Hatfield and McCoy (24 page)

He blinked. He could almost hear her laughter. See her in that sexy black bathing suit that day, her hazel-gold eyes narrowed as she challenged him. There'd be a snake on a rock.

And he'd been amazed. Yes, she knew things.

I love you, McCoy.

He could have sworn that he heard the words. Perhaps he did. Perhaps they echoed in his heart.

“Let's get going,” he told Patty and Timothy. “I want to try a place by the water.” He told Timothy exactly where. Timothy rolled his eyes, as if assuming that McCoy had lost his mind. “Shouldn't we try his old haunts first, sir? Perhaps the cemetery—”

“No. I know where I'm going. I heard water. I heard the sound of water. And there's a phone booth not twenty feet from the river there. I heard water,” he insisted.

But it was more than the sound of the water. Instinct was guiding him.

Instinct, or Julie.

And his love for her.

It didn't matter. They were there at last. “Here!” he shouted to Timothy. “There's the phone booth. Stop here. Rusty, come on, boy, get ready!” He turned to Patty. “I'll take the dog. You get hold of Petty. Get more men out here. We'll have to comb the whole area. Rusty can probably find her, but if not …”

Her air was running out. It was becoming more and more difficult to breathe. She choked and coughed, and then she choked and coughed again because she couldn't take in enough oxygen. The blackness was something imprinted on her mind then.

McCoy, please …

She couldn't think anymore. She couldn't think at all. There was only darkness, and the most horrible sorrow. Just when everything had been so beautiful. She had never imagined that she could love any man the way she loved McCoy. She had never imagined that there could be a man like McCoy.

I love you, she thought. Tears welled in her eyes. Tears that didn't matter in the darkness.

Then she heard the barking.

Her eyes opened in the darkness. She strained for breath.

More and more, the darkness wrapped around her. The barking faded. She was suffocating.

“Rusty! Good boy! You've found her!” McCoy shouted.

He came tearing through the trees into the copse. Rusty was standing over a mound of freshly dug up dirt, barking and carrying on.

“Julie, hang on. Julie, hang on, hang on!” He started digging with his bare hands, shouting, hoping that Timothy could hear him. “Bring the shovel! Get help quickly. Come on!”

He had barely shouted the last words when suddenly a shot burst through the night.

Rusty let out a whimpering cry and fell atop the earth.

McCoy stared at him for a split second in astonishment, then, out of the corner of his eyes, he sensed movement. He fell to the earth. A second shot came bursting through the night—one intended for him.

He leaped to his feet then, slamming against the man behind him. He saw the silver nose of a pistol go flying over his head as the force of his blow dislodged the weapon from his opponent's hand.

But the force of his impetus sent him flying to the ground while his opponent reeled to his feet. Again, McCoy sensed movement.

Then a shovel came slamming down on his shoulder. The blow had been meant for his head, but he had turned just in time to avoid it.

And Joe Silver was there. Still in his uniform. He was covered in dirt, but somehow, he was still the same man he had always been. And he was smiling. Smiling his usual, good-natured smile.

“Missed,” he said, raising the shovel to strike again.

McCoy rolled out of the way in the nick of time. He leaped to his feet, watching Joe carefully. “You fool! You can't possibly beat me!”

Joe Silver smiled. “No, you're the big strong G-man. You can beat me. Or you can catch me. But to do either, you let your precious Julie's life slip away. Tick, tick, tick. The seconds slip by. I didn't give her any air at all. I couldn't.” He smiled, then swung the shovel again. McCoy ducked just in time, then bounded up.

This time, he caught Joe in a giant bear grip that brought them both crashing down into the trees. He didn't waste a second's time. He looked into the ordinary features of the man, into the face that housed the charming smile.

The man was sick.

He didn't care. Julie was dying. He slugged Joe as hard as he could with a solid right fist. He heard a sickening sound from Silver's jaw. The eyes went glazed as Joe Silver lost consciousness.

Julie …

“Lieutenant McCoy!”

It was Timothy Riker at last with Patty on his heels. They were both carrying shovels. McCoy grabbed a shovel from Timothy and started digging again.

Patty and Timothy were on their knees. Dirt flew.

Hope flared in McCoy's heart. Joe hadn't managed to bury Julie as deeply as he had buried Tracy and Tammy. The earth wasn't packed. Within minutes his shovel slammed against the wood of one of Joe's makeshift coffins.

“Grab it up!” he commanded Timothy. Between them, they brought the coffin to the surface. With the end of the shovel; he wrenched open the lid.

She was there. His Julie. Her eyes were closed. Her face was as pale as snow. Beautiful, ethereal, surrounded by a mist of gold and platinum hair. Her hands were folded over her chest.

“Julie!” he screamed her name. Screamed it loud enough to wake the dead. Screamed it to the heavens. Not again, dear God, not again …

He reached for her. He would give her life. He would give her air from his lungs, and life from his soul. “Julie, please …”

His arms encircled her as he lifted her from the coffin to start CPR.

His lips lowered to hers.

And then …

Her eyes flew open. She inhaled on a ragged gasp and began to cough and choke. He held her up, whispering her name.

“McCoy!” she wheezed it out.

“Julie.” He enfolded her against him. He held her there, rocking her with him, smoothing her hair. “It's over, Julie, you're safe.” He looked at Timothy. “Get Silver. Cuff him, even if he is unconscious. Bring him to the car.”

Timothy nodded. McCoy stood, staggering somewhat with her in his arms. He started walking to the car. Her golden eyes were on his. Her lips were curled into a beautiful smile. Her cheeks were becoming a beautiful blush rose once again.

Thank you, God, thank you, God.

“You were wonderful, McCoy. Just like in the fairy tales. A kiss from a knight in shining armor.”

He was choking. “Julie, if I hadn't found you—”

“But you did find me. I was calling to you and calling to you. And you heard me.”

“Julie, I didn't hear you.”

“In your heart, McCoy. You heard me in your heart. You believed in me.”

“Julie, I knew you were near water—”

“McCoy, face it. You have powers of your own.”

“Julie,” he groaned.

“You loved me. You believed in me. And you believed in yourself. And you found me.”

“Rusty found you—” he began. His face clouded over. Julie's arms clutched more tightly around him. “Silver shot Rusty.” He turned back. “Timothy, get a move on back there! I want my dog taken to a vet. Maybe there's hope for him.”

“Your dog?” Julie said.

He looked at her again. “Our dog.”

There were sirens shrilling in the night. An ambulance came shooting in beside the Lincoln, then a patrol car. Petty leaped out, nearly ripped Julie from McCoy's arms, then began a barrage of questions.

“Patty's bringing Silver to the car,” McCoy began, but then he frowned, watching as Patty came walking up to them, shaking her head.

“What happened?”

“I—I'm not sure,” she murmured. “Silver's dead.”

“What?” McCoy demanded.

“No, you didn't kill him, lieutenant. He must have come to. And he raced for the water. But he didn't find a level entry. He threw himself from high ground. He struck a patch of rapids. He's dead.”

Julie, held in Petty's fatherly embrace, exhaled on a long, jagged sigh. “It really is over then,” she whispered softly.

“Amen,” Petty said. “Young lady! Let's get you into this ambulance—”

“No, Julie is coming with me,” McCoy said. “Rusty goes in the ambulance. He needs the best vet in town. I'll get Julie to the hospital—Riker, will you please go with my dog?”

“My dog,” Julie said.

“Our dog,” McCoy reminded her.

A second ambulance had pulled up, and another police car.

Others were there now. Others to deal with the remains of Joe Silver.

Perhaps he had been the most tortured soul, Julie thought. She was still too shaken to know. He had found his peace now, and she wasn't sure that she could help but be glad.

For her, it was over. Resting her head on McCoy's lap, she could only be grateful for life.

She told McCoy that she didn't need to go to the hospital—but he insisted. And once she was there, it was decided that she should stay a night, too. And so she was bathed and poked and tested, and dressed in a clean gown. And a bewildered Brenda came in to see her, and then returned to her daughter. Then McCoy was back, just holding her hand by her bedside.

Within an hour, the phone rang. McCoy took it, and she watched as a boyishly delighted grin appeared on his face as he listened.

He hung up.

“Rusty's going to make it. He'll be in something like a doggy cast for a long while, but he's going to make it. My dog is going to be fine.”

“My dog.”

“Our dog.”

“But he lives with me—”

“Julie, we're going to be married. That means we live together.”

She smiled. She wasn't in the mood to argue with him. “Oh.” Then she sat up and threw her arms around him. “Oh, McCoy, I love you so much. I didn't mind the idea that I was going to die. I just minded the idea that I was going to die now that you were in my life. But you found me. Oh, McCoy, you had that wonderful power, and you found me.”

“Julie, it was logic. I saw the picture—”

“It was instinct.”

“Logic.”

“Instinct.”

“Julie—” McCoy began. Then he smiled slowly. And he looked into her beautiful hazel eyes. “All right, Miss Hatfield. Let's end this feud right now. It was instinct, and it was logic. And …” He kissed her lips gently. “It was love.”

“Oh, yes!” she whispered agreeably. “Above all, McCoy, it was love!”

And she kissed him in return.

The feud was, indeed, over.

Epilogue

T
he dream had become her life.

And there was no mistaking the man in the flesh for the haunting lover who had teased her senses for so long.

She knew him, knew him so well. She knew the very handsome curves and contours of his face, knew the silver sizzle of his eyes, the curve of his lips.

And she knew when he came behind her.

Every time …

Because of a subtle, masculine scent. She would know because she would feel him there.

And the warmth would fill her, the tenderness. Yes, she knew him, knew the man, and knew things about him that made her love him.

She knew all the hues within his heart and soul and mind, and those colors were all beautiful, and part of the warmth that touched her.

Tonight …

He stood behind her, and he swept the fall of her hair from her neck, and she felt the wet, hot caress of his lips against her nape.

He held her hair, and his kiss skimmed over her shoulder. She wore something soft and slinky. Something silk. Something that fell from her body, rippling against it, touching her hips and his thighs, then drifting down to a pool on the floor. The fabric was so cool …

And that touch of his lips against her flesh was so very, very hot …

His arms encircled her. She could feel the strength of his naked chest as he pulled her against him. He still wore jeans. She could feel the roughness of the fabric against her tender skin. Even that touch was sensual.

She felt his kiss.

Felt the hungry pressure of his lips forming over her own, firmly, demandingly, causing them to part for the exotic presence of his tongue. Teasing her lips, dancing against them … taunting them, forcing them apart to a new, abandoned pleasure.

And when his lips left her mouth, they touched her throat. Touched the length of it. The soft, slow, sensual stroke of his tongue brushing her flesh. With ripples of silken, liquid fire. She could see his hands, broad, so darkly tanned, upon the paleness of her own skin. His fingers were long, handsomely tapered, calloused, but with neatly clipped nails. Masculine hands. Hands that touched with an exciting expertise. Fingers that stroked with confidence and pleasure.

She allowed her head to fall back, her eyes to close. The sensations to surround her.

The breeze … it was so cool against her naked body. So soft. So unerringly sensual. Perhaps because her body was so hot. Growing fevered. But the air … It touched her where his kiss left off, and both fire and ice seemed to come to her, and dance through her.

She spun in his arms. It was no longer daytime. Shadows were falling, and the breeze was growing cooler.

And his kiss, the tip of his tongue, stroked a slow, searing pattern down the length of her spine. It touched her nape, and the building tempest within her suddenly seemed to engulf her.

And his kiss went lower.

And where his lips touched her, she burned.

And where his lips had lingered earlier, the cool air stroked her with a sensuality all its own.

His kiss lowered. And lowered until he teased the base of her spine. And his hand caressed her naked buttocks and hips, and she was turning in his arms.

She was touching him then. Touching him, knowing the living warmth and fire of him. Feeling the ripple of muscle in his chest. Feeling his hands. Feeling the pulse of his body. Feeling … him.

And he was with her. Her lover, her husband. A part of her. And when he touched her so, when the rhythm of his love brought her soaring so high, the night could seem to be lit with sunlight, and the air was eternally charged with magic.