Silver Bracelets: A Loveswept Contemporary Classic Romance (12 page)

“I begged him to get a regular job,” her mother went on, “like my friends’ husbands. I thought if things were normal, he’d be normal. He tried it for one winter, and it almost killed him. Oh, he was stronger physically, but he was not the same man.

“Finally I understood what I was doing to him. My fear was making us both unhappy so I sent him off to spring training the next year. I never tried to change him again.”

Alice took a deep breath and picked up another apple. “I’m making apples pies, darling. Would you like one for Deputy Canyon?”

Sarah felt dazed. Her mother rarely talked about personal thoughts. She always kept everything to herself. Yet in the last five minutes she’d divulged more about her pain and regrets than she’d ever done before. She’d done it to make Sarah see that differences didn’t always destroy, not if two people loved each other.

“I’d love a pie,” Sarah finally said, “as long as it has a ‘Made by Alice’ label on it.”

“Made by Alice? What does that mean?”

“It means I don’t want Asa to get the idea that I can cook. He knows about my coffee. This pie would blow my image.”

“Oh, he won’t think that. I already told him you can’t cook. I told him that you get the
hiccups when you’re excited and that you’re silly about Christmas, too.”

“You didn’t.”

“And you know what I learned? The man has never put up a Christmas tree. I told him not to worry. You always cut your own and put it up the day after Thanksgiving. So you’d better start looking for one that’s huge. I think Deputy Canyon needs a tree big enough to make up for all the ones he’s missed.”

The potatoes were in the microwave ready for baking. The steaks were in the oven broiler. The salad was in the refrigerator. Sarah stirred sugar into the pitcher of tea she’d just made and sat down to read about old safes in the reference books and watch the news while she waited.

Channel Eight had a brief story on the drowning of an unidentified elderly man whose body had been found floating in the river by the park the night before. They were not releasing his name until next of kin had been notified. Foul play was suspected. It was believed that the man had been one of the vagrants who lived under an overpass nearby.

Sarah was about to change the channel when the camera caught Asa in its pan across the activity along the river bank. He was grim-faced and impatient, pushing past the reporter without acknowledging the television personality’s attempt to question him.

“That was Deputy Sheriff Asa Canyon,” the
reporter said. “He’s the same deputy who apprehended the two men who robbed a drive-in restaurant three weeks ago. Deputy Canyon, an ex-Marine, came to Cobb County from Stevens Securities, where he served as project director for the last five years.”

A Marine was always the first on the scene of any confrontation, Sarah mused. He was loyal, dependable, and took care of business. Something like a boy scout, she thought, smiling. She remembered what her mother had said about Christmas trees and wondered if Asa liked gingerbread men.

A drop of perspiration ran down her forehead. Sarah turned the air conditioning up a notch. Gingerbread men. Christmas trees. It was August and the mercury in the thermometer outside the window was still clinging to 90 degrees. Well, she could dream about fall. She could close her eyes and count to ten, too, if she thought it would make her phone ring.

“It didn’t.

“He wasn’t just a vagrant,” the sheriff said. “Name was Lincoln Grimsley. Seems like our boy just got himself released from a federal pen. Been spending the last fifteen years there, off and on.”

Asa looked at the report and scowled. “What for?”

“Larceny. At one time or another, he’s tried most everything. According to his rap sheet, he married six women and took all their life
savings, swindled at least four others of various amounts of money, and turned to mail fraud. Mostly he was just a lousy con man. Kept getting caught. Seems he was a talker. Couldn’t keep his mouth shut.”

“So what’s he doing here?”

“That’s the surprise. He was a distant relative of the Grimsley family.”

The sheriff struck a big wooden kitchen match and lit the filter-tipped cigarette in his mouth. Then he opened a manila envelope and spread the contents across the desk top.

Asa picked up the leather change purse held together with cords of matching rawhide. The purse, waterlogged and still damp, held three dollar bills and a handful of change.

Using the matchstick, the sheriff shoved a scrap of newspaper toward Asa. He read the clipping, which was about the new Smyrna Village and the refurbishing of the old Grimsley House and the adjacent one-hundred-and-thirty-year-old Bank of Smyrna building.

“He knew about the project. Then as soon as he got out of prison he came straight here. Why?” the sheriff asked.

“Now there’s the two-dollar question. I’m going to run over to Smyrna City Hall and ask a few questions.”

“Go ahead, but remember, the less anybody knows about this, the better. We don’t want everyone horning in. Too many cooks spoil the soup, or whatever that old saying is.”

“Right, Chief.” Asa gave his boss a nod and left the office.

He glanced at his watch as he got into his truck. He’d told Sarah he’d call her. He didn’t know why he’d done that. It put a routine in their relationship, and he hadn’t intended to establish one. Taking her to the Cotton Patch Days Festival was a mistake, too. He’d known it at the time. If he hadn’t, seeing her in that short skirt and brief top should have made it very clear.

Having her come with him had been arranged without Asa’s knowing. Something had been said about his playing on Sarah’s softball team. The sheriff had complimented Asa on his zeroing in on the nicest girl in the county. And suddenly Asa was agreeing to ask Sarah to help out in the booth.

The sheriff was right about one thing. Sarah Wilson was special. He’d never known anyone like her. She was the all-American girl, a natural athlete and fervent do-gooder. She cut down her own Christmas tree and put it up the day after Thanksgiving. She was spotted puppies and picket fences and every time he was around her he could almost feel the pointed fence posts digging into his back.

Sarah was a distraction.

Sarah was a mistake.

But Sarah was all he’d thought about for the last few days. She didn’t make him feel like a jaded thirty-five, more like an exuberant seventeen.

There was a phone booth beside the service
station at the corner, and although he knew better, he pulled in.

The phone rang only once before she answered. “Deputy?”

“Of course. Who did you expect?”

“You. I’m just waiting to find out which one of you it is, Dirty Harry or Asa.”

Asa could imagine her sitting cross-legged in bed, leaning back against her pillow, her hair mussed, her arm folded behind her head as she cradled the phone against her ear.

“Which do you want?”

“Well, I’ll take either one, but I’d like to have a little talk with the guy who’s worried about my security system.”

“Oh, you know about that.”

“I also know that Mother thinks you’re perfect for me, once I teach you about loving somebody.”

Asa tried to answer, but his voice stuck in his throat and he couldn’t utter a word. He just stood there, hearing his heart beat like thunder in his ear.

“Are you still there, Asa?”

He cleared his throat. “I think we’d better talk, Sarah,” he finally managed to say.

“When?”

“Later.”

“I’ll have supper for you.”

“You can’t cook. Your mother told me.”

“Even I can manage steak and potatoes.”

“I can’t stay.”

“You don’t have to.”

Asa rubbed his eyes. He was tired. Too tired,
and he had to eat somewhere. What she was saying was too appealing. He heard himself agreeing.

“All right. I’ll be there, when I can.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

City Hall was closed on Saturday afternoon, but the police station next door was doing a brisk business. The officer on duty directed him through a maze of offices to the captain.

“Asa Canyon, Captain.” Asa held out his hand and felt the rough grip of the prematurely gray-haired officer behind the desk.

“Snow Sims, here. Heard about you, Canyon. Pull up a chair. What can the Smyrna Police Department do for you?”

He told the captain about Lincoln Grimsley and why he needed to take a look at the Grimsley house.

“You’ll have to wait,” Snow Sims said. “The old key disappeared and somebody was seen in the house. The historical society folks put a new lock on it. Now only the supervisor has a key, and he won’t be back till Monday.”

Asa glanced at his watch. Almost seven. He exchanged the expected pleasantries with the captain and left, driving by the Smyrna Village construction site. Asa hadn’t realized that the bank was still in use until he saw a temporary entrance at the back of the building.

On the way to Sarah’s place, he puzzled over the connection between the old man’s death and the house. Why would he have come here
after all these years? And was his death related to the house?

By the time he reached Sarah’s red barn he was still as confused as he had been when he’d left the police station. He didn’t even knock. He knew the door would be open.

His boots made a thudding sound as he walked along the side of the basketball court and up the stairs. When he was halfway up, the door flung open and Sarah’s voice called out.

“Hurry, please.”

He covered the last three risers with one long step and walked into Sarah’s welcoming embrace. He’d waited all day for her kiss. Hell, he’d waited all his life for it. Foolish or not, he couldn’t turn it down.

His arms slid around her, his hands tightening into fists as he tried to hold back. But he knew that tonight, there was no turning back. His mouth closed over hers, slowly, gently. She tasted sweet, as if she’d been eating brown sugar and cinnamon. There was a tantalizing smell of spice in the air.

Sarah sighed, lifting her hands to the back of his neck and spreading her fingers through his hair. Her very touch was intoxicating and he knew that she was as drunk with desire as he. He’d never been so aware of a woman’s touch, of the scent and taste that separated Sarah from all others. She stirred his senses, making him feel more alive.

Sarah’s thoughts were less coherent, less rational. She only knew that Asa was here and
that was all she wanted. Her sigh turned into a low moan as the warmth of his touch brought her body to a fevered pitch. Her breasts began to burn. Colors swirled behind her eyelids, like a kaleidoscope of shades and lights that merged, separated, and reshaped themselves as the kiss went on.

Then she heard a groan of anguish as Asa’s hands suddenly came to life and captured her bottom, pulling her savagely against him. And she knew that this man was as helpless against his need as she was against her own.

She pulled back. Tearing her lips from his she drew in a long breath. Asa leaned his forehead against her head and swallowed hard. Sarah didn’t know what he was about to say, but she was certain that he had already started marshaling his forces to withdraw. She couldn’t let that happen, not again.

“No,” she whispered, kissing him lightly. “Don’t talk. Don’t explain or excuse. Just be with me.”

She slipped her fingers inside his shirt and began to unbutton it, skimming the matted curls of his chest hair beneath her touch. She felt him catch his breath when she tugged his shirt from his jeans and unbuckled his belt.

“Do you know what you’re doing, lady?”

“No. But I’m a fast learner.”

The zipper slid open smoothly and she shoved his jeans down his legs. Catching sight of his underwear she began to grin. “Black? You’re a wicked man, Asa Canyon.”

“I’m a—” He started to say, aroused man,
but he realized that wasn’t necessary. His condition boldly announced itself.

Asa stepped back, balancing himself as he tugged his boots off one at a time and stepped out of his jeans. When he raised his eyes again he gasped.

Sarah was standing before him, completely nude, her proud breasts trembling with every uneven breath she took.

“Are you sure, Sarah?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He could see the fear in her eyes, but she was standing there, admitting her desire and asking him to make love to her. Suddenly he realized that this was what it was like to feel love, to want a woman so much that you’re afraid to touch her, to know that she’s giving herself to you with no regrets and no conditions, to feel certain that she’s the missing part of yourself.

Sarah knew that she was swaying, that her breasts hurt with longing and that her insides were churning wildly under his gaze. She’d never been so bold before. She’d never wanted to. Now she could do nothing but offer herself and wait.

“Sarah.” His voice was gravelly, as though he could barely speak. “Sarah, I want to make love to you. I want to touch you, fill you with my body and lose myself in your heat.”

“I want you, too, Asa. But I’m scared. It’s been so long since I’ve been … with a man. I’m not very experienced. I’m afraid that I’ll disappoint a man like you.”

Sarah knew that if he didn’t take her in his arms again she was going to fall apart and dissolve into thin air. She couldn’t be so close and not touch him. With a half-gasp she leaned forward, letting her nipples skim his chest, feeling the hair brush against her like tiny electric fingers.

“Please, Asa.”

“Sarah, listen to me. This isn’t easy and it may be the last rational statement I’ll ever make to you. Whatever I may feel for you, I can’t make any promises. I don’t expect any from you. No commitment. No tomorrow. Can you accept that?”

She raised her flushed face and gazed into his eyes. Her lips were parted and he could feel tiny puffs of air as she breathed in and out.

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I just know that we should do what we have to.” She reached up and pulled his face down to hers, kissing him, holding him with a tenderness that was stronger than bands of steel, drinking his essence as if she knew that she’d never be with him again.