Lawman's Redemption (23 page)

She made a childish face at him, then turned her attention out the window. The gently rolling hills were covered with pastures dotted with cattle and horses, and separated here and there by thick stands of trees, mostly those scrubby oaks that seemed to serve little purpose other than taking up space. They weren't pretty, and most of them were too small to bother with for fire-wood. There were more houses than she'd expected for the first five miles or so, but the farther they got from town, the more sparse they became.

“How does Marshall City compare to Buffalo Plains and Heartbreak?” she asked after seeing enough scenery.

“Marshall City sucks.”

She gave him an irate look, and he relented. “It's probably twice, maybe three times, the size of Buffalo Plains. It sits on top of what was once one of the biggest oil fields in Texas. That's where the Marshall family made their fortunes.”

“Fortunes?”

With a grin, he shrugged. “You win some, you lose some. It's kind of a hobby with Texas oilmen. My father realized that the way to stop losing it was to diversify. Thanks to him, the trust funds our grandparents left Logan and me have provided enough money for each of us to live comfortably for the rest of our lives.”

Or to support a daughter who might not be his, Hallie thought. How many fathers out there refused to pay child support for kids that
were
theirs, kids they'd lived with and raised, then left when they left their mothers? Lexy really was incredibly lucky.

“What about the house you grew up in?”

His mouth thinned. “It was straight out of
Gone With the Wind.
Three stories, white, columns, verandahs. My parents liked being the first family of Marshall City.”

Because it was too nice a day to dwell on bad memories, Hallie deliberately shifted the subject in a different direction. “There's a house just outside Heartbreak,” she began.

“Big place? On top of a hill? That's the Taylor place.”

“And the Taylors are…?”

“Well, they
think
they're the first family of Heartbreak. They're definitely the most well-off. The men raise cattle, and the women raise trouble. Inez, her sister-in-law and her daughter have set the standard for all that's good and proper in town, or so they think—and, no surprise, no one measures up but them.”

“The kind of people who are fun to play with,” Hallie said with an evil smile.

“Only if you have a warped idea of what constitutes ‘play.'”

Slowing, he turned into a rutted lane that ended at a barbed-wire gate. Though he reached for his seat belt, Hallie unfastened hers first. She slid to the ground, then lifted the wire loop that secured the gate and swung it open. Once he'd driven through, she closed it, then climbed in again.

“Did you notice there's no road here?” she asked conversationally.

“Did you notice we've got four-wheel drive? We make our own roads when necessary.”

He pointed the truck toward a distant hill to the northwest and set off across the pasture. There was a faint hint of a trail, she realized before they'd gone far. It wasn't used often, but it
was
used.

The cattle paid them no attention beyond a disinterested gaze as they drove past. That was okay. Hallie was interested enough by herself. She would love to come out here with her cameras. There were so many great shots—the cows placidly munching their feed. The skeleton of a dead tree all alone on a ridge. The texture and stark shapes of the shallow arroyos cut into the ground by runoff. The outcroppings of sandstone. The abandoned barn, its boards turned silver after decades of harsh sun, its entire structure tilted ten or twelve degrees off center but still standing. The sun rising over the wooded hills to the east or setting over the undulating pastures to the west.

At the top of the highest hill in the immediate vicinity, Brady
stopped the truck and they got out. There were trees on either side of the clearing, and an incredible view all the way around. She could see several church steeples in Buffalo Plains, and could make out a small section of highway that she thought…yes, was just north of her house and west of Brady's.

“When the leaves are off the trees, you can see the courthouse from here,” he said quietly, “and back there in the trees is a spring that feeds a creek running down the west slope.”

“It's beautiful. It's a great place for a house.” Why did that stir up a funny, achy feeling in the pit of her stomach? Why did she find it so easy to envision the ideal house she'd described sitting right on this very spot? With a winding drive twisting its way down the hill to the highway below, and with horses of their own grazing in the fields. But this was
Brady's
property, meant for
his
house. This was where
he
belonged.

She still had to find the place where she belonged.

He moved to stand behind her, sliding his arms around her middle and resting his chin on her head. “You think Lexy will like it?”

“Lexy's happy living in a little two-bedroom farmhouse. She doesn't care where you live. She just wants to be there with you.” But ask me if
I
would like it, she silently urged.
Ask me what I think, because the answer's the same. I don't care where you live. I just want to be there with you.

She was in so much trouble. Neely and Reese were due back in a week, and after spending a few days with them, Hallie was supposed to leave. But how could she go when her family—in her heart if not in fact—was here?

Maybe she could take a cue from pretty Isabella, she thought with a thin smile, who'd come for a visit and stayed. But staying didn't mean staying with Brady. He'd entered into this affair with the understanding that it would have a definite end. Three weeks and a day or two, and she was supposed to be outta there. It wouldn't be fair to him to say, Sorry, I've changed my mind about leaving. It certainly wouldn't be fair to expect him to continue the relationship beyond that three-week point.

And it would be impossible to stay and
not
have that relationship.

The next time any of her sisters asked for a favor, she was going to turn her down so fast her head would spin. She would offer money, household staff, hired help, but she would never put herself in a risky situation again.

Slowly the sweet, ticklish sensation of Brady's mustache brushing her ear pulled her out of her gloomy thoughts and made her smile as she tilted her head to the side.

“You ever make love outside?” he asked in a whisper that sent a shiver through her.

“No.”

“Me, either. Want to give it a try?”

She shifted and felt his arousal, long and stiff, against her hip. The funny, achy feeling returned deep in her stomach, but this time it had nothing to do with not belonging with Brady. No, on the contrary, this time it was because she most assuredly did belong, at least for the moment. At least for this.

As his hand slid up to cup her breast, she reached back to tug his head close enough for an awkward kiss. “I don't suppose you have a blanket in that truck?”

“Of course I do. The Canyon County Sheriff's Department is prepared for any emergency.”

“This isn't an emergency,” she pointed out.

He rubbed his erection hard against her. “It is for me, darlin', and it's getting more desperate with every passing minute.”

“Oh, well, then, by all means, get the blanket,” she said in her sultriest voice. “I'd hate for you to suffer unnecessarily.”

He went to the back of the SUV to get the blanket. While he was there, Hallie undid the back zipper on her dress, then stepped out of it, folded it neatly, and hung it over the dusty mirror. Her bra followed, then her panties. She was glad she'd chosen dressier sandals this morning, with thin straps and a heel. Standing on top of a hill under the bright August sun, naked but for her sandals, felt silly enough. If she'd been wearing her usual clunky, thick-soled sandals, the feeling would quickly switch from silly to idiotic.

As he came back, Brady stopped short and uttered a profanity that vibrated the air with its intensity, and instead of silly, she felt beautiful. Desirable. Womanly. She offered him a provoca
tive smile, then in response to his profanity, she softly taunted, “Promises, promises.”

His blanket was a quilt that was worn, soft and had been well-used. She wondered who had made it—Reese's mother or grandmother, perhaps, or a relative of the sheriff who had preceded him. If life was different and she could imagine any future she wanted for herself, she would imagine herself making such a quilt some day, sewing it on the dining-room table of the pale yellow house that would stand right here, quilting it on the broad porch in a wicker chair. It would be in bright colors and would cover her oldest child's bed until it got old. Then it would be relegated to frequent use as a picnic or making-love-under-the-sun quilt.

She would be the housewife she had never been, the mother she'd always longed to be. She would cook and clean and volunteer at the kids' schools, and she would have dinner on the table when Brady came home from work. She would do laundry and help with homework and have Neely and Reese and their kids over for dinner every Sunday after church.

Such fanciful imaginings for a woman who would be leaving Oklahoma alone in a week and a few days.

Alone.

Pushing the thought into the darkest corner of her mind, she watched as Brady spread the quilt in the sun. Then, while he watched, she strolled lazily across the uneven ground to him. He looked as if he wanted to say something but couldn't, so he put the words into a kiss instead—fierce, claiming, possessive, greedy. He stabbed his tongue into her mouth and pulled her against him, his hand roaming over her bare skin, caressing, tickling, arousing.

When they broke for breath, she gave a husky laugh. “What's wrong with this picture?”

His amazing, incredible blue gaze slid from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and a wicked grin curved his mouth. “Not a damned thing.”

“Thank you…but I disagree. I'm naked.”

“Yes, darlin', you surely are.”

“And you're not.”

“I will be.” He lowered her to the quilt, then lay beside her. For a moment, he remained on his side, head resting on his left fist, and simply looked at her. His gaze was so intense, she could feel it, she swore, as if it possessed a physical component. After a moment, she closed her eyes, smiled awkwardly, then rolled onto her side and drew her knees up.

“You could give a woman a complex,” she chided him.

“I can give you a whole lot more than a complex.” Gently but firmly, he pushed her knees down, then rolled her onto her back again, and he leaned over her, pressing a kiss to her nipple. Instantly it swelled and hardened, and a corresponding need tugged deep inside her. “You like that?” he asked.

She managed a careless shrug. “It was okay, but I think you can do better.”

“You think?” He repeated the action, only this time it lasted longer, and he caught her nipple between his teeth, nipping at it. “Is that better?”

“Hmm.”

His mustache tickled as he offered a third kiss, flicking his tongue across her nipple before drawing it into his mouth and suckling it with enough pressure to curl her toes. Gasping, she slid her fingers into his hair, then tugged him closer even as she arched against his mouth. She couldn't speak to save her life, but he seemed to understand what her whimpers meant, because he repeated the kiss on her other breast.

Every nerve and muscle in her body was stretched taut before he finally let her help him undress. Her hands shook as she fumbled with his zipper, but once she got her fingers inside his jeans to caress his arousal, the shakiness was suddenly all in
him.
Swearing, he tried to remove her hand as well as his jeans, but she was intent on having her chance to play.

“Hallie…damn, babe, you've gotta…” His face paled and his eyes squeezed shut as a low groan escaped him.

She smiled sweetly, removed her hand and sat back on her heels. “I've got to do what?”

“That. Again.” He drew her hand back where he wanted it and curved her fingers around him, then groaned again.

Finally they discarded the last of his clothing, and he stretched
out on the quilt and filled her in one long, hard thrust. She gave a low, satisfied smile. In her make-believe future, they would do this every chance they got, and it would be just as incredible every time.

But forget make-believe. He was here now, the sun was beating down on them, the breeze blowing across their skin, and he was starting to move in a tormenting, tantalizing way. Long strokes, deep and forceful, but lazy, as if they had all the time in the world. As if they could make love forever.

He kissed and stroked her, and she returned the favor, gliding her hands over smooth warm skin and rough scars heated by the sun. She loved the feel of him beneath her fingertips—the silky skin, the coarse hair, the hard muscle, the thud of his heart, even the scars. She loved everything about him.

She loved him.

And in a week and a day or two, she was supposed to say goodbye to him.

The shift in his rhythm was subtle at first, then more pronounced as he began thrusting harder, faster. Clinging to him, she met every stroke, took every inch of him, and when the tension became too great to bear, she closed her eyes, relaxed and let it all wash over her—the hunger, the need, the heat, the pleasure, the pain, the promise of sweet satisfaction.

He pushed into her one last time, and with a groan, he stiffened and strained. His climax hit only seconds before her own, rocking and trembling and leaving them both fatigued, their hearts pounding, their breathing ragged.

After a time he rolled to his back beside her, then began fumbling with his jeans. She wanted to protest that it was too soon to get dressed, that she wanted more, but she couldn't find the words. Then she realized dimly that he wasn't getting dressed but rather searching for his cell phone.