Sharon had liked the Boogie Barracks.
They had done their share of drinking and dancing in that place. And once
they had even gotten it on in the men's bathroom, when Sharon had followed
him inside a stall. Heaven help Will, having inherited his genes from
Sharon and the son of Satan himself, Johnny Mack Cahill. The boy was predisposed
to be a hellion. But he wasn't. Not yet. And both of his biological parents
had been well on their way to hell when they were fourteen.
If he could do anything for
Will, he would spare him from making the kinds of mistakes he had made.
Back then, he hadn't cared what he'd done or who he had hurt. All that had
mattered was surviving and finding a way to ease the loneliness and the
pain of being unloved and unwanted.
No one had given a shit about him,
and he had felt the same about everyone else. Don't care and you can't
get hurt. Don't want what you can't have and you won't be disappointed.
But Will wasn't him. And although
Sharon had given birth to Will, he was far more Lane's child than Sharon's.
From the report the PI had compiled on Will, Johnny Mack could see-in
print-that Will Graham was no bad seed. He was the young man Lane had raised
him to be-smart, studious, athletic and, as a general rule, courteous
and considerate. Will had been given every possible advantage as the
son of Kent and Lane Graham. He had known his place in this one-horse town,
and mat place had been as the young king of the hill Even though he had
known he was adopted, he had probably never questioned his right to one
day take his place as the heir apparent, just as Kent had done.
But how did Will feel now? Now that
he knew die truth? Would mat inherited wild streak break free and lead
him into trouble?
‘’Not if I can help it!"
A loud knock on his motel room door
gained Johnny Mack's attention. He wasn't expecting anyone. He grabbed
his shirt off the bed where he had thrown it when he'd gone into the bathroom
to shave for the second time mat day. Thrusting his arms into the sleeves
of his black western shirt, he headed for the door. The undone pearl
snaps on his shirt glimmered in the muted light from the two bedside
lamps. After glancing through the viewfinder, he immediately opened
the door.
"Lane?"
"May I come in?"
With the late afternoon sun at
her back, the light painted her with transparent gold, from head to toe.
She looked like a golden goddess, a vision from the dreams he had tried
so hard to forget.
"Something's wrong," he said,
then stepped aside to allow her entrance.
She waited until he closed the door
behind her before she replied. "James telephoned to tell me mat
Wes Stevens is taking the evidence he has in Kent's murder case to a
grand jury as soon as possible. I think now is the time for you to call Quinn
Cortez. It's probably only a matter of days before I'll be indicted for
Kent's murder."
Chapter 13
"Come over and sit down."
When Johnny Mack reached out to take Lane's hand, she deliberately withdrew
toward the closed door.
She didn't think she could bear
for him to touch her. If he did, she might fall apart in his arms. She had been
holding herself together since Kent's death by sheer willpower alone.
And although she desperately needed someone to lean on, that person
couldn't be Johnny Mack. For so many years, she had had no one to count on
but herself. She had been the one to take charge, make all the decisions
and carry life's burdens alone. For her sake and for Will's sake, she had
needed to be strong even in her weakest moments. Lillie Mae had always done
what she could, but it wasn't the same as having a strong man to stand by
her in times of trouble. And to complicate matters, Lane wasn't sure
she could trust Johnny Mack, or any other man-not after what Kent had done
to her.
"You can't know for sure that
you'll be indicted,"
Johnny Mack said.''There had to be
dozens of people who wanted to see Kent dead. Surely the police-
Scratch that! I forgot for a minute that I'm in Noble's Crossing and that
the police chief is in Miss Edith's hip pocket."
Lane nervously twisted the straps
on her shoulder bag. "The police have been gathering evidence
for two weeks now, and I honestly don't think they've checked out the possibility
that anyone else could have committed the crime."
"That tells me that Edith doesn't
want another suspect. Why do you suppose that is?"
"Maybe she honestly thinks I
killed Kent."
"Or maybe she knows who did
and would rather see you take die rap."
';I can't believe that Miss Edith
would protect Kent's murderer," Lane said. "After all, she was
his mother."
"Edith doesn't have any maternal
instincts. She tried to rule her children the way she tried to rule Noble's
Crossing. Miss Edith always did what was best for Miss Edith. I don't think
that's changed."
Lane nodded agreement, then let
her gaze travel slowly over Johnny Mack. She couldn't help noticing that
his shirt was undone enough to reveal the hard, dark flesh of his naked
chest. He was bigger and broader than he had been at twenty-one, but still
muscular and sleek. Even as a fourteen-year-old, she had sat in the window
and watched him while he mowed their grass and pruned their shrubbery.
And during the hot summer months, he had worn nothing out a pair of cut-off
jeans. Like every other female in town, she had lusted after the baddest
bad boy Noble's Crossing had ever spawned.
Heat rose within her. Sensual heat.
She didn't want this. Not now. Not ever. She had enough problems in her life
without adding an affair with Johnny Mack to the mix. An affair that could
end only in more heartbreak for her.
Think business, she told herself.
You're here to accept an offer. A repayment for an old debt. As Lillie
Mae had said, to call in your marker. Concentrate on that and nothing]
more. Allowing herself to think of Johnny Mack as a] desirable man would
be like playing with fire. She had already had her heart singed by that
particular blaze and didn't relish letting it happen a second time.
Their gazes met and held again for
only a brief moment. An intense awareness passed between them. Feeling
as if he had somehow touched her, Lane shivered, but realized the intimacy
had been only in her mind.
"Won't you sit down?" He
gestured toward the lone chair in the room.
Lane sat in the chair, while
Johnny Mack eased down on the edge of the bed. She crossed her legs at the ankles,
placed her bag in her lap, folded her hands together and laid them atop
her bag.
"I'll call Quinn and tell him
what's happened."
"Thank you. I hope you know
that I wouldn't be here… that I wouldn't accept your offer to pay for an
attorney if I could afford Quinn Cortez's fee myself."
How ironic that the man who had once
done yard work for her family now had more money than she did. If things were
different, she would be extremely pleased for Johnny Mack, pleased that
he had done so well. It had to be very satisfying for him to return to his
hometown, where he'd been labeled a worthless bad boy, as a wealthy
and powerful man.
"You don't have to explain
anything to me," he told her. "And you certainly don't have to
thank me. I owe you my life." He leaned over, placed his hands between
his spread knees and twined his fingers together. "And I owe you my
son's life, too. Don't you think that picking up the tab for your legal fees
is a small repayment for your having saved two lives?"
She couldn't take credit for what
she had done instinctively, for the things she'd done for love. She had
saved him and saved his son because, for her, there had been no other
choices.
"There's one other thing I
want from you," Lane told him.
He lifted his gaze to search her
eyes. "Anything. Just name it."
"I don't want Will involved
in this case," Lane said. "I do not want Mr. Cortez asking him a
lot of questions and upsetting him. Buddy went very easy on Will the day
Kent was murdered. Even though Edith knows Will isn't Kent's son, she's
still very fond of him, and I'm sure she'll persuade Buddy and Wes Stevens
to protect Will in this situation."
"What exactly does Will need
protection from?"
"From having to relive that
day." Lane came forward so that she sat perched on the edge of her
seat. "I'd rather confess to killing Kent than to have Will destroyed
by…" Did she dare trust Johnny Mack? No, not yet.
"Destroyed by what? The truth?
It's been my experience that the lies are what hurt us."
"I have to go. Please, let me
know when you've contacted Mr. Cortez."
Lane sprang up out of the chair.
Her shoulder bag dropped to the floor. When she reached down to Pick it
up, her hand encountered Johnny Mack's. He lifted the bag; then together
they rose and stood feeing each other. Without saying a word, he stationed
the straps of her expensive leather purse on her shoulder. But his hand
lingered, hovering close to her neck.
Her heartbeat accelerated.
The drone of her blood rushing through her body hummed in her head. He
was so close she could feel the warmth of his breath, could smell the faint
hint of aftershave he used, could sense the tension in his muscles.
Unable to move, to run, as her common
sense told her to, Lane glanced down and suddenly realized that their bodies
were almost touching. She had been this close to Johnny Mack only once
before, and that was a moment she would remember to her dying day. That
last summer before he'd left town. Down by the boathouse. Under the willow
trees that lined the riverbank. He had kissed her the way she'd always
dreamed he would. And when he'd pulled her close, she had felt the hard,
pulsing throb of his sex against her belly. She would have lain down on
the ground and given herself to him, but he had released her and, without
explanation, walked away.
If only he had made love to her
that night, maybe she and not Sharon Hickman would have gotten pregnant
with his child.
Johnny Mack cupped and lifted her
chin, forcing her to face him. Don't do this to me, she silently pleaded.
It has taken me fifteen years to stop loving you. Don't make me care.
Don't make me love you all over again.
As mesmerized by his lethal masculine
charm as she had been when she was a teenager, Lane made no protest when
he slipped one arm around her waist. As he eased his other hand around to
clutch the back of her neck, he brought her forward just enough so that her
breasts rubbed against his chest. Of its own accord, her right hand lifted
and laid her open palm on his naked flesh. How could this be happening?
She had thought she was incapable
of responding this way to a man's touch.
A sense of unreality claimed
her. This was a dream. One she had had more times than she could count. Years
ago, when she had been young and naive and trusting. When she had been
eager to experience the pleasures of sex with the man she loved.
But this dream had died a brutal
death, as so many of her dreams had. Killed by reality. Destroyed by
Johnny Mack's departure from her life. Bludgeoned by Kent's insensitivity
that had eventually turned to cruelty.
"Lane." He whispered her
name. Soft, low and deep.
A quivering sensation spiraled
through her body, from the very depths of her feminine soul. Was he asking
permission? her hazy mind wondered. Or was he giving her fair warning?
The moment his lips touched hers,
she braced herself for the bruising crush that she had come to expect whenever
Kent kissed her. But there was no demanding lunge, no hard, grinding pressure.
Remember, her mind murmured, remember
how it was with Johnny Mack. She sighed, as much from the memory as from the
present pleasure. His lips were warm and wet and captured hers with a languid,
sensual expertise that took her breath away. He tasted and tempted,
licked and nipped. Tenderly. Patiently. But only when she opened her mouth
with a gratified sigh did he ease his tongue inside and explore her more
intimately.
Rational thought ceased to exit as
a longing that Would not be denied took control of Lane. She wanted more.
Oh, God, she needed so much more.
The feel of his hard, hot flesh beneath
her hands excited her in a way she had never dreamed possible-not after
Kent brutalized and humiliated her. When Johnny Mack lowered his hands
to grasp her buttocks and fit her tightly against his erection, she couldn't
control her body's instinctive preparation. The gush of moisture.
The clenching and unclenching. The ache that only sex could ease.
"I want to make love to
you," he told her, his lips against her ear. "I denied us both
what we wanted fifteen years ago, but we aren't the same two people we
were then. If this is what you want-"
Why had he said anything? Why hadn't
he just taken her to bed and made love to her? He was asking her to make
the decision. If she let things go any farther, it would be her choice.
"You're very good at
this," Lane said, as she wriggled in an effort to free herself from
his hold. "Comes from a great deal of experience, no doubt."