Lone Tree (25 page)

“I take it that’s affirmative?”

When she turned her face to his, his lips brushed
hers, then her cheek, then he pressed her head into his shoulder. His breath
stirred her hair. “If you have as much trouble getting back as you did getting
here, we’d best start back right away.”

She made a noncommittal sound, then followed his
lead when he turned away. Being clumsy wasn’t part of her nature, but she had
an inkling of the reason for today’s mishaps. She figured she might have
something in common with Randy Jones; she felt so self-conscious she bordered
on shy.

Once the thought occurred, she recognized its
validity—and its absurdness. She’d shared a bed with Reed for two months. Yet
here she was, as shy and wondering and full of anticipation as a virginal bride
on her wedding night. It didn’t make sense, yet there it was.

She’d been aware, since she’d first met Reed Smith,
of his strong effect on her. He didn’t even have to touch her. All he had to do
was look at her and she melted. She’d thought she’d been in love with Jason,
but he’d not had an effect on her as profound as Reed’s. When with Reed, the
outside world ceased to exist.

As she kept pace with him now she was acutely
conscious of him. With every step she took, his nearness loomed. Became
essential. Warning bells, produced by her own sixth sense, chimed in the
distance, but the nature and sensuality that surrounded her drowned them out.

Twilight was with them when they arrived at camp.
Shadows turned vague, lacking form. Horses neighed, welcoming them back. Reed
knelt to tend to the fire and she continued on to the sleeping bags. As he
stirred the embers, one hand fooled with the buttons on his shirt, then he
pulled it free from his belt. She sat to remove her boots and then pulled her
jeans off.

He reached to the side for a log and laid it on the
smoldering embers. He watched the fire stir into life and she watched him. Her
shirt and bra joined the rest of her folded clothing. The night air was cool
but not uncomfortable.

She rose to her feet, aware of the firelight
flickering across her skin. He reached for another log. Apparently satisfied
with the campfire, he stood and turned, his hands unbuckling his belt.

He froze, said nothing for a long moment. Then he
whispered, voice husky, “No boots.”

With her smile, she felt her shyness edging off.

“You’re beautiful, Lainie Sue. Beautiful. You steal
my breath every time I look at you.”

He crossed the clearing. Slowly his fingers traced
her torso to her waist, and took what breath she had left away from her. He
shrugged out of his shirt as their bodies lowered to the sleeping bag, then he
twisted around to pull boots off and remove his jeans. She trailed her fingers
across his back. His shoulders were sinewy, muscles stretching as he moved. His
skin prickled at her touch. When he turned to her, he was already breathing fast,
and hungrily he pressed his mouth to hers. His body forced hers back and down.
Her arms grew tighter around him; she felt like she couldn’t get close enough.

Though they tried to take it slow, savor each other
and the night, the romance of the evening had served to put them halfway there
before they got started. Ready, but not wanting to rush it, she pulled her
mouth away from his. Her teeth played at his shoulder. He kissed her neck, then
his lips trailed lower and found her breast. She gasped and arched, her fingers
digging into him. She was so sensitive it almost hurt.

Reed had either read her mind or was just as ready
as she was—probably both. He shifted to cover her body with his. As he slid
into her, their need threatened to explode. Matching each other’s rhythm they
moved as one. Her climax came strong and fast and his an instant later.

When they became still, much of his weight remained
on her. His breathing was heavy, but he wasn’t. She didn’t want him to move;
she liked him right where he was. Her hands moved lazily over his back. He made
a sound of pleasure deep in his throat, stirred, and gently kissed the hollow
between her neck and shoulder.

Then, finally, Lainie thought to look at the sky.

The moon was just rising above the treetops. It had
another day or two before it would become full, but it shed plenty of light, as
did the stars. Reed, and this night together, were so special that her eyes
grew moist. Her arms tightened around him, and she felt him stir in response as
she pressed closer to him.

She simply couldn’t get close enough.

Carl Henry had made his plans. This was his last
night of gainful, legal employment. He’d gotten his last paycheck, full of all
those pennies, and he wouldn’t be wanting or needing another one, thank you
very much.

Located on the same block with his fleabag hotel was
a rundown café that was open until the early morning hours. The waitress locked
up and left alone, and the cook-owner, a sour old man with one foot in the
grave, followed about twenty minutes later.

The waitress had to be close to forty, older than
Carl, but she’d caught his eye nonetheless. Her figure wasn’t bad; she was
about the same size as Jackie and had the same kind of red-gold in her hair.
Maybe that was it. Jackie Lyn was the only woman he’d ever looked at more than
once.

This one’s name was Millicent. He liked that; it had
a nice, regal sound. No nickname or cute double name for her. But Millicent had
a face too lined and hard to be pretty. She’d seen some rough years. Neither
did she have Jackie’s little girl innocence. But then neither did Jackie Lyn,
anymore. He was looking forward to seeing her again. He had some questions
about faithfulness to put to her.

He was a regular at the café, stopping for coffee
and a sandwich every night, and he always managed to exchange a few words with
Millicent. If he showed up while she was on her way to her car she shouldn’t be
alarmed, and then he’d have her and transportation. He needed wheels to get out
of here and wanted to get started tomorrow. Or the next day, depending upon
Millicent.

Because Jackie was the guiltiest party, Carl had
decided she’d be last and Mr. Businessman would be first. Which gave Carl an
excellent opportunity to use the camera that’d been left as a gift for him in
the lunchroom: before and after pictures of the boyfriend. He’d make Jackie put
them up on her computer so she could see firsthand exactly what she was
responsible for.

While he took his time with a fried egg sandwich and
coffee that night, he watched Millicent collect sugar dispensers onto a tray,
then fill them at the inside counter with her back to him. He caught the
outline of her bra strap through the thin pink cotton uniform. He twisted on
the stool seat, eyes on that barely perceptible line.

When she turned and caught his eye, she stood
stock-still for a second or two, as if she’d gotten inside his mind and didn’t
like what she saw there. And then she collected herself, broke eye contact and
started returning dispensers to their places.

He stared straight ahead, making his face blank and
swallowing resentment. Women were made to be looked at. If they didn’t like it,
they should stay home in the first place. He finished his coffee, ambled over
to the cash register and pulled out his wallet. She met him there and added up
his check.

“Your hair’s especially pretty tonight,” he offered,
along with his ten-dollar bill. He wanted to show her how mild a man he was.

She didn’t acknowledge the compliment, which annoyed
him, but he kept the annoyance to himself. She counted out coins, then bills,
and he said, “You keep it.” Closing his wallet, he returned it to his pocket.

She looked up, surprise on her face, then shrugged
and dropped the money into her pocket without bothering to thank him.

Carl Henry took his leave, feeling smug. He’d get
the money back later, along with the rest of her tips. He was also going to
talk to her about her manners.

Her car, a red foreign job, was in the first slot in
the parking lot. A short wooden fence separated the lot from the sidewalk. He
tested the end post, decided it was sturdy enough to hold him, then settled
down to wait. The street was deserted, as he’d expected.

About twenty minutes later Millicent walked briskly
into the lot. When she caught sight of him, her step faltered. Her gaze darted
to her car, but he’d planted himself close to it, so she stayed put and just
watched him.

Trying to look harmless, he gave her what he thought
was a bashful smile while he got to his feet. “Hi. Don’t want to scare you. I’m
new around here, live right over there.” He pointed at the flophouse across the
street. “Really lonely being on my own. And I thought if you were alone, too,
then, well, I was hoping...” He shrugged, pretended to be embarrassed. He
added, “I know your name’s Millicent. It’s on your nametag there. My name’s
Carl Henry.”

No response. He might as well make his move now and
not waste more time pitching a line she wasn’t going to buy. The cook might
leave early and Carl didn’t want interruptions. He stepped forward.

“You want to go for a ride?” she asked, surprising
him.

“Uh, yeah.” He stopped and smiled, enjoying the
image her words evoked.

“That’s my car there.” She indicated it with a brief
tilt of her head. “We can go for a drive if you want. And talk.”

“Sounds good.” So she wasn’t such a hard sell after
all. Just harder to read than most.

Keys in hand she walked toward the driver’s door and
motioned him to the other side. “Go on around and get in.”

The passenger’s door was locked, so he waited for
her to open it after she got in. She didn’t look up, just put the key in the
ignition. He knocked on the window. The engine turned over, turned over, turned
over, then caught.

“Hey!”

She never looked at him. The car backed out with
Carl hanging on to the door handle, banging on the window and shouting at her.
When it swung around and pulled out of the lot, he lost his hold.

He was so mad, he chased it until he was winded. The
little red car stayed on the straightaway for several blocks, then took a right
turn, a turn to who knew where. He’d follow her home—oh, how he’d love to
surprise her—but he didn’t know where she lived.

Doubled over in the middle of the street, hands on
his knees as he labored to breathe, he imagined what he’d do to her if he could
just find her...

The solution was so simple he swore at himself. He
knew where she worked so he could find out where she lived. Thought she was so
smart, but he was smarter.

He sprinted back to the café, not wanting the owner
to get away, too. The old man looked up when Carl Henry banged on the door but
just made a go-away motion and then turned his back. Carl yelled obscenities,
banged louder and looked for something to hit the door with. Nothing showed up,
so he walked away and then ran back, ramming his shoulder into the tempered
glass.

The old man turned around, grew still and watched.

The door remained intact, and Carl Henry’s shoulder
hurt. So he rammed it with the flat of his foot. That was better. The structure
vibrated, showing the cook that Carl meant business without Carl having to hurt
himself.

The old man broke out of his stupor, took two jerky
steps to the wall telephone and fumbled with it. He dropped the receiver and
dug in his pants pocket. Then he left, disappearing into the kitchen, and it
didn’t take a brilliant piece of deduction to figure out he must have a phone
in there. A sense of self-preservation replaced Carl Henry’s rage.

But wait a minute, nobody knew who he was, he could
just—

Except—

“Shit!” He kicked the door again. Except he’d been
stupid enough not only to tell Millicent his name, but where he lived. He’d
shown her, actually pointed it out. He’d really done it now. Millicent, the
bitch! Not only looked like Jackie, she’d fixed him good, just like her, too.

Siren! Distant and dull, but getting loud fast.

He raced up the street and around the corner, across
that street and around the next corner, then brought himself up short. The
sound was so loud it was deafening. Was he running toward it?

A dented black coupe with a rough-sounding engine
slowed and pulled over. The driver must’ve heard the siren, was looking for the
source and had gotten off the street, just like he was supposed to. The car was
so close Carl could touch it, and he did.

The driver’s door was unlocked. The young kid behind
the wheel, who was wearing a shirt with a picture of a taco on it, probably
thought he was big and strong enough he didn’t need to keep his doors locked
like Millicent did.

The siren came to a standstill, probably at the
café, and Carl Henry yanked the kid out of the driver’s seat. The dude was so
surprised he didn’t even struggle. His foot slid off the brake and the car
started rolling. Carl slammed the emergency brake in with the palm of his hand
and the car held in place.

The kid’s legs got tangled up in the steering wheel
shaft, but then finally he was all the way out and Carl laid into him. All his
pent-up rage let loose and exploded on the unlucky kid who was probably on his
way to work the night shift at a fast-food joint.