The Love of a Lawman, The Callister Trilogy, Book 3 (20 page)

"My mom and dad didn't like him coming around," she said, "so he would park down on the county road after dark and come up on foot. I'd crawl out my bedroom window and meet him here."

John chuckled, whipping the loop loose and pulling it back to him. "Gettin' it on in the haymow, huh?"

She heard cynicism in the question and felt her cheeks flame. Indeed, she had given up her virginity not too many feet from where she now sat. "You know how it is with kids. Gotta experiment."

He threw the loop again and she felt the movement of his thigh muscle against hers. This time he hooked a pitchfork handle. "It was always just Billy, wasn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"In high school you never looked at any of us. Me and my buddies had it figured out that Billy was in your pants."

She gasped, insulted and irritated. "That's all men think about, isn't it?"

"At that age, pretty much."

Who was she kidding, being coy or embarrassed over sex? They had just had a conversation about horse sex and she had been an animal breeder for over ten years. She had washed horse penises in the presence of men dozens of times. Still, trading sexy talk with a man who made her pulse race was an unnerving matter. She sniggered and leaned back, braced on her hands. "Didn't you ever make out in the barn?"

His eyes glinted with mischief. "I would've if I'd ever got the chance. I never got any girls to go into the barn with me."

He slid off the hay bale, walked over to the pitchfork and loosened the rope from around the handle, then came back, winding the lariat into a big loop. He hung it in its place on the stall gatepost, turned to her and traced a line with his forefinger along the top of her thigh, ending the trail with a hand on her knee. On a held breath she glanced down at his hand but didn't move her leg.

"So what happens to Isabelle," he asked, "now that her mate's flown the coop?"

The use of "mate" as opposed to "husband" made her wince inside and she didn't know why because it was no secret that she and Billy had never married. She looked away and swept back a sheaf of unruly curls. "She gets along just fine. And she depends on no one except the one person who's dependable."

"Won't work, at least not permanently," John said. "Sooner or later everybody needs somebody."

He took back his hand and hitched himself back onto the hay bale, so close their upper arms touched. They were quiet then, until the silence grew uncomfortable. She didn't want him to think he had sent her into a pout, so she sat up and opened another conversation. "Did you and your wife split before or after you quit rodeoing?"

"Before. I roped another year or so after the divorce, but I didn't have much juice for it. I was broke most of the time. Hurt my knee and had doctor bills. Had a sick horse and vet bills. On top of that, with Dad calling me irresponsible every time we talked, following rodeos got to where it quit making sense."

He cupped his hands around the edge of the hay bale and hunkered forward, poised like he might cut and run any minute. "That's partly a lie, Isabelle," he said at last, looking across the barn at the hay bale. "I drank too much. Couldn't keep my shit together. If you want to be a champion at anything, you gotta eat, breathe and live it. I'm sure you know that. I couldn't do it waking up hungover every day. Or singing the blues and chasing women in bars."

Ah, confession time.
The effort he made to be honest touched her. She had lived her childhood in the household of a man who drank too much. Then for more than half the seventeen years she and Billy had been together,
he
drank too much. She couldn't imagine the John Bradshaw she had come to know with a drinking problem. "Are you an alcoholic?"

"I don't think so. But liquor was a damn tempting direction, so I cut it out."

"Someone told me your wife cheated."

He gave her a hard look and she wished she hadn't made the remark. She opened her palms, making peace. "I'm not judging. Callister grapevine. You know how it is."

"That's the first time I ever heard Callister gossip that made
me
look good." He combed his fingers through his hair and stared down at his knees. "I'm not sure Julie cheated any more than I did. While we were married, I didn't have other women, but I had another life she wanted no part of."

"Rodeoing."

He nodded.

"But you've been performing in rodeos since you were a little boy. She must have known it was in your blood."

"I think she believed, or hoped, I'd grow out of it, but I couldn't. I thought I had a shot at hitting the big time. As many years as I'd worked for it, I wasn't ready to give up. Every year I got a little closer, climbed in the standings, won a little more money, but—" He stopped on a sigh. "My dad thinks it would've solved all the problems if I'd got a regular job like she wanted."

Isabelle didn't buy it. She would have stuck by Billy forever, no matter what harebrained dream might have driven him, including following rodeos all over the country if that was what he had wanted. "You're sorry you didn't quit sooner?"

"Nah, not really. Far as the marriage went, even if I'd quit roping, all I would've been doing was postponing the inevitable. Julie and I never should've got married in the first place. If she hadn't been pregnant, we wouldn't have."

"If she'd loved you, she would've supported you. She would've been your partner."

His gaze swung to her face. "Is that what you'd do? Be my partner?"

"That's what I did do. For seventeen years." She looked into his solemn eyes, their faces only inches apart. "I've got a good dry shoulder. You can tell me about it. If you want to."

"No." He leaned toward her. "This is what I want." His hand came up to her jaw and tilted her face up to his and his lips settled on hers.

It was a safe kiss—sweet and earnest, with no pressure. She sat there without moving, letting him caress her lips with his and listening to every sound. She could make herself crazy attempting to analyze what was happening between them, so she threw caution to the wind, turned in to him, slid her hand around his nape and opened her mouth.

He came in, taking what he wanted in a slow dance of tongues. A feeling of the rightness of his mouth on hers stole through her. The barn spun around her as rational thought left her head. The hand that had cradled her face slid down, then closed over her breast. So much time had passed since she had felt a man's hand on her breast and she gave no thought to moving it. Her nipple beneath his palm tightened, pushing against the soft lace of her bra, and the next thing she knew, his hand was under her sweater and his fingers were stroking. A long-missed urgency rose from deep in her belly.

He lifted his mouth from hers. "Oh, shit," he whispered.

She had lain awake nights imagining his touch. She didn't hesitate reaching back under her sweater and releasing her bra hooks. Her bare breast filled his hand. She put space between them to give him access and at the same time, undid his shirt buttons. She collided with a T-shirt, which she pulled free of his belt. She pushed it up, exposing his hairy, rippled middle and his brown nipples. She ducked her head and licked, heard and felt a little grunt escape his chest, felt his hands burrow into her hair. She returned her mouth to his and pressed her bare breasts against his chest, loving the soft keening sound that came from deep in his throat.

"Goddamn," he said gruffly. "You know how long it's been?"

It wasn't a question that required an answer. They kissed more, hands clinging and chests rubbing. He eased her back onto the hay bale, pillowing her neck on his arm, and pushed up her sweater until it and her bra were gathered under her chin. Her nipples stood like stiff little peaks in the cool air and she could feel his eyes, his breath, on her breasts. He bent his head then and made a circle of one nipple with his tongue, setting off a tingling between her legs, making her feel hot and liquid and anxious. His hand slid down to the affected place. As she cocked one leg and dug her boot heel into the hay, she wondered if he could tell she was wet.

He thoroughly made love to her one breast, then moved to the other, all the while rubbing between her thighs. She ran her hands over his silky hair, drank in the smell of him up close. His gorgeous agile mouth trailed down her middle until it reached her navel. "You've got an inny," he murmured and blew softly.

A little shiver passed over her. His tongue dipped and as she arched her back, she thought of the school bus. "John," she managed, "what time is it?"

"Hmm?"

His fingers curled into the waistband of her jeans and tugged them down. He licked her belly and muscles up inside her flexed. "John, what time is it?"

He unhooked her belt buckle and unbuttoned her jeans. "I dunno. Does it matter?"

"Look at your watch. Please. Ava—"

He stopped. "Shit." He raised his wrist and frowned at his watch. "Three-forty-five."

She swallowed, feeling her swollen tongue and lips, and sat up. "The school bus gets here at four."

He closed his eyes and covered the bulge below his belt buckle with his hand. "Aw, Jesus—"

"I'm sorry. I didn't think—"

"It's okay," he said, shaky-voiced. "I didn't either." He slid off the hay bale and pulled down his T-shirt, then turned and tugged her to her feet.

She struggled to untangle her bra and her sweater, finally succeeded.

"Here, let me help you." He hooked her bra with trembling fingers. While she molded her breasts into the cups, he pulled down her sweater and squeezed her shoulders. "I'm gonna go."

A panic darted through her. "John, I—"

"It's best that I go." He picked up his hat and plopped it on. He looked rumpled and sexy with the tails of his white T-shirt and his outer shirt hanging loose. "I'll see you."

He walked out of the barn and left her.

* * *

John was in trouble. His brain had ceased to reside under his hat and dropped down to his shorts. He had violated Cardinal Rule #1: Don't get involved in Callister. Though he liked sex and he liked it hot and primitive, holding women, especially local women, at arm's length was a self-imposed discipline after too many misunderstood motives. If a guy didn't keep his libido under control, the next thing he knew, some cute little number with whom he'd had a helluva good time in bed would be talking about commitment and crashing into his horse trailer.

Commitment and Izzy. The combination in one sentence wasn't as jarring as he might have thought a few days or even a few hours ago.

He crept back to town, letting his blood cool. His cock felt like a rail spike. He had to force himself to stop remembering the softness of female flesh in his hands, nipples that grew firm at his touch and tasted like honey in his mouth.

It wasn't just the kiss in the barn that had sent him over the moon. The whole day had been perfect. Horseback in the mountains and the sunshine in the company of someone with whom he couldn't list all that he had in common. Then, sitting there on that haystack staring at lips that would tempt a preacher and feeling the chemistry boiling between them, he had gone crazy for a few minutes.

To his astonishment, she had been willing. God, had she been willing. She had nearly swallowed him alive. And she had been ready, too. Everything he had dreamed of as a fifteen-year-old had been his for the taking. When he felt the dampness between her legs all he could think of was tearing off their clothes. They would have gone at it right there on the hay bales if it hadn't been for that cussed school bus.

Now he didn't know what to do, didn't know if he could, or should, ever go back to Izzy's house again. After he made such a quick exit, she had to be pissed off, but at the time all he could think of was getting out of there and gathering himself.

At his apartment, he checked his messages. Rooster had called and said they had a prisoner in jail, a speeder on whom he had discovered a hot warrant out of eastern Idaho. Two deputies from Idaho Falls would show up tomorrow to make the pickup.

The sheriff's office business yanked him back on track. If he got through tomorrow without making a total fool of himself in the presence of experienced lawmen, all he had to worry about was what he would do Thursday when he was expected to show up out at Izzy's house again and behave as if they had not practically knocked off a piece in the barn.

Callister County had no jailer other than the sheriff and his deputy. Prisoners were no longer boarded for more than a short stay. The commissioners had realized that the cost and risk in the outdated jail were too great. Consequently, a prisoner slated for a stay overnight meant that either John or Rooster would have to spend the night at the courthouse in the tiny bedroom set up down the hall from the sheriff's office. Since Rooster had been in the office all day, it was only fair that John spend the night. He called the deputy back and made an arrangement to relieve him at eight o'clock.

At least tomorrow would be a busy day. Thank God. Maybe he wouldn't have time to think about crawling between Isabelle Rondeau's thighs.

* * *

Isabelle fumbled her way through supper—a new flavor of Hamburger Helper. Ava read her the directions for preparation. She would have never found the concentration to read them herself. It wasn't that she
couldn't
read, but to do it was tedious and slow. The dish turned out a little salty but edible. After supper she and Ava read the latest
Performance Horse
and discussed an ad for a new type of boot to protect a horse's feet and ankles. What a blessing to have a child who could read better than most adults. Or to have a child like Ava, period.