The Loner (15 page)

“It would take a fortune to clean it up,” Billy said.

“I’ve got a little money—”

“You’re not spending your money on this place.”

“What else am I going to do with it?” Summer said.

“Leave it in the bank.”

Summer took one look at his stony features and realized she would be wasting her time arguing. But she wasn’t giving up on the idea. She’d just have to do it without Billy finding out. Once the place was fixed up, he’d be glad for the extra income. And after all, for the next two years, she was his wife.

Summer had been doing so much thinking, she was surprised to realize she’d finished the last of the dishes.

As she pulled out the plug to let the water drain, Billy whispered in her ear, “Thanks for being here, Summer. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Summer knew in that instant that even if she ended up with pickled fingers from doing dishes and bags under her eyes from sleeplessness and had to eat leftovers out of Tupperware for supper every night, she was going to make it.

Billy needed her. And when friends needed friends, they did whatever they had to do to help.

She turned to Billy and offered him what she’d wanted so desperately herself. Peace. Solace. Love. She put her arms around his neck, leaned her cheek against his chest, and said, “Don’t worry, Billy. Everything will be fine.”

She heard him swallow noisily several times as his arms tightened around her and he pulled her close. “Thanks, Summer. I need to believe that.”

They heard Will laughing in the bathtub.

Billy pulled her hands down and held them in his own for a moment. “I better go spend some time with Will.”

“Sure,” she said. “See you later.”

Summer gulped as she watched Billy saunter down the hall. The next time she saw him, they’d both be getting into the same bed.

Oh, boy.

“I’
M BACK
, R
EN
. A
ND THIS TIME
I’
M
STAYING
.”

Lauren Creed looked through the screen that separated her from Jackson Blackthorne, then pushed it open and let him in. All the way in. Before the screen door had slammed behind him, muting the afternoon sun, she was in his arms, their mouths meshed. His body was all hard planes against which she fitted her softness, as she stood on tiptoe, her arms reaching up to clasp him around the neck.

She felt him pick her up, his arms tightening like a vise around her ribs as his tongue came searching for the taste of her. She opened wide, wanting the warm, wet intrusion, which mimicked the sexual act. He dragged her arms from around his neck and stood her on her feet, popping the buttons on her shirt as he tore it away, shoving the fabric down her arms, where the buttoned cuffs captured the worn cotton.

They were both breathing hard and she saw his nostrils flare as he caught the scent of her, saw his eyelids droop as he surveyed the prize he’d finally won.

“You’re so beautiful. And mine. At last.”

He reached down and took each wrist, one at a time,
and unbuttoned the cuffs, then gently drew the material away. He reached behind her and unclasped her bra and drew it off and let it drop to the floor, then lowered his head and suckled her.

Ren gasped at the feel of his warm, wet mouth on her flesh and grasped at his hair, holding him where he was. She pressed her hand against the hard ridge in his jeans and heard him moan. She traced the shape of him, then cupped him, forcing him to spread his legs so she could caress him.

His eyes were glazed when he raised his head, and she felt the afternoon breeze cool her peaked nipple where his mouth had left it wet. He picked her up, grinned wryly, and said, “Where’s the closest flat surface with a little give?”

“That would be a bed,” she said, returning his smile, her mouth stretching wide with a responding grin she couldn’t repress.

He stopped and looked into her eyes and said, “Not his bed.”

“No. Not the bed I shared with Jesse. There’s a bedroom downstairs. On the other side of the parlor.”

She saw the shadows appear in Jackson’s eyes at the sound of Jesse’s name and pressed her mouth to his, offering love and peace and forgetfulness.

Comfort wasn’t what he wanted. His mouth ravaged hers, demanding more, seeking more, insisting on more.

She gave all she had, every morsel of herself, every bit of her soul.

They made it as far as the buffalo hide on the floor in front of the fireplace. He kicked the coffee table out of the way and lay her down in front of the ash-laden
fireplace, reaching for the snap on her jeans and yanking down her zipper. He pulled at her boots and dragged at her socks, baring her to his gaze. His eyes were avid, drinking her in, eating their fill.

She tore at his shirt, wanting him bare, seeking the hard feel of his flesh and the crisp touch of the dark hair on his chest and the feel of a big man, a powerful man, under her hands.

He yanked off his own boots and helped her shove his jeans and boxers down off his hips. And then they were both naked, and he thrust hard and deep, joining them at last.

She looked up into his eyes and felt her throat swell with joy and love and hope… so much more feeling than she could contain. “Jackson,” she cried. “I can’t—It’s too much. I can’t—”

“You can,” he said. “I love you, Ren. I’ve always loved you. I always will.”

His gaze was fierce as his mouth claimed hers, their tongues dueling, their bodies writhing in an ancient dance of love. She felt too much, needed too much, wanted too much. Her heart felt as though it might burst with joy. Then her body did explode with pleasure beyond bearing. She surged against the sweat-slick body that covered her own and held on tight… and felt herself sink into oblivion.

Ren wasn’t sure how long she remained unaware of her surroundings, but when she woke, she was in bed, covered with a sheet that was tucked up under her arms, the breeze caressing her sweaty flesh. She sat up abruptly and called, “Jackson?”

“I’m here.”

She turned and found him lying beside her, the pillow bunched beneath his head, his body covered to the waist with the same sheet that covered her, his eyes focused on her face.

She grabbed at the sheet, which had fallen to her waist, but he reached out and tugged it free.

“Let me look,” he said quietly. “I want to see you. I want to make up for all the years I haven’t had the right to look.”

She thought of how her body had changed in thirty-seven years and turned her face away. She felt his hand on her chin as he gently tugged her face in his direction.

“You’re beautiful, Ren. In my eyes you can never be anything else.”

She lifted her chin and said, “If you’re going to look, then so am I.” She pulled the sheet away from his body and let her gaze follow the dark line of hair from his navel downward. And realized her gaze was causing a transformation.

“Thank God everything still works,” he said with a chuckle.

She laughed and rolled on top of him, pressing her lips against his throat and straddling his waist. “We’re both going to be sore tomorrow,” she warned.

“Who the hell cares,” he said, as he rolled her back under him and impaled her once again.

She gasped, surprised at how wet and ready she was for him. She closed her eyes and bit her lip and relished the pleasure. Again.

Afterward, they both lay panting, too tired to reach for the sheet. They lay uncovered, the incessant Texas wind cooling their laboring bodies.

Through the open window, Ren heard a truck engine cutting off. It took a moment for the significance of that to register.

“Oh, God. That’s Sam.”

She bolted out of bed, searching frantically for her clothes. Which was when she realized they were scattered across the floor of the kitchen and lay in messy heaps in front of the fireplace.

Along with Jackson’s clothes.

“Get up!” she urged as she tore free the top sheet and wrapped herself in it. “We have to get dressed. We have to—”

He reached the bedroom door before her and pressed it closed, preventing her escape. “Stop it, Ren.”

She shoved at him with all her might, her nose burning with tears, her eyes blurring. “Let me out, Jackson. Please. If he comes in and finds—” She leaned her head against his shoulder as she heard the screen door slam.

It was too late now to hide what had happened this afternoon.

She imagined Sam wheeling himself into the kitchen, imagined him following the trail of clothes across the kitchen floor and into the parlor. Imagined him gazing down the hall toward the downstairs bedroom and seeing the closed door against which Jackson now leaned.

She stared up at Blackjack, all hope for the future deadened by fear of what would happen in the next few minutes. Any second her son would knock on the door and… she wasn’t sure just what Sam would do.

The knock came. And Sam’s voice asking, “Mom? Are you in there? Are you all right?”

She glanced up into Jackson’s face and said, “I’m fine, Sam.”

“Is he in there with you?”

No name, just an emphasis on the
he
and a great deal of contempt in Sam’s voice.

“I’m here,” Blackjack answered.

Silence on the other side of the door. Ren held her breath, wondering what her eldest son would do. There was no lock on the door. It had broken long ago and no one had bothered to fix it. It must be obvious to Sam what they had come into this room to do. And that neither of them was dressed, since their clothes were strewn across the floors of two rooms.

She knew Sam must be debating the wisdom of demanding that they show themselves. She was hardly decent, wrapped in a sheet, and Jackson, leaning against the door, wore nothing at all.

“I’m not setting foot in this house again until he’s gone, Mom. And I mean gone for good,” Sam said.

Ren met Jackson’s gaze. She was being forced to choose… again. But really, there wasn’t any choice this time. The die had been cast.

“I’m sorry to hear you say that, Sam. Because Jackson isn’t leaving. He’ll be living here with me from now on.”

Ren could feel Sam’s frustration through the door. Knew he was damning his crippled legs, which kept him from forcing the door and rescuing her from the dangerous ogre who’d stolen her heart from his father. Felt the tension build as she imagined him considering whether to get the shotgun from the parlor, knowing he would eventually realize that the rack over the mantel was out
of his reach without help from someone standing on two functioning legs.

There were other guns. Other weapons. She knew Sam wanted Blackjack dead, but he didn’t want to spend his life in prison for it, so he’d promised stealth and deception. Her body was wired tight, her heart pounding as she waited to see what her angry son would do.

“Call me tonight,” Sam said at last. They could hear his chair being wheeled back down the hall, careening against one wall and then another. Could hear the screen door slam, and then the engine of his truck starting, being gunned viciously, and the shriek of gravel as his wheels spun and he sped away.

She dropped her forehead onto Jackson’s shoulder. “We should have been more careful.”

“We have nothing to be ashamed of.”

She lifted her head and stared soberly into his eyes. “You’re still married.”

“Not for long,” he said flatly. “I called DeWitt & Blackthorne this morning and got hold of my cousin. Harry thinks he can get me into court within a matter of weeks.”

“Really?” Ren said. It was hard to believe that all her dreams might finally be coming true. Hard to believe in happily ever after.

“How are you going to deal with Sam?” he asked.

“I’m not sure there’s much I can do,” Ren confessed, pressing her cheek against Jackson’s chest. “Plead with him to be reasonable. Try to convince him that we deserve a chance to be happy together. Tell him it will break my heart if he does anything to harm you.”

She reached out to caress Jackson’s shoulder blade
with her fingertips, following the length of it to his arm, then letting her hand follow the ridge of muscle along biceps, triceps, forearm, all the way to his large, powerful hand. She intertwined her fingers with his.

“But I’m not giving you up,” she said. “Not ever again.”

Sam had listened to his mother’s latest ultimatum over the phone with tight jaws. No, she hadn’t changed her mind over the past week. And she wouldn’t. From now on, Jackson Blackthorne would be spending his nights at Three Oaks. She was counting on Sam to act like a sane, sensible adult. And if he didn’t think he could behave himself, he could leave Three Oaks for good.

Sam felt a shiver run through him at the thought of leaving the only home he’d ever known. From the moment of his birth he’d been taught to care for the land. And that was what he intended to do. He’d find a way to deal with Blackjack that would get him out of their lives without ruining them in the process.

Sam mentally recited the advertisement he’d posted in the Bitter Creek
Chronicle
the morning after he’d discovered his mother and Jackson Blackthorne in flagrante delicto.