Scout's Honor (18 page)

“Baseball it is,” she said, secretly amused
at his typical amateur’s desire for wild cards. “But three up means
meet the pot or drop. Okay?”

He scooted closer until his slightly bent
knees were touching her crossed ones. “Can we play in the
dark?”

She cocked her head and looked at him
questioningly. “You mean ‘night baseball?’ ”

“Yeah, the one where I get a free card with
a four showing.”

“Night baseball, scout, not ‘in the dark.’
Maybe
you’d
better bundle up a little, or this is going to
be a pretty short night.”

“The shorter the better. I figure once you
get me down to my skivvies we’ll get to the really good stuff.” He
again moved closer and nuzzled her neck.

Anna was practically shuffling in his lap
and his breath was tickling the sensitive skin at her nape. “Is
this your not-so-subtle method of watching my hand?” she asked,
trying not to giggle. “I can barely shuffle.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Feather-light kisses
trailed along her jaw. “I like the way you shuffle. Yeah . . . Can
you do that again?”

She snatched the cards to her chest, a flush
of desire rushing through her and flaming her cheeks. Never had a
man been so sensitive to her touch, so openly responsive, so
unafraid of showing his feelings for her. It excited and alarmed
her, this magic he allowed her.

“I have one more request,” he whispered into
her ear, having covered almost every inch of her face with a kiss
or a nibble in his travels. “Can we play wet?”

“Wet?” Her flush deepened. Wet? It sounded
terribly erotic or kinky to her. Her imagination was having a
heyday trying to figure out what he meant. “Wet?” she repeated, a
trifle breathless from the forays of his tongue in her ear.

“Yeah, you know . . . the one where the
queen of spades is wild. That gives us nine wild cards. And
counting you makes it ten. I’m feeling kinda wild tonight, too, so
let’s make it eleven wild cards.” He uncrossed her legs and
maneuvered them over his own, then wrapped his arms around her and
slowly rolled onto his back, pulling her with him until he was flat
on the floor and she straddled his hips.

His kisses never stopped, and Anna was
delighted to be sprawled on top of him in front of the warming
fire. She raised her head and brushed his sandy brown hair back off
his forehead, allowing her own to fall forward between them.

“Night baseball in the rain,” she said, “not
‘wet in the dark.’ ” She kissed the corners of his mouth and felt
his crooked grin curve his lips up.

“I liked ‘wet in the dark.’ Maybe we could
play that after the poker game, huh?”

“You are incorrigible.” She smiled as she
slipped off him. “Now, stay on your side”—she drew an imaginary
line across the rug—“and we’ll get this show on the road.”

Anna came through the first hand unscathed.
Mitch lost both shoelaces, his belt, and his watch. Anna sized him
up, took a quick inventory, and figured the game would be over in
two more hands at the outside.

Halfway through the third game the phone
rang. Bare-chested, missing both socks, and only wearing one shoe,
Mitch got up and walked into the kitchen. Anna couldn’t hear the
conversation past the initial “hello,” but she did notice the
muscles in Mitch’s arms tighten as he turned away from her. His
head came up straight as he listened. Then he sighed heavily. Her
intuition told her the phone call had something to do with
Carlton.

Mitch hung up the phone, but didn’t release
it. His back was to her, one hand on his hip, his head lowered. He
shot her a quick glance over his shoulder, indecision flickering in
his eyes.

She waited for him to say something. A wave
of uneasiness coursed through her. “What is it, Mitch?”

“That was Dave. He had news about the mess
in Nassau.” He finally turned and faced her. His face was grim, the
lines around his mouth tight.

“And?”

“I think you should stay awhile longer,” he
said curtly, avoiding her eyes. He reached above the sink for a
half-empty bottle of Old Grand Dad and poured himself a shot. He
lifted the bottle toward her, offering her one of the same. When
she declined, he downed the shot and screwed the top back on.

His silence told her he didn’t want to talk
about it, and she decided to let the bad news wait until morning.
She wouldn’t let it ruin their evening. He was obviously upset, yet
willing to carry this burden alone for a while, and tonight she
would let him.

Feelings of security and being cared for
followed in the wake of her decision. Just tonight she would
relinquish control. Mitch would take care of her. She would trust
him, trust his love.

“I called you, scout,” she said. “Are you
going to come over here and face the music?” She made her voice
light, trying to recapture the easy mood the telephone had
interrupted.

He leaned his hip on the counter and crossed
his arms, letting his gaze roam over her face as a slow grin
revealed his white teeth. It was a sexy smile, filled with mischief
and promise, and Anna felt the heat of it all the way to her toes.
He reached for his hat and settled it on his head before moseying
back to the game.

“That’s cheating, scout.” An answering smile
curved her mouth as she watched his lanky stride, somewhat uneven
because of the one shoe she’d already won. The cowboy hat added a
rakish air to his grin and delectably bare chest.

“In for a nickel, in for a dime,” he replied
cryptically. Then he dropped down on one knee and flipped over his
hole cards. “Read ’em and weep,” he said with a wink, showing two
nines to match the one he had up.

“Not bad. Not bad at all, but I think this
hand goes to the ladies and her gents.” Anna turned over her cards.
“Full house, scout. Pay up.”

“What was the bet again?” he hedged.

“Well, honey. I’ll tell you. I let you have
all those cards for just the price of one ragged tennis shoe and
those beat-up jeans. In other words, you just lost your pants,
cowboy. But . . . if you like, I’m open for a loan. I could give
you my shoes.”

He eyed her long and hard, as though he were
seriously considering her offer. But then he stood up and his hand
went to the top button of his jeans, and Anna knew she was going to
enjoy this show to the max.

“That’s a mighty generous offer, ma’am,” he
drawled, undoing each button, taking his own sweet time, starting a
riot with her senses. He kicked off his shoe, and his hands went to
the top of his now-gaping jeans. “But never . . . ever . . . let it
be said that a Summers welshed on a bet.”

Warm, cuddled, and thoroughly loved was how
Anna felt when the first stirrings of waking danced through her
consciousness. She stretched deeper under the quilts and turned her
face into the kisses being laid on her cheek. A contented sigh
escaped her lips.

“Hungry?” Mitch asked, wrapping his arm
around her waist and pulling her close.

“Famished,” she murmured against the crook
of his neck, her mouth warm on his collarbone.

“Me or breakfast?”

“Decisions, decisions,” she cried in mock
despair before opening her eyes. “Feed me, boy scout, or be
responsible for the consequences.”

“Pancakes or omelets?”

She groaned, snuggling closer as she closed
her eyes to think, trying to gauge her appetite. “Butter and
syrup?” she finally asked.

“The works. Steaming stacks of buttermilk
pancakes dripping with butter and maple syrup,” he whispered in her
ear.

“Sold. I’ll take mine in bed.” She rolled
over and buried her head in the pillow.

“I thought you were going to cook,” he said
teasingly.

“Try again, scout.” Her voice was barely
audible as she felt sleep sneaking over her again.

“I’ll wake you up when I get back. Ski
season starts next month, so I’m going to put in a few miles before
breakfast. You sure you don’t want to join me? Nothing works up an
appetite like a brisk jog in the morning . . . Well, almost
nothing.” He nibbled her shoulder.

“Sex maniac,” she mumbled.

“Health nut,” he corrected her, and patted
her on the bottom before bouncing out of bed.

Anna heard him rustling around the room
until sleep claimed her. Her next waking lacked the coziness of the
first. The insistent ringing of the phone refused to be ignored.
She let it ring awhile before she started counting, and at ten
rings she made the sleep-shattering move to answer it. Grabbing
Mitch’s robe, she stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Why in the world, she wondered, didn’t he have an answering
machine?

“Hello.” She ran a hand over her face,
trying to rub the sleep from her eyes and mind.

“Anna? Anna. Where have you been? I tried to
call you all day yesterday, on this number and your cell phone.”

“Hi, St. John. Fishing. And there is no cell
service up here
.” She looked
around the kitchen and saw steam rising from the coffee pot.

“Where were you
?”

She opened a cupboard and found a cup.
“Fishing.” She poured the coffee and took a first tentative sip.
“Ummm. Heaven. Fishing, St. John. We were fishing.”

“When are you coming home?”

“I don’t know.” She yawned, and pulled a
chair closer to the phone. The legs scraped across the floor,
causing her to flinch. “As soon as this thing with Carlton blows
over, I’ll start making plans to return . . . maybe.” She settled
into the chair and drew her legs up.

“What do you mean, ‘maybe’?” St. John’s
voice lowered to a no-nonsense level.

Anna held the phone away from her ear and
gave it an exasperated look before answering. “Mostly I mean, I
might stay a little longer. It’s beautiful here. I’m having a good
time, and—”

“With that bum?” There was no denying the
harsh condemnation in his tone.

“Mitch Summers is not a bum. Relax, St.
John. I’m a big girl.”

“I checked his financial status, Anna, and
believe me the man is a bum. His annual gross couldn’t keep you in
champagne. His credit rating would make a paper boy blush.”

“That’s hardly news, big brother,” she
drawled, picking up on his faintly veiled innuendo and trying to
keep her hackles down.

“All I’m asking is that you come home and
think about things before you do anything.”

“Like marry a pauper? Or get made a fool of
again? One of those things, St. John?” Her voice rose in volume as
well as pitch.

“I knew it! You’re thinking of something
crazy. You always go for the bums.” Anna could almost see him slap
his hand to his head. She set her jaw, gripped the receiver more
tightly, and refused to answer.

“Anna, Anna, Anna.”

“I’m not speaking to you, St. John.”

“Fine. Just don’t speak to me here in Nassau
rather than in mortgage heaven, Colorado,” he pleaded.

“I don’t want to be in Nassau until it’s
safe.”

“Then come on home. It’s safe. Carlton
turned himself in to the Drug Enforcement Agency a few hours after
you left. I tried to have you paged at the Denver Airport. You
could have gotten right back on the plane. Anna, you know I’m only
thinking of what’s best—”

“What?” she practically screeched into the
phone. “DEA? Carlton? What’s going on?”

“Come home, Anna.” St. John sounded tired.
“The only people threatened by Carlton are the dealers who gave him
the money he lost to you. He was supposed to make a deal, and when
he lost the money he ran to the police rather than face his
partners. He’ll sell out everybody and their mothers for police
protection. If your boyfriend had any connections, he would have
known this yesterday morning.”

An unpleasant picture started forming in her
half-awake mind, a picture of a boy scout’s lies. She tried to
think back to yesterday’s phone calls. He hadn’t said anything
about either one of them. She had assumed a lot of things, but
Mitch hadn’t actually told her anything. Maybe he had counted on
that. The thought ran in circles around her mind, whipping up her
defense mechanisms. “Carlton was a drug dealer?” she asked.

“More like a delivery boy. He was supposed
to make the trade, but apparently thought he could double his money
and still make the deal. He took a chance and lost . . . really
lost. After you cleaned him out, the only thing he had to trade was
information for protection. The big boys don’t like it when people
play around with their money. My guess is Carlton isn’t going to
last long, whether the police protect him or not.”

“And you knew all this yesterday
morning?”

“Just a few hours after you left, babe. I
was too late to catch you in Miami, but I sure tried in Denver
.”

She pushed herself out of the chair and set
her cup on the counter. Staring out the kitchen window, she took a
deep breath and formulated her conclusion. The scout had lied to
her. Hurt was a fleeting emotion, quickly replaced by anger.

“I’ll be home tonight, St. John,” she said
calmly.

A moment’s silence met her announcement.
Then he asked, “Why the sudden change? Don’t get me wrong—I’m
pleased—but why?”

Anna and St. John had always played it
straight with each other, and she wasn’t going to let her pride get
in the way of their special relationship. “I think Mitch knew
yesterday morning, too, St. John, last night at the latest. I think
he knew and deliberately left me in the dark.”

“I’m sorry, Anna.” His voice was sad, and
she knew he understood the implications of Mitch’s lying to
her.

“Not half as sorry as I am.” She shook her
head and hardened her heart.

A sarcastic laugh met her ears. “I can’t say
I liked the guy, but I didn’t really think he was cut from the same
cloth as Antonio. . . .”

“Damn,” she whispered more to herself than
St. John.

“. . . This Summers fellow didn’t seem that
shrewd.”