Hatfield and McCoy (19 page)

“Stop. I know all about Michael Grainger.”

Julie gasped, amazed that he knew. Then she wasn't so amazed. There were any number of people whom he might have asked about her.

“Well, if you know—”

“He was killed two days before your wedding, Petty told me. And he was killed because he rode his motorcycle when you warned him not to.”

“Yes! Yes!” Julie shouted at him. “And you'd be just like him, telling me that I was wrong all the time. No, you're not just like him. You're worse. You've been hurt once. You won't take any chances. There are no hard and fast guarantees in this life. Not in love, and not for life itself. And, oh, God, McCoy, I really am so sorry. So very sorry. But I do have something. It isn't there all the time. It isn't mechanical. It didn't come with a warranty. It is a gift, and I have to use it when I can. But in my own life, McCoy, I have to have someone willing to believe!”

“Julie …” He started to kiss her forehead.

“No!” she cried out brokenly.

He braced himself against her. Tension knotted throughout him like wire.

Then he gently pulled her into his arms.

“McCoy—”

“Will you listen to me?” he asked softly. “Julie, maybe you could have stopped him from riding the motorcycle. Maybe he would have been killed anyway.”

“And maybe he wouldn't have been!” It had been a long time ago. Over five years. But then, she'd known Michael a long time, too. They'd gone to school together. They'd gone to proms together. And they'd grown up feeling the same deep attachment.

The wedding had been planned. Her dress had been bought. The church had been arrayed with half of the flowers.

Then she'd had that awful feeling. The surety of danger. And she'd called him in town and told him not to come out to the house, to wait. And he'd laughed and he'd told her that no one was as good on a bike as he was, and that she was having pre-wedding jitters. He teased that she just wanted to get out of the ceremony.

And he'd hung up on her, telling her he'd see her in just a few minutes.

She'd never seen him alive again.

“Julie …” McCoy whispered softly. He wiped away a tear that had formed at the corner of her eye.

“McCoy.”

“Julie, it's wrong to live in constant fear.”

“I don't live in fear! And it's insane not to listen to an inner warning—”

“Julie,” he interrupted her. Moonlight streamed in through the windows. It lit up the silver of his eyes and fell upon her as he spoke. “Julie, I think that I love you. I can't promise to believe.”

“Then—”

“But I can promise to try,” he said softly. He cradled her gently against him. “We can both try. And if we can believe in love again, maybe both of us can believe in life again.”

Julie looked at him. She felt the brush of his thumb against the dampness of her cheek.

His lips touched hers.

They would try …

And for the moment, it seemed to be enough.

Chapter 10

M
cCoy looked from the handsome buildings of the Smithsonian Museum that surrounded him on the green of the mall to Julie, stretched out on the grass by his side. Something tugged at his heart, and he realized, almost miraculously, that yes, he really did love her. It was hard not to do so.

She lay flat on the grass at the moment, her blond hair spilled over her, her eyes closed and her face to the sun, the slightest curl of a smile on her lips. He knew why. The sun felt good. The air felt good. Spring air. Not too hot and not too cool.

She loved it. She loved the air, she loved the sun, she loved the white and pink beauty of the cherry blossoms that were bursting in Washington, D.C., today. She had thought his suggestion that they drive into the capital strange, but he had convinced her that a few days away from everything might be a very good idea.

It was another thing that he loved about her. She was so vibrant, so very alive. And she was always willing to listen, to do things, to see another point of view. Against the grass, she was beautiful. Small, delicate, feminine, her facial features so fine. She was wearing a white tailored dress that was perfect for spring, and as she lay on the grass, he suddenly and fiercely wanted to preserve the moment forever. The skirt of the dress had billowed over her. Its soft color lay against the natural earth, the hem just above her knees, her legs bare beneath it. They were bronze against the whiteness of her dress. The outfit shouted of spring. There was a narrow gold belt around her waist, and she wore slim white sandals on her feet. She looked so lovely that he wanted to encompass her in his arms and draw strength from the serenity in her features.

He hadn't wanted to care so deeply for her—he certainly hadn't wanted to fall in love. He hadn't thought that he could ever really love any woman again, not after Serena.

And certainly not Julie McCoy. Not a woman with any kind of psychic abilities. Not when the hurt was sometimes so deep that he would shudder walking down the road when the memories came upon him too strongly.

But somehow, she had managed to dull some of the memories. She wasn't Serena. Maybe there were things about them that were similar. The easy ability to smile. The independence.

The love of life.

The relaxed feeling that had come to him at last while they had prowled through the Museum of Natural History abruptly left him.

He should have stuck like glue with his initial determination to stay far away from Julie Hatfield. He had lost Serena.

And now Julie was threatened.

Her eyes opened and she stared at him thoughtfully. “What's the matter?”

He groaned softly. “Nothing is the matter. Are you determined to try mind reading now, too?”

Julie sat up. “If I could read your mind, McCoy, I wouldn't be asking. You've just suddenly grown so silent. I don't need any special powers to know that something is bothering you.”

He hadn't told her yet what the kidnapper had said to him. She knew that the man had called—Patty had told her about the call.

But he didn't want her to know that he was especially worried about her. She thought he had tried to stay away because of her psychic abilities. It wasn't the time to tell her that he had stayed away because he had been afraid.

The kidnapper had watched them together at his house.

Rusty had seemed like the best idea in the world then. Then McCoy determined he would stay as close as possible himself, as well. Between him and Rusty, they had to be able to keep her safe.

Coming into Washington for the weekend had seemed like the best idea yet. There'd been no difficulty with Rusty because McCoy had a town house here. They'd have to be back for Monday morning, but it wasn't more than an hour and a half away, even if the traffic was a little rough.

We are going to enjoy this weekend, he assured himself. They already had. They had both been in the museums on the mall dozens of times. They both still loved them.

“McCoy—”

“There's nothing wrong. I'm just hungry, that's all.”

“Want another lemonade?” she asked.

They had just shared one. He shook his head. “No, I want food, real food.”

She laughed softly. “Man's food, right? Nothing green, something thick and heavy and really bloody and red, huh?”

“It doesn't have to be really bloody and red—although that doesn't sound bad. And I wouldn't mind eating something green along with it, as long as it's supposed to be green, rather than mold or the like. You got any ideas?”

“Yeah, there's the Associate's Court in the museum. They'll probably have red things and green things. We can run through the Exhibit on Man that we missed after lunch, then we'll have time to move on over to the Museum of the American People, and you can buy me some kind of big slushy float or sundae in the ice-cream parlor. How does that sound?”

“Slushy. Sounds great. Then what?”

“Then we have to head back to your town house. We've left Rusty alone, remember?”

“He's a big dog, he can wait awhile,” McCoy said. Then he reflected on the matter. “Actually, though, I don't mind the idea of heading back.”

“No?”

“Well, this is supposed to be a lover's retreat, a decadent sort of a weekend.”

“Really?” Her eyes were soft. Shimmering. Such a hypnotic color. Green and brown mingling to gold. Just the look in them stirred him, sending wild messages to his mind—and groin.

“Yes, and you're making me feel very decadent. Don't look at me like that. Not unless you want to forget all about the ice-cream.”

She laughed softly, and that sound, too, did exciting things to his system. She was so remarkably natural. If he lived to be a hundred, he could never stop wanting her.

If only …

He hesitated, disturbed to discover that he was not at all relaxed anymore. He felt like a caged tiger.

No, he felt as if he had just missed something.

Something was wrong. Or would be wrong.

“McCoy—”

He stood up, drawing her to her feet. “Come on. The evolution of man awaits us—and so does some good, artery-clogging red meat. And then ice-cream. And then decadence. In that order. But only if you quit looking at me like that.”

“Culture, McCoy,” Julie reminded him.

“They all started with decadence,” he assured her. “Every single culture out there!”

With his arm at her waist, he led her around a soft-ball game that had just begun and across the green to the stone steps of the museum.

While they ate, he relaxed again. Julie quizzed him about living in the city. “It's all right,” he told her. Then he mused. “No, it's more than all right. D.C. is fascinating. There's always something going on, good or bad. The air here has a crackle to it, a tension. Almost like New York. But it isn't as big as New York. New York doesn't have the cherry blossoms in spring.”

“It's different from California,” Julie noted.

He felt the tension winding around his neck again. “It's very different from California,” he said aloofly.

She wasn't to be deterred. “You were married a long time.”

“Long enough.”

“No children?”

“Have you seen any?”

She might have been offended. If she was, she didn't show it. “McCoy, you might well have children that you've never mentioned. Nearly grown, living with a relative of your wife.”

“No, I don't have any children.”

“Did you want any?”

He shook his head irritably, staring at her. “Am I under an investigation here?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. In a way. You should have children. You like children. I've seen you with your nephew and your niece. You're very good with them.”

“Thank you. If I ever need a recommendation, I'll let you know.”

She picked up her glass of iced tea and sat back, studying him. Then she spoke very softly, but he sensed the seriousness of her words. “I was under the impression that we were going somewhere with this relationship. I was asking you about things that are rather important to me. Are you sure you wanted me on this trip with you in the first place?” she asked him.

He sighed. “Yes, I want you with me.”

“Why? Just because it's hard to have a decadent weekend alone?”

He laughed. “No, I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm so tense. Yes, I like children. I never gave it that much thought. We were young—we both thought we had lots of time. Good enough?”

“It will do for the moment.”

“Good. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Children, Miss Hatfield.”

“No, I don't have any. I was never married, McCoy.”

“Marriage is not a necessity.”

“For me, it is,” she said.

“Marry me, Hatfield, and your kids will be McCoys.”

“Oh!” she said worriedly.

“I kind of like that,” he told her smugly.

“Is that a proposal then?”

He smiled. “Maybe.” He leaned forward. “What do you think, Miss Hatfield? Is this spring fever? Opposites attracting? What would your answer be?”

She was smiling. She opened her mouth to reply, but then she fell silent. He watched as a curious darkness seemed to slide over her eyes.

“Julie—?”

“I think that … yes,” she murmured. She was distracted, though. Curiously breathless.

“What is it?”

“I think that I …” She paused, shaking her head. “There's something there. Between us.”

“Oh, damn it!” he swore. He spoke so loudly that the elderly lady at the table next to theirs looked at him with a condemning frown.

“McCoy!” Julie murmured.

“Julie, I don't want to hear any more of the mumbo-jumbo stuff, please.”

“Then what the hell is the matter with you?” she demanded in a heated whisper.

“I don't know what you're talking about!”

“You do! Something is bothering you, really bothering you, and you won't admit it to me.”

“Can we forget it for the moment, please? Can we just have one day of peace?”

She looked as if she wanted to argue, but she didn't. She lifted a hand and waved it in the air. “Fine.”

He leaned forward. “I like kids, Julie. I'd like to have them with you. Maybe two, a boy and a girl, like my nephew and niece. Or two boys, or two girls—since you don't get to pick them. Is that good enough?”

“Yes, thank you,” Julie told him primly. Then she rose, still angry, but a smile curling the corner of her lip. “If you've had enough artery-clogging red meat, let's head on to that exhibit.”

“Wait! There's something green left on your plate.”

“Where?”

“Oh, no, I'm sorry! It's simply part of the pattern there. Come on, let's go.”

Julie nudged him in the ribs with her elbow and they left the dining court behind.