Texas True (15 page)

“I told Beau to stay out of this, but no, he had to go and make everything worse! Why can't the man leave well enough alone?”

“Beau was worried about you. He wanted to let Slade know you had a protector.”

“Don't you dare defend him, Tori! Beau was way out of line! Anyway, I don't need a protector. I've got new locks and a restraining order. And I'll have a gun with me.”

“A gun you don't know how to shoot. Maybe you ought to get a dog—something big and scary like a rottweiler.”

“Stop worrying, I'll be fine. And I'll be too busy to take care of a dog, especially while I'm getting the clinic operational again. That's going to be a big job . . . and expensive. I just hope I can get enough house calls in the interim to pay for it.”

Tori didn't answer. Her eyes were fixed on the road. Was something going on?

They made small talk, mostly about Erin, until they drove into town. Natalie could feel her tension rising as they pulled up to the house. From the outside, everything looked fine, almost normal except that the lawn needed mowing.

“You'll need new keys for the locks.” Tori fished in her purse as they climbed out of the car. “Here you go. The square one's for the front door. There are spares inside.”

Natalie found the key on the ring Tori had given her. Her hand trembled as she thrust it into the dead bolt. How many times had she come home to this house wondering which version of Slade would be waiting for her inside—the sociable, good-humored man she'd married or the demanding, suspicious tyrant who'd follow her from room to room, railing at her and criticizing every move she made?

Now the house would be empty. But the memories would rush at her every time she opened the door. It would be a long time before she felt safe here.

The key turned in the lock and the door swung open to silence. The living room had been straightened, Slade's clutter of newspapers, gun magazines, and empty beer cans thrown out. A vase of fresh bluebonnets and daisies sat on the freshly polished coffee table.

“Thank you so much!” Turning, Natalie hugged her friend. “Not just for this but for everything! How am I ever going to pay you back?”

“You already have.” Tori returned the hug. “Now let me check the place out so you can relax, knowing you're safe. Then I'll have to run along. Erin will be getting home from school, and I've got clients coming.”

Tori gave each room a brief inspection, as if she expected Slade to lunge out of a closet or reach out from under the bed. She even checked the garage and tiptoed down the hall to open the door of the clinic and glance in. Natalie sensed that Tori was doing it for show, but she waited in the living room until her friend came back to report.

“All clear,” Tori announced. “Now get some rest. There's a quart of your favorite double fudge ice cream in the freezer. Find a big spoon, put your feet up, and forget about that hospital food you had to eat. That's an order!” She strode toward the door. “Lock yourself in. That's an order, too.”

Natalie sighed as her best friend drove away. Tori had been an angel, but she really could take care of herself. Was it her petite size that made people want to mother her? Or did she really appear that helpless?

The ice cream could wait. After three days of forced inactivity, she was ready to get some things done. She could start by cleaning up the mess in her clinic and making a list of what needed to be repaired or replaced.

Seizing a broom and a dustpan from the kitchen closet, she marched down the hall that connected the clinic with the rest of the house. A chill passed through her body as she reached for the doorknob. Natalie willed herself to ignore it. Tori had checked the clinic and pronounced it safe. And the sooner she entered the crime scene and owned it, the sooner she could heal and move ahead with her life.

Squaring her shoulders, she turned the knob, opened the door, and stepped into the familiar space. She gasped. The broom and dustpan clattered to the floor.

Her clinic was in perfect condition, as if nothing had happened.

N
atalie stared at the gleaming floor and counters, the furniture, equipment, and supplies. Was her head injury causing her to hallucinate? She'd left the place in ruins.

Only when a tall figure rose from the couch did everything fall into place.

“Welcome home, Natalie,” Beau said.

She gripped the door frame, blasted by a tempest of emotions—gratitude, yes, but surprisingly, the most overpowering of all was outrage. Why hadn't anyone understood that she needed to do this job herself, to work through the wreckage Slade had left behind, to prove that she could manage on her own?

Beau had taken that healing task away from her. Tori must have had a hand in it, too. He couldn't have done it without her cooperation.

Beau was watching her with a concerned expression. She realized she was shaking.

“How . . . could . . . you?” Each word was forced from her tight throat.

A wounded look flashed across his face. Then, as if the truth had dawned, he strode across the room and caught her close.

Natalie went rigid, her fists balling against his hard chest. She fought his strength, but his arms only tightened around her, confining her, confining the storm as he'd learned to do years ago when she was upset. Slowly the resistance ebbed. Still reluctant, she sagged against him, breathing in little broken gasps. She didn't want to take refuge in his arms. She didn't want to need him. But, heaven help her, she did.

His embrace had gentled. “Would you like me to wreck the place again so you can clean it up yourself?” he murmured against her hair.

“You could have asked me first,” she said.

“You would have said no.”

“I'll pay you back every cent this cost you.”

“It wasn't that much. By the time we picked everything up off the floor, there were only a few odds and ends that needed to be replaced.”

“Rimrock will get free vet care for the rest of my life.”

He moved his hands to her shoulders, shifting her away from him so he could look into her bruised face. “Let it go, Natalie. You've been through a hell of a time. Let the people who love you have the pleasure of helping.”

Had Beau just said he loved her?

But no, he hadn't meant it—not that way. And even if he had, how could she welcome his love when he would only break her heart again?

“You shouldn't be here,” she said.

“And you shouldn't be here alone,” he countered. “Do you have any idea how many women have been hurt or killed by men with restraining orders against them? I'm staying here tonight. And tomorrow I'm giving you a shooting lesson.”

She shook her head. “You're a target, too. If Slade comes snooping around and sees us together, it could push him over the edge. Go home. I'll be fine.”

His jaw tightened. “The only way I'm going home is if you come with me. Otherwise I'm staying. Your choice.”

“You don't own me, Beau. You have no right to just step in and take over my life.”

His hands tightened on her shoulders, almost hurting.

“Damn it, woman, can't you get this through your stubborn little head? I'm not trying to take over your life! I'm trying to save it!”

He stood like a hickory tree, rooted to the ground.

Natalie had seen this side of him in the past. Beau had made up his mind. He wasn't going to budge.

She sighed in defeat. “All right. There's a spare bed in the guest room. Where's your vehicle?”

“Locked in the garage with yours.” He released her and stepped away. Only then did she notice the heavy revolver holstered at his hip. “But I'll pass on the guest room,” he said. “It's too far out of the way. The living room sofa will work better. And I'll most likely stay awake. If Slade comes snooping around, I'll want him to know that I'm here and that I have a gun. Believe me, I'd rather scare him away than have him break in and be forced to shoot him.”

Natalie shivered at his words. Slade had done some awful things, but she didn't want him shot. She didn't want anybody shot, especially Beau. Why hadn't Beau stayed out of this mess? Why couldn't he have just walked away and left her to face her problems on her own?

Sighing in resignation, she turned back toward the hallway. “As long as you're staying, we might as well have some dinner,” she said. “I'll warm up Tori's lasagna and make a salad. There might even be a bottle of Pinot Noir in the cupboard. How does that sound to you?”

 

Beau sat on the sofa, leafing through the newspaper and listening to Natalie rummaging in the kitchen. He'd offered to help her, but she'd shooed him into the living room. She probably needed some time to herself.

He could get used to this—the sharing of intimate space with a beautiful, intelligent, courageous woman who dazzled him every time he looked at her. Even with the bruises shadowing the side of her face, she took his breath away, triggering the kind of domestic fantasies he'd never had with any other woman. If this were an ordinary evening, they might enjoy a pleasant dinner, clear away the meal, and maybe curl up on the sofa to snuggle and watch the news. When it was time, he would scoop her into his arms, carry her into the bedroom, and make tender, passionate love to her until they drifted off in each other's arms.

But this was no ordinary evening. Natalie had been brutalized, and she was still in danger. He was here to keep her safe. The last thing on her mind tonight would be romance.

Was there any chance of a future for them?

At the very least, she would need time to heal. And he would need a wellspring of patience. Rushing her into the kind of intense relationship he wanted could worsen the damage she'd already suffered.

 

Natalie raised her head to see the digital clock on the nightstand. Two-nineteen, and she'd been tossing most of the night. Maybe she'd gotten too much rest in the hospital. Or maybe she was just too tired to fall asleep.

Beau had insisted she go to bed early. At the last minute she'd decided to sleep in the guest room. The king-sized bed she'd shared with Slade held too many ghosts. Tomorrow she'd call some local charity to have the monstrosity picked up and hauled away.

So many changes. So many plans to make. Rolling onto her back, she stared at the darkened ceiling. It wasn't the idea of being on her own that troubled her. It was the ugliness of it all that gnawed at the pit of her stomach. And that ugliness was far from over.

The dark fog of sleep began to close around her. Her limbs grew heavy. Like an exhausted swimmer, Natalie sank into slumber.

What had she heard? The crunch of gravel? The shifting of a window screen? Instantly alert, she raised her head, catching a faint movement through the blinds. A hand sliding over the sill. A too-familiar face . . .

She screamed.

“Natalie! What is it?” Beau was there in an instant, his pistol drawn. Natalie blinked herself fully awake. Had it been real?

“The window. Someone was coming in. I saw his hand . . .” She was beginning to feel foolish.

Beau checked the window. “It's locked tight,” he said. “No one could've opened it without breaking the glass. I'll go outside and look around, just to be sure.”

“Please don't.” The last thing she wanted was for him to go out and expose himself to an ambush. “I'm sorry. I must've had a bad dream. Did I wake you?”

“No way. I learned to stay awake on watch and on drug stakeouts.” Turning on the bedside lamp, he scowled at her. “You're as pale as a ghost. Are you all right?”

“I'll be fine. But I don't know if I can go back to sleep.”

“Then come and keep me company.” Without asking permission, he bundled her in the quilt, lifted her in his arms, and carried her to the living room sofa. “How about some hot cocoa? I saw some packets of the instant stuff in your kitchen—the kind with marshmallows.”

“Actually that sounds wonderful.” She snuggled into the quilt. “There's a kettle on the stove. Clean cups in the dishwasher.”

“Coming up.” She heard him running water and rattling dishes. Minutes later he walked into the living room with two steaming mugs. “Remember how Bernice used to fix this for us when we were kids?”

“I remember. But I believe Bernice made it from scratch. And the marshmallows were the big puffy kind that would fill your whole mouth.”

She took one of the mugs, cradling it to warm her hands. The cocoa was hot, but not too hot to sip. They sat in comfortable silence, savoring the shared memory. The light from the kitchen filtered into the room, softening its darkness.

“How long before you have to go back to D.C.?” As soon as she asked, Natalie wished she hadn't.

“When I asked for an extended leave, I made it open-ended, so however long it takes for Will to get back to where he can run things.”

“You must be missing life in the city,” she guessed, remembering it was all he'd known for the last several years.

“Not really.” His mouth crooked in a lazy smile. “D.C. is all about appearances. As long as you shine on the surface, it doesn't matter how rotten you are underneath. That gets old after a while.”

“And Texas?” Natalie smiled back.

“It's the real deal here. If you're a badass in Texas, everybody knows it.”

Natalie laughed, reacting as much to the twinkle in his eyes as to his words. This was the old Beau, the one she remembered.

His smile faded as something serious entered his gaze. “Will has asked me to stay. Actually, it was more like an order than a request,” Beau corrected himself in a seeming attempt to make light of his statement. But the attempt couldn't disguise how closely he was watching for her reaction. “He thinks we should run the ranch together.”

“And?” She held her breath, hardly daring to hope that Beau might be here for good.

“Up till now, my answer has always been a flat no. Mostly because I knew I couldn't stand seeing you with . . . him.” A wealth of loathing was shoved into that single word. “Then Tori told me that you'd filed for divorce.”

“I have,” Natalie admitted. “But not because of you. You just turned out to be the catalyst that brought a lot of other issues to a head.”

Privately she wondered whether two such strong personalities as Beau and Will could get along. They were bound to have disagreements. Would Beau walk away in anger again? More importantly, could she handle it if he did?

Almost as if he read her thoughts, Beau said, “I know I haven't given you reason to trust me, but I'd like to find out if there can be an ‘us' again. I've lived for too many years with the regret of walking out of your life. Meeting women, measuring them against you, and finding them lacking—”

There was clearly more he intended to say, but she stopped him, placing her fingertips against his lips, moved by the humbleness in his voice. “I'm not a coward, Beau.” That was one thing she knew about herself; she had the strength to face tomorrow, whether he stayed or left. “If there's a chance for us—”

This time it was Natalie who was stopped from completing her sentence as he brushed her fingers away and cupped a hand behind her neck to pull her into his arm, his mouth claiming her lips in a devouring kiss.

His mouth tasted deliciously of chocolate and marshmallow. With a yearning whimper, she slid her arms around his neck, pulling his head down to her as the kiss deepened. Her tongue flicked along his lower lip, gliding in and out of his mouth in a teasing pantomime of what she needed. One hand fumbled his shirt buttons. He groaned but didn't try to stop her. She'd been through hell these past few days, and she was tired of holding everything back. She needed to break the dam. She needed Beau to make love to her.

Wiggling free of the quilt, she pushed it aside. She was naked beneath her short, loose-fitting nightshirt—something she made sure he was quick to discover.

“Dammit, Natalie, this isn't the time,” he muttered, but his hands had already found their way beneath the thin fabric. His work-roughened palms ranged over her bare skin, awakening a rush of the well-loved sensations she'd all but forgotten. Beau had been the first boy to stroke her breasts, the first to touch between her legs. Now the sweetness of it came back as if time had fallen away. There'd been no shame then. There was no shame now.

All eagerness, she reached down and tugged at his belt buckle. He caught her hand and gently lifted it to his lips. Only then did she remember the loaded revolver holstered at his belt and the real or imagined danger that lurked outside. Beau would not lower his guard. Not even to make love to her.

A murmur of disappointment rose from her throat. Lifting her chin with his thumb, he kissed her. “Take it easy, girl,” he whispered. “I've got this.”

Easing her back into the support of one arm, he slid his free hand between her thighs to her moisture-slicked folds. His fingertips separated the dripping petals to find the swollen, sensitive nub at their center.

“Oh . . . ,” she gasped.

He feathered her with a light stroke that sent heat whorls surging through her body. She arched to meet the delicious pressure, thrusting against his hand as his finger slid into her. He knew her so well, knew exactly how and where to touch her . . . it was as if time had disappeared. It was as if she were young and naive again, as if she loved him with all her soul and nothing could ever, ever happen to keep them apart.

As the wild sensations spiraled through her body, she felt herself spinning, soaring out of control to a shattering climax that left her limp and breathless.

With exquisite tenderness, he bent and kissed her. “To be continued,” he whispered.

Without another word, he scooped her up with the quilt, rose, and carried her back to the guest room. Lowering her to the bed, he tucked her in and bent to brush a kiss across her mouth. “Get some sleep,” he said. “I'll wake you early.”