Chapter 5
Ty pulled up at the front door of Sara’s house.
“Sit tight,”
he said when she started to open her door.
She was surprised, but she settled back into her seat. He opened the door, flicked off her seat belt, and pulled her out of the truck, holding her cradled in his arms.
Her heart went wild. She managed to catch her breath, if only slightly. Her arms twined around his neck.
“This is a very bad idea,”
she said softly.
“Is it? Why?”
he asked, searching her eyes in the light of the porch.
“I might get fixated on you,” she said.
“Only happens to baby chicks and ducks,” he said.
“Also happens to lonely spinsters who live out in the sticks,”
she said.
“And don’t ever say that I didn’t warn . . . oh!”
While she was in full spate, he cut her off very gently by settling his hard, warm mouth over her own.
Oh, glory, she was thinking, as some incredible hunger suddenly sprouted up in her like a fountain out of nowhere. Her body was shaken into full, passionate life as the kiss slowly hardened and deepened, until she let out a helpless little sob as the feelings overwhelmed her.
He lifted his head just a breath away.
“What was that all about?”
he whispered.
“Escaping swamp gas,”
she breathed.
“Local phenomenon. Ignore it.”
He smiled. His mouth came down on hers again. And she ignored everything for long, sweet, mad seconds while he devoured her soft lips.
Finally, he was able to lift away from the sweetest hunger he’d ever felt.
“You were right,”
he said on a heavy breath as he headed toward the front porch.
She was still winding in space mentally.
“About what?”
“It was a bad idea,”
he said shortly, and helped her up onto the porch.
She looked up at him.
“Maybe it was, but you can’t back out.”
He blinked.
“Back out?”
“Fishing in the morning,”
she said.
“Kissing people is no excuse for depriving people of fishing trips.”
He cocked his head. His dark eyes were twinkling.
“If you say so.”
“Besides, I’ve spent whole minutes planning my wardrobe.”
“To go fishing.”
He was looking at her with a strange expression.
“Exactly. I’m glad that you understand how important it is to choose just the right clothes for every occasion.”
He eyed her lovely figure in the silver dress, where her new coat had come undone.
“Ha! You’d have bought a black dress if I hadn’t told you to get a silver one.”
She would have. She glared at him.
“A momentary lapse,” she said.
“We’ll see about that.”
He turned and walked back toward the truck.
“If you’re not here, I’ll go by myself,”
she called after him.
“All alone. In the wilds. Where there are bears!”
She was raising her voice with every sentence.
“I could be eaten!”
“Better be ready on time, then,”
he said. He got into the truck and left without another word.
She went into the house, where Ed and Mrs. Grimes were furiously battling each other on the screen. Puppy dog was lying on his back near the TV, sound asleep.
“I’m home,” she said.
“Watch that beast coming out of the sand to your left, Ed. You’ll get us eaten!”
“Okay, but you have to get the fat Mars guys on the right!”
he exclaimed.
“Got it!”
There was furious gunfire of a science fiction sort.
Sara sighed, put her purse down, and went to change clothes. Laser rifle fire was still coming out of the living room ten minutes later.
“That was a super fight!” Ed said.
Two voices from the television agreed. So did Mrs. Grimes. They all said good night and Ed turned off the TV.
“You’re great, Mrs. Grimes!”
he exclaimed.
She hugged him.
“And you’re fantastic! Same time tomorrow night?”
“Same time! I’ll tell the others. We’ll raid!”
“Absolutely. Oh, hello, Sara! Did you have a good time?”
“It was really nice.”
She smiled.
“I’m going fishing with him in the morning.”
Mrs. Grimes stared at her.
“Going fishing?”
“With Mr. Blakeney?”
Ed chimed in.
“I have to.”
“You have to?” Ed said.
She nodded solemnly.
“I promised to hit him with a dead fish for something he said. I have to catch one first to make it dead. So I can hit him.”
“What did he say?”
Mrs. Grimes asked, retrieving her keys from her purse.
“I forget,”
she said.
“But in case I remember, I really need to catch a fish. Ed, bedtime.”
“Okay, sis.”
He hugged her.
“Good night.”
She kissed the top of his head.
“You too, sport. Night night.”
“Love you!”
he called back.
“Love you, too!”
she replied.
Mrs. Grimes smiled at the interaction.
“You really love that boy, don’t you?”
“With all my heart,”
she agreed, smiling softly.
“And our Mr. Blakeney, who’s never seen with a female person these days, is taking you fishing. It must be the end of the world.”
She laughed.
“We had a good time at the party.”
Mrs. Grimes looked at her with sad eyes.
“Just don’t go in headfirst, okay? There are things about him that most people don’t know.”
“It won’t matter,”
she said softly.
“I was afraid of that. Well, I have a broad shoulder. If you ever need one.”
Sara smiled.
“I know. And thank you so much.”
She stuffed a bill into the older woman’s pocket and restrained her arm when she went to pull it out.
“You know very well that I can afford it now. I won’t let you put me under obligations,”
she added with wiggling eyebrows and a grin.
Mrs. Grimes laughed.
“All right, then. Thank you. I’ll buy more dog food for my Bennie.”
“Was the wuppie okay?”
“Goose came in and watched us play and just went to sleep,”
she said.
“I’ll never understand puppies.”
“Neither will I. Kitchen floor is okay, then?”
“It hasn’t yet recovered from his last foray, after its first makeover,”
she replied.
“I’d just wait until he’s a couple of months older. No sense fixing it and have him tear it right back up for a second time if he gets mad at you, now, is there?”
“No sense at all. Thanks for taking care of my baby brother.”
“Oh, I enjoyed it. We formed a raid group and had a ball shooting aliens with futuristic weapons!”
“I’m just looking forward to a long, sound sleep. Ed has a drawing class from nine to twelve, but can you come in the morning a little before nine to babysit the shredder?”
she added.
Mrs. Grimes laughed.
“Sure, I can.”
“Okay, then. Thanks again. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Mrs. Grimes waved as she went out the door.
“I’ll be here at nine.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
Sara locked up, turned out the lights in the other rooms, and went to bed. Goose had followed Ed back to his room and was already asleep at the side of the bed. Ed was asleep as well. She smiled as she closed the door.
Mrs. Grimes had mentioned secrets in Ty’s past. She had a good idea what some of them were. She also remembered what Mrs. Grimes had said about Ty’s inability to settle down. It was true. He was very much a free spirit.
But could a man kiss a woman the way he’d kissed her, and feel nothing? It seemed impossible. Then, again, what did she really know about men? Her first real date had been with Ty.
She turned out the lights and put all her worries in the back of her mind. She wasn’t going to wrestle with the problem tonight. She was still floating on the cloud of sweet discovery.
Sara took Ed early to his drawing class. It was a peach of a day, unseasonably warm and the sun was out. It boded well for a fun activity. When she got back home, Mrs. Grimes had already arrived. She loaded up the game while Sara went to change clothes.
Sara came out wearing old jeans with worn places on the knees. Under her flannel overshirt was a T-shirt with a subdued steampunk portrait.
On her feet were boots with curled toes. She had on no makeup and her hair, always wavy and unruly, was mussed.
“Well?”
she asked during a lull in laser cannon fire.
Mrs. Grimes blinked.
“You’re going like that?”
she asked, surprised.
“It’s a fishing trip. Mud. Smelly fish. Worms. We’re unlikely to come across a fashion reporter,”
she replied with twinkling silver eyes.
“Good point,”
the older woman agreed.
“How about lunch? You going out for it?”
“Not smelling like dead fish,”
Sara replied on a chuckle.
“I packed Moon Pies and cans of Vienna sausages and crackers and cheese and soda.”
“Should take a thermos of coffee, just in case you need propping up after the long periods of acute boredom.”
The other woman laughed.
“Good point. I’ll make a pot and dig out two thermoses. I’d bet real money that Mr. Blakeney drinks his strong and black.”
“Definitely.”
“What do you know about him that I don’t?”
Sara asked. “And why?”
“I’m friends with a man who has contacts in some strange places. And that’s all I’m telling you,”
Mrs. Grimes related.
“So give it up. I won’t talk. You might ask Blakeney.”
“Not without a head start,”
Sara replied.
“I don’t expect he takes kindly to interrogation.”
“That’s a definite no,”
Mrs. Grimes said.
“The last guy who tried it needed dental work. He pushed just a little too hard.”
“Who was he?”
Sara asked curiously.
“A reporter for one of those strictly male magazines. He left town rather quickly.”
“Our Mr. Blakeney has definite ideas about what he wants to tell people. I’ve noticed that.”
Mrs. Grimes nodded. She got down two thermoses while Sara made strong coffee.
“Want to pack some creamer and sweetener?”
She shook her head.
“I’d bet money that neither of us would ever use it.”
“How did things work out with Mr. Hartman last night?”
she asked.
Sara rolled her eyes.
“It was educational. The two of them are like mountain goats in combat. Born enemies.”
“Hartman has a bad reputation, even here,”
Mrs. Grimes said.
“He’s always looking for dirt that he can use in his column. He pushes people so that he can get them to confess things.”
“It wouldn’t work on Mr. Blakeney. He was angry. You could tell. But he never raised his voice or even drew back his fist.”
“He has remarkable self-control. Our sheriff says he’s never known anybody as cool under fire.”
“Does Jeff know him?”
“Yes. They served together overseas in the Middle East.”
“Army?”
“Jeff was in the army.”
Sara turned.
“And Mr. Blakeney?”
She just smiled.
“You’re no help at all,”
Sara teased.
“I like having a future to look forward to.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not,”
Mrs. Grimes replied.
“People have gone permanently missing for what I’ve already said.”
Sara whistled.
“There’s a big black budget in Washington. People will do anything to protect it. There’s no oversight, no accountability. Power is involved. A lot of it. Nobody wants their boat rocked.”
“I’m getting undertones of guys with big cigars and hidden automatic pistols.”
“Good. Keep seeing those. It will keep you out of trouble.”
“You mean, there really are . . . ?”
“I mean, keep in mind that certain factions operate that way. A lot of life is hidden under the cover of respectability. A very dirty sort.”
“Mrs. Grimes, I think you must hang out with some very odd people,”
Sara accused as she filled the thermoses with black coffee.
The older woman chuckled.
“I have a background that I don’t share. I wasn’t always a kindly old babysitter in a small Colorado town.”
Sara turned and stared at her.
Mrs. Grimes just grinned.
Sara sighed.
“I must live a sheltered life.”
“You do. Let’s keep it that way. And do I hear a truck driving up?”
Sara’s heart jumped and she almost dropped the thermos.
Mrs. Grimes looked at her and laughed under her breath.
“I’ll go let him in.”
“Do I look okay?”
Sara asked quickly, flushed and flustered.
“Now isn’t that a question you should have asked fifteen minutes ago?”
she teased.
Sara glowered at her.
“Spoilsport.”
“You look like a woman on her way to a fishing hole,”
came the droll reply.
There was a quick rap at the back door and there he was, six feet of understated muscle in jeans and a blue flannel shirt and boots, with dark, sparkling eyes in a handsome, if unconventionally so, face.
“Come on in. Sara’s just filling two thermoses.”
“With black coffee, I hope,”
he said, stifling a yawn.
“I was up working late.”
Sara, who knew he had a ranch, assumed he was up with pregnant cows. They had a few here on her own ranch. They had to be carefully tended to give birth in the spring, and it wouldn’t be long now until they were delivering.
“Yes, it’s black coffee and very strong,”
Sara said, laughing.
“Would you rather have a cup here first?”
He shook his head.
“The air outside is just nippy enough to be pleasant. It will keep me awake. I have doughnuts in the truck,”
he added.
“Freshly baked.”
“Where did you get doughnuts this early?”
she asked, surprised.
“Stole them from Jeff at the sheriff’s department.”
He chuckled.
“He had a whole box and I lifted a couple while his back was turned.”
“You stole doughnuts in the sheriff’s office?”
she exclaimed in mock horror.
“His secretary abetted me.”
“You’ll serve time,”
she promised.
“Nah. Community service, if anything. I’ll volunteer to clean up his desk and he’ll cut me loose in five minutes flat.”
Sara, who’d seen the sheriff’s desk, just laughed.
“Probably,”
she agreed. She was trying not to look at him and failing miserably. Her heart was racing like a mad thing.
He checked his watch.
“We should go,”
he said.
“Before any other fishermen discover my spot.”
“You can tell them we saw a Bigfoot and send them off searching for it,”
she advised.
“Not when trout are running.”
He chuckled.
“Let’s go.”
“Have fun,”
Mrs. Grimes said.
“I’ll keep puppy dog out of trouble.”
“Hello, Goose,”
Blakeney said, kneeling to pet the laughing puppy.
“You’re going to grow up to be a Clydesdale,”
he noted.
“Paws like a Yeti!”
“The vet says he’ll go one hundred pounds, easy,”
Sara replied.
“He really is beautiful. Such a far cry from the bedraggled little thing Ed found on the side of the road.”
“That seems like a hundred years ago,”
Blakeney remarked quietly. He was silent for a minute, still stroking the puppy, with a faraway look in his eyes. He got to his feet abruptly.
“Let’s get moving.”
He was withdrawn all the way to the river. Sara glanced at him covertly, but she didn’t ask questions. He was obviously working on a problem in his mind, because his concentration was absolute. He pulled up in a grove of trees beside a dirt path that led down to the river. Even though it was early, there were still fishermen around, many wearing hip boots.
She paused to watch them cast while Blakeney got the fishing poles and tackle out of the truck, along with a cooler for any fish they caught.
“That’s a very small cooler,”
she noted.
His eyebrows arched under his wide-brimmed hat.
“You planning on landing something upward of ten pounds?” he asked.
She glared at him.
“No. But I have hauled in a few six-pounders. And what if I land several of them?”
“We’ll hitch them to the back of the truck and let them walk home,” he mused.
They stopped beside the river.
“I’ll go back for the camp stools,”
he said.
“Watch for snakes. They may be crawling early. Did you bring hip boots?”
She frowned.
“I don’t have any.”
He sighed.
“I’d offer a pair of mine, but you wouldn’t be able to see over the cuffs,”
he added. “Shrimp.”
“I am not a shrimp,”
she huffed.
“I’m tall for my age.”
“You’re a shrimp.”
To emphasize it, he moved close, so that she had to look up to see his face.
He chuckled.
“You really are small, compared to me,”
he said, and his voice dropped an octave, into deep dark velvet that made chills go down her spine. One big, beautiful hand came up to trace her jaw and her pretty bow mouth. His eyes dropped to it, studying it so intently that her lips parted on a quick breath.
“You stop that,”
she whispered, her voice unsteady.
“Unless you want me to push you right down into the grass and do unspeakable things to you.”
He laughed.
“What sort of unspeakable things do you have in mind?”
She paused, because she didn’t really know. Except for an occasional classic romance movie or a romance novel, she really had little idea about that part of men and women.
“Well?” he asked.
“I’m thinking, I’m thinking,”
she protested.
“So many choices, so little time. Besides,”
she added.
“there are people everywhere.”
He pursed his lips.
“So there are.”
He chuckled and dropped his hand. He went back to the truck while she tried to calm her heartbeat. She was a pushover, and he surely knew it. She hoped he had enough finer instincts to protect her from herself. If she had any defenses at all, they were weak and untrustworthy.
He was back with two camp stools. He opened one for her and set it up.
“Worms or flies?” he asked.
She stared at him.
“Well?”
She took a breath.
“Grandad and I fished for bass mostly. I’m not really good at fishing for trout,”
she confessed uncomfortably.
“And every time I ever tried to cast, like those guys are doing”—she indicated the poetry of movement coming from the fishermen wading in the shallow river, casting perfect lines far out into the fast-moving water—“I ended up having to be cut out of the fishing line at least once a trip.”
He chuckled deep under his breath, his eyes amused and tender as he studied her.
“Then why did you want to come?” he asked.
She bit her lower lip. “Well,”
she began, hoping for inspiration.
While she was searching for it, he bent and brushed his mouth tenderly against hers, a whispery brief caress that made her knees go weak.
“Sit and watch. Pay attention. Quiz coming later,”
he added, and set about to put on waders and get his tackle affixed to the rod and reel.
It was educational. Obviously, this was something he’d been doing for a long time. It was fascinating to watch the line shoot out in lovely patterns before just the tip, with the fly and sinkers, met the water to tempt any fishy occupants of the river.
For the first hour, there were nibbles, but no catches. She sat and watched him, delighting in the grace of his tall, powerful body, in the economy of motion that accompanied each cast. He was slow and patient, never rushed or frustrated. He was intent on what he was doing, absolutely single-minded to a degree she’d never encountered in anyone else.
He was absolutely gorgeous. Jet-black hair, thick and with a sheen like a raven’s wing, dark eyes under a jutting brow. High cheekbones, olive skin, and a mouth as chiseled and beautiful as any male movie star’s. She couldn’t get enough of just looking at him.
She knew it was going to be a disaster. He’d been badly hurt by the woman he loved, a woman with whom, by all reports, he was still in love. He wanted no involvement. In fact, he’d even said that loose ties were the only kind he ever wanted. Presumably, he wouldn’t have married his former lover even if she’d been willing.
While Sara was a homebody, who loved working in the house, working on the ranch, having her little brother to care for. She had no inclination to travel, to be anything other than what she was—an artist with a happy home life, now that her abusive father was no longer around to terrify her and Ed.
It was a recipe for heartache. If she’d had any sense, she’d have refused his offer of transportation to Denver the very first time she’d been invited to go. But she hadn’t. And every contact she had with the mysterious Mr. Blakeney, the worse it got, the more she was attracted to him.
He had a shady past, from all accounts. He dressed well. His truck was almost new. But he had no visible means of support. Yes, there was the ranch, but it was much like hers. Run-down, with just a few head of cattle and part-time help. The way he lived and his lack of income were a red flag. That disparity could indicate that he made his living outside the law. Danny Hartman had hinted as much.
A man who seemed to live above his means, who kept to himself, who had a past that he never talked about. There were a lot of red flags. Too many.
“Are you going to pour that, or sit and look at it?”
His voice startled her and she jumped. She hadn’t heard him move. Amazing, how quiet he was in an area with things on the ground that made noise. But he didn’t make noise.
“Sorry.”
She laughed nervously.
“I wasn’t paying attention. Want coffee?”
“Would I be standing here if I didn’t?”
he asked with raised eyebrows.
She made a face at him and poured coffee into one of the plastic mugs she’d packed. She handed it to him.
He noticed the faint tremor in her fingers. She had pretty hands. Long fingers, immaculate nails, well-kept despite the physical labor she did around her ranch. She was nervous when he went close to her. It pleased him in one sense and disturbed him in another. He couldn’t afford to let her become attached to him. There were things he couldn’t tell her about his life.
“You could stand up a spoon in this,”
he pointed out.
She was sipping the cup she’d poured for herself. “Oh, yes,”
she said.
“I hate half-hearted hot brown water.”
He grinned. “Me, too.”
There was a loud, rough word from the other side of the river. It was followed by a lot more loud, rough words. They were followed by the speaker slamming his rod and reel onto the ground and then jumping on it, still cursing at the top of his lungs.
They burst out laughing along with two other men on their side of the river.
“It’s not funny!”
the owner of the trashed pole yelled at his audience. He picked up his tackle box and stomped off toward his truck.
“Some people should never take up fishing. Old Duke Ramsey over there is a prime example of that,”
he pointed out.
“Why did he take it up, do you know?”
“Yes,”
he said.
“His doctor said he was too stressed. He told Ramsey that fishing would relax him.”
Which caused more laughter.
The two nearby fishermen left just before lunchtime. Neither had caught any fish. The men stopped just briefly to greet them, commiserate with them about the lack of biting trout, and went away.
“Finally,”
Blakeney mused, tying a different fly onto his line.
“Now that I have the place to myself . . .”
He went off to the river, made a couple of casts, and came up with a magnificent fighting trout. Sara, delighted, went to the river to watch him fight the trout. He laughed and pulled and released, pulled and released, as he and the fish both began to tire. But finally, he caught it in the net he’d asked her to hand him. He slid it into the bucket with the lid and caught his breath.
“That was an epic battle! Are you worn out?”
Sara asked.
“Just about . . . !”
She pushed him back into the grass and fell on him, laughing. “Trapped,”
she teased, bending to kiss him softly.
“Now I’ve got you where I want you!”
His dark eyes twinkled as he looked up at her.
“Oh, have you?”
he asked. Before she could formulate an answer, he’d flipped her onto her back and now it was he who had her pinned.
“Now,”
he said softly, searching her eyes.
“who’s trapped?”