Deep in the Heart (7 page)

The townspeople had taken to the intrigue of the story as if they had a mission. Suddenly every poor soul who now had the misfortune to stop for gas or a bite to eat at the local truck stop was greeted with less than the usual friendly enthusiasm. After all, Samantha was one of Cotton’s own and someone had threatened her life.

Now that the telling was done, the waiting began. And that was the single most difficult thing of it all.

John Thomas stared at the clock by his bedside table and wished it to hell and back for reminding him that there were at least four more hours of darkness before he could arise with dignity.

The past four days had been some of the best and the worst that he could remember. It was wonderful to know that Samantha was here at his own home, and torture to know that when night came they would part company in the shadowy hallway to go to separate rooms…and separate beds. The bonds of their childhood were strong, and he often felt himself slipping back into an adult attraction that they’d barely explored.

Once in a while he got glimpses of the child that she’d been, but most of the time, it was the woman she was now that made him crazy. The shadows in her eyes faded a little each day, and the smile on her lips grew wider each time she tried it. And the fact that she’d left home with exactly three changes of clothing didn’t bother him at all. He liked the shorts and jeans that she’d stuffed into her carryall when they’d made their escape. He especially liked the soft T-shirts she wore. They cupped her body in the exact same places that he would, if he could.

He didn’t know that Samantha had seen that look on his face when he thought she wasn’t looking. He didn’t know that she was watching his interest turn to intrigue, and intrigue to desire. If he had, he would have denied it in a heartbeat, as Samantha would have done.

In her opinion, her Johnny had been faithful and trustworthy to a fault. And she already knew that John Thomas Knight could be trusted with her life. He’d proven that by coming after her. She just wasn’t certain how far to trust John Thomas, the man, with her heart.

He’d made love with her and then made tracks with her trust. After seeing him again, she realized that she’d never really forgiven him. And so they circled each other, warily and carefully, and tried to pretend nothing was wrong.

John Thomas stared at the clock again as an owl hooted in a tree outside his window. Rebel woofed softly from the porch as a reminder to whatever was out there that invading his territory was not permitted.

The bedsprings squeaked in the room across the hall and, even from here, John Thomas could hear her moan. He could tell from the sounds of her tossing and turning that she was dreaming again. He swung his long legs over the side of the bed, and then sat quietly in the darkness, listening. When the scream came, he was across the hall and into her room before Rebel even had time to react to the broken silence.

“No!” she screamed.

Samantha was running. Her legs moved, but seemed to cover no distance. The clutch of hands on her shoulder was painful and swift. The swirl of heat from his breath on the back of her neck sent her rocketing forward, fighting the tangle of bedclothes and dreams in a desperate desire to escape from the nightmare. And then she was snatched from hell into heaven as strong arms yanked her from her bed.

“Samantha, honey. Wake up! Wake up! It’s me, Johnny. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

He dropped down onto the side of her bed and pulled her across his lap, rocking his body along with hers as she threw her arms around his neck, buried her face beneath his chin, and swallowed the last of her sobs.

And when she could think past the panic, she sighed and leaned against the wall of his chest, holding her hands against her breasts in an odd, protective manner. But it was not to keep John Thomas from touching her. It was to keep her hammering heart where it belonged. Long moments passed as he held her and rocked her, allowing panic to subside and reality to return.

“Are you okay?” he finally asked.

His voice was deep. It echoed in the quiet…in the dark…and in her heart. In that moment, Samantha faced a fact she’d been trying to ignore. She knew that she had to find a way to renew her faith and trust in this man, because if she had to tell Johnny good-bye a second time, she’d never be okay again.

The summer heat drew them together, melding the softness of her skin with the muscle of his own. Another kind of heat simmered between them. An awareness that if they’d let it, more than comfort would pass between them this night.

She stirred in his lap and felt the answering response of his own body beneath her. Then she moaned softly and buried her face in her hands. She wasn’t ready for this, but needn’t have worried. John Thomas wasn’t either. He had his own set of demons to exorcise.

He lifted her from his lap, laying her gently back onto the bed, and walked from the room without explanation. Certain that she’d angered him, she was vaguely surprised when he returned moments later.

The stark whiteness of his briefs and the long, muscular shape of his body were easy to discern through the half-light of moonglow. An old memory of how their bodies had once joined in love and passion overwhelmed her. She had the strongest urge to just lie back on the bed and hold out her arms to him. Instead, she waited for him to make the move.

He came closer. She could smell the heat of his body and the faint, but lingering scent of soap from his bath. She closed her eyes, expecting everything but the cool dampness of the cloth that he wiped across her face.

“Here, honey,” he said gently. “This will cool you off and maybe you can get back to sleep.”

Not in this lifetime,
she thought.

“Bad night, huh?”

“It was,” she said, and sighed, allowing him to minister to her as he would a child. “It’s not so bad now. In fact, it’s been a while since I had my face washed.” She smiled, knowing that her expression was hidden in the darkness.

But John Thomas heard the smile in her voice and before he’d thought, leaned forward and kissed the edge of her forehead where tiny wisps of her hair, damp from the cloth, curled baby-soft against his lips.

“And even longer since I had a good night kiss,” she added breathlessly.

He heard the tenor of her voice change from tease to plea. It was one he couldn’t resist. He bent a bit farther, and this time when his lips touched flesh, they connected with purpose against the surprised pout of her mouth.

He felt her gasp as the inward rush of air slipped past his lips and then that was the last thing he remembered until he felt her hands on his shoulders and her nails digging into his arms and heard her moan softly as their bodies aligned themselves on the bed.

“Hell,” he said softly, and stopped, painfully conscious of the ache in his loins that had nothing to do with nightmares and everything to do with need. Here he was, on top of her in bed, hard and aching. This shouldn’t be happening.

“No, Johnny.” Her soft, husky voice held him pinned to the bed and her body as firmly as if she’d tied him. “It wasn’t hell at all. In fact, it felt nice, very, very nice. I just don’t—”

“Don’t say it, Sam.” His voice was rough. “I’m sorry I let this get out of hand, and I can promise you it won’t happen again. I don’t intend to get burned twice.”

With a groan he rolled off her body and out of bed, trying manfully to ignore the throb between his legs and the emptiness of his arms now that he was apart from her.

He walked out the door without looking back and Samantha wondered why he’d been the one with all the anger. She was the one who’d been abandoned.

She thought she’d never sleep again. But when she closed her eyes, it came quickly, and with it came the memories of a man’s hands and his mouth, and the weight of his body, and the flash fire of heat that had burned between them.

And in the morning, the texture of the air seemed different as an awareness between them began to grow. The days evened out, and Samantha forgot for minutes, and eventually even hours at a time, that someone wanted her dead. But she never, quite ever, let down her guard.

John Thomas got up every morning, leaving Samantha at home to occupy herself with nothing more serious than deciding what to cook for supper. He went to work, and fumed about the red tape and paperwork that was holding up the arrival of his new deputy, and then went home each evening knowing that when he got there, Sam would be waiting.

Complacency became the norm, and guard became lax, and because of it all, when panic struck, it came fresh and fast, as if, somehow, after all they’d been through, it was still unexpected.

“Carol Ann, would you get Sam on the phone for me while I finish signing these papers?”

The dispatcher smiled as she complied. Sheriff Knight had done a complete about-face since he’d returned from California with his old friend in tow. He’d gone from practically living for his work, to living for quitting time, like most normal people.

After dialing the number Carol Ann waited, expecting to hear the husky drawl of Samantha Carlyle’s voice within the first two or three rings. It didn’t happen. She frowned and after at least a dozen rings, hung up and tried again, thinking that maybe she’d misdialed.

This time, she let it ring an even twenty times before she hung up. The look on her face matched the shock in his eyes when she announced, “She doesn’t answer.”

John Thomas frowned. “Try it again, maybe you dialed a wrong number,” he ordered.

“I already did.”

He yanked the phone from her hand and dialed his number himself, and this time, he lost count of the number of rings. All he could hear was the empty sound of the bell as it echoed and echoed in his ear.

Carol Ann wasn’t surprised when he slammed the phone down and announced that he was going home. She would have been a fool not to have noticed how much Sheriff Knight had been affected by his house guest’s presence. Depending on his moods, he was either cautious or cranky whenever her name was mentioned.

John Thomas hadn’t forgotten that the reason Samantha was in Texas was because her life had been threatened. But the last few days had been so calm that she might have let her guard slip. And if her life was in danger, one slip would be all it would take.

He ignored his own truck parked behind the building in favor of the county squad car, thinking he might need more speed than his truck could manage, yet praying that he was wrong. He was out of town in seconds.

As he skidded around the corner on the road above his house, he realized they’d both become lax. He corrected the skid before increasing the squad car’s speed, ignoring the draw in his belly and the band tightening around his heart. He couldn’t face losing Samantha. Not now. Not when he’d just found her again. And while his conscience kept reminding him that she wasn’t his to lose, he ignored it and accelerated.

He turned into his driveway, jumped out of the car before the dust had time to settle, and hit the front door of his house with the flat of his hand, yelling her name as he ran through the empty rooms. The sound of his bootheels echoed along with his voice. But only silence answered, and his worry increased.

He made two complete turns through the house before he convinced himself that nothing was out of place. Nothing was missing…except Sam.

He ran outside and then stopped, standing at the edge of the porch as he stared intently toward the line of trees surrounding his house. For the first time in his life, he saw them not as a shelter, but as a place in which anything—or anyone—could hide.

He cupped his hands to his mouth, intent on shouting her name, when he saw them coming through the hay meadow beyond the road and felt as if all the blood in his body had suddenly dropped to his feet. He began to shake, and more than once, tried to move. But so vast was his relief, that for the moment, it was impossible.

The slow breeze that made its way through the thick line of trees kept teasing at the ponytail she’d made of her hair, blowing wisps of it back and forth across her mouth and eyes as she absently kicked at the dust beneath her feet, and now and then tossed a stick for Rebel to fetch.

Her long legs and arms were bare beneath her well-washed, once-blue T-shirt and faded cutoff jeans. He watched her bend over in the ankle-high grass and pick up a stick, then wind up and give it a fling. Her head tilted back as she followed its arc through the air, and then clapped her hands in delight as Rebel instantly gave chase. The smile on her face as the dog bounded away made him ache. He took a deep breath and started toward her on shaky legs.

She looked up. When she saw Johnny coming across the meadow, she waved and then began to run.

“Hi!” she said, breathless from the jaunt as she came to an abrupt halt in front of him. “I didn’t expect you home.”

“You didn’t answer the phone,” he said quietly.

She looked up, surprised by the depth of emotion in those few words, and knew that he’d been afraid.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I just got so fed up being inside alone. And it was so pretty out I didn’t think it would matter if…”

He shrugged. “I overreacted. No big deal.”

But she knew that it was. “We’ve been to the creek,” she said, waving her hand to include Rebel who trotted up at that moment and dropped at her feet the stick that she’d thrown.

John Thomas was spellbound. Her eyes were a mirror image of the blue sky behind her. A bead of sweat rolled down from her hairline and headed for the neck of her shirt. He watched, fascinated by the track it took as it traveled, and knew that soon it would disappear onto…

He caught himself in time to stop the meandering path of lust his thoughts had taken.

“Which one of you was doing the chasing and which one of you was heading them off at the pass?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You and Rebel look like you’ve been chasing rabbits. And you’re both hot and sweaty and dragging your tails in the dirt. It’s obvious as hell from the mud on your feet that you’ve been
in
the creek.” He grinned slightly. “Simple police deduction.”