The Virgin and the Vengeful Groom (16 page)

“It's Bess. At least, I'm pretty sure that's her name on the stone—and the one that's fallen over is probably Horace. I wonder what he was like. Bess never said in her diaries.”

“Well, there you go—we'll prop up Horace's monument, police the grounds and have us a rededication, or whatever it's called. I'll even order flowers for the occasion.”

She appeared to be considering it. Curt couldn't believe he was going to such lengths to keep her around, when
only a couple of weeks ago she'd been number one on his hit list—the woman who'd stolen his legacy. Less than an hour ago she'd made him forget the lessons of a lifetime.

“Do you know a Jackson Powers?”

“A what?”

“It's a who. I think he might be a distant cousin or something. I came across a postcard from Virginia Beach from this guy named Jackson Powers? It was addressed to your father—that is, to M. C. Powers here at Powers Point.”

There might have been a time when the discovery of a long-lost relative would have meant something to him, but at the moment he had more important things on his mind. Such as how to keep Lily here until they could resolve this thing between them. He was pretty sure she couldn't be pregnant, not after only one shot, but all the same…

“Hang on a minute, I'll go get it. I used it as a place mark in the diary I'm reading.” Headed for the door, she was moving like a saddle-sore dude after her first trail ride.

He made a mental note to buy one of those test kits from the drugstore. Maybe two or three, in case the first one screwed up. It wasn't going to happen, but still…another Powers at Powers Point? How many generations would that make?

He was starting to smile when he heard her scream.

On his feet before he had time to think, he was already halfway down the hall when he thought of grabbing his gun. No time. He'd have to rely on the element of surprise, if he hadn't already blown it. Flattened against the wall, he edged to a position that would give him the clearest advantage. He was flexing his fingers, his mind racing through possible scenarios. If the guy had a gun on her, there might be one split second when his attention would be diverted. He would just have to make it count.

No gun, no guy—nothing. She was alone. Standing in the middle of the floor, staring at her canvas tote, a look of utter horror on her face. “It—Curt, my bag moved. It
moved!
I saw it!”

The air went clean out of his balloon. He looked first at Lily, then at the canvas satchel hanging on the back of the chair, then back at Lily again. “You're imagining things. Maybe if you'd turn on a light—”

“There! It did it again!”

“Lily, you're hallucinating. All this business with Bess—the break-in—you're a little overwrought, that's all.” He didn't mention the other possible source of stress.

“I am not overwrought!” As if to prove it, she snatched the bag with two fingers, shuddered, turned it upside down and then flung it aside. “You see? There's my clutch purse, my cheese crackers, a Moon Pie, my pen and… Oh, God,” she whispered.

The mouse looked around, sniffed the air, then scampered under the bed.

Curt couldn't help it, he howled.

“Don't laugh. Don't you dare laugh!” Lily whapped him on the chest with the side of her fist, and Curt caught her and held her against him before she could do any more damage. An angry Lily was not without resources.

“I hate rats! I've always hated rats, I'll hate rats until the day I die!”

He didn't bother to remind her of the way she'd calmly informed him that he had mice. No big deal, oh, no. No big deal at all.

He made a conscious effort not to laugh again; made another conscious effort to ignore the feel of her, all soft, warm flesh and delicate bones, pressed against his body. Predictably, heat began to pool in his lower regions. Talk about timing. To think he'd once been a highly trained,
tightly disciplined fighting machine. Any discipline he'd ever possessed was long gone, shot to blazes. And the worst of it was that he couldn't even bring himself to regret it. Good thing his days as a team leader were over.

“So what about it? Want to hang around a few more days? Help me exterminate a few mice and fix up the cemetery?” He couldn't believe he was actually begging her to stay.

Yes, he could. That was the trouble—it was entirely too believable.

“I'm not spending another night in this room until that mouse is out of here,” she vowed.

“Hey, we've got options. We'll shut Mickey up in your room, and you can share mine.” Before she could come to her senses—or he could—he closed the door and led her along the hall to his bedroom. Cross ventilation be damned, he could plug in the electric fan for one night. “See, I don't keep food in my bedroom, so there's nothing to attract mice. We've already checked out my closet—no unauthorized personnel there, right? So first thing in the morning I'll get us some traps and lay in a supply of cheese.”

“Peanuts.”

“Peanuts?”

“They like peanuts even better than cheese.” She was glued to his side, her usual independence nowhere in evidence. It wouldn't last, but at the moment it suited his purposes just fine.

“I could offer to sleep on the couch, but I don't have one.”

She nodded. They both knew where this was leading. Since he'd taken her to bed that afternoon, he hadn't been able to think about anything else. It had been all he could
do not to tell those two deputies to buzz off, that whatever was going on, he could handle it.

“Lily? You okay with this?” If she wanted out, then he'd have to let her go. He was counting on Bess to help him keep her here, though—at least until he worked up his courage to take the next step. At this point he wasn't even sure what it was, but he had his suspicions. Oh, yeah, he had those.

“Lily?”

“All right,” she snapped.

“Want a shower before you turn in?”

“I had one. It's your turn.”

“We could share—that is, if you're afraid to stay here alone?”

That drew a tiny smile, one of her gutsy, independent ones. “Me? Afraid? In your dreams.”

In his dreams. That about said it all.

While Curt hastily smoothed the covers on his bed, Lily thought of all the things she'd read, and even written, about love scenes set in bathtubs, hot tubs and whirlpool baths. Somehow, an ancient claw-footed tub with iron stains and chipped porcelain seemed somewhat lacking as a setting for romance.

But then, in their case it wasn't romance, it was sex.

And she was going to do it, and enjoy every moment of it, because it would be her last chance. What's more, she wasn't going to cry when it was all over and she said goodbye. She would eat dirt before she let him see her shed a single tear.

“Oh, what the heck,” she said with a small lift of her shoulders. “I might as well have another shower. I've got squashed mosquitoes all over me.”

He didn't say a word, just gave her a shot from those high-voltage eyes of his that melted her bones, not to men
tion whatever common sense she possessed. She glared at him. “What!”

“Quit trying so damned hard to be tough. For now—just for tonight, be who you are.”

That nearly finished her off. Her face crumbled, but she got her emotions under control and said coolly, “I don't know what you're talking about. Are we going to do it, or are we going to talk it to death?”

Curt lifted his eyes to the ceiling and thought, Of all the women in the world, why did it have to be this one? The one specifically designed to drive him up the nearest wall? “You know what your trouble is, O'Malley? You're afraid to admit you're a real woman. You've bought into your own publicity.”

“I am not. I know exactly who I am.”

He wanted to tell her—to make her believe—that the Lily he knew, the Lily who had shared his bed once before and was going to share it again, was real and wonderful and unique. That she made him a little crazy—a lot crazy—but that she'd added a dimension to his life he'd never even known existed.

“You've got one clean shirt left,” she challenged. “Can I have it?”

“I owe you,” he said solemnly. “I ripped the buttons off yours, remember?”

“How good are you with needle and thread?”

“Better than you are, I expect.”

“That good, hmm?”

Hooking an arm around her shoulders, he led her down the hall to the bathroom. No curtains on the window, not even a shade. The shower curtain was the plain plastic variety. A less-romantic setting for what he had in mind would be hard to imagine, but he'd been afraid to leave her alone—afraid he might come back and discover she'd
jammed the door shut, or worse, packed up and left. And he really did need a shower. All in all, it had been one hell of a day.

“Let me,” he said when she started to remove her shirt. Replacing her hands with his, he eased the plain cotton garment over her shoulders, marveling all over again at how anyone so fragile could be so strong. How anyone so strong could be so vulnerable.

In no time at all, their clothes were scattered on the bathroom floor. Curt stepped into the tub first, then swung her over the side. She told him he was going to ruin his back, and he laughed and said, “Let me worry about my back.”

“This is a really bad idea, you know? I thought it would be so—well, I mean, it always works in the books, but in real life, I'm not so sure we won't end up breaking something.”

“Too late for second thoughts. Turn around, lift your face.”

Lily didn't want to turn around. She didn't want to lift her face, but with Curt's hands on her shoulders, she seemed to have no will of her own. Tears filled her eyes and overflowed. She tried to pretend it was the shower, but they both knew the trickle of water wasn't responsible. “Don't look at me,” she grumbled. “Soap in my eyes— I'll be fine in just a minute.”

Curt looked. What he saw brought home a truth he was nowhere near ready to accept. “Quit squirming,” he growled, and plastered a handful of lather on her chest.

Somehow, they got through the process without coming to grief. It helped that the tub had been thoroughly scoured by sand. Helped even more that the water had long since run cold, which tended to discourage a man's ardor. Marginally.

He was determined to make it last—to make up for what had happened before. This time was for Lily. And if there was no next time…

Well, he would just have to deal with it.

“Feel my goose bumps?” Lily laughed shakily as he slowly worked a palmful of lather down her side. Then his hand moved between her thighs, and she gasped and went still.

“Are you still sore here?” Cold water or not, one touch and he was so hard he ached, but if it killed him, he refused to hurt her again. There were other ways…

Lily closed her eyes. Her head fell back, her hair dark with moisture, her lashes fanning out on her high cheekbones. Instead of a direct reply, she reached out and touched him. “Are you?” she asked, all innocence.

He nearly went up in flames. At the feel of her touch—hesitant, then bolder—his whole body stiffened. He could have sworn his mind blacked out for an instant. Indescribable sensations flooded through him, an urgent desire that was fully as powerful as release.

Capturing her hand, he eased it away before he shamed himself. A man thirty-six years old should have more control. Control had never been a problem before—at least not since he was about sixteen.

But then, he'd never made love to Lily before.

“Come on, let's get out of here,” he growled. Feeling behind him, he wrenched off the flow of water, then lifted her out of the tub and somehow managed to climb out himself without collapsing.

Lily blotted his face with a towel and then her own. Her red-rimmed eyes glowed with an incandescence that robbed him of what little breath he had left. He touched the place on her throat where his beard had abraded her
tender skin and said, “I forgot to shave first. It'll only take a minute.”

“Don't you dare,” she whispered fiercely. Catching his hand, she tugged him down the hall to his room, the night air cool on their damp bodies. If she was still worried about mice she didn't mention it.

The last thing he remembered thinking as they fell into bed together was that he had little to offer her but himself. It might not be enough for a woman whose career made her a celebrity, when his own career could take him away at a moment's notice, often for months at a time.

T
hey made love slowly, carefully, tenderly the first time. Lily saw all the rainbows, heard the bells and whistles, felt the earth move. All this she told him, proudly, shyly, when she could speak again. She was beaming—couldn't seem to stop smiling.

Curt looked as if he wanted to cry, but was too much of a man to give in to tears. “I know lots of other ways,” she confided. “I've written about—well, actually, I read about them first, but then when I started to write, it sort of came to me, the way things do. Your subconscious mind knows so much more than your conscious mind does—the trick is to pry it open.”

Lying beside her, he smiled and traced the rim of her ear. “Anyone ever tell you you've got beautiful ears?”

“Mmm…no.” Maybe he needed time to rest, she thought. He'd been injured—she still wasn't sure of all the details, but she knew his back hurt him when he exerted
himself. They'd both exerted themselves, but it had been worth it. Oh, my, yes-s-s, she thought smugly.

“Wanna try out a few more possibilities?” His voice resonated in the oddest parts of her body. She wondered if that was a part of it—like the response of plumage in breeding birds.

“Are you sure you're up to it?”

“Try me,” he suggested, and she did. With his willing cooperation. By the time the first pale hint of morning crept through the open window, Lily felt well and truly loved, even though not a word of love had been spoken.

She awoke early, watching the way the first shafts of morning light brought out the gold in his hair, along with the silver. His beard was showing again, even though he'd insisted on getting out of bed to shave after the first time they'd made love.

Or maybe the second. She was having trouble remembering. For a man who claimed to be considering retirement, he had more stamina than the law allowed. She owed him a backrub, and he owed her a cat. Sometime during the most glorious night of her life, they had come to those terms.

And if she'd hoped for something more than a cat, then it wouldn't be the first time she'd been disappointed.

“Hungry?” he murmured beside her.

“Aren't I always?”

“Yeah, but I'm talking food.”

She laughed aloud. And that was another thing—he made her laugh. Somehow, she'd forgotten how, if she'd ever learned. And he laughed, too. From the grim, suspicious man who had first accosted her in the bookstore and accused her of stealing his property, he'd come a long way.

They both had.

 

Curt left soon after that for his early-morning workout on the beach. Lily felt tired, yet she was compelled to get up, to do something. She was bursting with energy. Was that a side effect of sex? Funny—she'd never read about that one.

She was on her knees with a knife and a spoon, the only gardening tools she could find—by the time the sun cleared away the morning haze. Whatever happened, she was determined to get this done. The idea had been growing ever since she'd first noticed the bright red and yellow flowers blooming all over the beach.

“This is for you, Bess, in case I don't make the rededication or whatever.” She dug and planted and patted. Three on each side of the steps sounded about right.

“Where? More to the left?” She glanced over her shoulder and frowned. Curt was still at the beach. There was no one else around, but she could have sworn she heard someone saying…

Must be my imagination, she told herself. She was just patting the sand around the last of the plants when she spotted Curt jogging across the highway. Stiffly she rose to her feet and waved. “Come see what I've done,” she called out.

“Yeah? What's this supposed to be?”

“Um—landscaping?”

Slowly he shook his head. “Where'd you get the plants?”

Puzzled, Lily gestured with her spoon. “Over there—across the highway. There's millions and millions of them, blooming out here in the middle of nowhere. I thought it would be nice if…” Uncertainly her voice tapered off.

“Lily, that happens to be a national park. It's Federal property.”

“So? What's your point?”

He raked his fingers through his hair, sighed and said, “No point, I guess. Why don't I help you water them?”

 

Driving south toward Avon some hour and a half later, Curt told himself the last thing he needed was a house cat. Maybe he could just borrow one. Rent one?

It wasn't as if he'd be there permanently.

It all came down to Lily. He didn't know if she would want to stay at Powers Point—or go with him wherever he was sent—or if she'd even have him. Talk about putting the cart before the horse.

An hour later he was headed north again, with a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts, half a dozen fish he was going to have to dress and cook, and a cat, compliments of his father's old friend, Charlie. “Easy there, partner, it won't be long now. You're going to pig out on mice once I turn you loose in the house.” Or maybe on fish. It all depended on how good he was at cleaning the things and how eager Lily was to try her hand at cooking. Maybe he should have bought a cookbook while he was at it.

Burdened with a newspaper-wrapped bundle, a grocery sack and one large cardboard box, he called from the front door. No answer. He'd half expected to see her on the porch, her nose buried in one of Bess's diaries again.

“Hey, Lily, come see what I brought….”

In the open doorway he came to a dead stop, every cell in his body suddenly on full alert.

“I got your boots back,” she said grimly, nodding toward the pair of eel-skin boots with the distinctive starfish and trident design lying on their sides on the floor. They were halfway down the hall, between her bedroom and the office. She was holding his 9 mm with both hands, arms braced, feet spread, dead-aimed at a poor son of a gun with a straggly beard, who looked ready to collapse.

“You wanna clue me in?” he asked mildly.

“It's him. I knew it before he even opened his mouth.”

“Right, it's him,” he repeated numbly. And then he caught sight of a scrap of purple lace. Slowly he looked back at the cowering wretch who was blubbering something about his mama. “Why, you sorry bastard. You aren't fit to—and you even stole my boots!” The jerk wore one earring. It was a clip-on.

“He's my stalker. He brought me a gift, see? Purple panties.”

“I brought a…a flower, too, but it blew out the window.”

“The window of what?” Curt eased up beside her and removed the gun from her hands without incident. The poor devil looked ready to crawl on his knees and beg, but Curt knew better than to take chances. He could be a walking chemical lab, which could make him dangerous at worst, unpredictable at best. “You want to call the dispatcher, Lily? Fill her in on what we've got and have her send Fred and Elmo back.”

“Tie him up,” Lily growled. “Tie him up with those awful things he brought me. One thing about nylon, it doesn't break easily.”

She marched out, still keyed up from the encounter, then wheeled around and came back. Shaking her finger at the poor sot who looked as if he would like to crawl under the linoleum, she said, “I'm going to call your mother, too. No wonder she felt as though she had to quit. If I had a son like you, I'd resign from the human race!” To Curt she said, “He not only stole my phone number from Doris's purse, he had a duplicate key made—even after I'd changed the lock.” Her cheeks were splotched with color, her fists clenched at her sides. “You…you—I can't even think of a word!”

So much for running away and hiding, Curt thought with reluctant admiration.

It was more than an hour before the two deputies drove off with their tearful prisoner. By then Curt was almost afraid to open the cat box. The fish were starting to smell ripe, and ants had discovered the doughnuts.

Gingerly he reached for the sturdy cardboard carton. He'd cut holes in the sides. A gray paw curled out of one hole, claws fully unsheathed. “Sorry, cat—something came up.”

Lily crouched beside the box, making soft, cooing sounds in her throat. “Oh, I love gray cats.”

“Yeah, well love this one from a distance. He's not in a particularly loving mood at the moment.”

“We'll give him a fish.”

“If he sticks around long enough. Stand back, here goes.”

Roughly eight pounds of gray-furred fury leaped out of the box, made a run for the door, which Curt had taken care to shut. The animal turned to glare over its shoulder from a pair of malevolent green eyes, his ears flattened, his bushy tail twitching.

Lily said, “Oh, look at those eyes, aren't they gorgeous? Here, kitty, kitty, we won't hurt you.”

“Don't even think about petting it yet.”

“I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that cats can read minds. People minds, that is. And this one looks a lot smarter than your average cat, don't you think?”

“How many average cats have you ever known?” he asked.

“Well, none personally. That is, I've never had a pet, but there are always a few cats in any alley, on account of the garbage cans.”

Awkwardly Curt managed to stand without too much
actual pain. “Obviously, this wasn't one of my better ideas.”

“I think it was a great idea. That's right, honey, you keep your distance until you get us all figured out.” She looked up at Curt, a smile on her face that came close to bringing him to his knees again. “Know what? I'm going to call her Bess. Don't you think that's perfect?”

Oh, yeah, perfect. “Honey, you can call him Eleanor Roosevelt if you want to. I don't think he'll mind at all.”

The bad news was that Bess the tomcat probably wouldn't hang around any longer than it took him to punch out a screen.

The good news was that Lily would. If she was into planting stolen flowers and naming house pets, then that was good enough for him. Any loose ends—and there were going to be plenty of those—they could work out between them.

“How about next time we get us a female cat?” he suggested.

She stood and leaned against his side, beaming at their temporary tomcat. “Kittens. Now that would be nice, wouldn't it?”

“Oh, yeah, kittens would be just fine. Which reminds me, I stopped by the drugstore and picked up one of those test kits.”

“Test kits. Am I supposed to know what you're talking about?”

“Pregnancy? Kids? Family? I figure if it doesn't turn the right color, we can keep on trying until it does, what do you say?”

Lily closed her eyes and whispered something under her breath. Curt felt pretty much the way he'd felt when he was buried up to his neck in mud, with a dozen or so arms
dealers jabbing the jungle foliage with bayonets just inches away from his face.

“Well. If that's a proposal, then I say yes. If it's only a…a proposition, then I guess the answer's the same. Only I hope it isn't, because Bess and I have our standards.”

Curt felt as if a dam inside him had broken.
Bess, whatever you are—wherever you are—I might need a little help here. My training didn't cover loving a woman who believes in ghosts, so hang around, will you?