Deep in the Heart (13 page)

“What was it we were about to do?” she asked, as his hands dug through the tangle he’d made of her hair, and then fisted around the braid down her back as she moved against his lower body in a helpless dance of unfulfilled passion.

“What we were about to do earlier was eat,” John Thomas groaned, as his body swelled against the restrictions of his clothing. “What we’re about to do now is something else altogether unless we get the hell out of these trees.”

“Oh Johnny.” She went limp in his arms, leaning her forehead helplessly against the hammerlike rhythm his heart was making behind the wall of his chest. “What happened to us? It was so perfect. What in heaven’s name went wrong?”

“I don’t know, darlin’. God help me, I don’t.” With a reluctant groan and one last kiss, he stepped back, looking at the dazed expression in her eyes.

Her lips were slightly red and more than a little swollen. He’d been rougher than he’d meant to be and smiled gently in an apology as the ball of his thumb traced the path his mouth had taken earlier.

“I hurt you,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I hurt,” she answered. “But only because you stopped.”

“Damn you,” he mumbled, then grabbed her wrist and started out of the trees, moving at a fast pace toward the place where he’d parked his truck.

“What’s the hurry?” she gasped, as she tried to keep up.

He stopped. As darkness enveloped him, all she could hear was the shocked surprise in his voice as he answered.

“You have to ask?”

He couldn’t see her smile, but he felt it just the same.

“Let’s go. Suddenly I’m starving to death,” Samantha said, and before he knew it, she was leading the way.

Marylee’s Truck Stop Café was nearly empty, but it could have been full and overflowing and they still wouldn’t have noticed. John Thomas had ordered, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what. He guessed when it came he would be surprised.

Samantha couldn’t quit watching the way his lips curved around the rim of the glass as he took a long, thirsty drink of his iced tea. Or the small drop of moisture that hung at the corner of his mouth when he set it down.

She closed her eyes and thought about the way that same mouth had felt on hers and the way those same hands had stirred fires within her that she’d almost forgotten existed.

“Are you all right, Sam?”

He’d seen her look away. He’d watched her lips tremble. His voice was anxious, his touch tender, as his hand slid across the table and grasped her fingers.

“I’m fine,” she said, then looked up and tried to smile. She traced his knuckles with the tip of her forefinger and then covered his hand with her own as she looked up. “I was just…remembering.”

He took a deep breath and hoped to hell he made it through this meal without making a fool of himself.

“I know, Sam. Between us, there’s a lot to remember.”

She nodded, then looked down at the table, struck dumb by the memories that suddenly assaulted her. The one night of joy that he’d given her. She wanted it back, and all of the years in between.

Don’t be a fool,
she told herself.
You’re forgetting the years of regret he left behind.

John Thomas ached in so many places he was afraid to move. And yet as much as he wanted her now, he couldn’t forget how crazy he’d been before. He would have died for her, and it hadn’t been enough to keep her.

Old, nearly forgotten misery was resurrected as they tried not to look, tried not to touch, and tried to forget that once upon a time in Cotton, their world had revolved around their love.

Marylee grinned as she watched the couple from behind the counter. “Oowwee, the sheriff is long gone on this one,” she said softly, wiggling her eyebrows as she gazed toward their booth.

Claudia turned and stared. Her red mouth pursed as she squinted for a better look.

“So that’s the famous Sheriff Knight. I’ve been hearing all about him,” she said.

“Whatever you heard still doesn’t cover what that man is about,” Marylee said. “Now that’s the kind of man you need to be fallin’ for. Not a no’count trucker with a woman in every town and a lie on his lips just waitin’ to be heard.”

Claudia sniffed. “It’s not my fault my man is gone. I did all I knew how to keep him.”

“Order up,” the cook called, and Marylee turned to get the plates he shoved out the pass-through from the kitchen.

“I’ll get them,” Claudia said to Marylee. “You go ahead and take your break. You’ve been on your feet all day. I just got here.”

“Thanks, honey,” Marylee said. “I appreciate it.”

Claudia shrugged. “I owe you more than a few favors,” she said, as she balanced the steaming plates in both hands between a bottle of catsup and another of hot sauce.

“Here you are,” Claudia said with a smile, as she set their plates in front of them.

Samantha looked up at their waitress. She had an instant impression of Shirley Temple curls and a Dolly Parton mouth, and wondered what had possessed the woman to put that combination together, and then wondered why she cared.

“Be needing anything else?” Claudia asked.

“Not right now,” Samantha said. “If we do, we’ll let you know.”

Claudia gave Samantha a single, cool stare, and then bustled off.

“What’s wrong with her?” John Thomas asked.

“I don’t think she likes my looks half as much as she likes yours, that’s what I think,” Samantha muttered.

He grinned and shook the catsup bottle several times before unscrewing the lid and dumping a generous river of thick red sauce all over his fries.

“Yuk. That’s disgusting,” she said, eyeing his plate, and then calmly picking the onion off of her hamburger.

He picked up a french fry, dipped it in the catsup, and then held it toward her mouth.

“Open your mouth and close your eyes, I’ll give you something to make you wise.”

Samantha laughed aloud. It had been years since she’d heard that silly childhood rhyme. Suddenly everything that had been happening over the past few months fell so far back in her memory that it could very well never have happened. It was good to be home with Johnny Knight.

“I’ll taste it,” she said. “But I’m going to do so with both eyes open. I never do anything blindfolded.”

“Not even making love?” he asked, as he poked the french fry into her mouth. “You should try it sometime. It’s a hell of a high.”

Samantha gasped.

“What you do is,” he continued, as if he hadn’t purposely dropped a sexual time bomb in the middle of their meal, “you concentrate on touching, and feeling. You’d be surprised how many little spots on your body can be explosive.”

Samantha forgot to chew. The french fry hung from her gaping lips like a limp cigarette.

“Don’t play with your food, Sam. I know your mother taught you better manners than that.” He took a healthy bite of his burger, ignoring the look of shock that came and went on her face.

“I will make you pay,” she muttered, as she stuffed the fry the rest of the way into her mouth and chewed with vicious intent, taking out all her frustrations on her food rather than on the man opposite her.

“It won’t be necessary, darlin’,” he said calmly, as he took a long drink of iced tea and then winked. “For you, it’s free.”

She stared and then glared. There was nothing left to say.

“We’re not going to beat the rain,” Samantha said, as lightning flashed across the sky in front of the windshield of the truck. “You took too long over dessert.”

“I ate it because I didn’t think you were quite ready to come home,” he said calmly, as he negotiated the dark, single-lane road leading to his house with only the narrow beams of his headlights to guide him.

“Why ever not?” she asked.

“Because every time I looked at you, you kept looking away, that’s why,” he said. “I decided to put some time between what happened in the park and bedtime, just in case I misread the situation.”

“Oh.”

Her quiet answer did nothing to assure him that he was wrong. A weary feeling settled around the region of his heart.
Oh God, Sam. I need you, girl. Please don’t let me be wrong about this.

“We’re here,” he said, as he pulled into the yard then angled the truck as close to the graveled walk as possible, using the headlights for a beacon to shine her way to the porch. “You’re going to have to make a run for it.”

“Give me the keys,” she said.

He shook his head. “When you get there, wait for me. I don’t want you going into a dark house alone.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, as her hand touched the door handle. “It’s just your house.”

His fingers wrapped around her arm. “Yes, I know, Sam,” he said quietly. “And it was your house, too, back in L.A., wasn’t it? Bad things still happen at home, no matter where home is located.”

From the glow of the dashboard lights, he saw the fear on her face. It softened the tone of his voice, but not his words.

“I don’t mean to frighten you, darlin’. But you can’t assume anything, ever, until he’s caught. Not even here, okay?”

She swallowed, then nodded. Squeezing her eyes against the near-blinding rain, she jumped out of the truck, landing with both feet square in an inches-deep puddle that splashed muddy water above her knees.

He grinned at her squeal of dismay, and then watched, transfixed by the sight of her long legs and shapely body suddenly illuminated by the headlights of his truck like a young doe caught in a poacher’s spotlight. She leaped up onto the porch then turned and waved, wiping rain from her face, and shivering from adrenaline as well as a chill as she waited for him to follow.

“Here goes nothing,” he said, switched off the lights, and opened the door. In seconds he’d made the dash across the distance between the truck and the house with only one flash of lightning to guide the way.

“Damn! For a summer thunderstorm, that rain’s plenty cold,” he muttered, as he bounded up onto the porch, clearing the steps in one long leap. He glanced back at his pickup and the rain hammering down upon it. “Hope it doesn’t hail.”

“Hurry,” Samantha said, her teeth chattering and her body shivering as he nudged against him in an effort to stay warm. “I’m freezing.”

“I am hurrying,” he grumbled, fumbling with the keys in his wet hand. “Don’t push me or you’ll make me drop them. I don’t know why you’re always in such a hog-killing rush to be alone with me inside a dark house.”

Samantha mumbled something beneath her breath and thumped him on the shoulder with a fist.

“My daddy told me about fast women like you,” John Thomas said, his voice light and teasing as the door finally swung open. He yanked her inside, then locked the door and turned on the lights.

A bright-white glow instantly illuminated the single room, momentarily blinding them. But when he could see, John Thomas knew he should never have hit that switch.

She was soaked. Her wet clothes clung to every indentation and curve of her body with tenacious persistence, outlining what he yearned to explore; the ripeness of her breasts, the slender, wandlike breadth of her rib cage, the way her hips flared at just the right point as a reminder of what lay hidden between.

“You take the bathroom first,” he muttered, and looked away, tossing the keys on the table by the door before stomping past her toward the kitchen. “I’ll make some coffee.”

Samantha’s mouth drooped as she started down the darkened hallway toward her room. This was a disappointing and unexpected ending to the way this evening began. Despite what they were each obviously feeling, neither had enough trust in the other to explore.

Aching in spirit as well as in bones, she had her hand on the doorknob when his footsteps echoed on the bare floor at the end of the hall. She turned.

He was watching her.

Silhouetted by the light behind him, he stood with legs braced for a blow he might not be able to take, hands curved into fists ready to do battle, shoulders thrust back, as if ready to argue his right to be here.

“Don’t, Sam,” he said quietly.

“Don’t what?” Puzzled by his actions, she couldn’t ignore the spark of hope that filtered through her system.

“Don’t shut me out. I need you. I need you to need me…for more than a bodyguard.”

His words knocked the breath from her body. She leaned against the door of her room, unable to stand without a brace. Her knees were going weak, and she couldn’t even see his face. And yet she knew she wouldn’t have to see him to know that he could see her, all too well. Her hands fluttered up the front of her shirt. When she found where it was fastened, she started to pull.

He tensed, bracing himself as the first snap on her shirt came undone with a small but distinct pop.

She never even saw him move, but suddenly he was in front of her. Words froze in her throat as he caught her hands.

“Let me,” he begged. And when she did not deny him, felt himself shaking from the relief.

He tugged gently, pulling the tail of her shirt from the waistband of her jeans, and then with a single, sharp motion, suddenly yanked at the neck of the shirt, as if waiting had become an impossible task. All six of the remaining snaps came undone in one long, continuous pop until her shirt was open and hanging. She shivered.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. You must be cold.” He slid his arms around her, pulling her gently until they were touching, chest to breast, unmoving, yet close enough to feel each other’s heartbeat.

“It’s not from cold, it’s from nerves,” she said, and then jumped at the sound of her own voice as it echoed in the house.

Lightning flashed, faintly lighting the end of the hallway where the bathroom door stood open, framing the small, narrow window above the sink that looked out into the wet, rainy night.

In that moment, John Thomas had a fleeting glimpse of the expression on her face and imagined that she looked sad, but as swiftly as it came, it was gone. His hand slid around the back of her head and cradled her against him as he rocked them quietly together in the hallway.

“Please God, tell me you’re not afraid of me, Sam. I don’t think I could take that. You’ve got to know that I’ll walk away now without a word if that’s what you want.”