The Rivals (25 page)

“I could use a cup of coffee,” she said.

“Help yourself,” North said. “It's in the kitchen.”

Libby couldn't believe her brother was acting so boorishly in front of company. She'd fix him. She'd leave him alone with Jocelyn while she went for coffee.

“Why don't you keep Jocelyn entertained while I get the two of us some coffee? Would you like a cup, North?” Libby asked.

This time her brother's pained expression was all too apparent. “No coffee for me.”

Jocelyn was still standing in the middle of the living room as Libby headed for the kitchen. She almost turned to suggest that Jocelyn make herself comfortable but realized it would probably be better if she let the two of them work things out on their own. “I'll just be a minute,” she said as she exited the room.

A long hallway and a swinging door separated the living room from the kitchen. Libby held the door open for a moment before letting it swing closed, hoping to hear some conversation in the living room, but it was too far away for voices to carry.

Her brother had nothing resembling a china cup and saucer in the kitchen, only man-sized mugs. Libby picked two of the smaller ones without chips and poured coffee for herself and Jocelyn. She knew Jocelyn liked hers black with sweetener because she'd served her coffee earlier that morning.

Libby was trying to think of some way to postpone her return to the living room, when the swinging door slammed open and Jocelyn strode into the kitchen, her fists clenched, her face flaming and her stormy violet eyes bright with unshed tears.

“I want to leave,” she said, her voice breaking.

“What's wrong?” Libby asked, alarmed. “Did North—”

“I want to leave,” she repeated, her voice pitifully high-pitched.

An instant later, North shoved his way through the kitchen doorway. Libby was astonished to see that his reddened right cheek bore the clear white imprint of a hand.

She turned on her brother and demanded, “What did you do to her?”

She watched a muscle in North's jaw flex. He stared at Jocelyn, his eyes narrowed, and said nothing.

Libby turned to Jocelyn and asked, “Are you all right? What did he do to you?”

“I'm fine,” Jocelyn said, her eyes focused on the floor, her chin wobbling. “But I wish to leave.”

Still no explanation from either one of what North had said or done to provoke a woman as self-possessed and dignified as Jocelyn Montrose into slapping his face.

“I'll talk to you later,” Libby said to her brother. It was clear Jocelyn Montrose wouldn't care if she never saw North Grayhawk again. Libby tried telling herself it was only a short distance between love and hate. But it was clear that she was going to have to come up with someone else to distract Jocelyn's attention from Clay.

She put an arm around Jocelyn's shoulder to lead her away and realized the young woman was still wearing her coat. What on earth had North said or done to raise such a ruckus when Jocelyn hadn't even taken off her coat?

In the short time they'd been inside, nearly an inch of snow had collected on the ground. Libby's stomach clenched when she realized the snow was going to obliterate any signs of Kate's trail in the wilderness.

Libby didn't ask questions once they were back in the car. She couldn't believe how wrong things had gone between North and Jocelyn. She'd wanted to make the situation better, not worse.

Jocelyn didn't speak until Libby stopped the car at her cabin on the edge of North's spread. “I shouldn't have slapped him,” she said.

“What happened?” Libby asked.

Jocelyn bit her lip and shook her head. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I can't…I don't…”

“Never mind,” Libby said. “Forget I asked. In fact, forget I have a brother named North.”

Jocelyn choked on a laugh. “You've been so good to me. I feel so bad about slapping your brother.” She turned to Libby and said, “But he deserved it.”

Libby felt a spurt of guilt. She hadn't been at all
good
to Jocelyn. She'd been plotting and planning to get rid of her. “I'm sorry,” Libby said. Maybe she ought to tell the other woman the truth about her own feelings for Clay. Maybe Jocelyn was no more interested in Clay Blackthorne than the man in the moon.

But Jocelyn spoke first.

“I don't know if I should be telling you this,” Jocelyn said. She hesitated, sighed, then said, “I have feelings for Clay.”

Libby barely managed to hide her despair.

“I've loved Clay ever since I first laid eyes on him,” Jocelyn said. “I met him first, before my sister. Did you know that?”

“No, I didn't,” Libby said.

Jocelyn nodded and dabbed gracefully at the tears on her cheeks with a lace handkerchief. “But he took one look at Giselle and forgot all about me. They were inseparable. I rarely visited my sister during the years she was married. It was too painful to see him with her. I was jealous, you see.”

Libby nodded, but said nothing. Her throat had swollen so thick it hurt to swallow.

“Then Giselle got cancer. When it was too late, I realized how much precious time I'd lost by being jealous of my sister's happiness. I spent as much time as I could with her those last months. I never once looked at Clay…or coveted my sister's husband.”

Jocelyn turned toward Libby and said, “Toward the end, when Giselle knew she didn't have much time left, she looked at me and whispered, ‘Promise you'll take care of him for me, Jocelyn. He's going to be lost. He'll need you. Stay with him. Love him for me.' ”

The last words were barely audible.

Libby gripped the steering wheel, afraid to let go, hearing in Giselle's confession the death knell to her dreams of a life with Clay. “So you've been doing what your sister asked,” she said quietly.

Jocelyn nodded. “I'm torn in two. I never told her that I've always loved him.”

“She must have known,” Libby murmured.

“Do you think so? I've wondered sometimes. I've tried to do what she asked. Sometimes I think Clay cares for me. Sometimes I'm not sure. What am I going to do?”

Libby felt like wailing. Here she was acting as a confidante to the woman who was the greatest threat to her own hope of living happily ever after.

Libby was grateful that at least Jocelyn didn't know the truth about her matchmaking attempt. No wonder Jocelyn had repelled whatever advance North had made.

“I only wish there was something I could do to help Clay,” Jocelyn said, her hands threaded together and clutched tightly in her lap. “I feel so useless. I don't even have the right clothes for a place like this.”

“You might fit into some of Kate's things,” Libby said. “She's tall like you.”

An ache rose unexpectedly in Libby's chest as she spoke Kate's name. Where was her daughter? What was happening to her? How was she ever going to find her?

Libby's cell phone rang and she grabbed for it without looking at the caller ID. “Kate? Is that you?”

She glanced at Jocelyn, her eyes wide, and exclaimed, “Clay? Where are you?…You're out? How on earth did that happen?…That's wonderful!”

“Clay's out of jail?” Jocelyn whispered.

Libby nodded distractedly, then gripped the phone harder as she said, “No, I haven't heard anything from Kate…What? Where did the caller say she might be?…Of course I'd be willing to bring the dogs. Where is it we're going?” She glanced at Jocelyn and said, “I'll be waiting for you at my cabin.”

Libby stuck her cell phone in her pocket, shoved open the car door and headed for the kitchen door.

“What's going on?” Jocelyn asked, following Libby into the house.

“Clay got an anonymous tip where we might find Kate.”

“Has he called the police?” Jocelyn asked.

“He's afraid of what the police might do. He wants to look on his own before he contacts them.”

“With you?” Jocelyn said, frowning.

“Tracking is what I do.” Libby stared out the kitchen window at the blowing snow and wondered how much scent would be left for the dogs to follow.

“You're leaving me behind?”

“You couldn't keep up,” Libby said bluntly.

Jocelyn turned and leaned forward, her voice excited and earnest. “I'm stronger than you think, Libby. I want to go along. I want to help Clay find his daughter.”

“You'll slow us down,” Libby insisted.

“Then you can leave me behind on the trail.”

“You might get lost trying to find your way back. You could freeze to death. I'm sorry, but you can't go.”

“All right,” she said with a disappointed sigh. “I'll stay behind. At least I'll be by the phone if someone calls with information about Kate.”

“Thank you. That would be a big help.”

Libby spent a moment feeling sorry for the other woman, who was so out of her element here. But a moment was all she had. She needed to figure out the best way to reach the area Clay had mentioned, and which of her hunting rifles, with their long-distance scopes, she was going to take along.

Sarah snapped her cell phone closed and tucked it into her trouser pocket, then held her hands out to the roaring fire in Drew's fireplace. “The weather service says the wind is near gale force, the temperature is dropping and to expect six to eight inches of snow in the mountains.”

“So are we going, or not?”

Sarah looked at the blizzard raging outside, then met Drew's gaze and said, “Not right now. It's too dangerous. We have to wait out the storm.”

“But Kate—”

“We'd have trouble even finding the trail in a whiteout like this,” Sarah said. “Let alone taking off into the wilderness on some wild-goose chase.”

“Did the guy who called you sound like he was sending you off on a wild-goose chase?” Drew asked.

“He sounded rational. That doesn't mean he was telling the truth. Or that his directions will lead us to Kate. It's not going to help if we end up having to be rescued ourselves.”

Drew threw a log onto the fire, sending up a hail of sparks. “This sucks.”

“Big-time,” Sarah agreed. “Kate was alive yesterday. We have to presume she's being kept somewhere safe. I promise you, as soon as the weather breaks even a little, we'll go.”

“It's hard not to want to go anyway, blizzard or no blizzard,” Drew said.

“If we can't see our hands in front of our faces right now, the bad guys can't, either,” Sarah pointed out.

“Do you need to get home?” Drew asked.

“The kids have orders not to step foot over the threshold today. They're to do nothing but rest and recuperate.”

Drew smiled wryly. “And you expect them to obey you, after what they did last night?”

“Those were extraordinary circumstances,” Sarah said. “And yes, I do expect my children to obey me. There are consequences when they don't.”

“Such as?” Drew asked.

“Getting grounded. Losing privileges. Believe me, a week without Metroid for Nate, or without Harry Potter for Ryan, or without the phone for Brooke, is a terrible punishment.”

Drew grinned. “With a mother as mean as you, I'd be good.”

Sarah looked at him earnestly and said, “Discipline is important. It helps a child grow into a responsible person.”

“I agree,” he said, sobering. “I'm just not used to—” He stopped himself and said, “You're good at parenting, Sarah. It shows.”

Sarah let herself imagine for a moment that he was Nate and Brooke and Ryan's father. It was too bad he didn't like kids, because she thought he'd be good at it. But she'd learned not to indulge in fantasy, so she turned the subject away from her kids. She walked to the window being pelted with crystals of wind-driven snow and said, “I'm glad I'm in here and not out there.”

Drew joined her and said, “I've always known the weather was unpredictable in Wyoming, but I'm still always amazed to see it change from gentle snow to blizzard conditions in twenty minutes.”

“I wish the storm had held off long enough for us to get up Game Creek Canyon and back,” Sarah said. “I imagine every minute Kate Grayhawk spends out there in the wilderness feels like a lifetime. With any luck, this'll blow through in a couple of hours.”

“Until then, I guess we're stuck here together,” Drew said.

Their eyes caught and held.

Sarah felt a tingling in her breasts and a tightness in her belly that signaled a desire so strong it frightened her. She could feel her pulse racing, feel the heat in her throat as her body flushed with sexual awareness.

Her eyes remained riveted on Drew's, so she was aware of how his pupils grew large and dark as he drank in the sight of her. She watched his nostrils flare for the scent of her, saw his sensual appetite awaken and grow.

Sarah knew she ought to flee, but she felt frozen in place by the force of Drew's intense gaze.

He stretched out a hand almost lazily, like a sleek cat that knows its quarry is trapped and cannot escape. He circled her waist and pulled her toward him until her hips cradled his thighs. His body was hard against hers, his arousal unmistakable.

His eyes never left hers as his hands slid up to cup her derriere and settle her snugly against him. His nose nuzzled her throat, and his mouth followed. He nipped gently, then laved with his tongue, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine.

Until that moment, Sarah had been passive in his arms.

When his hot gaze met hers again, she slid her hands into his hair and pressed the full length of her body against his, so her breasts were crushed against the hardness of his chest. She lifted her mouth and found his, her tongue urgent in its quest to be inside tasting him, joining his in a search for mutual pleasure.

Drew surprised her when he picked her up in his arms. She stared at him, her heart beating frantically, her breath coming in short bursts, her body flushed and pulsing with desire.

He headed for his bedroom without a word. He set her on her feet beside the bed and said, “I want to undress you.”

“Fine. As long as I'm allowed to return the favor.”

She was wearing layers for the trip up the canyon, so when Drew tugged her sweater off over her head, he found a wool shirt. She was surprised how slowly he unbuttoned her shirt and tugged the tails out of her jeans, especially considering that all he could see beneath it was her long johns. He smiled as he tossed her shirt onto a nearby chair.

She could feel his callused fingertips against her skin as he freed the long john shirt from her trousers and eased it up over her head, leaving her wearing only a bra. And not a very fancy bra, at that. Women who'd been married a long time wore functional, rather than sexy, underwear. And Sarah, who hadn't had a man in the house for a year, had allowed her underwear to get woefully shabby.

She put her hands over her worn-out bra and said, “This should have gone into the trash a long time ago.”

Drew smiled and said, “Fine by me.” He reached up to unhook her bra, forcing her hands away from her chest, then pulled the straps off her shoulders before tossing the frayed lingerie into the trash can across the room.

Sarah laughed. “I'm going to need that later.”

“You can pick up another one at home.” Drew unbuckled her belt and pulled it through the loops slowly and sensuously, then dropped it onto the floor.

He unsnapped her jeans and was reaching for the zipper when she caught his wrist and said, “My turn.”

She kept her eyes on his as she unbuttoned his plaid wool shirt and pulled it down his arms. When it wouldn't come off, she realized his hands were too big for the shirt to come off unless she undid the buttons at the wrist. And then realized that with the shirt binding his hands, he was essentially her prisoner, to do with as she wished.

She left his hands bound as she shoved his long john shirt up high enough to expose most of his chest. She kissed his navel, and he hissed and sucked in his stomach. She chuckled and kissed her way up to his nipples, first teasing them with her tongue and then nipping, until Drew hissed and jerked back a step and began struggling to get his hands free.

“Uh uh,” Sarah said. “It's still my turn.”

She unbuckled his belt and didn't bother pulling it from his jeans before she unzipped them and slid her hand inside his underwear to cup his warm, hard and silky flesh.

Drew froze and stared down at her. A moment later, his mouth was latched to hers, his tongue thrusting deep, mimicking the sex act. She heard a button pop, and one of his hands was free, and then cloth ripping as he tore his shirt off and pitched it across the room.

Then his hands were on her breasts, his thumbs brushing the nipples, causing them to harden and peak, his mouth hot on hers, demanding equal passion, his body pressed hard against her hand, seeking the pleasure she offered.

“I want to be inside you,” he said in a throaty growl, shoving at her jeans, long johns and underwear, trying to get her naked.

She let go of him to help him pull at her clothes, then stopped and said, “Boots! Boots!” when she realized her clothes wouldn't come off over her winter boots.

He tipped her onto her fanny on the bed and went to work on her laces, as she shimmied out of her clothes, so that by the time he was done and had her boots and socks off, he could pull the rest of her clothes off over her pointed toes.

“Sit,” she said, standing up and pushing him down onto the bed. She knelt at his feet naked and went to work on his shoelaces while his hands played with her breasts.

“God, I can't get enough of you,” he said. “I'm dying out here. Hurry up. I want to be inside you.”

She moaned as her body began to ache with need.

She yanked his boots off and tossed them, pulling on his socks as he shoved the rest of his clothes off. Then he lifted her up and impaled her as she dropped down onto his lap, her knees on either side of his hips.

Her arms went round his neck and she latched onto his shoulder with her mouth, as they moved together desperately, seeking release.

“Sarah,” he breathed, his mouth seeking hers. “Sarah, I want you. I need you.”

Sarah realized she was waiting for more, for Drew to say
I love you.

But the words never came. At least, not before the two of them did.

Sarah's climax was shattering, more so because the lack of special words being spoken by Drew should have made the sex act less intense, should have kept her from giving everything she had to give.

Drew clutched her tightly as he spilled himself inside her, his face pressed against her breast, his body rigid in exultation.

They were both breathing hard, and the smell of sweat and sex was strong in the warm room.

Sarah waited for the moment when Drew would separate them, and she would have to look into his eyes and see that what they had done was not as special for him as it had been for her. That he did not feel for her what she was coming to realize she felt for him.

She brushed aside the sweaty curls from his brow and kissed him gently there, tasting the salt, before she laid her cheek on his shoulder.

His hands were roaming her back, soothing, loving.

Sarah realized she shouldn't have used that word,
loving.
Drew didn't love her. He'd said he
wanted
and
needed
her. Both were important, but they weren't
love.

“I told myself I wasn't going to do this,” Sarah said, as she tried to disengage herself from Drew.

He caught her at the waist with both hands and kept her from moving. She could feel him stirring inside her and her eyes widened.

“Did you think we were done?” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Well, yes,” she admitted with a shy smile.

He leaned her backward and lowered his mouth and put his lips to her breast and suckled.

Sarah gasped as an aching need built inside her. “How do you do that to me?” she asked breathlessly. “I want you again.”

He lifted his head, grinned at her and said, “Good. Because you've got me.”

He lay back on the bed, and she lowered her body over his. He reached up and freed her hair from its French braid and slid his hands into it. “Your hair's so silky,” he said.

She lowered her head, letting her hair flow across his body, as she found his mouth with hers.

The lovemaking was slower this time, each searching out places on the other's body to kiss, moving as one, rolling so she was beneath him. He slid his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her as he began once more to thrust.

“You're beautiful, Sarah,” he said.

Sarah barely managed to keep from blurting, “Haven't you seen all those silver stretch marks?” Instead, she grinned, arched her body into his, and replied, “I love it when you say things like that.”

His hands played with her hair, and his mouth tantalized her body, as he moved first with grace and then with urgency.

Sarah cried out as her body began to spasm with almost unbearable pleasure, and she heard Drew's guttural response as he spilled himself inside her.

He kept most of his weight on his arms, but she'd wrapped her legs around him and they lay that way until their breathing slowed. Drew slid to his side and pulled her close, his chin resting against her brow.

“I don't want to get up,” Sarah said.

“Then don't,” Drew murmured.

“I should call and check on my kids.”

“They're supposed to be tucked in safe at home.”

“Yes, but knowing my kids, it never hurts to check.”

Sarah pressed her nose against Drew's flesh and inhaled the man-scent of him. Her eyes felt heavy and she let them slide closed as she snuggled against him.

“Don't let me fall asleep,” she mumbled.

Drew didn't answer, and Sarah realized from his deep, even breathing, it was because he was already asleep. She relaxed against him, liking the way the coarse hair on his chest tickled her nose. She laid her hand on his chest, then laid her cheek against her hand. She was warm and comfortable and happy.

She decided it wouldn't hurt just to rest a little while until the storm passed them by. She could check on her kids before she and Drew headed up the canyon.

 

Drew never slept long after sex because he was used to having to get up and leave whatever bed he was in. He froze when he realized Sarah was still snuggled up next to him. It was her hair tickling his nose that had woken him.

He wondered if he should wake her, but one glance toward the window confirmed that the storm was still blowing. He took advantage of the opportunity to look his fill.

Sarah's body was long and sleek, and her golden brown hair teasingly hid breasts he'd discovered were just the right size to fit his hands. Tiny lines of worry had etched their way onto her brow. She was lucky they weren't much deeper, he thought wryly, considering the bucketful of responsibility—and the occasional wild escapade—her kids must provide.