Deep in the Heart (17 page)

Minutes passed. He heard water splashing, and bubbles popping, and soon after, the swift sucking sound of water flowing down the drain. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the fact that only three or so feet away, Samantha was as bare as the day she was born, because he was only three or so feet away, as hard and aching as he’d ever been in his life.

“Johnny.”

“What?”

“I found my letters.”

Without thinking, shock pulled him through the door. She was standing by the tub with the towel clutched in front of her, a nervous expression in her eyes, and a tremble on her lips.

He took a deep breath and stuffed his hands in his jeans to keep from yanking the towel out of her arms.

“And?” he prodded.

“I read them.” She started to cry.

Speech was impossible. And as he crossed the distance between them and took her in his arms, the towel slipped unheeded to the floor between them.

“I should have believed you. I should have known better than to doubt you,” she whispered, as she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. “Can you ever forgive me? I swear I didn’t know.”

“I’d already figured that much out, darlin’,” he said softly.

“When?” she asked, startled by his revelation.

“The other night when you threw the coffee cup at me. I never knew anyone to have that much righteous indignation and still be lying.”

She smiled through tears. “Where do we go from here?” she asked.

He leaned down, picked up the towel, and handed it to her with a weak grin.

“I wash Lem Marshall’s manure off of me and you crawl in bed. After that, we’ll see.”

To Samantha, it sounded like too good a deal to pass up. But her day had been too traumatic. In spite of anxious anticipation, she fell asleep holding his pillow.

And when John Thomas came into the room a few minutes later, he didn’t have the heart to wake her. He simply unwound her from his pillow, slipped his arms around her, and pulled her as close against him as he could get her. It was the only way he could face closing his eyes. He’d come too close to losing her today.

It was 3
A.M
. when Samantha rolled over in bed and sat up with a scream on her lips that never made it to life. John Thomas was awake instantly, telling her over and over in his deep, husky voice that she was safe, and the rough texture of his hands on her body added the final note of assurance.

She turned and fell into his arms. “Love me, Johnny. Please.”

Her plea shook his soul. With a harsh, muttered oath, he rolled over on top of her and slid between her legs before she had time to think. And when he could think, he remembered the protection he’d forgotten to use and started to withdraw.

“Don’t,” Samantha pleaded. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I just wasn’t…dressed…for the occasion.”

He dug in the bedside table and then held up the small, foil packet to emphasize his point. Moments later he was back.

He shook as he held her. The memory of their first time together kept getting tangled in the need of the moment. Then he’d been clumsy and so crazy for her that he’d nearly lost his head before he’d ever claimed her. But somehow she hadn’t noticed, or hadn’t cared.

To this day, he could still remember her shudder and then her sigh when he’d taken her virginity. After that, most of it was a blur of white-hot emotion and a blinding rush toward a climax he couldn’t stop. This time, he’d be damn sure that Samantha got the best of the bargain.

Her breath caught in the back of her throat as his lips moved from her arm to her breast and back again. A low growl of satisfaction came up his throat, tingling the surface of her skin.

“Hurry, Johnny.”

“No, baby,” he whispered. “Not this time. This time, you come first.”

She shivered as his tongue traced the darker center of her breasts. He laughed softly, and the sound scattered against her skin as his hands did a search and seizure of their own. She dug her fingers into his hair and held on, because she knew that if she didn’t, she would fall off of this ride.

“So small,” he whispered, circling her waist with his hands. “Ah, God, so soft. So ready,” he said, as his fingers dipped between her legs and tested the territory for future invasion.

Samantha moaned. He was playing with her and she didn’t care. Every touch of his mouth made her ache. Every stroke of his hands made her want. Every pressure point on her body had been marked by a kiss, and it was not enough.

He moved. And when the weight of his body settled upon her, Samantha sighed. The feeling was like coming home. It was familiar, and at the same time, so different. The boy that had loved her had become a man. So much a man.

“Please, Johnny. Make love to me,” she whispered.

“You could always make everything right.” Her voice broke as she hugged him to her. His hair felt thick and springy beneath her hands as she cradled his head against her breast. “I need you to do that for me again, Johnny. I need you to make me forget everything but you.”

“Then make room for me,” he said.

Within a heartbeat, her legs had shifted, giving way to the stronger, more urgent thrust of his manhood. At the moment of entry, he paused.

“This time, Sam, it won’t hurt,” he whispered. “I’ll never hurt you again.”

He moved. And when he did, bit his lower lip and closed his eyes to keep from losing control. But it was hopeless. After the second stroke he knew he could very well be in danger of dying of joy. He tried to slow down the inevitable. He wanted this pleasure, this closeness, never to end. But it was an impossible thing to hope for. He’d waited too long for this feeling, and it was too good to stop.

Samantha moved. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and pulled him closer, deeper, tighter. And when she did, everything spiraled as sensation overcame sanity. Pleasure splintered thought, and became a means to an end as Samantha began to burn.

John Thomas groaned as her legs tightened around him. And when she cried aloud from joy, and her honey poured over him, the pleasure became more than he could bear.

He felt it coming. The loss of control. The sensation of losing oneself within another human being. And in that moment when there was nothing left in the world but the fireburst, it happened. Colors splintered behind his eyelids as a warm weakness flooded throughout his body.

“Johnny…”

“Don’t talk, love,” he whispered, as he rained kisses across her face and mouth. “And don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Samantha sighed as he rolled out of bed and walked out of the room. And moments later, when he came back, he scooped her into his arms, and began kissing her all over again.

“Just so I don’t forget the good spots,” he said softly.

She laughed and then she began to cry. Only this time, it was from joy.

“I don’t think I deserve you, Johnny,” she said through tears.

“Probably not,” he whispered, and then grinned.

“But we all make sacrifices in the line of duty.”

John Thomas never knew whether it was from joy or from fear, but when she finally quit crying, she slept. Only then could he give in to his own desperate fears when, for a space of time today, he thought he’d lost her.

He closed his eyes, moved her closer so that her head rested against his chest, and wrapped his arms around her shoulders to hold her in place.

All of his life Johnny Knight had fought for the right to be, and only Sam had understood and accepted him the way he was. He sighed as his fingers traced the tracks of drying tears on her cheeks.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, but he knew for a fact that it was before he ever started school. After that, he hadn’t had time to. He’d been too busy trying to survive.

Samantha sighed, and he shifted slightly beneath her, allowing her to settle back before he brushed the stray lock of her hair away from his face.

It was then that he felt the tears on his own cheeks and realized he had been crying and didn’t know why, and told himself that it was too late and too dark to care. God willing, there would be other days and other nights to figure out why a woman had done what a lifetime of fighting had been unable to do.

“Is this entirely necessary?” Samantha asked, as she stuffed the last of her meager belongings into a suitcase and added it to the stash of stuff by the door.

“You can’t stay out here by yourself again. And I’m not willing to lock you up in jail just to keep you safe. We’re going to rent a place in Rusk until that son of a bitch is caught, and that’s that.”

“I wasn’t arguing, I was just asking,” she said.

“And I just answered,” he said shortly. “I love you too damned much to risk another fright like we both had yesterday. Hell, lady. I nearly died of a heart attack and I’m only thirty-three years old.”

She smiled at the thought. Johnny loved her.

“Who will take care of Rebel?” she asked.

“Mike Lawler’s brother rents the farmland from me. He’s out every day to check on his cattle. He said he’d feed and water my dog until we came back.”

She nodded. It seemed that he’d thought of everything.

“Do you have a place in mind?” she asked, aware that Rusk wasn’t actually overflowing with rental property on a day-to-day basis.

“There’s an empty upstairs apartment in the house where Monty lives. It’s right in the heart of the old part of town. The house isn’t much, but there are neighbors on all sides and it’s only a couple of blocks from the office.”

“I’m ready when you are,” Samantha said.

“Then let’s go, darlin’. I’ve got one madman on the loose, and another in jail that I’ve got to transfer out, not to mention a band of rustlers and one unhappy rancher who’s shy fifty head of prime beef.”

“But at least you’re starting out with clean hair,” she said with a grin.

“I may regret ever telling you that,” he said, rolling his eyes as he began carrying bags and suitcases to the squad car.

“No you won’t,” Samantha said, suddenly serious after such a lighthearted remark. “I always kept your secrets, Johnny. Remember?”

He turned and then stared at the look on her face. Suddenly, without warning, he dropped the bags and started toward her with an expression she was coming to recognize.

“You’ll be late for work,” she said, as she started to back up.

“At this point, do you think I care?”

Daringly, she reached out and gently cupped the hard bulge behind his zipper then shook her head.

“Darlin,’ you just read my mind.”

“I always knew your brain was in your pants,” she said, teasing him a little as he picked her up and started down the hall toward the bedroom.

“I have no brains where you’re concerned. Only love, Sam. A deep, abiding, overwhelming love.”

The thick trees surrounding the old, gray lady of a house spread welcome shade beneath which John Thomas parked.

“So, what do you think?” he asked nervously, fearing that its decrepit look might be the last thing it took to push Samantha over the edge.

“I like it,” she said, smiling and pointing at the same time toward the upstairs windows. “It has air-conditioning.”

He laughed. He should have known it would take more than an aging house to put her off, especially after what she’d been through.

He looked in the rear-view mirror at the car pulling up, and then smiled. “Your ride has arrived.”

Samantha looked out the widow. Deputy Turner had driven up in the pickup John Thomas had left at the department last night.

As he helped her out of the squad car, Sam craned her head for a better look at the deputy and Johnny’s truck.

“What do you mean, my ride? Is Monty taking me somewhere?”

“No, darlin’. I’m leaving my pickup for you. You don’t think I’m going to leave you here afoot, do you? Until this sucker’s caught, I’ll drive the squad car and you get the truck. I don’t want you to ever feel trapped again.”

Monty rounded the end of the car with the truck keys in his hand just as she stepped into John Thomas’s arms.

“Oh, Johnny, I’m already trapped…by you.” She traced the outline of his belt buckle with her fingernail, delighting in the way his eyes widened with shock as it scratched lightly against the metal. “If I could bottle and sell what you have, we’d both be millionaires.”

She laughed aloud at the faint blush spreading across his cheeks but didn’t regret a word that she’d said. It did him good to get nervous once in a while.

Monty stopped in midstep and did an about-face. He’d seen the way they were looking at each other, as well as the flush that swept across his boss’s face. He’d heard her soft, gentle laugh, and the way she’d stepped into his arms as if she were coming home. His heart ached, thinking of what they had and what he’d lost.

“Hey, Turner,” John Thomas said, as he saw his newest deputy turn away. “Now’s no time to get bashful. Besides, if I know Sam, it’ll only make her worse. Come make yourself useful. We’ve got to empty this squad car before we can go back to work.”

Monty ducked his head, and handed Samantha the keys before loading up with bags and heading up the steps with the sheriff and his lady right behind him.

“Whose truck is that?” John Thomas asked, pointing to the old black pickup parked at the end of the yard beneath a tall pine.

“A waitress from Marylee’s Café outside of Cotton drives it. Marylee gave her a job and loaned her the truck until she can make enough money to get home. She got dumped by some trucker. Real shame how some women get treated. Her name’s Claudia something or other. She won’t bother you any. She works nights, sleeps days.”

John Thomas laughed. “I think I know who you mean, but did you happen to get her age, make, and serial number, buddy? You seem to know everything else about her.”

Monty blushed and grinned but refused to admit to anything other than what he’d already revealed.

“I got the key just like you asked,” Monty said, as they reached the door to their apartment. “Let me set this stuff down and I’ll unlock it for you.”

The door swung open with a slight squeak. “Just needs a little WD-40,” he explained, and then looked away, unwilling to see the joy on Samantha’s face.