Dark versus light.
Which was he? Her heart told her one thing, her mind another.
Inflamed, she arched her back, lifted her hips up to him. Reckless. This was so reckless and yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself. For better or worse, her fate was in his big, strong hands.
“Natalie.” His voice was rough, clotted with huskiness. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t fully and unequivocally want. I refuse to let you regret this.”
She ached to tell him that she wanted him without any doubts, misgivings, or reservations, but her fears had kept her safe for so long. Giving them up was tantamount to diving headlong off a cliff to rocky shoals. She was too scared to do it, to say the words he needed to hear. To take the big step into the abyss she’d avoided for twenty-nine years. Her mouth opened, but she could not speak.
“That’s what I thought,” he said.
He leaned over and started doing up the buttons on her blouse.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for, darlin’.” Once she was buttoned up, he picked up his cowboy hat, stuck it on his head, and reached out a hand to help her to her feet.
Instead of getting up, she wrapped her hands around his wrist and pulled him back down on top of her.
“Whoops,” he murmured, his big body pressed against her, his dark eyes locked on her lips.
“Do something,” she whispered.
He kissed her again.
Natalie gave up the fight, surrendered completely. She could not deny her feelings any longer. Eagerly, she wrapped her arms around him, embraced the myth, solidified her faith, and absorbed his essence deep within her bones. Like it or not, scared or not, foolish or not, she’d fallen helplessly in love with Dade Vega.
The only question was, had he fallen in love with her too?
N
atalie’s hands were threaded in Dade’s hair when Junie Mae came rushing around the side of the house. “Natalie, I—”
Her neighbor’s voice cut through the lust-fueled fog in her brain. Dade reacted at the same time she did. They jumped up, sprang apart.
Junie Mae paused a moment, stared at them—Dade without a shirt on, Natalie guiltily combing her hair into place with her fingers and smoothing down her skirt, both of them covered in banana pudding. If they’d kept going one minute longer, her neighbor would have caught them
in flagrante.
“Natalie,” Junie Mae called out. Her face was pale and a concerned furrow creased her brow. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m deeply worried.”
Natalie sank her top teeth into her bottom lip, drew in a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and prepared herself. Junie Mae wasn’t an alarmist by nature. If she was worried, there was usually something to worry about. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Delia.”
Natalie’s hand went to her heart. “What’s happened?”
“Delia’s not answering her phone.”
“Maybe she’s out in her garden,” Natalie soothed.
“She doesn’t go outside in the heat of the day and she was supposed to call me at two to let me know if she wanted to go dinner with me and my boyfriend, Marvin, but she didn’t call, so I called her and she’s not answering.”
“I’m sure she’s fine. Maybe she was in the bathroom.” Natalie put a hand on Junie Mae’s forearm.
Junie Mae heaved a little sigh and ran a hand through her hair. She never did anything to muss her perfectly coiffed hair. There was something more that she wasn’t telling.
“What is it?”
“Delia didn’t want to bother you and she swore me to secrecy.”
“Junie Mae . . .”
Junie Mae held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I know, I know. I shouldn’t have promised her I wouldn’t tell, but she was scared if you knew that the family would make her move in with someone. That’s the reason I’ve been keeping an extra close eye on her and calling her three or four times a day.”
“Junie Mae.” Natalie tightened her grip on her neighbor’s arm. “What
is
it?”
“Delia’s been having vertigo. She fell a couple of times this month, but she wasn’t hurt. I didn’t tell you this part, but I already drove over to Delia’s house to check on her and the door was locked. I rang the bell and waited and waited and, well, here I am now.”
“Let’s go,” Dade said.
“Where to?” Junie Mae asked, owl-eyed.
“To Delia’s house.”
Natalie whipped her head around. He was standing behind her, big and strong and bare-chested. It would be so easy to let him take charge—to sink into him, to surrender her burdens to him, allow him to carry her load, but she simply could not afford to do that. She had no idea how long he would be in Cupid. She couldn’t depend on him because if she ever laid down her burdens, felt freedom on her shoulders, she might never be able to take them back up again, and that was a risk she simply could not take.
“Junie Mae and I will handle this, thank you,” she said to Dade, sounding snippier than she intended.
“Don’t be prideful, Natty,” Junie Mae said. “We might need him to bust down the door.”
“Carol Ann should have a key to Delia’s house.” This wasn’t good. Natalie splayed a hand to her chest, trying to still her racing pulse.
“I didn’t want to ask her for it. Delia specifically said
not
to get Carol Ann involved if anything should happen.”
“Carol Ann has a right to know.”
“Only if there really is a need to get her involved.”
Dammit.
She
should have a key to Delia’s house. Why didn’t she have a key? “We’ll just have to break your promise to Delia.”
“We’re wasting time.” Dade stalked down the steps toward Natalie’s van. “I’ll drive.”
Natalie was about to argue, but then realized her hands were shaking.
Calm down. Delia is probably just fine.
Probably, but a forbidding sensation, like long-legged spiders crawling down the nape of her neck, tickled over her. She pulled her car keys from her pocket and tossed them to Dade. He caught them in his palm with lightning reflexes. He slid behind the wheel, let back the driver’s seat. Natalie climbed in beside him, riding shotgun.
Junie Mae got into the back of the van. Anxiously, she leaned over the seat, chattering a mile a minute. “I know your Aunt Delia is strong-minded but her body is frail. She thinks she can force her way through anything. That mind-over-matter mantra she chimes doesn’t always cut it.”
Natalie reached over the seat to pat Junie Mae’s arm. “It’s going to be okay. We’re together, we’ll get through this.”
Dade made a low noise.
She cast a glance over at him. His eyes met hers and she could read his thoughts. Elderly lady, living all alone, fainting spells, doesn’t answer the phone, house locked up tight, what are the odds she’s okay?
You don’t even know that’s what he’s thinking. This is your mind drawing conclusions, toying with conjecture. Don’t borrow trouble.
That point of view might be fine for Mr. Cynic here, but Natalie couldn’t afford to think that way. She crossed her legs, realizing for the first time since hearing about Delia that Dade still had her panties.
“Turn right at the next intersection,” Junie Mae directed Dade. “Delia’s place is the third house on the left. Blue frame. White trim. It’s the one with the pink flamingos in the front yard. You can’t miss it.”
Dade pulled into Delia’s driveway and Natalie was out of the car before it came to a complete stop; Junie Mae was a close second behind her.
Natalie pounded on the door. They waited a second.
“Delia,” Junie Mae hollered. “Are you in there?”
“I should have made her get Life Alert,” Natalie grumbled. “She said she didn’t want to waste the money. I should have insisted.”
Dade’s hand was on her shoulder. “You did the best you could.”
She whirled around, and glared at him. “I did
not
do the best I could. If I’d done the best I could for my great-aunt, this would not be happening.”
“Stop beating yourself up. You can’t take care of the entire world.”
Natalie scowled. “No, but I can take better care of my people.”
“You take on too much responsibility.”
“It’s not your place to tell me what I can and can’t take on.”
She couldn’t really say why she was being so bitchy. She wasn’t mad at him. She was mad at herself.
“You’re just scared,” he said.
True enough.
“Knock down the door!” Junie Mae commanded Dade, pointing at the door.
“That’s easier said than done.” Dade eyed the door.
“You’ve got big strong shoulders! Just get a running start.” Junie Mae motioned at him like she was a matador waving a red flag at a charging bull.
“I won’t be much good to you with a broken shoulder.”
“Well don’t just stand there!” Junie Mae exclaimed. “Come up with a better plan.”
Dade sprang into action. He stripped off his cowboy hat and poked his fist into it. He stepped to the front window, pulled off the screen, and neatly punched a hole through the pane, the hat protecting his fist from getting cut.
The glass fell to the floor inside with a quiet pop. He reached inside, unlatched the window, and slid it open.
“Wow,” Junie Mae said, impressed. “You’ve done this before.”
“Misspent youth,” Dade replied, and stepped over the windowsill and into Delia’s living room. Two seconds later, he opened the door for Natalie and Junie Mae to enter.
They pushed through the house, stuffed with antiques and cardboard boxes of things bought from QVC—a Keurig single-cup coffeemaker, a Montel Williams pressure cooker, nutritional supplements, a crank and tilt patio umbrella. On the walls in the foyer hung movie posters of
Giant
and framed autographed photographs of Rock Hudson, James Dean, and Elizabeth Taylor.
In the den, Delia’s cane was propped against an orange leather couch, vintage 1970s, and her reading glasses were folded over a word-find puzzle booklet resting on the coffee table.
They rushed from room to room, calling Delia’s name, and finally found Delia unconscious, lying on the floor, a towel wrapped around her waist, the shower curtain half pulled off the rod, one end clutched in her hand. There was a gash on her head, and a small pool of dark blood had spread across the white tile.
“Oh no!” Junie Mae keened and dropped to her knees on the tile beside Delia. “I knew something bad had happened.”
An instant headache pounded Natalie’s temples. She knotted her hands into fists. She was such a terrible niece. She should have been keeping a better eye out for Delia. Instead, she’d been fooling around with Dade while Delia lay suffering.
“Get something to cover her with,” Dade commanded, and stalked to the bedroom.
Natalie obeyed, stepping over Junie Mae, who had Delia’s pale, veiny hand clutched in hers and was sobbing softly.
Dade pulled a multitool from his pocket and started taking the bedroom door off its hinge. “Grab the bedspread. You can cover her with that.”
Natalie gathered the red satin comforter off the bed. “What are you doing?”
“Go cover her, and while you’re at it, strip the top sheet off the bed too.”
Fine. He didn’t want to explain himself, well fine, then. Natalie blew out her breath. Under any other circumstances this macho crap wouldn’t fly, but part of her was so relieved that he’d taken charge that she simply did as he asked and took the comforter into the bathroom and covered Delia up with it.
“Is she alive?” Junie Mae fretted.
Natalie put a finger to Delia’s neck, felt for and found a weak pulse. “She’s alive.”
“Oh, thank God.” Junie Mae rocked back on her heels and began to pray.
Dade appeared with Delia’s bedroom door in his hands. “Junie Mae.”
“Yes sir.” Junie Mae jumped to her feet.
“Go put the van’s backseat down flat.”
“I’m on it.” Junie Mae disappeared.
Holding the door sideways, Dade squatted beside Delia’s still body now covered with the comforter.
“What can I do?” Natalie asked.
“Help me logroll her onto the door.”
“Logroll?”
“We move her body as one unit, in a straight line. In case she has spinal injuries or broken bones.”
“Oh my.” It fully hit her then. Delia could die. Her stomach fluttered. Natalie squatted beside Dade and he showed her how to keep Delia’s body straight.
“I did it.” Breathless, Junie Mae appeared in the doorway. “Seat’s down.”
“Good job,” Dade told her. To Natalie, he said, “On the count of three.”
Natalie braced her right leg against the bathtub so she couldn’t slip. “Ready.”
“One . . . two . . . three.”
In unison, as if they’d been working together all their lives, they rolled Delia onto the makeshift backboard. Delia’s body was so limp, and almost lifeless. Tears pushed into Natalie’s eyes, but she quickly brushed them away.
Stay strong. Can’t afford to cry. Not now.
With his multitool, Dade cut the sheet that Natalie had brought from the bed into strips. It made a terse ripping sound as the material gave way beneath his big hand. He used the long strips as stays to tie Delia securely to the makeshift backboard.
Then he squatted and power-lifted Delia, board and all, up off the floor. Holding her in his arms, he told Natalie, “Go start the car.”
“Shouldn’t we call an ambulance?”
“We can get her to the hospital faster than an ambulance can get out here. Move.”
Natalie obeyed, going ahead of him to the front door, Junie Mae bringing up the rear.
Junie Mae had left the door of the van open and Dade was able to slide Delia inside on the door. Natalie was amazed at his power, strength, and deep inner calm.
“Who the hell are you?” Junie Mae asked, wide-eyed, echoing what Natalie was thinking. “A superhero?”
Dade didn’t answer that, instead he said. “Junie Mae, ride shotgun with Natalie. I’ll ride back here with Delia. Let’s roll.”
He folded up his big body and crawled up into the back of the van. Leaving Junie Mae to close the door after him.
Natalie was halfway around the van, her mind spinning, when she heard Junie Mae give a little gasp.
“Dade,” Junie Mae said, “do you realize you have a pair of women’s white lace panties hanging out of your back pocket?”