Lana's Lawman (18 page)

“No. Um, that is, we can talk about it later.” She didn't want Sloan fixing this for her the way he might a roof.

“Okay.” He gave her hair one final caress before setting her away from him. “Hungry?”

For you.
“Famished, as usual.”

“I made reservations at The Courts. A sirloin or some lobster can't help but take the sting out of losing your job.”

“Can't hurt,” she agreed, her mouth watering.

The Courts was one of the fanciest restaurants in Destiny, complete with glittering chandeliers and tiptoeing waiters. Lana reveled in every sensation even as
she chided herself for taking comfort from something so trivial as a steak dinner. Her life was falling apart, unraveling like an old sweater the cat just found. And here she was, giddy as a bride, because Sloan was treating her like a princess … and because she knew that after dinner they would spend the night together.

There was nothing wrong with taking comfort from a friend, or a more-than-friend in Sloan's case. But where did moral support end and dependence begin? How did she go about learning to love Sloan without completely enmeshing her life in his so thoroughly that she didn't know herself anymore?

Was she the only woman who had this problem?

“So, have you checked the classifieds, that kind of thing?” Sloan asked casually after they'd finished sharing a sinful fudge nut brownie.

“I did,” she answered on a sigh. “Nothing there. Jobs in horticulture are pretty hard to come by.”

“You might have to work out of your chosen field for a while.”

“Doing what? I don't have any secretarial skills,” she pointed out. “I can't type worth a darn.”

“What about customer service? You can answer a phone, can't you? Or a sales job. You have experience in retail.”

“I'd go crazy inside of thirty minutes.”

“Can you waitress?”

“No.”

“Short-order cook. I know you can cook.”

“Sloan, you're not being helpful.” She heard the
snap in her voice and winced. He was only trying to cheer her up.

“Sorry. Lana, what do you want from me?”

She looked at him, and all at once her inexplicable frustration bubbled to the surface. “I don't recall that I
asked
for anything from you. I told you about my employment problems because you'd already guessed something was wrong.”

“And you wouldn't have told me otherwise?” He seemed offended.

“I … don't know. Probably not. I was trying not to.”

“Why? Why in the world wouldn't you want to share something like that with me? It makes me feel like you don't trust me.”

“I can't explain it.”

“Try.” A muscle ticked in Sloan's neck.

“I would, if I knew myself what was going on.” She looked around nervously as tears threatened again. Seemed she was crying a lot lately, and she didn't want to do it in a public place. “Let's get out of here, okay?”

Sloan nodded and threw some money on the table. But instead of returning to the car, Sloan took Lana's hand and led her to a sidewalk that led down to a small, wooded lake behind the restaurant. The lake was surrounded by a bike path, deserted this time of night, and they had it to themselves. A sharply cool breeze blew off the water, causing Lana to shiver.

Sloan said nothing, obviously waiting for her to jump in.

So she did. “I think it goes back to high school. No,
maybe before. My mother invested everything she had in her marriage. And when my father died, well, she might as well have died with him. The rest of her life was a tribute to him. And I remember thinking, I'll never be like that. I'll never be so crazy about someone that I can't be myself too.”

Sloan said nothing, so Lana plunged ahead.

“When you and I were together in high school, I started feeling kind of … crazy. For the first time, I understood a little of my mother's devotion to Daddy, because I caught myself thinking, I can't live without him. I'll do anything to be with him.”

“About me?” he asked, incredulous.

“Yes, about you. And it scared me so bad, I just couldn't handle it. I … oh, I've explained this to you before, haven't I?”

“Not like this.”

“Well, anyway, one of the reasons I married Bart was that even though I believed I was in love, I still felt like my own person. The relationship seemed safe.”

She felt Sloan stiffen beside her. “You felt safer with that jackass than you did with me?”

“I'm not explaining this right. I only
thought
I was safe. Bart ended up being dangerous in his own way. He turned love into a weapon, a means to manipulate.”

Lana could see Sloan struggling to make the connection. She saw it the moment he gave up. “Look, Lana, if you want me to watch you suffer and not try to help, you're going to be disappointed. I'm trying hard to understand what you want from me—”

“Patience. That's all. I'm not being logical, but I'm
obeying survival instincts here. Just … be with me. Know that I'm working through some stuff in my own head. My relationship to you is important, too important to mess it up by getting off on the wrong foot, setting up patterns that might be hard to break. Does that make even the slightest bit of sense?”

Again he stopped in the middle of the path, as if he needed the stillness in order to think clearly. “What I'm hearing is that you want a relationship?”

She cleared her throat, embarrassed she'd been so forthright. “Yes. I've come out and said it, okay? No more playing coy. All my adult life, I regretted losing you because I was such a coward. I'm happy we found each other again. I think we could turn this into something serious, something long-term … if you want, that is.”

Lana felt suddenly insecure. She'd blurted out all her secrets now. But if she was merely a dalliance for him, if her talk of long-term relationships scared him off, she would rather know now.

Sloan's response was to fold her into his arms and kiss her with an aching gentleness. It lasted an eternity, then was over too quickly. “Yes, I want,” he murmured hoarsely against her hair.

With those three words Lana melted against him. It was going to be all right. She hadn't scared him off.

“So what are the ground rules?” Sloan asked as they started walking again.

“Pardon?”

“You didn't mean to unload on me about losing
your job, but now that you have, am I allowed to offer ideas? Suggestions? Advice? Or none of those three?”

Lana took a deep breath. She knew she hadn't gotten through to Sloan, but at least he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. “I'll be happy to consider any ideas you might have. But if I ever hear the phrase ‘You should have listened to me' …”

“Man, Lana, that turkey ex-husband of yours must have done a number on you.”

“Yes.” No point in denying it.

“We just had our first real fight, you know.”

She smiled. “Yes.”

“Does that mean we can go to your house and kiss and make up now?”

“Yes, it does.”

For the first time in a week, Lana slept soundly. Not all night, to be sure. Sloan kept interrupting her sleep with a kiss here, a languid stroke there, until she was already halfway to making love before she was fully awake. She would shudder in his arms with yet another shattering climax, then drift off again cuddled next to him, to enjoy a few more hours of dreamless sleep.

By the next morning she was feeling rested and sated and utterly self-indulgent. She fretted some when Rob was away for the weekend at his father's, but she had to admit that for once she was enjoying her “adult” time.

“You're the most shameless man I've ever known,” she said as she watched Sloan reclined on her bed in
total, unself-conscious nudity, crunching an apple and reading the paper.

“Me? You're the one who slept past nine o'clock,” he said, offering her a bite of his apple.

She took it. The fruit was sweet and crunchy and tasted better than she remembered anything ever tasting.

“Nine o'clock, huh?” She sighed. “Guess I ought to get moving.”

“Why?”

“Well, because … there are things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Like going through the want ads. Catching up on my class reading. Fixing you breakfast.”

“I've fended for myself, as you can see.” He tossed his apple core into the wastebasket. “As for the want ads, I could help you with that.”

If she'd let him
, his eyes seemed to be saying.

“You can't do my reading for me though.”

“You could do that in bed. While I rub your feet and suck on your toes.”

“Sloan!” Just the same, his wicked suggestion made her toes curl, and a liquid warmth trickled through her. Now that she'd lost that initial awkwardness with him, she'd found him to be the most creative, uninhibited lover she'd ever imagined, let alone actually been with.

He gave a low, suggestive laugh. “You are not nearly as prim and proper as you pretend, Miss Lana.”

“I've been repressed. No, wait, we can't,” she said when he pushed the paper aside and moved toward her, his intent clear. “We're out of … you know.”

“I brought another box.”

“You had big plans, I see.”

“Good thing. I'm always prepared for every contingency.”

“But you're not a Boy Scout.” Not by a long shot.

With that, Sloan lifted the covers and kissed one of her breasts until the nipple was hard. Lana sighed and succumbed to the inevitable. She'd only
thought
she was sated. But with only a minor effort the man had her writhing against him.

He trailed his tongue down her belly and kissed her thighs, then between them, until she was literally begging him to finish her off. He did that by filling her with long, hot strokes until she thought she would expire from the wild beauty of her feelings. Finally she cried out, shattering into a million pieces of gorgeous ecstasy. He followed her there within moments, and together they lay breathing as one.

“This making-love stuff is exhausting,” she said, still trying to catch her breath.

“Mmm, but what a way to burn calories.”

“Does that mean we can have cheese omelets for breakfast?”

“At least two each.”

As if on cue, Sloan's stomach rumbled. Lana laughed. “Okay then, I'm getting right to it.” She threw the covers back and swung her feet to the floor, and the phone rang.

She stared at it for a moment, wondering who would be calling her on a Saturday morning. Rob? He rarely needed his Mom during a Dad weekend.

“Are you going to answer it?”

For a moment she was tempted not to. She wanted to preserve the fantasy-like cocoon of intimacy she and Sloan had created for just a while longer. But what if it really was Rob? She snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Is this Mrs. Gaston? Rob's mother?” a stranger's voice asked.

“Yes. What's wrong?” She already knew this phone call meant trouble.

“This is Detective Sergeant Don Bledsoe with the Destiny Police Department. I'm sorry, but your son's been arrested. I'll need you to come down and—”

“
My
son? No way,” she said with absolute certainty. “There's been a mix-up somewhere.”

“Rob Gaston? About eight years old, blond hair, brown eyes?”

“Arrested for
what
, for God's sake?”

“Breaking and entering. We caught him and another juvenile exiting a house out on Evensong Lane with a VCR, a game system, two TVs—”

“Evensong Lane. That's where his father lives. It was his father's house.” Of course. There was a logical explanation. There had to be.

“It was a neighbor's house, not Mr. Gaston's,” the sergeant said patiently.

“And just where is Mr. Gaston?” Lana asked, furious with fear.

“We haven't located him yet.”

“I'll be right down,” she said, then hung up.

“Lana, what is it? He's not hurt, is he?”

“I don't know.” She opened her dresser and pulled
out clothes willy-nilly until she had one of everything she needed to cover herself decently. Sloan threw on his clothes too, while she repeated the alarming news the sergeant had given her. “You'll go down to the station with me, won't you? I don't know what to do. They've got my baby in jail. I have to get him out.”

“It'll be okay, Lana,” he said, soothing her with his touch. “It's not like they throw juveys into a drunk tank with hardened criminals. Don't forget, I've been there.”

“Will they let me take him home?”

“A judge will have to set the bail first, but that usually doesn't take long.”

“Then what? Will they put him away in some horrible juvenile home? Make him work on a farm? What?”

“Lana, don't panic. They're not going to throw an eight-year-old into the pen. Let's just see what the circumstances are and go from there.”

“All right, yes, all right,” Lana said, trying to calm herself. Kids got into trouble all the time. Heck, Bart defended juvenile clients on a regular basis, and she couldn't remember that any of them got sent up the river. Usually they got probation or community service if Bart didn't manage to get the charges dropped. He would know what to do, although at the moment she was so furious with her ex-husband that she wouldn't trust him with the fate of a dog.

Sloan drove to the police station while Lana, her hands shaking, ran a comb through her hair and put on
lipstick, thinking perhaps that might make her feel more in control. It didn't.

“He's too young to be getting into trouble,” she murmured to herself.

Sloan answered her. “Any age is too young to be getting into trouble.”

“You were ten the first time you got arrested, right?”