until he was doing it, Hutch didn't realize he'd been longing his whole life for an intimacy like this, so much passing between them in a simple touch, a light sweeping of their lips. He'd become a hull of a man, shelled out by life on the edge, cold as winter soil. But she was springtime, breathing warmth and freshness into his bones, coaxing his heart to beat with budding hope. She filled him, made him whole, healed the cracks in his soul.

Punch-drunk with love for her, Hutch lifted his head and captured her mouth with such a rush of gratitude, the force of it left him breathless. He wanted to say the words, to tell her he loved her, but he was too afraid of scaring her off, so he simply showed her how he felt, pumping every last morsel of his emotions into that kiss.

Swiftly, his thankfulness morphed into the richness of new-blooming romance. He rolled her over onto her back and gently pressed her into the mattress, his eager hand traveling leisurely over the curve of her neck and down her shoulder, while his mouth drank in the nectar of her luxurious lips. He splayed his palm over her cheek, spreading his fingers over her face, his thumb hooked underneath her chin. His body ached to join with hers, but he did not want things to go that fast.

“Do you know how long I've been dreaming of this?” he crooned.

Her lashes fluttered. “Tell me.”

“Since the day you pepper-sprayed me.”

“That was fast.”

“One look. One look was all it took.” Had he said too much? Was he scaring her away by admitting how quickly he'd fallen for her?

Her hands flattened against his chest and he feared she was going to push him away, but instead she pushed her palms around his torso until they encircled his back, and she pulled him down flush against her body.

“Make love to me, Hutch,” she begged. “Make love to me now.”

He fumbled on the bedside table for the condom. Dropped it twice before he got it unwrapped and rolled into place. He stopped to kiss her once more, taking her willing mouth, touching his tongue to hers.

She thrust her pelvis up, dropped her legs open, and she was so warm, wet, and welcoming that he simply slipped right in. The breath left her body in a delighted gasp and she brought her legs up to lock them tightly around his waist. He shifted his hips, found a cozier fit, improved by the sway and wriggle of their bodies that expanded their joining into much more than just physical merger. Heaven. Sheer heaven. Their union stirring more than the blaze of blood and thump of hearts, stirring too the assurance that they were meant to be together.

He hovered about her, supporting his weight on his elbows, fearful of hurting or scaring her.

“Meredith,” he whispered. “I never knew I could be so lucky.”

In answer, she raised her hips higher, egging him on. Urging him closer. Deeper.

For several brilliant minutes, they satisfied themselves with a steady rhythm that wove them ever more tightly to each other. The candle flickered, throwing long shadows against the wall.

Finally, Hutch could stand it no longer and he looked down into her precious face to find the same ravenous expression in her eyes that was clutching at his throat. They gawped—reinvented—clung to each and rocketed to the ultimate physical expression of love.

Space hung suspended, and after a time, Hutch hauled them back safely to the shores of the bedroom.

Or at least he thought they were safe until he realized Meredith was softly sobbing.

His gut clutched. “What is it, babe? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she whispered.

Alarm twisted him up and sweat broke out on his upper lip. “Why are you crying?”

“Because . . .”

“Because what?” He lifted up, peered into her face, and brushed her temple with his finger.

Her eyes shimmered through the fine mist of tears. “Because you were right.”

Confused, he rubbed his palm over his forehead. “Right about what?”

“The rapturous joy. Oh, Hutch, I've never in my life been this happy.”

A
t three in the morning, Meredith and Hutch sat at the kitchen table eating cold roast beef sandwiches and smiling at each other.

“Wait,” he said.

“What?”

“Hold still.”

She swallowed the bite in her mouth and wiped at her face. “What is it? A smudge of mayo?”

“This . . .” He leaned over and kissed her.

“Oh, you,” she said, feeling as lighthearted as a girl, and kissed him back.

“I'm happy,” he said.

“Me too.”

He grinned as if he'd just found a million dollars lying in the road with no one around to claim ownership. “I think practicing yoga with you these last few weeks really enhanced what happened between us.”

“Oh?” She lowered her eyelashes and sent him a naughty look. “If you think that was something, just wait until we start practicing Tantric yoga together.”

His body perked up and his eyes glistened. “I like the sound of that. What is Tantric yoga exactly?”

“Personally,” she said, “I've never experienced it, but it's using yoga to connect with your partner on a deeper level, both mentally, spiritually, and physically.”

“I heard it had something to do with hour-long orgasms.”

She made a purring noise. “That too. In Tantric philosophy, sex is considered the greatest source of energy in the universe.”

“Can't argue with that.”

“Practitioners of Tantric yoga believe that orgasm is a cosmic and divine experience.”

“My, my, my,” Hutch murmured, leaning in closer. “In light of that definition, as far as I'm concerned, we've already committed Tantric yoga.”

“Ah.” She tilted her head. “But we could take it so much deeper.”

“Wow.” He exhaled loudly. “I'm not sure I have the stamina for that.”

She crinkled her nose, put her hand on his thigh. Instantly, he was hard again. “Don't underestimate yourself. You rally pretty quickly. I'm certain you can handle me.”

“Now who is underestimating herself?”

“Hutch,” she said. “You make me feel powerful.”

“You
are
powerful.” His eyebrows dipped as he scowled darkly and pressed his forehead to hers. The heat from his stare pierced straight through her.

“Not nearly powerful enough,” she whispered, the persistent shadow of her past gathering pleats of anxiety around her like thunderclouds marshaling before a storm.

Abruptly, Hutch pushed back his chair, got to his feet, and stalked to the sliding glass door. He tugged open the drapes, stared out the window at the moonlight glittering off the Brazos River.

“Hutch?”

He didn't answer her.

Concerned, Meredith stood up and moved to him. She slipped her arms around his waist, and locked her fingers together over his taut belly.

He placed a palm over her hands, rubbed the backs of her knuckles, but said nothing. She pressed her ear against his back, listening to the steady, forceful,
thump-thump
of his heartbeat.

“What is it?” she asked, trying to ignore the fear plucking at the hairs along the nape of her neck.

“I hate this.”

She shrugged, even though he could not see her. His body was as tight as an overtuned guitar, the stretched strings ready to snap under the pressure. “I hate it too, but what can I do?”

“You can stop running. Stay here with me. Trust me to keep you safe.”

“Hutch.” She could barely force his name past the constriction in her throat. “It's not that simple.”

“It is that simple,” he said. “All you have to do is take a stand and fight. As long as you allow fear to drive you, Meredith, you will never be free.”

“I already know I won't be free until Sloane is dead.”

“I could kill him for you.”

“I know,” she said. “I know you would do it and you have the ability to dispatch him without leaving a trace. You could get away with it.”

He turned toward her, pulled her into his embrace, pressed his mouth to her ear, and whispered, “Then tell me where to find him.”

“My burden to carry, not yours.”

“Heartbeat. Say the word and it's a heartbeat away.”

Her skin prickled at the thought of having Sloane eradicated from the earth. How easy it would be to say yes. She shook her head, looking up into his precious eyes. “I can't allow you to be the instrument of my revenge.”

“Meredith, all I want to do is keep you safe.”

She flattened her palm against the left side of his chest. “There are enough stains on your soul.”

He flinched.

She knew his job had required him to do things she could not even imagine and that he was still dealing with the fallout from that.

“We could fight him legally.”

“I'm wanted for attempted murder. I can't go to the police. I'll be arrested and that will leave Ben without a mother, and that's a risk I simply cannot take. As wonderful as it's been here with you, as good as we are together, I'm sorry, but my son must come first.”

“And that's one of the things I love most about you,” he said. “You put your son's needs ahead of your own.”

“Don't all mothers?”

A faraway look came into his eyes. “No.”

She rubbed his upper arm. “Let's just enjoy what we have now.”

“What if you just stayed and if he catches up to you, we deal with it when the time comes.”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

“What?” he asked.

“For a man who's seen the darker side of life, that's a naïve statement. He's relentless. He will never stop searching for me. Until you've been through something like that you have no idea . . .”

He put a hand to the nape of her neck, pressed her close to his chest. “I feel so helpless. No matter what I do, I'm doomed to lose you.”

She sank into the hollow of his arms. “Many people don't even get this little spot of happiness, Hutch. Let's try to make the most of the time we have together.”

“There has to be another way.”

“There's not. I've had five years to think about it.”

“For all you know, the guy has moved on to stalking some other poor woman and you're in the clear. He could be incarcerated. Or he could be dead and you're still roaming around the country trying to escape a monster that's no longer chasing you.”

“You might be right, but I have no way of knowing any of that.”

“Got a proposal for you,” he ventured. “Please, don't reject it out of hand.”

She tipped back her head and studied his face. He looked so earnest. “I'm listening.”

“Sheriff Crouch is a Vietnam vet and a good friend. He's been a father figure to me over the years. With your permission, I'd like to tell him about your history and ask him to look into your ex-husband, see what he can dig up.”

Her body frosted up at the same time hope sent her heart catapulting into her throat. “I'm a fugitive from the law, Hutch. He will arrest me.”

He turned her face up so she could see his steadfast certainty. “He won't.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I know him.”

“I don't.”

“But you know me, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you trust me.”

“You're the
only
one I trust.”

“And I trust Hondo,” he said. “Can you put your faith in my opinion?”

She gulped. “What you're asking me is huge.”

“I know.”

“If you're wrong about Hondo, you still lose me and I will not only lose everything, but Sloane will get his hands on Ben. I cannot let that happen.”

He barely reacted, but a muscle in his jaw ticked. She could see it jerk beneath his dark beard stubble. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, slowly opened them. “I know.”

“And it's a risk you're willing to take?”

“Hondo is not going to arrest you,” he said patiently.

“You believe that one hundred percent?”

He captured her chin between his thumb and finger, peered into her eyes as if trying to burrow into her brain and rearrange her thinking. “We've got to try, Meredith, for Ben's sake as much as ours. Growing up on the run is going to have an effect him.”

“I know that,” she whispered. Not being able to give her son a stable home was her deepest regret.

“Look, you were going to leave after Christmas anyway, right?”

She nodded.

“So this time, instead of running off blind, I feel Hondo out. If I sense he won't react the way I expect him to, I'll text you and you can take off with Ben. Once you get to where you're going, I'll load up your stuff and bring it to you.”

“I don't know.”

“How would it be any different than you just leaving?”

“Because law enforcement would know where I was.”

Emotions shifted across his face—concern, yearning love. No faking it, there was love in this man's eyes. Love for her. “It's your call, but I want you to understand that I will always protect you. No matter what, I will always have your back until I take my last breath.”

It came down to how much she trusted Hutch. They both knew it. This was a test of their relationship. Could she put aside her fears and place her faith into those big strong hands, or was she going to allow Sloane to ruin this too?

“All right,” she whispered. “Go talk to Sheriff Crouch.”

J
ust as Hutch forecasted, Hondo believed Meredith's story, reinforcing her faith in both men. But part of her still worried. If Hondo spoke directly to Sloane, her ex could easily persuade the sheriff that she was not only mentally unstable, but dangerous. He'd done it many times before. Dr. Lily was the only one who'd seen through his serpentine charm.

Meredith called the hospital to check on Dotty Mae and learned she'd already been released with a clean bill of health. Her only issue was distress over having almost run over Ben. Meredith walked over to the elderly woman's home, bringing her a fruit basket and taking the children with her so Dotty Mae could see that Ben was all right.

Two days after Christmas, Sheriff Crouch arrived on the front porch. Hutch went to answer the door, while Meredith sent the kids up to her room to play. Breath held and heart thumping, she waited at the foot of the stairs, out of sight from the front door. It was all she could do not to grab Ben up, race to the minivan in the garage, and flee town.

“Is this a good time?” Hondo asked.

Hutch must have nodded or waved him inside, because she heard the floorboards creak and the shuffle of footsteps and then there they were in the living room.

The sheriff caught sight of her, and removed his cowboy hat. He wore a gun on his hip and she couldn't seem to stop staring at it. “Ms. Sommers,” he said. “Are you all right?”

She put a hand to her palm, realized her face was ice cold. Was her skin as pale as it felt? She started to speak, but she'd been pressing her lips together so tightly that they were momentarily stuck together. She forced them apart. “I'm all right.”

Hondo looked to Hutch, then back to Meredith. “We should sit down.”

The chill that had begun in her face moved down her body, icing her neck, flowing over her collarbone, embedding deep inside her lungs and her heart until all her organs were cold as a winter grave. Her knees bobbled. Oh God, was Hondo here to arrest her?

If Hutch hadn't taken her by the elbow and eased her onto the sofa, she would have toppled over. He sat down beside her, hitched his arm around her waist, held her safe and secure.

Hondo took the recliner, and for a moment, he didn't say anything, just studied Meredith with inscrutable eyes. The sheriff was a strong-jawed, muscular man who looked a decade younger than his sixty-something years. The lines on his face, the scars on his hands, said he'd been in some dark places himself. And Hutch had told her about Hondo's struggle with heroin addiction. How he had not only triumphed over that battle, but he'd also married his childhood sweetheart later in life and got elected sheriff of his hometown, finally finding lasting joy and happiness in his golden years.

Inspiring.

But Meredith was in no mood to be inspired. She was too keyed up, too nervous about what he had to say.

Hondo leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and toyed with the brim of his cowboy hat, his gun sandwiched between his thigh and the arm of the recliner. “I'm afraid I've got some tragic news.”

Instantly, her hand flew to her throat. Oh dear God, Sloane had killed someone else she knew or had cared for.

Hutch tightened his hold on her, bracing her and keeping her from flying off into a million little pieces.

She gripped hold of Hutch's left knee, gritted her teeth against the terror closing off her airway. Who? Who could Sloane have murdered?

She thought of the few distant relatives she had left—a great-aunt in Memphis, a cousin in Montana, another who lived in Germany. She thought of the people she'd met over the past few years, those who had befriended her—a store clerk, a yoga instructor, a mail carrier. Which one of them had lost their life because of her? Why was Hondo torturing her like this? Just say it!

Hondo cleared his throat. “I'm afraid your ex-husband has lost his life.”

What? She blinked, unable to process what the sheriff had just said. Lost his life? As if he'd misplaced it. What did that mean?

“Ms. Sommers?” Looking concerned, Hondo got to his feet, came toward her.

“Meredith?” Gently, Hutch, stroked her hand. “Did you hear what Hondo said?”

She shook her head. Sloane dead? No. He was invincible. He wasn't dead. He was just playing possum. She knew better than that. He was a trickster, a con artist, the devil himself. Satan didn't die.

“When?” Her voice cracked.