Nighthawk & The Return of Luke McGuire (26 page)

He took her mouth in a deep, evocative kiss, telling her how much he wanted to be inside her. She responded immediately, opening her mouth, opening her legs, taking him inside as if she wanted to consume him.

His penetration thrilled her, sending widening waves of pleasure and desire through her. She arched upward to take him deeper, and it was as if she were trying to draw him into her very soul.

But then he teased her, pulling away, hushing her protests with a sprinkle of kisses as he slid down over her until he was kissing her in the most intimate place imaginable.

She felt as if she were caught on a pinnacle of sensation so intense that it was almost painful. She cried out, torn between begging him to stop and begging him never to stop. She had never dreamed that anything could feel so good that it bordered on agony.

Her climax was an explosion that made her see stars and lasted so long that she thought it was never going to end. And just when she thought it was almost over, Craig entered her again in an easy sliding movement, filling her and enhancing her pleasure a thousandfold. This was what she needed, she thought dimly. This man with her, this man inside her. Always.

Later they lay tangled in the sheets, damp from their exertions and so tired they could hardly move. Craig cradled her head in the hollow of his shoulder and made some contented little sounds that caused a bubble of laughter to rise in Esther.

“You sound like Guinevere when she’s rolling in clover.”

“I probably feel
better
than Guinevere when she’s rolling in clover.” He turned a little and snuggled her closer. “So our agreement from last night is off.”

“So it appears.”

“Do you mind?”

This time the laugh escaped her. “Do I look like I mind?”

He lifted his head and studied her quite seriously. “Guess not.”

“So it’s over.”

“Good.”

A silence ensued. Guinevere, who had been left outside the closed bedroom door, moaned, reminding them that she was there.

“Is she always this pushy?” Craig asked teasingly.

“She gets even pushier.”

“Hmm. Why do you put up with it?”

“Because I love her.”

Something seemed to gleam in his dark eyes, making her catch her breath, but then he changed the subject.

“Do you still feel good about facing your father?”

She smiled widely. “Absolutely. In fact, I’m almost euphoric. I had no idea how trapped I felt until finally I was free. It’s…as if I’ve been walking up the side of a mountain with a crushing burden on my back, and all of a sudden I’m on level ground and the burden is gone. I feel lighter than air!”

He hugged her tightly. “I’m so glad,” he murmured, feeling his throat tighten. “I’m so glad.”

Esther boldly kissed his chin and then, when presented with the opportunity, kissed his mouth. “I wanted to tell you…when he was leaving, I couldn’t just let him go.”

He pushed himself up on an elbow and looked down at her, surprised. “You invited him to stay?”

“No! Oh, no! Never. I’m sorry, but there’s no way I could ever trust him enough to let him back into my life. Now that may not be very charitable, but…well, I can forgive but I can’t forget.”

“Did you forgive?”

She nodded. “That’s what I told him when he was leaving. I told him I forgive him.”

“And do you?”

“Oh, yes. I felt so sorry for him. Craig, he has nothing left. He ruined his own life and drove everyone away. He’s pathetic. But…I knew I forgave him, so I told him. And as soon as I said it…”

She hesitated, then looked up at him with shining eyes. “I let go of another burden. I let go of a crushing load of hate and anger that I hadn’t even realized I was carrying all this time. As soon as I made that decision and felt it strongly enough to actually say it to him, it was gone.” Tears sprang to her eyes and began to run down her cheeks. “It felt so good to let go of it, Craig. So good to finally just let it all go…”

He held her close and rocked her gently for a long, long time. The afternoon began to wane, and Guinevere became a little pushier, scratching on the door and barking.

“I need to let her out,” Esther said finally. Her tears were dry now, and she lay contentedly against Craig, wondering how it was possible to feel so good, so right, as if nothing could ever be better.

“I’ll do it,” Craig said. “Be right back.”

After pulling on his jeans, he opened the door. Guin barked joyously and dashed down the stairs. He looked over his shoulder at Esther. “Impatient doesn’t begin to cover it. I think she’s about to pop.”

He descended the stairs to find Guin sitting right by the front door, her tail thumping impatiently.

“Okay, okay,” Craig told her. “Some of us take longer to get moving than others. You have to remember I only have two legs.”

Guin whined and wiggled. Craig reached for the doorknob and threw the door wide open. Guin pushed the screen door open herself and dashed out.

Craig looked out over the yard and felt his jaw drop. “Well, I’ll be.” Mop had gotten over here somehow and engaged in a game of tag with Guinevere that made it plain how overjoyed the dogs were to see each other.

But what really stunned him was Cromwell. The ewe stood placidly in the middle of Esther’s garden, munching happily on flowers, just as she had weeks ago when he first met Esther. How the hell…?

“Craig? Is something wrong?” Esther stood at the top of the stairs in a hastily donned bathrobe.

“Can you come down here, honey? You aren’t going to believe this.”

Honey.
A pleasant quiver ran through her, and a stab of yearning so strong it hurt. If only he would always call her that. She didn’t have her brace on, so she took extra care descending the stairs, gripping the banister tightly. Craig watched her, his smile deepening with each step she took.

“You’re really something, lady, you know that? Enough guts for ten people.”

His praise left her feeling flushed with pleasure. When she reached his side it seemed the most natural thing to slip her arm around his waist. His arm promptly settled around her shoulders.

“You see that?” he asked, pointing outside.

“Mop, you mean? He must have come for…” She trailed off. “Cromwell? What is Cromwell doing here?”

“Damned if I know. She’s sure done a number on your garden. Guess I’m going to have to turn her into stew.”

“Don’t you dare,” Esther said severely. “She’s only being a sheep.”

“Well, I need to do something about her. This is getting ridiculous.”

Esther shrugged and laughed. “Just let her be. When the flowers are gone, the temptation will be gone.”

He looked down at her, his dark eyes capturing her gaze and holding it. “Do you suppose it’s an omen?” he asked, his voice going suddenly husky.

She suddenly couldn’t breathe. “Omen?”

“Cromwell brought us together, remember?”

She managed a nod.

“Maybe this is telling us that we ought to stay together.”

Now she really couldn’t breathe. Her heart was hammering so hard she could hear it. “Don’t joke.”

“Believe me, I’m not joking. I did a lot of thinking while I was walking over here. It’s kinda been growing on me for some time that…well, I can’t live without you.”

Esther’s eyes began to shine, whether from tears or happiness he couldn’t tell. “What about…what about wandering and all the rest of it?”

He shrugged and looked rueful. “That was just a lot of talk, sort of an image I had of myself. You come right down to it, I was wandering because I hadn’t found my home. I think I found it, Esther. Right here with you.”

She drew a quick breath and looked up at him as if her every hope in the world hinged on his next words. That look made him feel a little easier about plunging ahead.

“I know I can’t support you yet, but—”

“But I’m perfectly capable of supporting myself,” she stated firmly. “I have been doing so for quite a few years now.”

He grinned. “I noticed. Anyway, I kind of figured you’d feel that way, so that bit about not having any money doesn’t really mean a whole lot, I guess. I support myself, so it’s not like I’m asking to live off you.” He fell silent, as if he didn’t know where to go from there.

Esther, growing impatient finally, prodded him. “Just what
are
you asking?”

He drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Well, I reckon it’s too early to ask if you love me, so I’d just like to ask if you’ll give me a chance to court you. I’m hoping that maybe, eventually, you might… Well, I love you, Esther, and I’d kinda like it if you’d love me back. Do you think you could see your way to giving me a chance?”

The smile that spread across her face was like the dawning of a new day.

“Oh, I think I could see my way to that, cowboy. Indeed I do.”

Then she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. And Craig finally let out a whoop of sheer joy.

F
our furry little puppies tumbled around Esther’s feet as she finished adjusting her wedding veil. Craig had insisted on the wedding dress and veil, saying he wanted her to have it all.

Esther looked down at the puppies and laughed. She had it all, all right. Four puppies that might look like their father, if their present furriness was any indication, a komondor, a Saint Bernard, a sheep that devoured flowers—and, a baby of her very own on the way.

She hugged the secret to her, keeping it as a surprise for tonight after everyone had left. Tonight, which would be their first night together as man and wife. She knew Craig would be as thrilled as she was, because he’d more than once said he would like to have a couple of children.

“Ready?” Paula asked from the doorway.

“Ready.” Picking up her bouquet, Esther stepped carefully around the pups, paused to pat Guin on the head, and headed downstairs.

If she limped, for once she didn’t notice it. Even the stairs today seemed to provide no obstacle. She felt as if she were walking on air.

The yard was full of people when she stepped out onto the porch, and her breath caught in her suddenly tight throat as she realized that she had never been as isolated as she had felt. Here she was, surrounded by all the people she had come to know since moving to Conard County: Nate Tate and his family, Janet and Abel Pierce, Mandy and Ransom Laird, Micah and Faith Parish, Maude Bleaker, Verna Wilcox and Velma Jansen and their families, Gage and Emma Dalton….

Her eyes were suddenly misty with tears as she realized how many friends she had. And now she had a family as well, because Paula and Enoch Small Elk had all but adopted her. Little Mary Small Elk, all dressed up to be the flower girl, tugged on her dress. “Now, Aunt Essie?”

“Now, Mary.”

There was no one to give her away, but that’s how she wanted it. To the sound of the prairie wind, she walked down the porch to where Craig and Reverend Fromberg awaited her. When Craig took her hand and smiled into her eyes, she felt everything else in the world vanish.

Dimly she heard Reverend Fromberg’s voice admonishing them then reciting the vows. She heard Craig say, “I will,” and then she heard her own voice say it loud and clear, “I will.”

The next thing she knew she was tightly held in Craig’s arms as he kissed her, setting her senses on fire, reminding her of all the delights that lay ahead of them.

Then she turned to greet her smiling friends and neighbors and realized that Craig wasn’t the only one who had found a home.

For the first time in her life, so had she.

Justine Davis

For the girls
who, like me, always fell for the bad boy…
and were lucky enough to marry a reformed one.

I
t wasn’t nearly as tough being a bastard as it used to be.

Luke McGuire knew that, knew that if he’d been born a hundred, or even fifty years ago his life would have been a much bigger nightmare. But the unexpected letter he held made long-buried memories rise again, memories of the nightmare his life had indeed been.

He stared down at the scrawled lines that filled the page of three-hole notebook paper. He glanced again at the envelope, addressed only to his name and the small town of River Park; if Charlie Hanson didn’t know everybody in town, he might never have gotten it.

He wasn’t sure he didn’t wish Charlie had never heard of him.

He shoved a hand through his wind-tangled hair, pushing it back from his forehead. He was going to have to cut it or start tying it back soon; the thick, dark strands were getting in his way. Not that seeing any better changed the plea the letter contained.

He could just toss it, he thought. After all, if River Park had been a little bigger, or Charlie a little less efficient, it could have wound up in some dead letter file, since there was no return address on the envelope. So he could throw it away and go on pretending blissful ignorance.

Except he’d read it. He’d read it, and he didn’t know if he had it in him to ignore the plea it contained.

His little brother was in trouble.

Little Davie. The child who had been the only good thing in his life so long ago, the only person who ever looked at him with pure, honest love shining in his eyes.

Little Davie?

Luke caught himself with a wry chuckle as the math hit home. Eight years. David would be fifteen now. Hardly the wide-eyed, innocent child he remembered.

Especially the innocent part, he thought with a grimace as he read the letter once more.

Guilt rose up, sharp toothed and ugly. He’d known what he was leaving David behind to face. He’d hoped the fact that his brother was the wanted son would make things different for him, that having a father there to defend him would make it all right.

Maybe it had only gone sour in the six months since David’s father had died. That made sense; their mother would never be openly cruel to him while Ed Hiller was alive. Not when he was her meal ticket. But she had a thousand ways to be quietly, subtly cruel, covering it with feigned concern, even wearing the mask of affection to hide the emotional whip.

He felt a flicker of sympathy for the man who had been as much of a father as Luke had ever known. It had been Ed who had lectured Luke—gently—on not living up to his potential, Ed who had told him he was smarter than his grades were showing, Ed who, seeming to sense Luke was on the verge of bolting, pressed him hard to finish school. Ed hadn’t loved him the way he loved his blood son, but he’d been kind, and fair, which meant more to Luke than Ed Hiller could ever have known. He felt a brief flicker of regret that he had never told the man he was grateful.

And now that man’s son was crying out for Luke’s help. Wanting, of all things, to come and live with him. And Luke had done enough running of his own to realize that David was in full stride.

He got up and walked to the window of his cabin. It was the smallest of the five on the property, but Luke had taken it eagerly. It also had the best view of the river. At night he could hear the rush of the water and pretend he could hear the rough and tumble of the rapids just downstream. It was all he needed. It was all he wanted.

He heard the crumple of paper and realized he was clenching his fist around David’s letter. It wasn’t his problem, he thought. He didn’t have to deal with it. Which was a good thing, since he’d sworn to never set foot in Santiago Beach again, and nothing had happened since he’d left to change his mind.

He would just throw the letter away. Pretend it had never reached him.

He finished crumpling it up, feeling the oddly sharp dig of one of the corners of the envelope against his palm.

Not for anything or anyone would he go back to Santiago Beach. Not even for the boy who had made those last years survivable.

“Hey, McGuire! You comin’ or what?”

The voice of his friend and partner Gary Milhouse was a welcome interruption.

“Yeah,” he called out. “On my way.”

Good idea. Half a pizza and a beer or two, and he would forget all about it. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do anyway.

He stuffed the letter in his pocket and walked right past his wastebasket. He would burn it later, he thought. That way it wouldn’t be lying around to taunt him.

Maybe three beers.

Amelia Blair watched the gangly boy heading toward her bookstore. His hair moved loosely on top of his head, where it was long and bleached a white blond. A darker, medium brown showed beneath, where it was shaved short. A baggy shirt and baggier pants flapped as he crossed the street. He was walking—almost strutting—in that self-conscious way teenage boys had when they were trying to be adult but were still in the imitation stage, before it came from the inside.

She knew she tended toward worry anyway, but she was certain her concern about her young friend was warranted. He’d changed so much from the open, natural boy she’d met when he’d first come into her bookstore four years ago. And the change had not been for the better.

The buzzer on the door announced David’s arrival in the cultured tones of Captain Jean-Luc Picard; she’d adapted the sound effects from
Star Trek
and rotated them daily. They were a big hit with her younger customers—some of whom stopped in daily to see who would be talking—and even made the older ones smile. “Hey, Amelia.”

He sounded normal enough this morning, she thought. “Hello, David. How are you?”

He shrugged. “Hangin’ in.”

Amelia nodded, knowing he usually wanted to leave it at that. She couldn’t blame him; the subject of his father’s recent unexpected and sudden death in an accident was still new, and he was still raw and aching.

He made a show of looking at the books in her front display rack, but since his taste ran more to science fiction, she doubted he was really interested in the bestsellers and her own personal choices. She knew it took him a while to work up to really talking to her, and she’d found the best approach was to just welcome him and wait.

After a moment he stopped fiddling with the latest political exposé and stepped over to the counter. He leaned his elbows on it and finally looked at her. “How was kickboxing today?”

She smiled. “Tiring. We’re working on punch-kick combinations, and it’s tough.”

“Bet it’ll take out a bad guy.”

“That’s the idea, anyway,” Amelia said. She’d signed up for the classes three years ago in the hope they would help her feel less…timid. She was at home in her world here, amid her books, but outside, she was never quite sure of herself. She had resigned herself at twenty-five to being forever a mouse, with mousy brown hair to match, but now, at thirty, she was determined to at least be the bravest mouse she could be.

As a side benefit, it had impressed David, who had decided she had to be fairly cool to be taking kickboxing. After that, the relationship had grown rapidly.

“I wish my mother would change her mind and let me take lessons,” David said.

Amelia hesitated. She doubted that was likely. Jackie Hiller seemed to run her son’s life with a heavy hand, allowing him only the extracurricular activities she approved of.

Of course, she also doubted Mrs. Hiller knew about the new friends David had acquired. Loud, obnoxious, frequently nasty and purposely intimidating, the group of about five boys had already gained an unpleasant notoriety in Santiago Beach. From what Amelia had seen they were all hotheaded, which unfortunately made them very attractive to a boy still angry about his father’s death.

“Maybe if you got a part-time job and offered to help pay for the lessons?” she suggested, thinking that something physical, like kickboxing, might be just the thing David needed to release some of that anger. And the part of the program that dealt with mental and emotional control couldn’t hurt.

But David snorted aloud. “It’s not the bucks. Hell, she spends it like crazy. She just wants me to do wussy stuff like piano lessons. And during the summer, too!”

“Well, even Elton John had to start somewhere.”

David looked at her blankly. “Who? Oh…he’s that old guy from England, right?”

She smothered a sigh and nodded, wondering how a boy only fifteen years younger could make her feel ancient. “He’s lasted in the music biz for decades now because he can play the piano.” Well, that was stretching it a bit, but it made her point. And she liked Elton, even if he was more of her parents’ generation.

“Yeah. Well. I still hate it.”

She grinned at him then. “So did I.”

He blinked. “You did?”

“Yep. My mother made me practice for two hours a day, then I had to play for my father when he came home.”

“Bummer,” David said with an eloquent shiver. “But I won’t have to do it much longer.”

“Talk your mother out of it, did you?”

“Not exactly.”

Something about the way the boy said it set alarms off in Amelia’s mind. “What, exactly?”

David looked at her, then looked away, then looked sideways back at her again. Her worry increased, but she reined it in, telling herself to remember that he had to take his time, but he eventually opened up.

“I’m going away,” he finally blurted out.

“Away?”

“To live somewhere else.”

This startled her, but she knew if she peppered him with questions he would clam up. So she settled on one thing she knew was true. “I’ll miss you,” she said simply.

He looked startled, then pleased, then he blushed. She knew when he felt his cheeks heat, because he lowered his head again.

“Where are you going?” she asked, careful to keep her tone casual.

He didn’t raise his head. He tapped his fingers in a restless rhythm. Took a deep breath, let it out.

“I’m going to live with my brother,” he said in the same kind of rush.

“Your brother?” She was genuinely startled now.

“Yeah. Luke. Luke McGuire. My half brother, really. You don’t know him, he was gone before you came here.”

No, she didn’t know him. But she knew
of
him. It was hard to live in Santiago Beach and not know of the town bad boy who had departed the morning after the high school graduation he’d barely achieved and never been back. Luke McGuire might have been gone for better than eight years, but his reputation had lingered.

“I didn’t realize you were in touch with him,” she said carefully. “You never mentioned him before.”

“He’ll be coming to get me soon,” David said.

Amelia noticed he hadn’t answered her directly, but didn’t belabor the point. “When? Do I have time to get you a going-away present?”

Again the boy blushed. “I…don’t really know. Not yet, anyway. But he’s coming. I know he is.”

For a moment David sounded like a child waiting for Santa Claus, and she wondered if the arrival of the brother was as much a fantasy. She also wondered, as she had before, if the phantom brother wasn’t part of David’s problem, if because some people expected him to be just like his troublemaking brother, it had become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

David met her gaze then, his jaw set and his chin up. “You’ll see. So will my mom. She can’t keep him away, even though she hates him.”

Amelia considered that. Ordinarily her response would have been something soothing, assuring the boy his mother surely didn’t really hate his brother. But she had met David’s mother, knew that Jackie was very conscious of appearances and hated to be embarrassed. Given Luke’s reputation and what the woman had no doubt gone through raising him, she could easily believe there was no love lost between the two.

“It must be difficult, if he and your mother don’t get along, but you want to go live with him.”

“She doesn’t know about it. Yet,” he added, his expression turning mutinous.

“Does she even know you’ve been in touch?”

“No. Yes.”

Well, Amelia thought, there’s a teenage response for you. She waited, knowing David would explain if she just waited.

“I mean she knows I wrote to him, but she stole my first letter before the mail lady picked it up. I found it in the trash.”

Amelia smothered a sigh; she couldn’t think of anything more likely to make an already resistant teenager downright stubborn. But it wasn’t her place to pass judgment on his mother’s parenting skills.

“So you wrote again?”

He nodded, a little fiercely, the blond hair flopping in time with the movement. “Couple of weeks ago. And I took it to the post office myself. I even bought the stamp myself, ’cause I know she started counting the ones in her desk. She puts a mark on the next one on the roll. She thinks I’m too dumb to figure that out.”

Amelia couldn’t imagine living that way. Her parents might have been older and a bit fussy in their ways, but she had never had to live with this kind of subterfuge and mistrust.

“And what did your brother say?”

“He hasn’t answered. Yet.” This time the “yet” was in an entirely different tone, one of stubbornly determined hope. “I think he’s just gonna come and get me. He doesn’t have time for writing letters.”

“He doesn’t?”

“Nah, he’s too busy.”

“Doing what?”

“I’m not sure, but cool stuff. He’d never have some boring job or wear a tie or nothing like that.”

“But you don’t know what he does do?”

“No. But he’s not in jail, like my mom says!”

Amelia’s breath caught. “Jail?”

“She just says that. She’s always said it, that he was probably in jail somewhere. She’s always sayin’ bad things about him.”

Amelia felt an unexpected tug of sympathy for the absent Luke McGuire. “You were young when he left, weren’t you?” she asked gently.

“I was almost eight.” He sounded defensive. “I remember him really good. He was really cool. He used to take me with him places, unless he was with some girl. And sometimes at night, you know, when I was real little, when I couldn’t go to sleep, he’d sneak in and read to me.”