Where There's Smoke (76 page)

"And another thing, you might think we could carry on without anyone finding out, but you're fooling yourself.
 
We couldn't.
 
I've lived in Eden Pass long enough to know how fast and accurate the grapevine is.

It's too risky to take a chance.

"Sooner or later word would get back to your mama.
 
She'd probably come after me with a shotgun or sic the law on me.
 
Hell, I've been in scrapes before.
 
If she didn't flat-out kill me, I'd survive.
 
But not you.
 
You haven't had a troubled day in your life.
 
You wouldn't know how to handle it."

"I've had lots of trouble."

"Not the kind I'm talking about."

She'd learned from her brothers that men hated when women cried, so she tried her best to keep from bursting into tears.
 
"Are you trying to get out of it, Bowie?
 
Are you making up excuses when actually you just don't want me?
 
Is it my age that's turned you off?"

"Come again?"

A small sob escaped.
 
"That's it, isn't it?
 
You're trying to worm out of it because I'm older than you."

He was equally vexed and incredulous.
 
"You're older than me?"

"Three years.

"Who's counting?"

"Apparently you.
 
That's why you're trying to back out.
 
You could have a woman much younger than I."

"Shit!"
 
He paced in a small circle, swearing under his breath.

Finally he came back around and looked down at her with annoyance.

"How long did it take you to dream up that crap?
 
For chrissake, I didn't even know how old you were, and even if I had known, it wouldn't have made any difference.
 
Don't you know me better than that?

Shit."

"Then why?"

His aggravation dissolved, and he knelt in front of her, clasping her hands.
 
"Janellen, as far as I'm concerned, you're way up there above any other human who's ever drawn breath.
 
I'd rather lose my right arm than hurt you.
 
That's why I never should have let this get started.

The first time I felt that yearning for you, I should have packed up and left town.
 
I knew better, only I couldn't help myself."

He paused, searching her face with such intensity that he seemed to be memorizing it.
 
He ran his thumb across her trembling lips.
 
"I love you better'n I love my own self.
 
That's why I won't sneak you in and out of rented bedrooms, hide you like you were a floozie, and have you gossiped about like you're white trash."

He came to his feet and reached for his hat.
 
"I won't do that to you.

No way in hell.
 
No, ma'am."
 
He placed his hat on his head and gave the brim a firm tug.
 
"That's the end of it."

Lara weakly leaned her head against the doorjamb.
 
"This isn't a good idea, Key."

"Since when has anything involving you been a good idea?"

He forced his way past her.
 
She closed the back door behind him after checking to make sure no one was around to see his arrival.
 
It was a futile precaution.
 
Having the distinctive yellow Lincoln parked in her driveway was as good as announcing it on local radio.

When she turned back into the room, he was leaning against a supply cabinet.
 
His shirttail was hanging loose outside his jeans.
 
He was an untidy, disturbing, sexy reminder of the first time she'd seen him in this same room.

That night he'd asked her for whiskey.
 
This time he'd brought his own.

The liquor sloshed inside the bottle when he raised it to his mouth and took a drink.
 
The gash on his temple had closed, but the skin around it was still bruised.
 
So were his ribs.
 
His expression was insolent, his complexion flushed.

"You're drunk."

"You're right."

She folded her arms across her middle.
 
"Why'd you come here?"

"Can Ambassador Porter come out and play?"
 
he asked mockingly.

"He's still in Washington."

"But he'll be here tomorrow.
 
They printed a story about it in the evening edition.
 
Hero Statesman Visits Eden Pass."
 
Big fuckin' deal."

"If you knew he wasn't here, why'd you ask?"

He grinned.
 
"Just to get a rise out of you.
 
To see if your heart would go pitter-pat at the mention of his name."

"i think you'd better go."
 
Coldly turning her back to him, she opened the door.

His hand shot forward from behind her and slammed it shut; then he kept his palm flattened against the wood, trapping her between himself and the door.
 
In the small wedge of space, she turned to face him.

"You never did answer my question."

"What question?"

"About your daughter.
 
Since we made it back alive, I want to know.

Was she Clark's kid?"

What did he want to hear?
 
she wondered.
 
What did she want to tell him?

The unvarnished truth.

Oh, God, what a liberating luxury that would be.
 
She could fully explain the situation, fill in all the unknown details, and, by doing so, perhaps make Key feel more charitable toward her.

The mitigating circumstances were the critical ones.
 
Ironically, because they were so very critical, they must remain a secret.

Especially from Key.
 
Especially now that she knew she loved him.

"Randall was Ashley's father."

Regret flickered in his eyes.
 
"You sure?"

"Yes."

She could see that it made a difference to him, but he tried not to show it.
 
"So you suckered me into risking my life for nothing."

"I didn't persuade you to go to Montesangre, you persuaded yourself.
 
I never even suggested that Clark was Ashley's father."

"You never denied it, either."
 
He leaned in closer.
 
His whiskeyscented breath felt hot on her face.
 
"You're a real piece of work, aren't you?
 
A clever manipulator.
 
A tricky chick.

"At first I couldn't understand how my rational brother could have such a careless affair with his best friend's wife.
 
You did a real seduction number on him, didn't you?
 
Pussy-whipped him till he didn't know which end was up.
 
Then dopey ol' Randall stayed with you.
 
What a sap.
 
He's a prick, probably a liar, but even he doesn't deserve your royal treatment."

His hands clasped her waist and with one swift motion yanked her against him.
 
He nuzzled her neck beneath her ear.
 
"You're good at getting what you want from a man, aren't you, Doc?
 
You mind-fuck him real good before he even gets his cock out."

Lara squeezed her eyes shut.
 
The accusations were ugly.
 
They hurt, especially coming from Key.
 
Key, who more than once had risked his life to save hers, who had been tender and passionate, ardent and loving, whose touch she still craved and whose voice haunted her dreams.

Based on the facts, as he knew them, he had cause to insult her.

His scorn was founded on what he believed was truth.
 
It was a miscalculation she couldn't rectify--far more for Key's sake than her own.

She wanted him desperately.
 
But not this way.
 
She'd conditioned herself to tolerate the world's contempt, but she refused to nurture his.

"I want you to leave."

"Like hell."
 
He dropped the liquor bottle, slipped his hand beneath her skirt, and tugged on her panties.
 
"You're all I can smell.

All I can taste.
 
All I think about."
 
His mouth covered hers and ground an angry kiss into it.
 
"Jesus, I gotta get you out of my system."

"No, Key!"
 
She pressed her thighs together.

"How come?
 
It's not like you haven't been unfaithful before."

She swatted away the hand groping at her breasts.
 
"Stop this!"

"You owe me, remember?
 
Either the ninety thousand balance of my hundred grand.
 
Or this."
 
He forced his hand between her thighs and fondled her intimately.
 
"I choose this."

"No!"

"Don't worry, I'll leave before sun-up.
 
Your husband won't catch you in the act this time.
 
I'm smarter than my brother.
 
I'm also better.

Aren't I?"

"No, you're not," she cried.
 
"Clark never had to resort to rape!"

That sobered him as instantly as the cold water she'd once thrown in his face.
 
He released her and staggered backward, his breath coming harsh and loud.

Knowing the root of his aggression, Lara felt more sorrow than anger.

She longed to touch his face, run her fingers through the damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, placate him, tell him she regretted having to hurt him in the worst possible way-by unfavorably comparing him to Clark.

Instead, she had to let her statement stand and watch his lip curl with repugnance for his brother's cast-off, adulterous whore.

He looked her over and made a scornful sound.
 
"No, I'm sure he didn't.

Relax, Doc.
 
You're safe from me.

He reached around her and pulled open the door.
 
The liquor bottle almost tripped him.
 
He kicked it out of his way.
 
It crashed against the wall and shattered.

He stormed through the door, leaped over the steps, and climbed into the Lincoln.
 
He gunned it; the tires spun in the gravel before gaining traction.
 
He sped away.

Lara closed the door and, with her back to it, slid to the floor.

Folding her arms across her lap, she bent at the waist and released a keening cry.

Chapter TWENTY'-& en o this is it?
 
This is what you're so reluctant to leave?"

Randall had strolled through the rooms of the clinic and wound up in Lara's private office, where she'd been packing books and files.

He'd flown from National Airport to Dallas/Fort Worth and leased a car for the two-hour drive to Eden Pass.

For hours before his arrival, media vans had been cruising the street in front of the clinic on the lookout for him.
 
When he arrived, reporters and cameramen flocked to him in impressive numbers.

His ordeal in Montesangre had atoned for the scandal involving his wife and Senator Tackett.
 
Like a wayward child who'd taken his punishment and turned over a new leaf, he'd been warmly received by the president and the Department of State.
 
Having experienced the Montesangren culture from the inside out, he was its reigning expert on Capitol Hill.
 
He was newsworthy.

Lara remained indoors while Randall conducted an impromptu press conference.
 
After fielding questions for several minutes, he begged to be excused.