Chance of a Lifetime (19 page)

Tannon watched her. If he was going to get only one kiss, he might as well give it his best shot. He put his arm gently around her waist and tugged her to him as his mouth lowered. He felt her lip tremble slightly and her heart pounded against his chest, but she didn’t turn away.

He wished he could believe that she kissed him back, but that wasn’t quite it. She didn’t stop him, but he felt no encouragement to continue.

Slowly, he straightened. “That wasn’t so bad,” he whispered.

“No.” She looked at the buttons on his shirt.

“Emily, do you think we could be friends? Real friends. Honest friends. I could use one right now.”

“I think we are friends, Tannon. Maybe not close, but friends would be an all right place to be.”

He moved a few inches away and opened the door. “I agree. It would be nice to have someone to eat a meal with now and then or watch a movie late some night.”

“But no more sleeping over or kissing,” she added.

“I’ll agree to the sleeping over, but I insist on a good-night kiss now and then. If for no other reason than to keep me from getting rusty at it.”

She grinned. “Okay. One good-night kiss now and then, but no more Valentine desserts.”

He nodded when he slipped out the door. He didn’t look back as he walked to the elevator. He knew she was watching him. She was probably wondering the same thing he was.

What were they doing?

T
HURSDAY

R
ICK SLEPT UNTIL TEN THE NEXT MORNING
. F
OR A MOMENT
after he woke, he smiled a groggy smile, thinking all was fine with his world. Then he remembered. The pain came back along with the depressing facts.

For a while he just lay on his stomach, wondering where he’d be right now if he’d decided to go into coaching and not law. Being a lawyer wasn’t working out like he planned. It’s pretty bad when you hang out with so many lowlifes you can’t figure out which one is trying to kill you.

When the door opened, he didn’t move.

“You awake, Matheson?” Trace asked without bothering to whisper.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t move. I’ll check your stitches. I promised the doc I’d make sure you’re not bleeding again.”

“The torture begins even before I get breakfast,” he
mumbled as her hand moved over the flesh of his left shoulder.

“That’s not the hurt one,” he added.

“I know.” She moved slowly closer to the bandages. “Just testing to see how warm your skin is.” Her knuckles moved gently along his spine. “I kind of like touching you—or at least the few places on you that aren’t hurt.”

He thought of telling her that he was warming all over if she wanted to do more testing, but then she might stop. He also thought it odd that such a cold woman would admit wanting to touch anyone. She was about as far from one of those touchy-feely women who wanted to give back rubs and hold hands as he’d ever seen.

“You missed breakfast.” Her finger tugged at the tape covering his other shoulder. “Eggs Benedict like I’ve never had, with sage sausage cooked—”

“Save me the details.”

“All right. Just wanted you to know what you missed.”

He let her work without complaining. He was tired of complaining. He was tired of sitting around wondering when the next elf would fly through the window. “How about we get out of here today?” he said as she patted his arm letting him know she was finished. “I could show you around Harmony and then drop by my office.”

Rick was already planning his defense when she said, “All right.”

“Seriously?”

“Sure. I’ve figured that whoever is after you isn’t too bright. Maybe we can flush him out. I think it’s unlikely he’ll try a hit when other people are around; after all, he picked a back staircase after dark and a snowy day when you were the only one he saw in the window. He may have had no idea I was only a few feet away.”

Suddenly Rick’s idea of going out didn’t sound so grand. If the stalker was dumb, somewhere in public might be his next try since catching his prey alone hadn’t worked. “So if we go out, I’m the bait.”

She grinned. “Sounds like a good plan.”

Rick slowly lifted himself out of bed and walked over to the pile of clothes Mrs. Biggs had washed for him. He figured since Trace had already seen him nude she wouldn’t mind seeing his underwear.

Trace smiled as if she’d read his mind. “You do have a great body, Matheson. Tell me, how do you keep from getting fat and flabby with a desk job?”

“Before I took to getting beat up regularly, I swam a few times a week. Ran some on weekends.” He pulled on a clean pair of jeans. “Maybe just good genes. All Mathesons are tall. How about your family?”

“I’ll get my coat.” She was on the move. Walking away from both him and the question.

“Meet me in the kitchen,” he called after her. “I’m starving.”

An hour later, after downing a half dozen scrambled eggs and the leftover sausage, Rick felt like he was strong enough to leave the house.

Trace pulled the Land Rover Gabe Leary had loaned them up to the porch and Rick climbed in slowly. She left the car running as she ran back in for blankets and pillows.

A rolled pillow at the small of his back and a fluffy blanket over the seat made the ride far more comfortable. His injured shoulder barely touched the back of the seat. He could take a little pain. The cool air smelled so good.

As they drove around Harmony, he explained every part of the town, even telling her what used to be in a few spots. She said it wasn’t as pretty as small towns she’d seen in New England or on the shores of California, but Harmony had its charm. The two dried-up creekbeds that cut through the center of town made for curving streets and sidewalks along tree-lined trails.

Most of the snow had disappeared except on lawns. Almost everyone who saw them waved as if they were the world’s shortest parade.

Rick tried to talk her into walking the mall, but she wasn’t interested. He suggested a show, but she didn’t think
a dark public place would be a good idea. Finally, because he didn’t want to go home, he talked her into driving out to the old Matheson ranch. Hank owned the place now and ran cattle as well as horses on the land.

To his surprise, Trace knew nothing about ranching. “You act like you’ve never stepped foot out of a city.” He laughed when she stopped at the first cattle guard.

“I haven’t except over highways. For me, the world is cities separated by miles of nothing but gas stations.”

“Your dad never took you camping?”

“Nope. He wasn’t around.”

Rick let the answer settle in. He had a feeling if he asked another question she’d close up again. Finally, he sighed. “My dad died before I was grown, but he used to take me camping. My mom loves to tell the story that I was barely potty trained once when they took all the kids and a pop-up to Yellowstone. I wouldn’t squat in the woods, so he had me go in a big can he hauled coal in for the fire. When we got back home, I spent the rest of the spring running out to the garden to sit on the cans around new tomato plants.”

Trace laughed, really laughed for the first time.

Rick smiled. “You think that’s funny?”

“No,” she said. “I think it’s funny that you think it’s funny. You got any more stories like that?”

“Hundreds, unfortunately.” They pulled up to the Matheson ranch house. “Don’t suggest my two great-aunts tell any or we’ll never get out of here. Hank calls this the women’s house because his mother and her two old aunts live here. His sisters used to live here after they got divorced, but Liz married Gabe, the guy who loaned you this vehicle, and his other sister, Claire, moved to Dallas. Her daughter is going through treatments there and may have to have more operations on her legs.“

He stared at her. “By the way, why did Gabe loan you this? Do you know him?”

Trace shook her head. “Nope, but I know a friend of his.”

Rick grinned. “Then you know Denver Sims. Only friend Gabe claims. He’s a U.S. Marshal.” Rick didn’t say more,
but pieces of a puzzle were beginning to fit together. She’d moved too fast in danger not to have been trained, and he guessed she hadn’t been lying about having a gun. If she knew a U.S. Marshal, she might just be in law enforcement.

He decided to wait before jumping into a theory that might send Trace away forever. If her dad had been a cop, like she said, maybe the reason he was never around to take her camping was that he died in the line of duty.

“Why are we stopping here?” she asked as she climbed out of the car stretching her long legs like a cat. The house in front of them looked like it had grown up from the land. It had walls the color of the earth and wildflowers along the walks.

“They’ll have tea and cookies. After being laughed at over my camping story, I’ve worked up an appetite. Plus, my cousin, Claire, is a world-class artist. She stores her latest works up in a studio on the third floor. If you promise to be nice, I’ll give you the tour. You’re not going to believe what she paints.”

Ten minutes later they were settled into the aunts’ sitting room at the back of the huge rambling home. As Aunt Pat handed Trace a cup of tea, Trace asked about family stories as if she could wait no longer to hear more.

Rick groaned and leaned back into the soft overstuffed chair by the window. The afternoon sun warmed him as he drifted off.

It was twilight when Trace touched his arm and told him it was time to go.

He apologized to the aunts, but they didn’t seem the least upset. They both hugged Trace good-bye as if she’d become a part of the family in one afternoon.

“I’ll show you the art collection some other time,” he said as he led her to the front door, doubting there would ever be another time.

When Trace started the car, Rick asked, “Want to stop for some food?”

“You hungry again?”

He shrugged. “It’s a habit I got into and am having
trouble breaking. Yes, I’m hungry and I know just where to stop. Best barbecue wings in the state.”

Ten minutes later they walked into Buffalo’s.

“The place isn’t usually this crowded on a Thursday night,” Rick said, as if apologizing. “The Partners must be playing.”

“Who?”

Rick lightly touched her back as he guided her to a table. “They’re a local band. Kid named Beau who’s probably not old enough to be in the place and his partner, Border Biggs. He’s Mrs. Biggs’s grandson. Nice boy.” Rick grinned. “Looks just like her.”

Trace didn’t look like she wanted to be in the bar. He raised an eyebrow and leaned close to her. “It’s all right. I’ll protect you.” When she frowned, he added, “I thought biker chicks thrived on bar air.”

“I’m not a biker chick. I just happen to ride a motorcycle, and no one could last long on this air. The smell of beer is so heavy the owner should charge to breathe in here. Maybe we should leave.”

Before he could answer, a couple stopped by the table to ask how Rick was feeling. Then a gang of men about Rick’s age moved over to say hello and ask if he wanted to play pool. When he declined, they hung around waiting to be introduced to Trace.

She had the feel of the place by then and before he could say more than her name, she’d excused herself and said she had to order. The guys wandered off once she left and Rick sat alone watching her stand in line to order. She hadn’t asked what he wanted, but from the limited menu written above the pass-through window to the kitchen, it couldn’t have been hard to figure out.

He noticed the way she studied the crowd and how her gaze kept scanning back to him. The music had started by the time she made it back with two beers and a basket of wings. Before she sat, she pulled her chair beside his. He would have been flattered, but he guessed she wanted her back to the wall.

To his surprise, the music drew her. Trace Adams was a complicated woman. She climbed out on rooftops at night, rode a Harley, said she knew Gabe’s friend, the U.S. Marshal, and carried a weapon. And, he added one more fact, liked country-western music. In some states, people could be declared brain-damaged for that.

When the wings were gone, he asked, “You want to dance?”

“No, but that kid behind the chicken wire cage can play. I could listen to him all night.” She leaned her elbows on the table. “He’s got a voice as rich as Vince Gill’s and plays with Keith Urban skills. Most of his songs are oldies, but I haven’t recognized a few.”

“Those are his songs.”

She didn’t glance at Rick. “They’re straight from the heart. Hope you’re his friend, because he’s going to need a good lawyer when Nashville comes calling.”

“You think I’m a good lawyer?”

She looked at him finally. “I don’t know, but if some outlaw’s trying to kill you, he must think so. If you were bad, he’d just bribe you to leave and save time.” She glanced down at his old T-shirt and jeans. “From the looks of you, I’d say you’ve never taken a bribe.”

Rick leaned back in his chair, trying to decode her message enough to tell if she’d been complimenting him or insulting him.

They listened for a while. Finally, between songs, Rick whispered, “You know, if you don’t start at least acting like you’re with me, half the guys in this place are going to be headed over here soon.”