Kiss and Tell (8 page)

The air was smoky and the lights were dim, and other than a promotional picture of Clint Black that had recently been tacked up on the rough-hewn walls, Leila didn’t think the bar had changed one bit since she was last there, four years before. It was not that the tiny roadhouse wasn’t clean, because it was. The place had an obviously well-cared-for appearance. Yet it held a sense of timelessness. When she opened the door and walked inside, it could’ve been 1985. Or 1975. Or even 1955. Only the songs playing on the jukebox were different.

Leila leaned on the rail that separated the dance floor from the rest of the bar. Frankie was next to her, and Marsh and Simon were nearby. She could see Liam Halliday, across the room, sitting alone at the long, worn, wooden bar.

Even from the back, the sheriff of Sunrise Key was good-looking. His hair was thick and dark and it curled over the collar of his blue chambray shirt. He was resting his elbows against the bar, and that pulled the fabric of his shirt tightly across his broad shoulders and muscular back. The shirt was tucked neatly into a snug-fitting pair of jeans so faded they were almost white. He wore cowboy boots. Leila could see the chains of his boot bracelets gleaming in the darkness.

“How well do you know him?” Leila asked Frankie. “Could you introduce us?”

“Well, yeah. But that might not be such a good idea. He’s not my biggest fan these days. He’s a little annoyed that I’ve got my PI license. He thinks all I really want to do is dress up like Humphrey Bogart in
The Maltese Falcon
and play pretend.”

Leila glanced at Simon who at least had the good grace to look uncomfortable. He’d said nearly the exact same thing about Frankie’s PI license.

“That’s why he gave me that job digging through the dumpster,” Frankie continued. “He thought I’d turn it down. Well, I didn’t, and now he’s madder than ever.”

Simon cleared his throat. “I don’t know Halliday that well, but I can introduce you to him, if you really want, Lei.”

Leila made a face. “No, that would be too weird. What would you say? ‘Hi, meet my sister, she wants to kiss you?’”

“That wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“The bar stool next to the sheriff’s is empty,” Frankie said. “Go sit down next to him, order a beer, and see what happens. You’ve got to do
something.
”

“You might consider telling him the truth.” Marsh spoke up for the first time in a long while.

Tell Liam the truth?

Leila looked at Marsh. He was leaning against a support pole, his hands jammed into the front pockets of his jeans…. Jeans? Yes, he was actually wearing jeans. They weren’t as faded as the pair Liam Halliday was wearing, but they looked as if they’d feel soft to the touch. His shirt was one of his regular old white cotton button-downs. As usual, the top few buttons were undone, and he’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. It, too, was worn—the collar was starting to fray.

The sight of that fraying collar gave Leila a shock. Funny, but she’d always thought of Marsh as an extremely well-to-do type who’d refuse to wear anything but a crisp, new, professionally laundered shirt. But he’d carried himself with that air of quiet wealth for so long, it was possible that his shirts had been frayed for years, and Leila simply hadn’t noticed.

His brown eyes were bemused as he watched her study him so seriously, so intently.

“The truth,” she echoed. “You mean, tell him…”

“Everything,” Marsh finished. “The whole story. The Cinderella costume, the clock striking midnight, the vanishing ninja…”

“The kiss,” Leila said.

“Yes.” their gazes locked, and for one brief moment the music, the dancers, Simon and Frankie, the entire bar seemed to disappear. For one brief moment, Marsh and his warm brown eyes were all that existed, and Leila had the odd sensation of flying, of weightlessness, of stomach-flipping freefall.

“No way.” Simon jostled her, bringing her back to reality. The music blared, suddenly seeming way too loud, and Leila lost her balance. “You can’t tell him the truth. It sounds like you’re nuts. He’ll think you’re making it all up and he’ll back away.”

Simon didn’t seem to notice when Leila swayed, but Marsh was there, steadying her by holding her elbow. His fingers were warm and solid against the bare skin of her arm.

“You all right?” he murmured, and she nodded. But he didn’t let go of her, and she was oddly glad.

“It
is
a pretty strange story.” Frankie agreed with Simon for once. “On the other hand, you don’t want to put yourself into a situation where you’re leading Liam on. Because if you’re wrong, and he wasn’t the one you’re looking for, it’ll be really difficult to discourage him. He can be pretty damn persistent when it comes to women.”

“I know,” Simon said enthusiastically. “Go over to Halliday and tell him you just made a twenty-dollar bet with your friends that you could get him to kiss you. Tell him if he does it, you’ll give him half.”

“That’s stupid,” Frankie said scornfully.

“Actually, it’s the best idea you’ve come up with so far.” Leila pulled her eyes away from Marsh’s quiet gaze.

“Then do it,” Simon urged. “Come on. This music is starting to affect my central nervous system.”

“It figures you don’t like country music,” Frankie sniffed.

“It figures you
do,
” Simon said. He turned back to Leila and gave her a little push toward the bar. “Come on, Lei. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Marsh watched Leila slowly pick her way through the tables and chairs that dotted the floor. She was wearing a pair of khaki shorts that made her legs look long and graceful. She’d only been on the key for a few days, but already she had a decent tan. It was emphasized by the white tank top that hugged her upper body, outlining her slender curves. Leila wasn’t a large-breasted woman. In fact she often found it unnecessary to wear a bra, a fact that Marsh was all too well aware of. But she wore one tonight, and one of the pale pink straps had slipped out onto her shoulder from beneath her shirt.

The woman looked positively delicious. With her cloud of golden curls, her beautiful eyes, her five-million-watt smile, and her friendly, funny disposition, Leila was going to enter Liam Halliday’s field of vision and he was going to…

Marsh hurried across the room, after her.

“Leila, wait!”

He grabbed her arm, and her skin was soft and so smooth beneath his fingers. Startled, she spun to face him.

“Marsh, you scared me,” she whispered.

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat and wet his dry lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

He was still holding her arm, and she didn’t pull away, so he slid his fingers down to her hand and clasped her fingers within his.

“Look, Leila.” He cleared his throat again.

She stood there, watching him silently, waiting for him to tell her…what? What was he going to tell her? That she didn’t need to approach Liam Halliday because he, Marsh, was really the man she was looking for?

He almost said it. He cleared his throat yet one more time, but the words simply wouldn’t come. He couldn’t tell her. Not here. Not like this. “You don’t have to do this.”

Leila smiled. “I know that.”

“You don’t even know Liam Halliday,” Marsh said quietly. “He’s not perfect, in fact he’s far from perfect. In quite a few ways, he’d be worse for you than your Elliot. He drinks way too much, for one thing. And he’s known on the key to be something of a heartbreaker.”

She smiled again, squeezing his hand very gently. “I can handle him.”

Marsh smiled in return despite his trepidation. “You might think so. But Halliday’s showing every sign of becoming an alcoholic. If I’m right about that, he’s on a downward spiral that even you can’t stop. He’s got to stop it himself. But before he does, he’ll take you down with him.”

Leila frowned down at their entwined fingers. “I’m not going to marry the guy. I’m just going to have a conversation with him.” She glanced up at him, her violet-blue eyes suddenly soft. “I’m glad that you care.”

“I do,” he murmured, his heart in his throat. This was it—the perfect time to tell her. Provided, of course, he could find the words. But, hell, he didn’t have to use words. All he had to do was to lean forward and…

“He’s gone,” Frankie said flatly.

Marsh dropped Leila’s hand and turned, startled, to see Frankie standing next to them, scowling.

“The sheriff just walked out the door,” she informed them.

Marsh followed Leila’s gaze as she looked over at the bar. Sure enough, Liam was gone. “Oh, no,” she said.

“While you were standing here,” Frankie continued, “Halliday got beeped, made a phone call, and left. Honestly, Leila, you’ve got to keep your mind on the job.”

The next afternoon, Marsh found Leila out on the deck, tying the laces of her running shoes.

“You’re back from work early.”

He glanced ruefully at his watch. “Actually, it’s nearly half four, and I’d hoped to be back before three. Look Leila, I’m in a bit of a bind. I just got a call from the Beauchamp boy. His parents aren’t home. They drove over to the farmer’s market on the mainland. It’s going to take them at least three hours to drive back, and the family’s mare has chosen this very moment to foal. I could use some help, mostly in calming Timothy down. He’s only ten years old. He has this rather inconvenient habit of fainting from excitement and—”

Leila stood up. “I’d be glad to help. Let’s go.”

Her red running shorts were very, very short, and her skintight black top ended just below her breasts, exposing a wide expanse of her flat, tanned stomach. She looked slender and athletic and Marsh wanted desperately to touch her, to run his fingers over all that wonderful, smooth skin. He smiled at her instead, then turned, leading the way out to the driveway.

“This is probably unnecessary,” Marsh said as they climbed into the jeep. He started the engine with a roar and left the driveway before Leila even got her seat belt fastened. “Timothy has the tendency to be overly melodramatic. Even though he seemed so convinced that something is wrong, that the mare is in trouble, I’m sure everything’s all right—I’ll probably just stand by and let nature take its course.”

Yesterday, Marsh had driven her brother’s jeep the same way he used to drive his little convertible sports car—nice and easy, with one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting casually on the gear shift. But today, both hands gripped the wheel, and he was driving at least fifteen miles per hour faster than the speed limit.

“Still,” Marsh continued, “this mare is a major source of income for this family. If something were to happen to it, the Beauchamps would be in even worse shape financially.”

Leila watched him as he drove. He looked incredibly handsome this afternoon—almost as good as he had looked last night at the Rustler’s Hideout. He was wearing a crisp, new pair of navy slacks and a clean white shirt, nothing worn or secondhand today. In the backseat of the jeep, she could see a nice sports jacket and a tie. Whatever he’d been doing earlier that afternoon, he’d been wearing his very best clothes to do it. “You look nice. What’s the occasion?”

He glanced at her. “I had a meeting with the building inspector.”

“The building inspector?” Leila said. “Why?”

Marsh shifted into a higher gear, making the tires of the jeep hum as they sped even faster along the road. “I have to decide what I’m going to do about the house. If I don’t start rebuilding soon, they’re going to condemn the place.” The muscles worked in his jaw as he stared otherwise expressionlessly at the road. “And they’re right. As it stands, the house
is
a health hazard.”

He glanced over to find Leila watching him. He hadn’t fooled her. He could see in her eyes that she knew how upset he was.

“Did they give a date, a deadline? How soon are they talking about?”

Marsh shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t care. I’ve got Timothy Beauchamp to worry about right now.”

He didn’t care about the deadline? That wasn’t remotely true. But it was clear to Leila that he didn’t want to talk about his financial problems right now.

“Don’t forget about the horse,” she said lightly. “She’s the one in labor.”

Marsh glanced at her again in surprise. She’d let him change the subject. “Somehow I think Tim probably is the more frightened of the pair.”

“Back when you were at Harvard Medical School, did you ever even dream that someday some of the babies you’d deliver would have four legs and a tail?”

She wasn’t pressing him about his financial woes. That was strange. He’d expected her to question him relentlessly until he spilled all of the vital information.

And it wasn’t as if she simply didn’t want to know. She did. He could tell that she was curious. But for some reason, she’d backed off. She’d given him space instead of the third degree. It was thoughtful of her, and sweet.

Impulsively, he reached over and took her hand. “Thank you.”

“What, for asking you a silly question?” she said with a laugh.

“Yes.” Marsh gave her hand a gentle squeeze before he released it. “Exactly for that.”

“One of these days you’re going to get out your accounts books and we’re going to sit down and figure out a financial plan. And it better be soon. You’re running out of time in more ways than one. I’m leaving in a little more than a week.”

Marsh nodded. That was a fact he was all too aware of. Nine days and Leila would be getting on a plane, heading back north to New York City. “How about tonight?” he asked.

“Great. After dinner we lock ourselves in Simon’s den.”

The image of the two of them on the soft leather sofa in Simon’s home office was tantalizing…and frustrating. He and Leila would be talking business, not making love. But, oh, it didn’t take much imagining to picture her in his arms, kissing him the way she’d kissed him at Simon’s party, molding her lithe body against his and…

Marsh hit the brakes hard, nearly missing the turn to the Beauchamps’ farm.

Nine days and she’d be gone.

But not if he could bloody well help it.

SIX

F
ROM THE MOMENT
Marsh stepped into the barn, he knew that the Beauchamps’ mare was in serious trouble. Bright red blood smeared the inside of the stall and matted the straw that covered the hard dirt floor. The horse stood unsteadily, head down and eyes glazed.

Timothy was there, waiting for them. His face was pale and streaked with tears, but his mouth was set in a grim line of determination. “I know she should be lying down, but when she did, she started to roll, and I knew that would hurt the foal, so I’ve kept her up and walking.”

“Splendid,” Marsh said crisply, unbuttoning his shirt. “First thing
I
need to do is wash up and change. Tim, there’s a packet of sterile green medical scrubs and gloves in the back of the jeep. Run quickly and get it. Leila, love, help me out of these clothes.”

Leila couldn’t move. Did he just ask her to help him take off his clothes? He couldn’t possibly be serious.

“Get these shoes off, will you please?” Marsh asked. “Come on, quickly now.”

Leila forced herself to kneel on the barn’s packed dirt floor. She pulled off Marsh’s dark brown dress shoes as he balanced first on one foot and then the other. He fumbled with the last of the buttons on his shirt, and finally yanked it over his head, tossing it over a wooden chair.

He was serious. He was actually taking off his clothes. Right there. Right in the barn. Right in front of her. And he wanted her to help.

But of course. His new clothes would be ruined if he went into the stall to help the mare. Still, it was extremely strange.

“Get the buckle, would you?”

Marsh had a white T-shirt on underneath his dress shirt, and as he pulled that off, Leila unbuckled his belt. As she started to unbutton his pants, his hands closed around hers.

“I’ll get that.”

Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and Leila felt herself blush. What was she doing, reaching for his pants as if she couldn’t wait to see the color of his shorts? And now he was smiling at her discomfort, the creep.

“You
asked
me to help,” she said defensively, as he peeled his pants off his legs.

White. He was wearing plain, white, utilitarian briefs. They hugged his muscular body, contrasting with his tanned skin. Somehow she’d always pictured Marsh wearing expensive silk boxers.

Was he going to strip down even further? Leila held her breath, not knowing what to expect, hoping…what? That he would or that he wouldn’t? She wasn’t quite sure.

“I did ask you to help, indeed.” Marsh crossed to the big sink in the corner of the barn. “But I thought it best to keep the distractions down to a minimum. I’m here to help the Beauchamps’ mare, not live out one of my wildest dreams. Do me a favor, Lei, and take my socks off while I wash up? If I’m going to go shoeless, I’d much rather have bare feet.”

Just then, Tim ran in, breathless, tears threatening. “I’m sorry, Doc, I can’t find it.”

Marsh looked up. “In the bag, Tim. In the bag in the back of the jeep.” He smiled. “Take a deep breath and calm down. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

Tim nodded and scurried off.

Marsh turned on the hot water and began to scrub his hands and his arms all the way up past his elbows as Leila knelt down behind him. He balanced on one foot as she lifted his other leg. Her fingers felt cool against his skin, and her touch was gentle. It wasn’t hard at all to imagine her hands caressing him. God knew, he’d imagined it often enough before.

Horse, Marsh thought almost desperately. He had to keep his mind on the horse. He was standing there in his underwear, after all. And his tight-fitting briefs didn’t leave much to the imagination. But how many times had he fantasized about Leila? How many times had he dreamed of her taking off his clothes? Of course, he’d never included a mare in labor and a worried little boy in those dreams.

“Wildest dreams,” Leila mused. “Right. By that I assume you’re talking about this wonderful opportunity you have to embarrass me.”

“Embarrass
you,
” Marsh repeated in disbelief, rinsing the soap from his arms and hands. “Get the water, will you please?”

Leila reached over and shut off the faucet. “Yes. Embarrass
me.
”

“But
I’m
the one standing here, definitely underdressed for this particular occasion,” Marsh said. He held up his hands so the water dripped down to his elbows. “
I’m
the one who’s embarrassed.”

It was so typical of Marsh. He was standing there with his nearly perfectly sculpted body, looking better than a man had a right to, looking as if he could start a new career modeling men’s underwear if he ever tired of medicine. Yet, knowing Marsh, he’d probably never looked into a mirror. He probably had no idea how incredibly delicious-looking he was. All he probably knew was that it was awfully improper to hang out in a barn in his underwear while accompanied by his best friend’s sister. Leila had to laugh.

“Perfect.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Most excellently perfect.” He looked at Leila through the hair that had fallen into his eyes. “I’m nearly naked, the mare is in obvious trouble, and young Tim has turned an everyday errand into the search for the Holy Grail. All right, go on. Laugh at me. Get it all out of your system, then.”

He
was
embarrassed. There was a tinge of pink across his cheeks. He turned his back on her, crossing the barn to look into the mare’s stall. “After you’re done laughing,” he added tightly, “trot on out and see what’s keeping Tim.”

He actually thought she was laughing at him. “Marshall, you colossal idiot.” Leila rolled her eyes. “I’m not laughing at you. I mean, I
am
laughing at you, but not at the way you look. At the risk of inadvertently giving you a compliment, I’ve got to tell you that there are few men who look as good in their underwear.”

He faced her with an overdone sigh of weariness. “Just go get Tim.”

“You don’t believe me. I can’t believe you don’t believe me—”

“I do,” he said, clearly humoring her. “I believe you. I believe everything you say. Now, get Tim.”

Timothy burst back into the barn, waving the plastic-wrapped packet that contained Marsh’s scrubs and gloves. “This it?” he called.

“That’s it. Good boy. Give it to Leila.”

Leila glared at him as she took the packet from Tim and pulled out a pale green V-necked shirt and a pair of green pants. It was maddening when Marsh patronized her like this.

“Help me on with it, will you, please?” Marsh asked her. “My hands are clean.”

Help him get dressed. Yes, that was a good idea. She could stand to have him look less like a Chippendale dancer and more like a medical doctor.

Still, helping him get dressed meant she’d have to stand really close to him and breathe in his clean, masculine scent, and feel the heat that was radiating from his body.

But she was annoyed with him, Leila reminded herself. They were arguing, as usual. As long as they were arguing, she wouldn’t have to worry about doing something foolish, like running the palms of her hands across the smooth expanse of his shoulders or…

“Is it possible for you, at least
once
in your life, to talk to me without being pompous and condescending?” she asked almost desperately as she yanked the shirt over Marsh’s head. The backs of her knuckles ran all the way down the washboard muscles of his chest and stomach as she pulled the shirt down. She prayed that he wouldn’t notice how hard it was for her to breathe, and she clung to their argument as if it were a lifeline. “Is it possible for you to speak to me as if I weren’t some awful, spoiled child?”

The pants. Dear God, now she had to help him on with the green drawstring-waisted pants. Leila’s mouth went dry as she knelt down in front of him and gazed at his strong legs.

“Funny you should mention that,” Marsh retorted as Leila held one of the pants legs open for him to step into. He touched her bare shoulder lightly to keep his balance, and Leila nearly fell over. “Because I was wondering if it was possible for you, at least once in
your
life, to stop acting like a spoiled child.”

Ooh, that comment stung, and for half a second, Leila forgot to feel flustered at pulling the pants up Marsh’s muscular thighs and over his perfect rear end.

“You just hate it when I’m right,” she said. “And I’m always right, which drives you crazy.”

She adjusted the waistband of the pants, her hands up underneath the oversized scrub shirt, her thumbs running along his waist, from back to front.

“You definitely drive me crazy.” Marsh’s voice sounded oddly hoarse.

Leila glanced up into his eyes, then quickly looked away, concentrating on tying the cloth drawstring around his waist. Dear God, was it possible that he was affected by their nearness, too?

“You have absolutely no idea to the extent of how utterly crazy you drive me,” Marsh continued. “And it has nothing to do, whatsoever, with your being right, since you spend so much time being wrong.”

Leila glared up at him, gasping at his words.

“It also has nothing to do with your nasty habit of exaggeration,” Marsh added. “Gloves, please.”

He held up first one hand and then the other as Leila helped him on with a pair of surgical gloves. They were nearly impossible to put on, adding the final touch of frustration to this entire bizarre experience.

“You drive
me
crazy when your hair is in your eyes. Which it
always
is, and that’s
not
an exaggeration,” Leila practically exploded. With one hand, she raked his hair back, out of his face.

He turned his head so her hand brushed against the late afternoon stubble of beard on his chin. Before she could pull her hand away, he kissed the inside of her wrist, dragging his lips up to the palm of her hand.

Leila felt nearly burned, and she quickly snatched her hand back. My God, he’d
kissed
her.

“I wear my hair this way,” Marsh said, pushing open the door to the mare’s stall with his elbow, “because I love driving you crazy.”

He smiled at her, a triumphant, victorious grin.

Leila scowled, trying to hide the flush that she felt heating her cheeks. He’d
kissed
her. “Is it possible for you, at least once in your life,
not
to act like a jerk?”

“Shhh.” Marsh carefully approached the mare. “Only positive energy, please.”

He spoke softly and soothingly as he moved from the mare’s head to her flank. Continuing to murmur quiet words, he crouched down and examined the horse.

Leila watched Marsh’s face, and she knew from the sudden tightness of his mouth that the situation was not good.

Then, without warning, the mare kicked. Her hoof connected with Marsh’s right shoulder with a solid thud, and the force was enough to push him backward. He hit the far wall of the stall with a muffled curse and went down onto the dirt floor.

“Marsh!” Leila was next to him in a flash. She pushed his hair back, out of his face, more gently this time.

Leila’s hands against his forehead felt so cool, so soothing. And the anxiety in her eyes was more gratifying than he would have believed possible. She cared, that much was clear. But this was not the time to see whether her concern was that of one human for another, or something more. He was going to have to work quickly if he was going to save the mare’s life.

Marsh pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing as he first touched his shoulder, then rotated his arm. “Excellent. Glad to see the mare’s still got quite a bit of strength left.”

“Are you all right?” Leila demanded.

“Just bruised. No big deal. I’ll live.” He looked ruefully down at his gloved hands, now covered with muck and straw. “So much for being sanitary. Help me pull these off. Please?”

Leila’s worry melted into anger. He could see it in the tension in her shoulders, in the set of her mouth, in the way her eyes seemed to flash.

“No big deal,” she repeated his words as she peeled the gloves off his hands. “If that horse had aimed a little higher, or if you’d been leaning down a little lower, you would’ve been kicked in the head. You know, Dr. Smartass, people have been killed from being kicked in the head by a horse.”

“But I was kicked in the shoulder,” Marsh pointed out. “Not in the head.”

He could very well have been badly hurt. She could’ve been sitting there, right now, with the island’s only medical doctor dying in her arms of a head injury. What would Marsh do, she wondered with horror, if he ever actually
did
get hurt? Who would take care of him? Who would have the knowledge to save his life?

“You weren’t kicked in the head…
this
time.”

Marsh pulled himself to his feet. Leila could see that he was favoring his right shoulder even though he was trying to hide it from her. “Is this particular argument going to take very long? Because I don’t have time for it right now.”

“You’ll have plenty of time,” Leila shot back, her voice trembling with emotion. “An eternity, in fact, after this horse’s foot connects with your skull and permanently scrambles the few brains you have.”