Where There's Smoke (37 page)

"When I said .
 
. . well, I didn't mean anything disrespectful.
 
You're safe with me and that's a fact.
 
What I mean is, I wouldn't "Just because he told you to keep an eye on me doesn't mean you have to shower me with compliments you don't mean."

Bowie squinted his eyes and cocked his head, unsure he'd heard her right.
 
"Come again?"

"I don't need him watching over me, or you either."

Him'?
 
Are you referring to your brother?
 
Key?"

"Of course Key," she said with annoyance.
 
"Ever since he asked you to keep an eye on me, I can't turn around without bumping into you.

"Well, I apologize for any inconvenience it's caused you, but I promised Key I'd look out for you, and I keep my promises.
 
I plan to keep on looking out for you until he tells me to stop."

"I'm telling you to stop.
 
As of this minute.
 
All the reporters have left Eden Pass.
 
I'm in no danger of being ambushed by them, so you don't need to trouble yourself any longer."

"It wasn't any trouble to drive you around, Miss Janellen."

"1 can drive myself!
 
I have since I was sixteen."

"Yes, ma'am, I know that, but-" "And I can read a meter box the same as any man.
 
Alone, too."

"I'm sure you can.

"While you feel duty-bound to trail me everywhere, I certainly don't need you throwing out empty compliments that "It wasn't empty."

"-that you can laugh over later."

"Laugh?"

"1 know what the men think of me.
 
They think I'm a dried-up old maid.

Muley told me that they laugh at me behind my back.

You're trying to suck up to my brother-" "Now hold on just a goddamn minute," Bowie interrupted angrily.

"I don't suck up to anybody.
 
Got that?
 
And leave your brother out of this, because he doesn't have a friggin' thing to do with why I said what I said.
 
And I don't give a rat's ass about what any of the other men think.
 
I make up my own mind about things, and if somebody disagrees with my opinion, well then screw em.
 
When I told you you looked pretty, it's because I really thought so.

"God a'mighty!
 
Most women would have said, Why, thank you, Bowie.

What a nice thing to say,' and let it go at that, But not you.

No.
 
You gotta read something into it 'cause you're prickly and prissy and have a burr up your butt the size of Dallas."

His words reverberated in the air between them before the wind snatched them away.

But not soon enough, Bowie thought dismally.
 
His self-control had snapped, something he'd thought would never happen with her.

He'd lost his temper and shot off his mouth.
 
He'd fucked up major big this time.
 
Now she'd fire him, and the fault was all his.

She faced him, wide-eyed, tremulous, and speechless.
 
Tears had made pools of her blue eyes, pools deep enough for a grown man to drown in.

A small shudder rippled through her.
 
She drew in a quick little breath that brought her lower lip in fleeting contact with her teeth.

It was too damn much.

Figuring that at this point he'd just as well be hanged for a sinner as a saint, he bent his head and kissed her.
 
It was a hard and swift kiss.
 
It had to be.
 
Any minute now she might start screaming.

Besides, he didn't trust himself to linger and taste.
 
He might do something really stupid that would land his sorry ass right back in jail.

The instant he pulled back, he turned her about and shoved her up into the truck.
 
He climbed in on the other side, turned on the noisy motor, engaged the grinding gears, and guided the truck over the deeply rutted track.

They rode in silence all the way back to the ugly company office, where he'd picked her up.
 
After he killed the engine, the silence was as engulfing as the heat that rose from the ground in shimmering waves.

She was probably still too distressed to speak, so it was up to him to say something.
 
For several moments he stared through the dirty windshield, then said, "I'll take the truck back to the shop and turn in the keys.
 
You can mail me my final check."

He heard her swallow, but he didn't look at her.
 
He couldn't bear to see her disgust.

Finally, in a feeble voice, she asked, "Are you leaving Tackett Oil?"

He looked at her then, turning his head so quickly that his neck popped.
 
"Aren't I?"

"Do you want to?"

"Don't you want me to?"

She shook her head and, in a barely audible voice, said, "No."

He didn't dare move for fear of shattering the fragile mood.
 
"Those things I said, Miss Janellen;, .
 
. I never should have used that kind of language in front of you.

"I grew up with two brothers.
 
I know all the words, Bowie.
 
And what most of them mean.

She flashed a gamine smile, but he didn't return it.
 
"That, uh, that other kissing you well, that's grounds for firing me for sure.

But I want you to know that I only did it because I lost my head."

"Oh."
 
After a moment, while the silence and tension and heat thickened, she added, "Then it was purely an impulsive gesture?"

Something in her eyes compelled him to answer truthfully.
 
"No, I can't truly say that it was, Miss Janellen.
 
I'd thought about doing it before."

"I'd thought about it, too."

He couldn't believe what she'd just said, yet he was looking straight at her.
 
He'd watched her lips form the words, and because his loins had filled with liquid fire, he knew he wasn't dreaming.

But it only got better.

He shifted slightly.
 
She tilted her head inquisitively.
 
Then they met somewhere in the middle of the bench seat.
 
Within seconds of her soft declaration, he was holding her against him, her arms were twined around his neck, and they were kissing madly.

Her lips were responsive but shy, which was okay because Bowie wasn't an experienced kisser anyway.
 
He'd never had a woman of his own, and easy women and whores usually skipped the kissing part.
 
So he and Janellen tutored each other, and when his tongue slipped between her lips and connected with hers, they both murmured in delightful discovery.

Was her mouth actually sweeter than any other woman's he'd kissed, or was it that she was the first he'd french kissed with caring and not only as a hasty prelude to getting laid?

He lowered his hand to her waist and pressed it.
 
Another tiny shudder went through her.
 
God, it was exciting.
 
He wanted to chart that shudder from her breasts, up her throat, and across her mouth.

But of course he didn't.

Eventually she angled her head back and gazed up at him with rapidly blinking eyes.
 
She was embarrassed.
 
Her cheeks were flushed.

Her breathing was rapid and shallow.
 
She rolled her lips inward, then released a breathy little laugh.

"I'd better go now.
 
If I'm late for supper, Key's likely to come looking for me."

He scooted back behind the steering wheel.
 
"Sure enough."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

There was the slightest inflection of inquiry attached.
 
"Bright and early."
 
He smiled, although it was a strain because his cock was throbbing like a son of a bitch.

She opened the door and was on the verge of getting out when she turned back and said in one gust of breath, "I love you, Bowie."

She slammed the truck's door, ran to her car, scrambled into the driver's seat, and drove away.
 
Bowie watched the cloud of dust she raised until it had dissipated.
 
Even then he sat behind the steering wheel of the truck, staring through crusty insect carcasses and oilfield grime, unable to move, shell-shocked by her parting words.

Well, that explained the kissing spree, he thought.
 
Janellen Tackett wasn't right in the head.
 
In fact, she was plumb crazy.

Nobody had ever loved Bowie Cato. re you awake?"

"I am now."
 
Lara's nightstand clock registered 2:03 A.M. "Who is this?"

"Key Tackett."

She groaned, burrowing her head deeper into her pillow and almost letting the telephone receiver slip from her hand.
 
"Is this another of your emergencies?"

"Yes."

Sensing the strain in his voice, Lara came fully awake.
 
This wasn't a prank.
 
She sat up and switched on the nightstand lamp.
 
"What is it?"

"Are you familiar with the state highway everybody calls the Old Ballard Road?"

"I know where it is."

"Go south on it two miles beyond the Dairy Queen.
 
On your right will be a cutoff.
 
There's an old windmill there, so you can't miss it.

A few hundred feet beyond that, on your left, there's a farmhouse.

My Lincoln is parked out front.
 
Bring your stuff."

"What stuff?"

"Doctor stuff.
 
Hurry."

"But-" The line went dead.
 
She flung back the covers; her feet hit the floor running.
 
It was second nature to respond to an emergency call.

She didn't pause to consider the advisability of responding to this one until she was speeding down the dark, deserted highway.
 
If the Tacketts really wanted to get rid of her permanently, how better than to trick her into going out in the middle of the night on an emergency call from which she would never return?

She had pulled on the first clothes her hands had touched and shoved her feet into a pair of sneakers.
 
In the clinic, she'd filled her medical bag with supplies that would handle most, but certainly not all, emergencies.

She might very well be walking into a trap, but she could not have said no to the summons.
 
And, strange as it was, she believed the urgency in Key's voice had been genuine.

She sped past the windmill before seeing it.
 
If his directions hadn't included it, she never would have spotted the narrow, unmarked road.

She backed up and took the turn sharply.
 
Moments later her headlights swept across a frame farmhouse.
 
As promised, Key's yellow Lincoln was parked in front.
 
She pulled in beside it, grabbed her bag, and alighted.

The dogs went berserk.

Key had been watching for her from the living room window.
 
As soon as she wheeled in, he pulled open the front door.
 
Unfortunately he didn't reach it in time to call off the hunting hounds who charged out from their various lairs to surround Lara with snarling maws.

They raised a horrendous racket.

She jumped onto the hood of her car and thrashed her legs, trying to kick away the howling attackers.
 
Key emitted a shrill whistle that brought a sudden halt to the barking.
 
A few of the hounds whimpered as they slunk back to their hideouts.