Own the Night (18 page)

Her heart sank when he looked as if he didn’t believe her.

* * *

“I
CAN
’
T
IMAGINE
HOW
YOU
withstood being stuck here for this long.” Eleanor shook out her silky
nightgown and carefully laid it on the bed, which was covered by a quaint
patchwork quilt she’d already made a condescending remark about. Thankfully, not
in front of Rachel. “You should’ve called me immediately.”

Alana merely picked up her mother’s designer toiletry bag and
carried it to the attached bathroom, which hadn’t met with her approval,
either.

“Why didn’t you call me when everything got stolen? That
sheriff…” Her mother waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever his name was, didn’t he
offer you a phone call? He certainly seemed accommodating enough.”

Oh, Alana wasn’t fooled by Eleanor’s show of indifference.
She’d sensed the spark between Alana and Noah, and now Eleanor was fishing.
Alana felt too numb to care. All she could think about was how horribly she’d
disappointed him. How profoundly disappointed she was in herself.

Funny how in Blackfoot Falls, Eleanor’s cracks showed so
glaringly. In her own world, she was a star. She needed only to smile and accept
the praise. In the real world, she was awful—intolerant, judgmental, completely
out of touch with how most people lived.

“When are you going to change out of those horrid clothes?”
Eleanor called out, and Alana realized she was still standing in the bathroom,
finding it hard to meet her own gaze in the mirror. “I understand why you would
want to have everything washed or dry-cleaned first, but surely there’s
something in your suitcase that would do for now.”

Alana finally raised her eyes to her reflection, and what she
saw shamed her. She’d gotten it all wrong. Eleanor hadn’t embarrassed her; Alana
had embarrassed herself. She could try to blame her unspeakably childish
behavior on her mother’s unexpected arrival, but that was crap.

She was just as guilty as the rest of Eleanor’s sycophants,
treating her mother as if she were above the use of courtesy or compassion. When
had she ever stood up to the woman? Alana had spent her life ignoring her,
evading her, taking petty vengeance with passive-aggressive behavior. But had
she ever made a stand and fought for something she wanted? How had she put it to
Rachel? Better to take the path of least resistance?

God, even her assistant had seen through her. Pam knew Alana
was incapable of saying no to Eleanor. Why was it so easy to stand up to
strangers, when the only relationship that was truly hurting her was the one
with her mother?

And now Alana had hurt Noah. He’d taken her home to dinner
without a whisper about his mom’s problem. He hadn’t been embarrassed by her. He
lived his life, and he left his mom to live hers.

Eleanor was still going on about something, but Alana had quit
listening. Time to fight for what she wanted, and the hell with letting her
mother stand in her way.

“Hey, Mom,” she said as she left the bathroom. “You do know
your way back to the airport, yes?”

Eleanor gaped at her. “What? Is something wrong?”

“I hope not.” Alana smiled and kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you
in New York.”

“Excuse me?” Her expression grew furious.

“Have a safe trip,” Alana said, and slipped out the door. She
had to find Rachel, her luggage and a ride to town.

* * *

I
RRITABLE
AND
DEPRESSED
, N
OAH
slammed the door
between his office and the cell where Avery had been bellyaching for the past
two hours. The man hadn’t shut up since they left the Sundance. Not only that,
but Noah knew he was in for a chewing out from the judge. He’d had no business
releasing evidence, but he’d wanted to see Alana, mostly for reassurance. A lot
of good that had done. Now he was more certain than ever that she’d be out of
here tomorrow. If she stopped in Blackfoot Falls at all it would be only to sign
a statement against Avery. She’d say goodbye, talk about a return trip, but he
couldn’t see it.

He’d like to convince her otherwise, but then what did he have
to offer her? He wasn’t willing to move to New York, and her life was there, not
here, or anyplace resembling Blackfoot Falls. Besides, they barely knew each
other. What had it been, five days?

He sat at his desk and rubbed his throbbing temples. This
afternoon he’d been convinced that he knew her well. They’d shared so much, so
easily. But she’d acted so strangely with her mother. The difference between the
woman putting Gunderson in his place and the girl twisting herself in knots for
her mother was like night and day. If he hadn’t witnessed it himself, he’d never
have believed it.

Damn.

He still felt as if he knew her, but he didn’t comprehend the
dynamic of that relationship, not one bit. He’d seen her with Sadie and his
mother, though, and knew that Alana had a good heart. She was smart and quick,
and he understood her in ways he couldn’t explain, but he knew there was more to
learn. Maybe someday… If they had more time together…

Man, going home tonight was gonna be a bitch. Not just because
the house would be empty, but Alana wouldn’t be there to ask about his day, tell
him about her plans for the Watering Hole. She wouldn’t be there, eyes
sparkling, standing on tiptoes waiting for his kiss.

Forcing in a deep breath, he stared at the paperwork
summarizing the charges against Avery. Noah hadn’t finished yet, but it was no
use; staring wasn’t improving his concentration. He had to do something. Like
drive out to the Sundance and talk to Alana in private. He threw down his pen
and pushed back from his desk.

Damned if he knew what he was going to say.…

He heard the door open, stick for a second, and then he saw
Alana. She looked different dressed in tailored black slacks and a red
turtleneck sweater, her designer purse slung over her shoulder.

“I was hoping I’d catch you here,” she said, smiling nervously
and closing the door behind her.

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

“No, I don’t suppose you would have.” She moved to the guest
chair and sat down, and he flashed back on last Friday. Probably because she
looked more like that woman who’d first sat across from him—mysterious,
disheveled, and still so captivating he’d marched right past his own rules in
order to be close to her.

He could barely believe how hard his heart was pounding now
that she was back in that chair. He wanted so badly for this not to be
goodbye.

Her gaze lowered to the report. “I don’t want to press charges
against Avery.”

“He stole from you, no matter what his reasons were.” Confused,
Noah watched her fidget with the strap of her purse. “No one will blame you for
lodging a complaint. Legally, he has to answer for his actions.”

“Look, as far as I’m concerned, it was a misunderstanding. I
won’t sign a statement against him.”

“A misunderstanding?” Was this about not wanting to return for
the trial? The thought depressed Noah all over again. “You won’t have to come
back to testify, if that’s what you’re worried about. Avery admitted everything,
said he was trying to hurt the Sundance and keep tourists away.”

“You know,” she said, leaning forward, “I have every intention
of returning. And when I do I’d like to find the town and everyone in it just as
they were before.” She smiled. “I’m with Avery. I don’t want to see tourists
like Eleanor ruining things.” Alana moistened her lips. “Tourists like me.” Her
chin lifted and her eyes blazed as she smiled. “But that’s just too bad, because
I’m coming back, anyway.”

Noah felt his own smile spread across his face. “Did your
mother come with you?”

“No,” Alana said, her back ramrod straight. “I told her to go
back where she belongs first thing tomorrow. Rachel dropped me off.”

“Ah.” Noah got to his feet. “So where are you staying
tonight?”

“Well, I heard there’s this hot sheriff who takes in strays,”
she said, rising from the chair.

“Is that right?” He caught her hand and pulled her toward him,
the tension melting at the feel of her lush warm body pressed to his.

She slid her arms around his neck and smiled up at him.
“Besides, you have my clothes.”

“You have your luggage.”

“Oh, please, I have nothing appropriate for the fall festival
on Friday.” She stretched up and kissed him, firmly but briefly. “I have no idea
where this thing between us is going.…” She hesitated. “Your input about now
would be welcome.”

Noah stroked her back. “I don’t know, either, but I’m willing
to keep doing what we’ve been doing until we figure it out.”

“It’s going to require some traveling back and forth for both
of us.”

He smiled. “Is that a problem for you?”

She shook her head. “The problem would be never seeing you
again.”

Lowering his head, he whispered, “You’re the best thing that’s
ever happened to Blackfoot Falls.”

Her head tilted slightly. “So you want me back just to help out
the town?”

“Hang the town. I want you back for me.”

The way her lips parted on a gasp made it impossible not to
kiss her. And kiss her.

And kiss her....

* * * * *

Return to Blackfoot Falls in December
with
ON A SNOWY CHRISTMAS NIGHT,
the third book in Debbi Rawlins’s MADE IN MONTANA
miniseries. You’re sure to fall in love with dark, sexy cowboy Jesse
McAllister!

Keep reading for an excerpt of
Just One
Night
by Nancy Warren

1

“S
ICK
LEAVE
?”
Rob Klassen yelled, unable to believe what he was hearing from the editor of
World Week,
the international current affairs magazine he'd worked for as a photojournalist for twelve years. “I'm not sick!”

Gary Wallanger pulled off his glasses and tossed them onto his desktop cluttered with Rob's proof sheets documenting a skirmish in a small town near the Ras Ajdir border between Tunisia and Libya. “What do you suggest I call it? Shot-in-the-ass leave? You damned near got yourself killed. Again.”

Gary didn't like his people getting too close to the action they were reporting on and his glare was fierce.

Rob put all his weight on his good leg, but even so, the throbbing in his left thigh was hard to ignore. “I was running away as fast as I could.”

“I saw the hospital report. You were running toward the shooter. Bad luck for you. They can tell those things from the entry and exit wounds.” In the uncomfortable silence that followed Rob heard the roar of traffic, honking cabs and sirens on the Manhattan streets far below. He hadn't counted on Gary finding out the details he'd have rather kept to himself.

“You want to be a war hero,” his editor snapped, “join the forces. We report news. We don't make it.”

Another beat ticked by.

“There were bullets flying everywhere. I got disoriented.”

“Bull. You were playing hero again, weren't you?”

Rob could still picture the toddler cowering behind an oil drum. Yeah, his boss would have been happier if he'd left her scared and crying in the line of gunfire. But he was the one who had to wake up every morning and look himself in the mirror. Truth was he hadn't thought at all. He'd merely dashed over to the girl and hauled her to safety. Getting shot hadn't been in his plan.

Would he have acted any differently if he'd known what the outcome would be? He sure as hell hoped not.

He knew better than to tell Gary any of that. “You don't win Pulitzers with a telephoto lens. I needed to get close enough to capture the real story.”

“Close enough to take a bullet in the leg.”

“That was unfortunate,” Rob admitted. “I can still handle a camera though. I can still walk.” He made a big show of stalking across the carpeted office, scooting around the obstacle course of stacked back issues, piled newspapers and a leaning tower of reference books. If he concentrated he could manage to stride without a limp or a wince though he could feel sweat begin to break out from the effort.

“No.” The single word stopped him in his tracks.

He turned. “I'm the best you've got. You
have
to send me back out on assignment.”

“I will. As soon as you can run a mile in six.”

“A mile in six minutes? Why so fast?”

Gary's voice was as dry as the North African desert. “So the next time you have to run for your life you can make it.”

Rob paused for breath and grabbed a chair back for support. He and Gary had been friends for a long time and he knew the guy was making the right decision even if it did piss him off. “It was pure bad luck. If I'd dodged right instead of left...”

“You know most people would be pretty happy to be alive if they were you. And they'd be thrilled to get a paid vacation.” Gary picked up his glasses and settled himself behind his desk.

“They patched me up at the closest military hospital. It was nothing but a flesh wound.”

“The bullet nicked your femur. I do know how to read a hospital report.”

Damn.

“Go home. Rest up. The world will continue to be full of trouble when you get back.” Rob knew Gary was still aggravated by the fact that he didn't compliment him on his photos, which they both knew to be superb. Instead of getting the praise he deserved, he was being sent home like a kid who'd screwed up.

He scowled.

Home.

He'd been on the road so much in the past few years that home was usually wherever he stashed his backpack.

If he'd ever had a home, it was in Fremont, Washington, a suburb of Seattle that prided itself on celebrating counterculture, considering itself the center of the universe and officially endorsing the right to be peculiar. Fremont seemed a fitting destination for him right now that he was feeling both self-centered and peculiar. Besides, it was the only place he could think of to go even though everything that had made the place home was now gone.

“All right. But I heal fast. I'll be running six-minute miles in a couple weeks. Tops.”

“You'll be under a doctor's care and I'll be needing the physician's report before I can reinstate you for any assignments in the field.”

“Oh, come on, Gary. Give me a freakin' break.”

Once more the glasses came off and he was regarded by tired hazel eyes. “I
am
giving you a break. I could assign you to a desk right here in New York. That's your other option.”

He shook his head. No way he was being trapped in a small space. He didn't like feeling trapped. Not ever. “See you in a couple of weeks.”

Once he was out of Gary's office and in the hallway Rob gave up the manly act and tried to put as little weight on his injured leg as possible.

“Rob, you should be on crutches,” a female voice called out.

He turned, recognizing the voice and mustering a happy-to-see-you smile. “Romona, hi.”

A print business reporter making the transition to television, Romona had the looks of a South American runway model and the brains of Hillary Clinton. They got together whenever they were both in New York. Neither had any interest in commitment but enjoyed each other's company and bodies. “I heard you were hurt. How are you doing?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Okay.”

Even though they'd never do anything as obvious as hug in public, the glance she sent him from tilted green eyes steamed around the edges. She dropped her voice. “Why don't you come over later and I'll kiss you all better?”

“I'm filthy. Haven't shaved in days, had a haircut in weeks, my—”

“I like you scruffy. You look like a sunburned pirate.”

He knew he'd hit rock bottom when he realized he had no desire to spend the night with a passionate woman. His leg was burning, he had a vicious case of jet lag and he'd been pulled out of the field. He felt too worn-out tired even to get laid. All he wanted to do was hide out for a while and heal.

He shook his head attempting to appear more disappointed than he was. “Sorry. I have a plane to catch.”

She knew as well as he did that plane tickets could be changed and it was a measure of his exhaustion that this was the best excuse he could come up with.

She didn't call him on it though, merely patted his arm and said, “Maybe next time.”

That was the great thing about Romona. She was a lot like him. He'd enjoyed any number of women over the years, loved sex, but had no interest in settling down. Career came first. Maybe it was shallow, and maybe there was a part of him that longed for a woman to comfort him, to listen to his stories, share his pain. The only woman who'd ever been like that, though, had been his grandmother. Ruefully, he suspected she'd been the love of his life.

And now she was gone.

He had so many frequent flyer miles that upgrading was no problem when he got to LaGuardia. He even scored an aisle seat so he could stretch his bad leg out a little.

Once airborne, he recalled that the family attorney had tried to talk to him about the Fremont house. What with getting shot and all, he hadn't got around to calling back. He'd call him as soon as he got into Seattle.

It was something to do with Bellamy House, the old family place where he'd spent so much time with his grandmother.

He couldn't imagine the place without her. As a stab of pain hit, he took out the paperback he'd brought and forced himself to read.

* * *

H
AILEY
F
LEMING
WAS
a woman with an agenda. Two in fact. The electronic one that she relied on so heavily that she'd recently started keeping a backup paper day planner because the thought of somehow losing her electronic schedule made her feel too close to losing her mind for comfort.

She was nothing if not organized.

And both agendas told her that she was exactly on time for the best appointment of the day. An after-work glass of wine with a colleague who'd become a close friend, Julia Atkinson.

As she made her way into the bistro off North Phinney Avenue, a former record store turned trendy bar, she scanned the tables and was not surprised to find she was the first to arrive. She was always early.

And Julia was always late.

She settled at a table and ordered a glass of white wine then spent ten minutes going through tomorrow's appointments and writing some notes on improvements she wanted to make on her website.

“Am I late?” a breezy, breathless voice said as Julia swished into her chair, a loose black garment that resembled a combination sweater, poncho and cloak settling in around her.

“Of course you are. You're always late.”

Julia's red hair was newly cut into a curly bob and her full lips curved in a smile. “I was at the opening of a new furniture gallery which has brought in several fantastic new lines from Milan. I got chatting, and there were these delicious cookies. I left after three. It was the only way I could stop myself. I don't feel guilty. I bet you did a day's work while you waited.”

“Half a day's anyway.”

A waiter arrived and Julia ordered a vodka tonic. Which meant she was on another of her diets. Which meant...

“I think I've met someone.” She sounded so excited that Hailey leaned forward.

“Tell me everything.”

Julia unbuttoned the cloak thing and draped it over the back of her chair, revealing a black-and-red dress enlivened by one of the hundreds of chunky, glitzy vintage necklaces she owned.

“He's an engineer who lives downtown. He was married, but his wife left him and broke his heart.”

“Wow. That was fast. I just saw you last week. Where did you meet him?”

Julia's drink came and she took a quick sip. “I haven't actually met him yet.”

“Huh?”

She shrugged, and the slight movement made all the rhinestones in her jewelry glitter under the bar's chandeliers. “I met him on LoveMatch.com.”

“Oh. Online dating.”

“I'd never tried it before, but lots of women meet great guys online. So I figured, why not? It's not like you meet men if you're a home stager.” She thought for a second. “At least not straight men.”

“How do you already know so much about him?”

“We've been talking on the phone. He's away on business in the Philippines, but I'll be meeting him next Tuesday.” Her eyes were bright with excitement. “Do you want to see a picture?”

“Of course.”

Julia hauled her computer tablet out of her bag and within a few moments passed over the electronic device complete with a grinning blond guy. Not Hailey's type at all. Too pretty for her tastes, but Julia liked her men pretty. “Wow.”

“My big fear is that he's too good-looking for me. Oh, and he has the cutest accent. He was born in Manchester, but he's lived all over the world. An army brat like you.”

Hailey regarded the electronic image once more. He was wearing shorts and a loose cotton shirt. Despite the square jaw, he seemed somehow lacking in character. She'd never say so to her friend. Besides, even she knew that her own taste was notoriously picky.

“He's not too good-looking for you. You are beautiful.”

“Do you think I can lose ten pounds by Tuesday?”

“Stop it,” Hailey said, trying not to laugh. “He's seen your photo, right? He obviously liked what he saw.”

Julia nibbled her lower lip. “I used one from after I took that fitness boot camp last year. When I was thinner.”

For a smart, self-confident woman, Julia had body-image issues and Hailey knew there was no point arguing. Instead she went with a reassuring “It will be fine.”

“I guess. I just have such terrible luck with men.” Julia took a last, longing glance at the picture and then put the tablet away. “How are you?”

Hailey let the excitement she'd been feeling all day bubble out. “I have news, too.”

Julia's eyes bugged out. “You met a guy?”

“No. I don't have time for men. I'm building a business. Once I feel more successful, then maybe in a couple of years...”

“I know. You and your agendas.”

“Lists keep me on track.” She sometimes thought she'd had so much chaos in her life that relying on lists gave her a sense of control and stability that she'd never had growing up. Moving twelve times in thirteen years when she was a kid had given her a need for order. Her poor mother had quit even trying to decorate their homes. What was the point? So home had always been temporary and she'd grown to hate the sight of a moving box.

She didn't need psychoanalysis to understand why she'd chosen a career in real estate. She loved helping clients buy permanent homes. The kinds of places where you could plant a sapling and know you'd be around to enjoy the shade of the tree.

“Don't you miss having a man in your life?” Julia lowered her voice. “Don't you miss sex?”

“I have lots of men in my life. Realtors, clients, friends.”

One of Julia's eyebrows went up. “And sex?”

“I have sex.” Even to her ears she sounded defensive. “Okay, not a lot of sex. It's been a while, but sex for me means commitment. I can't do casual.” She shrugged. “Ever since my engagement ended...” She'd believed Drake, who was a lawyer, was perfect for her. They'd worked together on a few closings. They were both hard-working and ambitious. It wasn't until they were talking wedding dates that they'd realized how little their agendas meshed. He wanted to move to New York to a bigger firm. She was building a business in Seattle. He wanted children right away. She felt they should wait a couple of years until the marriage had strong roots. A year ago he'd gone to New York without her. Since then she'd thrown herself into work and hadn't missed Drake as much as she would have imagined.