Hatfield and McCoy (20 page)

She still felt that he was uncomfortable. She didn't think it was because he was with her, and she didn't think it had anything to do with his initial anger when she had said that something still lay between them.

No …

This was him. He'd been just a little bit distant all day long.

She didn't want to press it, though. At this point, if he wasn't answering her, he wasn't answering her. And on the whole, it had been a wonderful day. It was fun being together. Fun waking together, fun showering together, fun jockeying for a position in front of the one bathroom mirror in the town house, he trying to shave, she grappling with her makeup.

Like playing house …

She did want to marry him, Julie realized. Very much. She wanted to live with him and wake up with him every morning of her life.

She wondered if his thoughts on the subject were as intense as her own. They were walking through the exhibit on the evolution of man and she was giving half her attention to a case that showed skull surgery.

McCoy suddenly caught her arm, and pulled her across the room to another case. The nine months of development of the human fetus were shown in the case, with small exhibits of minute but perfectly formed little bones.

“Look. There's little Hatfield-McCoy at ten weeks,” McCoy said. His arms came curling around her waist and he rested his chin on her head. “What do you think?”

“I think it's remarkable,” Julie said, studying the tiny skeletons.

“And miraculous,” McCoy agreed softly. “Can you believe it? The very idea of just how one goes about creating those little guys has caused all kinds of reactions in my, er, mind. Let's move on to the ice-cream part of the afternoon.”

Julie laughed. “We've barely finished lunch.”

“Hey, I promised ice-cream, we're having ice-cream. And it's a good walk over. We'll be ready for dessert by the time we get there.”

They were ready for it because each became distracted by one exhibit or another. They just made it to the ice-cream shop before it was ready to close. Julie decided on a shake; McCoy ordered a monster sundae, but he did manage to convince her to share in the whipped cream. Then he managed to make a curiously sensual event out of the eating of their ice-cream, even in such a public place. When they left, Julie was laughing and more than ready to return to the decadence part of their weekend.

They drove to the town house and were barely inside the front door before McCoy turned to her, sweeping her into his arms, kissing her fiercely. Julie shrieked with surprise, then pleasure, then fell silent as the aggressive pressure of his lips brought a sweet pounding to her heart and mind and senses. Her hands caressed his cheeks, holding him to her. She delicately traced a finger over the pulse at his throat. His lips raised from hers, and his whisper, insinuative, suggestive, entirely sexy, touched her earlobe. All sorts of delicious sensations came to life within her.

“Damn!” McCoy swore suddenly. His expletive was followed by a loud woof, and as he swung around, Julie began to laugh.

There was Rusty, sitting patiently by McCoy's feet, one paw gently reaching out to scratch at McCoy's beige trousers.

“You're supposed to be man's best friend!” McCoy reminded the dog. “Why the interruptions?”

“Because he's been locked up for hours now,” Julie said serenely. She hopped out of McCoy's arms and found Rusty's leash on the entryway sideboard. “Your turn. You give him a little walk.”

“Why me?”

“Because I'll make it worth your while,” Julie promised cheerfully.

“I'll only be a few minutes,” McCoy warned. She smiled and nodded and ushered him out the front door with Rusty. As soon as he was gone she quickly snapped the door shut and raced into the kitchen. She found a bottle of wine cooling on the lowest shelf of the refrigerator, and the cheese and sandwich meat she had packed in the cooler for their trip. Digging through his cabinets, she found a tray and an ice bucket and arranged everything to bring into the bedroom.

The town house was nice. She had liked it from the minute she had seen it. It had an easy flow, with a short hallway leading in from the street, a handsome parlor to the left with a formal dining room behind it, a kitchen straight ahead and two bedrooms to the left. It was laid out well, and the neutral carpeting and tile and drapes were all attractive. It was lacking something, though. As Julie raced through the hallway to the bedroom with her supplies, she realized just what it was.

McCoy had never really made it a home. He had come here after he had lost his wife. Serena had never been here. McCoy had slept here, he had changed his clothing here. He had never made it a home.

Maybe she could make it one.

But that was for the future. Today, she wanted nothing more than to ease the tension that seemed to plague him.

He was always angry with her for the second sight.

But today …

She could have sworn that he sensed something. Something that was very wrong. Something that he couldn't quite see or define, but that bothered him nevertheless.

“I'm going to make sure that your mind is on me when you come back in here!” Julie promised. With that she kicked off her sandals, stripped off her dress and dived onto the bed.

Beyond a doubt, Julie Hatfield had a way with her, McCoy decided. When he returned to the house, he released Rusty from his leash and called to Julie.

“Come this way, McCoy, over them thar hills!” she called back.

He grinned and followed the voice to his bedroom.

His bed had never looked so good.

She was stark naked, stretched out on his sheets on her stomach. She leaned on her elbows, waiting for him, a wineglass held easily, invitingly in her hands. His own glass was on the dresser, and a tray of cheese was at the foot of the bed, embellished with grapes and bite-size pieces of apples and wedges of orange. They were all displayed beautifully.

Not quite as beautifully as Julie.

He walked to her and slipped the wineglass from her hand, then sipped from it. His eyes met hers. “How the hell did our families ever have a feud?” he wondered aloud.

She smiled, coming up on her knees, deftly undoing the buttons of his light, short-sleeved, pin-striped shirt. She nuzzled her face against his chest as she did so, her nose and cheeks so soft against the coarseness of the hair there.

“Oh, I can see where a McCoy might be an argumentative type,” she said flatly.

“Oh, yeah?” He set the wineglass down and threaded his fingers gently through her hair, lifting her face to his. He kissed her. Deliberated. Kissed her again. Then spoke softly. “I think I know what the feud must have been over.”

Her eyes were nearly closed. “What's that?”

“A McCoy must have ravaged a Hatfield daughter. What do you think?”

“I think that maybe the daughter changed sides afterward,” she said innocently, laughter in her eyes. “Then again …”

“Yes?”

“Maybe the Hatfield daughter ravaged the McCoy.” With her words, she slipped the cotton shirt from his shoulders. She pressed her lips against his shoulder blades. She teased the flesh with the soft trail of her tongue, then moved her face against his chest again.

Slowly, with a sensuous, circular motion, she moved downward against him. Her fingers moved just beneath the delicate caress of her lips.

She found the buckle to his belt and deftly undid it. His zipper gave to her touch, and she heard the soft groan that left his lips and felt the wild shudder that ripped his body. His hands landed gently on her naked shoulders, but for a moment he let her have her way.

She peeled the trousers and briefs from his hips. She nuzzled him, stroked him, teased him in every manner. Then she felt a second groan, almost a growl, stirring within him, growing within him, suddenly erupting from him, and she was lifted up, crushed into his arms, held against him. Her breasts were pressed against the rugged hardness of his chest, and at the juncture of her thighs, she felt an explosive heat of desire.

In seconds she was aggressively lifted up, only to find herself falling back, McCoy with her. The bed seemed to encompass them. Then quickly, fiercely, he was one with her, and sharp rays of fire seemed to shoot out from the searing center of her to radiate through her limbs and beyond. Her arms wound around him, and she felt the slickness of their bodies touch again and again. She'd never felt him quite so tense, quite so explosive. Muscles knotted and eased beneath her fingertips; drumbeats seemed to throb throughout her, rising to a blinding pitch.

Then the world seemed to explode into tiny fragments of light and dark. She gasped and trembled with the rocking force of magic that touched her.

His arms came more tightly around her. He eased to her side, enveloping her.

And for the first time that day, he seemed to be really at ease, entirely relaxed.

Julie smiled, trailing her fingers over his arm. She leaned her head back. He stroked her hair lightly.

“Was it worth your while?” she teased.

“Entirely,” he replied in muffled tones. McCoy closed his eyes. He did feel great. Not only sated, but at peace. And tired. He wanted to hold her now, just hold her, and sleep. Perhaps she felt the same. She didn't speak again. He heard her breathing slow, heard it soften.

“I'll walk the dog whenever you want,” he promised lightly.

“Um,” she murmured.

Seconds later, he was convinced that she was asleep. He closed his eyes. All the little things that sometimes troubled him were gone. He didn't hear creaks in the flooring or feel a cramping in his leg muscles. He didn't feel anything but good. And relaxed.

“I love you, Julie,” he whispered. She didn't hear him. She was already sleeping soundly.

Soon he had drifted off himself.

When the phone began to ring, it sounded like an air-raid siren to him. He bolted up, fumbling for the receiver.

“Hello?”

Beside him, Julie, too, was stirring. She had been deeply, deeply asleep. Her blond hair was a wild, beautiful cascade all around her. Her catlike eyes were unfocused, barely opened. He wanted to reach out and touch her, reassure her. To cradle her against him.

“McCoy, it's Petty,” McCoy heard. Then he realized that he was listening to something in the background.

Someone was sobbing …

And it came back, the feeling that had plagued him. It was dread. It slammed against him with the force of a brick wall, and he could barely catch his breath.

“What is it, what's happened?”

“McCoy, you need to get back here right away. He's struck again.”

“The kidnapper?”

“Yes.” There was a hesitation again. McCoy could still hear the sobbing.

“Petty, damn it, tell me, what has happened? Who—”

“He's taken your niece, Tammy Maitland. Brenda is here with me. She's in pretty bad shape. And the kidnapper says that you'd better get back fast if any of us ever wants to see Tammy again.”

Chapter 11

J
ulie sat on her front porch, alone, and still stunned by what had happened.

And stunned by McCoy's behavior.

She had been nothing short of horrified, her heart as torn as his, when she had learned that Tammy had been kidnapped. She knew the value of time, and she could have been ready to travel with him in a matter of minutes.

Except that he didn't want her with him.

“I'm going now,” he had told her, sitting on the side of the bed, pulling on his shoes. “I have friends who can get me back quickly with the chopper. You can bring the Lincoln for me. Drive to your house. When it's over, I'll find you there.”

“When it's over? But, McCoy, I can help—”

“No!”

She had never heard the word snapped out more emphatically in her whole life.

“McCoy, I know that bad things have happened to you in the past, but damn it, I can help you. This is your niece! My God, you should be using every possible means—”

“Julie, no, and I mean no! I don't want you in on this! If you get in my way this time, I'll have you arrested.”

She'd never been more stunned, and despite the fact that she knew he was emotionally involved and in pain, she struck back, in pain herself. Now she didn't remember all she had called him and told him. He had pushed her away from him and left.

He had taken the dog, and not her.

Julie hadn't wasted any time. McCoy could feel any way he wanted to feel, but if there was anything she could do to help Brenda and Tammy, she was going to do it.

Tears stung her eyes. They'd been so close. It seemed that so many arguments had slid into the past, lost to the incredible warmth and attraction between them.

Lost to love.

But the love hadn't really been there, not deep enough. Not deep enough to sustain them in the face of this crisis. Not when Tammy …

She hadn't driven by the station—she had come straight home. Then she had called in and spoken briefly with Timothy Riker, who had whispered to her that the kidnapper was supposed to be calling in a few hours.

He had waited for McCoy. He would negotiate with McCoy only.

Tammy was out there somewhere. Brenda was hysterical. And McCoy wouldn't let Julie near.

Julie closed her eyes. She had always managed to help through the victim. She knew Tammy Maitland. And Tammy wasn't stupid or foolish—she would never have just gone off with the kidnapper. Unless it was someone she trusted. Or unless she was taken completely off guard.

This was her expertise, she told herself. Even if you can't be there, think.
See
Tammy …

She concentrated very hard. In a minute, she began to see a blurred vision of Brenda Maitland's old farmhouse. She saw the front lawn and the porch. There was another blur, and she saw the back. The barbecue was there, and the big picnic table where they had eaten that night.