T's Trial: A Bone Cold--Alive Novel (16 page)

“Protection. Fletch is paranoid about someone finding us—him. No one would be looking for two gays.”

“Is he that important?” She faced him completely over the small console between the bucket seats. She had drawn her knees up and if he did the same to his, they would touch.

“He thinks he is.”

“I thought he was just a strung out writer, harried from his publishers.”

T wrangled around. “He’s been under a lot of personal stress as well. The last divorce didn’t help. Family problems.” That described BCA pretty well: family. What a joke!

“And you are his—”

“Chauffeur.”

“For real?”

“And he enjoys my music. Maybe I’m more of a protégé.”

She smiled. “Back to David and Saul. But you don’t—” she turned her right hand this way and that.

“No. Never. Not in the least.”

“Not what Tib saw.”

“Tib saw what I wanted him to see.”

She nodded and cocked her head to the left. “But it’s important that I know all this?”

“Yes. Very.”

“Why?”

“I just couldn’t go on with the sham. I wanted you to know the truth. But just you. Please help us keep up appearances.”

“It doesn’t all fit, Sam.”

“Sure it does. Fletch is daydreaming about making you wife number four.” Her eyes widened in shock. “Oh, he’s not seriously contemplating it, I’m sure. It’s just that someone who’s cheerful in the morning and an all-around good sport—hell, Lyla, he’s never met anyone like you. Then he remembers the other three experiences and gets stressed out again and comes back to normal.”

She laughed. “Not a very likely story. I can’t see Fletch losing his good sense and proposing over the donuts one morning.”

“Okay.” He smiled. “That’s not really it.” His left hand began a slow descent down the steering wheel across the space between them to her hair, then to the back of her neck. “You need to know because I’ve been daydreaming about this.” He gently pulled her to himself, and she let him lead her into the kiss. Tender, caressing. He stroked her cheek with his thumb.

Lyla knew what was coming when his hand was midway through the air to her. All this talk of sexual preference had to be building to something. A small part of her thought of the clichéd ‘paying for your dinner’ routine. Another part was riotously happy that this very virile man was available. Still another realized that she wanted to kiss him. Desperately. She almost needed it, so drawn was she to him, to his music, to his essence. She’d almost quivered in anticipation. And the kiss, so undemanding, yet so complex, like his rendition of Lyla’s Song. He broke it off, backed away just an inch or two. “Oh, my,” the words escaped from her before she could stop them.

“Yes.” He said it in a breath. Her eyes sought his, found them eagerly seeking hers.

“Sam?”

“Yes?” They were whispering.

“I have daydreams, too.” She reached up to his shoulders and pulled him back to her. He came, let her lead the next kiss. When she parted her lips, he moaned and encircled her in his arms. The console was between them and by the end of the kiss, Lyla was thankful for the console. Their lips were inches apart. “Lord, Sam, I feel like a schoolgirl.”

“I’ve got some schoolboy feelings myself.” His face was flushed, and as he cleared his throat, he stretched his legs.

“I’d better be going in.” Half turning to the door, she started to raise the handle.

“I’ll walk you.” He started to turn in his seat, grinned slightly. “The, ah, the air will do me good.”

“It’s not necessary.” If he walked her to the door, he’d kiss her again, and that would be awful, wouldn’t it?
Liar. That would be wonderful.
What if he really wanted to come upstairs? No, couldn’t happen. Not yet anyway.
Get a grip, Lyla. He’ll be gone in two weeks!

He opened her car door before she could sufficiently gather her thoughts. She took his proffered hand and pulled on her skirt as she got out. He swung their hands high like schoolchildren would and the awkwardness was gone. She laughed aloud, pulled slightly on his hand, then stumbled as her right heel found one of the potholes in the uneven pavement. He grabbed her to keep her from falling, his right arm encircling her waist and pulling her to him. He hadn’t meant to kiss her again, but with the length of her body brought to his, he couldn’t help himself. He leaned over as she arched up to him.

This was a different kiss. This time there was more than gentle fingers caressing a neck or shoulder. Their bodies touched and of their own accords sought to be closer. His hands splayed on her back and toyed with the idea of wandering to her hips. He barely kept his hands under control, instead allowing his tongue free rein. Lyla’s hands roamed to his back, kneading his muscles, running up and down his spine. Her mouth welcomed his, and when the kiss ended and they still embraced, she lifted her neck and he ran kisses up and down it.

“Someone’s got to fix this parking lot. The potholes are killers.” She let her breath out slowly as he trailed kisses across her cheeks on the way to the other side of her neck.

“Don’t fix it on my account.”

“Sam, I’ve got to go in.”

“Why?” He pulled away slightly, looked at her. Their breathing was ragged. “Got a curfew?”

“Got to be flipping pancakes and frying bacon at six.”

He groaned, leaned to kiss her again as she backed away, her eyes widening, warning.

“I’m sorry, Lyla.” He sought control, found it in his rehab training. He gathered her hands from himself and held them between his. “It’s been a wonderful afternoon, an unbelievable evening, a night I’ll be thinking about well into the morning.” He raised his eyebrows, smiled slyly. “Never has a bet been so graciously lost.” He raised her hands toward his lips just as the west end of the parking lot illumined with headlights.

T stopped his motion in midair and Lyla turned. “Tib! Damn him!” Instead of drawing her hands from T’s, she turned them to hold his fingers.

Tib stopped the vehicle twenty feet from them, opened the door, got out and came to stand in front of the lights. “Lyla, you okay?”

T felt the heat radiating from her. Her gentle touch on his fingers became a vise grip, then she dropped his hands. She was the picture of exasperation as she turned to Tib and placed her hands on her hips. “Why do you ask? You been spying on us?” She stood defiantly in his headlights, the white suit almost shining, an avenging angel without wings, standing between the devil and a would-be savior. T tossed the phrase to the back of his mind. He was always looking for new lyrics, and this woman was teaching him a new song.

“No.” Tib sounded indignant. “I’m on my way home and I catch sight of that car,” he pointed in the Mercedes’ direction, “and then I start looking for you and it looks like a tussle!”

“Well, it wasn’t!”

“Well, how was I to know that?”

“Well, you could mind your own business every once in a while!”

“Lyla, I am only interested in your welfare and if this—” he pointed in T’s direction, stumbled over the words, finally giving up “—
this
is up to no good—”

“For your information, Tibbet Wilson—”

“Lyla, please.” T reached for her elbow. “Calm down.”
Don’t tell.

She glared at Tib. “For your information, I am quite capable of handling myself!”

“I’m sure you think you are, but he’s a lot bigger and got God-knows-what in mind!”

T acknowledged that statement with a small nod of his head that only Tib could see. Sounded like they were all on the same wavelength. Annoying the warden certainly felt good. Not as good as what he had been doing…and the annoyance factor certainly didn’t come with any rewards. He turned his mind back to the conversation being conducted in front of him.

“Tib, Sam was just walking me to the door. Just like you do.”

Tib shook his head, defeat evident in each move, even as he looked straight at T.

T nodded at him. Checkmate. Time to go home. “Lyla,” he stepped to her side. “It’s been a memorable evening. Now unlock your door and go in, so the Warden and I can go to our respective beds. I’m sure he’s just as tired as we are.”

Lyla finally took her eyes off of Tib. “I’m sorry about this, Sam.” She said it loud enough for Tib to hear. She dug in her purse for the keys, extracted them, and turned to unlock the door. “Goodnight. Thank you for a wonderful,” she hesitated, cast a look at Tib out of the corner of her eye “—experience.” She disappeared inside, leaving the men glaring at each other.

T stood his silent ground until the lights came on above them, then he turned to his vehicle as Tib did to his. They left the parking lot together.

Good eye, Warden Wilson, T thought as he pulled onto the county road. Best watch out because I’m about to poach your quail.

***

T drove with the windows open and the air-conditioning on full blast. Both sources of air served to calm him by the time he bounced the Mercedes over the cattle guard. Calm him down outwardly at least while on the inside, his mind roiled. Good God, he was in love! How had that happened?

The lights were on in the living room. He glanced at the car clock. Past eleven. Fletch must be waiting up like a mother hen. Well, that was even better. At least, he wouldn’t wake him up when he started on the piano. His fingers were itching.

He reached in the backseat for his coat, felt the small boxes he’d hidden in his pocket bang against his leg as he pulled the other packages from the trunk. Damn! He’d forgotten to give her the gifts. Well, maybe that wasn’t so bad. He’d have a very legitimate reason to see her tomorrow.

He carried his purchases through the door and found Fletch on the loveseat smiling like the Cheshire cat. He’d hazard a guess. “You caught a fish?”

“Better than that.”

“Shark?”

“Better.”

T gave him a dirty look and took his new wardrobe to his room. He returned minus the tie and shoes. Standing behind Fletch, he began in a mocking tone. “‘And how was your afternoon and evening, T?’ ‘Oh, how kind of you to take time from your busy schedule and ask, Fletch.’”

Fletch smiled. “How was it?”

T glowered at him.

“I really do want to know.” Fletch crossed his arms and turned sideways on the furniture. “Looks like you made a merchant happy.”

T sagged his shoulders, leaned on the back of the opposite loveseat. “Up until ten minutes ago when Tib presented himself as Lyla’s protector, I’d have said it was the most perfect day in my whole life.”

Fletch digested this. “Then forget those ten minutes. Remember your perfect day.”

“That is easier said than done.”

“What worthwhile isn’t? Did Lyla have a perfect day?”

T thought for a second, then a glimmer of a smile crossed his lips. “I think so. Yes, yes, she did.” He became confident in his tone.

“Well, so did I.”

T raised an eyebrow. “You do have a certain canary-eating-cat look about you.”

Fletch reached to the floor and produced the tennis ball. He shifted his weight and tossed the ball at the doors. They opened. “Welcome to Oz.”

*  *  *

The night air off the lake was cool. T stood on the porch and leaned his weight on his wide-spread hands that clutched the railing. In the daylight he knew they would be red, their tenseness a silent testimony to his stress. It was the first time in almost a week that he’d wanted a drink. Hell, even a cigarette would do! He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Behind him he heard the front door open and close quietly. He sensed Fletch before he heard the familiar click of the old monogrammed lighter. “Want one?”

T opened his eyes and turned his face toward the older man. “You’d help me fall off the wagon?”

“Just a cigarette.” He proffered it. “You look like you could use it.”

“Just a cig. Just a beer. Just a joint. You’re supposed to be my guardian angel not the devil incarnate. Where’ve you been hiding the stash anyway?”

Fletch shrugged. “Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies. Anyway, I’m proud of you.” Fletch flicked the cigarette out onto the sandy driveway and stood silently beside T. He rammed his hands into his shorts pockets and rocked back on his heels.

T broke the silence. “I feel dirty.”

“How so?”

“We invaded her privacy. We saw what she obviously has chosen to keep to herself.” His brow wrinkled and he shook his head. He looked at Fletch. “You don’t feel—guilty?”

“Guilty?” Fletch stopped rocking and stood very still. “Is that word in your vocabulary? I’ve known you for ten years and I don’t think I’ve ever heard you utter it.”

“Answer the question. Don’t you feel guilty?”

“No. I did not deliberately set out to find out all there was to know about Lyla Vinson Lee. It was handed to me. Same as if that old busybody Barbara or Bernice—”

“Bertie.”

“Same as if that old busybody Bertie had sat me down and given me the scoop.” He looked out to the lake. “And she will, too. I can weasel it out of her.” He looked back to T. “Then ‘no guilt.’”

“Bull.” He stretched his back, released his grip on the railing. “And Bertie’s not a busybody.”

“Just exactly who is bewitching whom, T? Your entire goal was to prove a point to me, that you could date Lyla and bed her on demand. Are we changing our goals? Is that a stardust cloud I see in front of your eyes?”

T turned his head from Fletch, then pushed past the man and strode toward the lake. “I’m taking a walk. Go on to bed!”

He was on the dock before he brushed the tears out of his eyes. The stardust cloud wasn’t in front of his eyes, it was in them.

Chapter Fourteen

I
t was still dark as Lyla rounded the corner from her stairs and tapped in the security code between the storeroom and the Quik-Lee. She hit the lights illuminating the aisles. As she made her way to unlock the front door, she pushed the button on the automatic coffee maker and the ever-ready hot water poured through the prepackaged coffee filter Sally had placed there the afternoon before.

She had been up since four thirty and had spent a great deal of that time mentally preparing herself for the forthcoming onslaught. The Spanish Inquisition was going to look tame compared to the questions she would field this morning. She hadn’t forgotten her insult to Tib from Tuesday night: if he’d come into breakfast on Friday morning she’d tell him all about it! Talk about paying the piper!