The Love of a Lawman, The Callister Trilogy, Book 3 (25 page)

At midnight he was still awake, lying in his dark bedroom, wondering where the hell she was at nine thirty at night, especially with a little kid who needed to get a good night's sleep to be ready for school tomorrow.

The morning he had spent in her bed haunted him. Sex had never, ever been better, but that wasn't even the best part of making love with her. He sensed a bond he hadn't felt with another woman, including the mother of his children. With his ex-wife, a longing to be with her again the minute they parted hadn't been present. Was it possible the connection to Izzy he had felt as an immature teenager had been something cosmic, like his instincts telling him she was the woman meant for him?

Nah. Couldn't be. He didn't believe in a bunch of mystical nonsense. He and Izzy didn't even really know each other. What he felt had to be lust, nothing more. He had gone without for a long time. Didn't he have a right to be horny?

Friday started slow, but Dana reminded him that Rocky Mountain Electric was slated to play at the Rusty Spur Saloon both Friday and Saturday nights. And a leg of a darts tournament was scheduled at the Tall Timbers Tavern.

John groaned and swore. Rocky Mountain Electric was a wild and popular country-rock band and dart players had an enormous loyalty to the tournaments that occurred in bars and taverns around the area. Anywhere from a hundred to five hundred strangers could show up to drink, dance and throw darts in Callister. No way would he find the opportunity to sneak out to Izzy's after work.

John called her and explained his schedule, then talked her into meeting him at his apartment for lunch. She was reluctant, fearing someone would see her pickup at his place, but he bribed her with hamburgers he intended to buy at Betty's Road Kill. As soon as she walked into his apartment, they began undressing each other. Everything after that, from the black lacy bra and bikini panties she had on under her sweater and jeans to her clawing orgasm while she straddled him and he was buried all the way up to her heart, was X-rated.

After they gorged on each other, they sat up in bed and ate the carryout hamburgers. "I tried to call you last night," he told her between bites, feigning casualness. "Until nine thirty." He hated himself for sounding like a possessive prick.

"Ava had a thing at school," she said, "and we had tea with some of the teachers afterward. Well, really it was Kool-Aid. It was fun. I haven't done many things with her at school."

He was pleased with himself how he finessed that information without appearing overbearing. He felt better knowing where she had been, but now, instead of worrying about her whereabouts, he worried about what spell she had cast on him. Mind-blowing sex had softened his brain.

Through Friday night and Saturday, exerting epic self-discipline, he did his duty to the county, satisfying himself with phone calls instead of visits to Izzy. He manned the office all day Saturday, which gave Rooster the weekend off. Saturday night he patrolled the unruly crowds congregated in Callister's three bars, making his badge and himself obvious as well as available in case of trouble.

Not one fight occurred and he saw no incident grievous enough to warrant an arrest. He attributed the peace and harmony to the fact that he had no enemies of whom he was aware and most people in the area knew him, as either a hometown boy or a prizewinning rodeoer. Never mind that the latter no longer applied.

He usually held the sheriff's office alone on Sunday afternoon so Rooster could spend Sunday with his family. In the silence of the empty courthouse, John labored over a work schedule.

Since he had been sheriff, he and Rooster hadn't maintained a strict calendar. He kept the office open to the public from nine a.m. to midnight. The budget allowed for a part-time deputy. An ex-deputy retired from a California sheriff's department was available to do the job, but John had rarely called on him. When John first came back to Callister, if he'd had an abundance of anything, it was time. Consequently, he provided seven-days-a-week coverage of the sheriff's office himself. The schedule kept his mind too busy to think about his messy life and his lost kids and his doing double duty saved the county a little money.

He saw the necessity for the schedule to change now that he planned to take an occasional day off and spend time with Izzy and her horses.

Before he left the office Sunday, he called her and she told him she would be waiting for him tomorrow morning after Ava left for school. And he was there, stripping off his clothes, as soon as the school bus departed.

Lost in each other under her warm quilt, she was as shocked as he when they heard footsteps in the kitchen. Neither of them had heard a vehicle's engine.

A male voice called out, "Izzy?"

Her breath caught. "Oh, God, it's Paul."

She vaulted from the bed and grabbed a robe from the back of the only chair in the bedroom. "Stay here," she said, but as soon as she left the room John got to his feet and pulled on his boxers. He felt like a chickenshit, hiding out in the bedroom, but she obviously didn't want her brother to know she had a guest.

"Where's John?" the male voice asked. "I seen his truck, but I didn't spot him with the horses."

"Want some coffee?" Izzy's voice. It sounded unsteady. John heard the clatter of dishes.

"What're you doing in your bathrobe?" Her brother again.

"I, uh, don't feel well. I was up during the night, so I grabbed some extra sleep."

A pause. "What're you up to, Izzy?"

Uh-oh. Suspicion in Paul's tone.

A visual of Izzy's clothing they had left on the kitchen floor, including her panties, popped into John's head along with a twinge of concern.

"What, I can't have a down day?" she said.

Another pause. "If I went into your bedroom, I bet I'd find John Bradshaw. And I might even find him with no clothes on."

A longer pause. No doubt Paul had seen the clothing. John puffed his cheeks, blew out a breath and paced in front of the dresser. He picked up a framed photograph of Izzy and her brother as children and studied it, trying to blank the kitchen scene from his mind.

"So what?" Izzy finally asked.

"Jee-zus Christ, Isabelle. I'll tell you this for fuckin' sure. A Rondeau can't be playing hide-the-weenie with a Bradshaw. What'll people say?"

"It's no one's business, Paul. And who're you to suddenly care about what people say?"

"This is the shits, Izzy. I hope you don't believe he thinks you're as good as he is. He's using you."

"Shut up, Paul. It's none of your business. If you can't be civil, just get out of here."

Clomping footsteps. Back door opening.
"I'm going. Just see if he still wants to fuck you when he finds out you can't even read and write."

John's fists clenched.

"Paul! Get out of here!"

The door slammed. A minute later John heard an engine. Izzy came back into the bedroom carrying the sweat clothes and panties. "Needless to say, I wasn't expecting him today. He's supposed to be in Boise trying to put his marriage back together."

"Damn, Isabelle, I'm sorry—"

"Oh, to hell with it." She opened dresser drawers, pulled out clothing. "I appreciate you not coming out there, though. Paul can be—well, anyway, I appreciate you staying in here."

She turned to him and slid her arms around his waist. "I'm the one who's sorry. He has to tell only one person about this and it'll spread like a forest fire."

John pulled the tie at her waist loose and slid his hands beneath her robe, clutched her bottom and pulled her close. "I don't like causing you trouble." She looked up at him with those eyes that melted his bones. "What he said isn't true, Isabelle. I'm not using you. I wouldn't hurt you for anything."

"The talk will do you more harm than it will me, John. All I'm doing is living out here in the boondocks taking care of my horses and minding my own business. It doesn't matter what anyone says about me. You're the one who needs to maintain a squeaky-clean reputation."

Reputation.
All at once John remembered that since he had put on the sheriff's badge, his public image had been a priority. At this moment, the pomposity of it felt silly. "I'm not worried." He bent his head and kissed her. "It's not like I asked anybody for this sheriff job. They came to me.... And when I took it on, nobody said I couldn't have a life."

A mysterious little smile quirked the corners of her mouth. Her eyes held a teasing glint. "I just remembered something about you from high school. Something endearing." She raised to her tiptoes and brushed his lips with hers. "You were always high-minded and... well, naive."

"What Paul said about reading and—"

She skirted away from him. "I'm taking a shower. Then I'll fix lunch." She headed for the bathroom. At the doorway she stopped, dropped her robe and threw him a come-hither look. "I dare you to join me."

Blood rushed to his groin. Again. Nothing could distract that demon in his shorts from a dare like that.

They made love in the shower and the tension washed away. So did the conversation John meant to have with her.

Just see if he still wants to fuck you when he finds out you can't even read and write.

By the time they finished and dried each other, they were able to laugh about the hypocrisy of Paul's indignation.

Since John hadn't ridden the horses, he told her he would come back tomorrow morning.

"There's no need," she replied. "I can get it done before Ava gets home from school."

"That's not the deal we made. I'll be back," he said and kissed her.

* * *

Just see if he still wants to fuck you when he finds out you can't even read and write.
The words ran through Isabelle's mind as she watched John make a left turn onto the county road.

At some point in the near future she would have to explain dyslexia to John. Though she lived with the handicap daily, hourly, she had never learned how to get past feeling pain and embarrassment. The affliction had colored her previous life in Callister, making her the butt of cruel jokes. That, and her hair, her father. Her brother. Now it threatened to do it all over again. The very thought of dealing with the jokes and the "dumb as a rock" remarks almost nauseated her.

John hadn't been gone ten minutes before Paul came into the kitchen, which made Isabelle wonder if he had been parked somewhere watching for the county Blazer to leave. His heavy work boots thudded through the mudroom, into the kitchen.

Not wanting to quarrel with him or drive him away, she smiled. "Hi. I'm glad you came back." She gestured at the tomatoes, lettuce and packages of ham and cheese from which she had made lunch for her and John. "How about a sandwich?"

Her brother didn't return her smile as he came to the counter. He hadn't shaved and he reeked of stale alcohol.

"I guess so. I didn't mean to butt in on you." He hung his head and stared at the floor.

Isabelle's heart ached at his palpable neediness. Now that Sherry and his kids were gone, she was the only caring human contact he had. She hooked her arm with his. "I know. I didn't mean to jump on you, either. I was just surprised." She gave a nervous titter. "And a little embarrassed." She released him and took out bread slices to make him a sandwich. "I meant what I said, though, Paul, about it being no one's business."

He lifted a shoulder. "What you do's up to you. I just think it's dumb. If you gotta fuck around, there's men on our level."

She huffed and rolled her eyes as she dipped mayonnaise from the jar and spread it on the bread slices. She hadn't yet reaccustomed herself to Callister's provincialism. With her brother's lack of education and his only ventures out of Callister County being to work in remote forests, his narrow thinking was to be expected. "And what's our level?"

He lifted his chin and looked her in the eye, his yeasty breath nearly forcing her to back away. "Well, it ain't up there with one o' these snooty ranchers."

"What's any member of the Bradshaw family ever done to you? And they're not snooty." She positioned tomato slices and lettuce on top of ham and cheese slices on the bread. "When we were growing up Mom and John's mother were friends. The Bradshaws are good people."

"But he won't ever care about you, Izzy. He won't take up for you. He'll treat you worse than Billy did. Our old man dying drunk in an alley'll always be in his mind."

Despite John's talk about being attracted to her as a teenager, Isabelle feared Paul could be right. And she had to admit Rita Mitchell looked to be more on his social level. "I don't need anyone to take up for me. I take care of myself."

She lifted a plate from the cupboard, placed the sandwich and potato chips on it and handed it to her brother. "Please, Paul. I want you to leave it alone and don't gossip with Merle or in the bars about finding John—" She halted. She had almost said, "in my bed" but couldn't make herself utter the words. "—here," she finished.

Her brother snorted, took the plate and sauntered to the table. "Everybody already knows he's out here fooling with your horses. It don't take somebody smart to figure out he's fooling with you, too."

Precisely what she didn't want. What had she been thinking, not stopping John or herself before they reached her bedroom?