Deep in the Heart (10 page)

Furnished in early garage sale right down to an old faded braided rug, everything—oddly enough—still matched. The curtains at the windows were clean and white. The slipcovers on the old sofa were dark green with a small burgundy stripe. Matching burgundy throw pillows littered the couch as well as the single easy chair covered in plain but coordinating greens.

Off to the right of the sitting room, Montgomery saw the edge of a table and chair, and heard the hum of an old refrigerator motor. That was obviously the kitchen.

He entered, motioning for the sheriff to follow, and walked to his left toward the only closed door. It opened a few inches and he had to shove his shoulder against it to push it the rest of the way open.

“Sticks a bit.” He entered the nondescript bedroom and tossed his bag onto the bed. He gave the single bath a halfhearted glance as he walked back out of the room. “It’ll do just fine, Sheriff. Thanks for the tip.”

John Thomas nodded, pleased that the young man hadn’t voiced a single complaint about the apartment. He certainly looked as if he’d never roughed it.

“How about a lift back to the station to pick up your car?” John Thomas asked. “You can use the rest of the day to settle in, pick up some groceries, and familiarize yourself with the streets in Rusk, as well as the surrounding area. Our work involves the rural areas outside the jurisdiction of city government, but you still need to know your way around.”

Montgomery grinned and shoved his wide-brimmed hat a little firmer down upon his forehead.

“Just point me in the general direction of the nearest eating place and I’ll be happy. As a single man, I’m not much of a cook.”

“Places to eat are all over,” John Thomas answered.

“And as for being single, if you play the field too wild and fast, don’t blame me if someone’s daddy takes a shotgun to your behind. And if you mess around with someone’s wife, I’ll be right behind her husband with the tar and feathers. Do we understand each other?”

Then he was surprised by the strange, almost lost expression that crossed Monty’s face.

“I have no desire to chase around, and I don’t cross lines,” he said. “Neither legal nor moral.”

A single look passed between the men, and when it had come and gone, both seemed satisfied with what they had seen in each other.

“Good enough,” John Thomas said. “After I drop you off to pick up your car, I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ve got to get home and check on a female.” He said it in jest to hide the truth of what he felt.

John Thomas started out the door with his deputy close behind. His boot was on the top step and he was about to descend the porch when Montgomery Turner’s question stopped him in midmotion.

“Is she your wife, sir?”

John Thomas pivoted. Old anger surfaced at how she could have been—if she’d been true. It made his answer shorter than he would have liked. “I thought I told you to can the ‘sir’ business.”

Monty nodded. “What’s her name?”

“Her name is Sam. She’s in trouble. I’m sort of babysitting.”

Monty’s eyes narrowed as he nodded.

“We grew up together,” John Thomas added.
We made promises and we made love.
And then he thought about why he’d gone so far out of his way when her letter had arrived. If he was so angry with her, why had he bothered? The only thing he could come up with was that the promises they’d made had kept better than the love.

Montgomery watched his boss’s back stiffen, and saw the way his shoulders straightened as his long legs quickly covered the distance to the squad car. He took the steps down two at a time and slid into the passenger seat just as John Thomas shoved the car into gear.

He must have said something that made the sheriff mad.

6

J
OHN
T
HOMAS PULLED
into the driveway at home and parked. His heartbeat accelerated as Samantha opened the door and stepped out onto the porch with a smile on her face that made him hasten his exit from the truck.

For a second, he almost opened his arms, ready to give her a welcome of his own. But he caught himself just in time.

Damn you, Sam. Damn you for making me want you all over again.

Rebel bounded past her out of the house and came off the porch, his tail wagging and his tongue lolling out of his mouth, begging for the scratch behind his left ear and the firm thump of his master’s hand along the back of his head.

“You’d better say hello,” Samantha said, pointing to Rebel’s antsy wiggle in front of John Thomas’s legs as he walked toward the house. “He’s been lying by the door for nearly an hour listening for the sound of your truck. I think he’s in love.”

Oh hell, darlin’,
John Thomas thought, looking absently down at the dog at his feet,
of course he is. Neither one of us has a lick of good sense left. Not since you came into our lives.

“Are you sure it’s me he’s in love with?” he asked, relishing the blush that spread across her face.

He tugged gently on the dog’s ear and then thumped the ridge of backbone on his hairy back just hard enough to make the dust poof.

Rebel flopped down into the dirt beside the porch and began scratching his belly just as John Thomas stepped over him and up onto the steps.

Unable to resist needling her a little, John Thomas cocked an eyebrow at Rebel, then back at Samantha and teased.

“Got an itch you need scratched?”

He slid his arm around Samantha’s waist and aimed his lips toward the vicinity of her cheek, knowing she was going to rebuff him. He was right.

She punched him lightly in the belly, and sidestepped the invitation she saw in those warm, brown eyes.

“You are insufferable,” she muttered, and pointed toward the open door. “Supper is waiting.”

“So am I,” he said, and stood his ground, staring down into the slightly shocked expression on her face, and the wide, nearly blank look in those clear blue eyes.

A long, silent moment passed, and finally Samantha knew that he wouldn’t move until she answered.

“For what?” she asked, unable to break the spell of his look.

“For my answer, Samantha Jean. Do you?”

“Do I what?” she muttered, and started to look away when he grabbed her chin with his thumb and forefinger and gently tilted her face back toward his gaze. She sighed and stared him in the eyes, almost daring him to continue. He did.

“Do you have an itch you want scratched, or maybe you’re just in need of a hug?”

The tone of his voice was teasing, but the look in his eyes was not. Samantha shivered.

“I guess I could stand a hug,” she muttered, knowing full well she would get that and more if she’d give him half a chance.

“But only a hug, Johnny,” she added in warning.

His smile was lopsided and promised nothing. He opened his arms and waited.

She sighed and walked into them, relishing the instant feeling of safety and warmth, and the knowledge that with this man, she would never be lonely again. And yet, knowing all of this, she couldn’t forget their past and the fact that he’d loved her and left her once. It could happen just as easily again.

“Welcome home, Johnny. I missed you,” she said softly, and pressed her nose and lips against his shirt, loving the feel of his heartbeat beneath her cheek and the way his arms wrapped around her, aligning her so perfectly against him that she knew moving away would hurt.

“Thank you, Sam. It’s nice to know I was missed. What’s for dinner?”

He let her go and walked past her into the house, unable to look at the shock on her face. He hadn’t meant to be so abrupt, but when he’d felt her body against his, it had been all he could do not to lift her off her feet and carry her to his bed, strip her naked, and bury himself so far inside her that he’d lose his way out.

Samantha staggered once and grasped the porch post to steady herself as she watched him open the screen to go inside. What had gotten into him? she wondered.

And then she remembered his hug and the near-desperate manner in which he’d held her, and decided she’d be better off ignoring the answer to her own question. She had a feeling she knew.

“Chicken,” she answered, as she started to follow him into the house.

At her remark, John Thomas turned short and stood stone-faced, watching the blush on her face spread even farther across her body as it slid out of sight beneath the collar of her shirt.

“I hope you’re telling me what you cooked, and not calling me names, darlin’, ’cause I need to remind you, just in case you forgot, that I always take dares.”

“Oh God,” Samantha whispered, and took a step backward. “It is—I mean, I am…I mean…”

She spluttered helplessly a few more times before she could come to her senses. When she did, she pushed past him in anger.

“Dammit, Johnny! Don’t do that! Don’t make me any crazier than I already am.” She stomped past him on her way into the kitchen. “I fried chicken. You can either eat it or wear it.”

His fingers curled into fists as he repressed the need to reach out and grab her as she moved past him. Then he had to grin at the angry sway of her backside as she disappeared into the kitchen.

“I can’t wait to sink my teeth,” he said just loud enough for her to hear.

He heard her stumble and then heard her curse. “I’ll just go wash up,” he called out, for the moment unable to face the look he knew she must be wearing.

And then he laughed aloud as she called out down the hallway, unable to resist having the last word.

“Don’t forget your mouth,” she said.

His suitcase was empty. Montgomery Turner hung his last pair of pants in the narrow closet of the apartment and closed the door, then stepped back, listening to the rattle and hum of the window unit air conditioner in the next room, and knew that at least he would sleep cool.

He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, staring at the meager contents before slamming it shut again. He’d shopped. But he couldn’t cook worth a damn, and wasn’t in the mood for cornflakes and milk. Not tonight.

He had already checked out the assorted dining facilities in Rusk. They looked good and the choice was varied. He knew he could more or less have his pick of any sort of food he desired, but tonight he wanted something more than going into a strange establishment and eating alone. He wanted atmosphere.

Remembering that the sheriff lived just outside of Cotton, and knowing that it was a long time until sunset, he decided to scout the territory in that direction and see where it and his stomach led him.

It didn’t take long to drive out of town, and it took only a few minutes more before the rooftop of an obviously busy truck stop café just outside of Cotton came into view. He knew from experience that a truck stop often produced the best food and the nearest to home cooking that a man could find.

But Montgomery had a sudden longing for more than food. He wanted to feel like he belonged. He was tired of being on the outside looking in. And the hell his life had been in over the past few months was beginning to wear his patience thin.

Without further consideration, he wheeled into the truck stop and parked between a purple and chrome eighteen-wheeler and a pickup truck pulling an empty cattle trailer.

An odor of drying cattle manure blended harshly with the faint scent of diesel. Wrinkling his nose with disgust, he made a beeline for the entrance. The smell of hot grease, cigarette smoke, and cool air met him at the door. It should have been as unappealing as what he’d left behind him, but for some strange reason it was not.

Friendly faces looked up and then back down at the plates in front of them. Truckers nodded without missing a chew and a waitress wiggled by, winking at him and ogling his uniform and wide-brimmed Stetson as she deftly balanced four steaming plates of food bound for the table by the door.

Montgomery grinned and touched the brim of his hat with a forefinger. He had a feeling this was the kind of place a man could lose himself in and still not feel one bit lonely. This was the atmosphere he’d been needing.

“Sit yourself, honey,” a well-used, but shapely blond woman muttered, as she hurried by with a full pot of coffee. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Montgomery sat himself as ordered, and waited. He didn’t wait long. The woman was as good as her word.

“Hey there,” she said, as she came to an abrupt halt at his table, slapped a menu in front of him, a glass of water and eating utensils wrapped in a paper napkin near his left hand. “I’m Marylee. You must be the new deputy John Thomas was waiting for. Heard you were in town. Chicken fry is good, pork chops are better. You have a choice of two vegetables besides the fries. The list is on the menu. What’s your name, honey, and what do you want to drink?”

“Call me Monty, and iced tea.”

Marylee grinned. “Back with your tea in a jiff, Monty.”

He leaned back in his seat and smiled. Now he knew where to go if he was lonesome. The food might not be so great, but the ambiance was downright welcoming. That and Marylee. Together they made a man feel good all over.

He was right in the middle of chewing his second pork chop when a commotion outside overrode the dull roar of conversation inside, even through the thick outer door of the café.

“No! No! You can’t do this to me!” a woman screamed.

Monty sat spellbound, as did the other customers of Marylee’s Truck Stop Café, and listened to the drama unfolding outside.

“Damn you, Tony! You promised!”

Silence answered her fervent pleas, and then a familiar sound of a big eighteen-wheeler firing up and jerking as the driver slammed it in gear drowned out the rest of the woman’s tirade.

The customers sat as one and listened for the next bit of dialogue to continue. But there were no more shouts and screams, just a slender, blond woman dressed in slacks and a tank top who came through the door sobbing and sniffing, oblivious to her gaping audience. She dropped a small duffle bag just inside the entrance and began brushing at the streaks of dust on her clothes as she struggled with hysteria.

Montgomery wasn’t the only customer who stopped in midchew and stared, although he felt guilty for having done so as the woman looked up and noticed the entire assembly watching her. She bit her lip, took a deep breath, and then began talking and pointing out through the window through thick, choking sobs.