Heartbreaker (23 page)

Roger was staring at her with a feverish glitter in his eyes, as if he couldn't look at her enough. Her question startled him again. “Coffee?”

“Yes. I think I'd like a cup, wouldn't you?” The very thought of coffee made her stomach roll, but making it would take time. And Roger was very civilized; he would see nothing wrong with sharing a cup of coffee with her.

“Why, yes. That would be nice, thank you.”

She smiled at him as she got up from the stairs. “Why don't you chat with me while the coffee's brewing? I'm certain we have a lot of gossip to catch up on. I only hope I have coffee; I may have forgotten to buy any. It's been so hot this summer, hasn't it? I've become an iced-tea fanatic.”

“Yes, it's been very hot,” he agreed, following her into the kitchen. “I thought I might spend some time at the chalet in Colorado. It should be pleasant this time of year.”

She found a half-empty pack of coffee in the cabinet; it was probably so stale it would be undrinkable, but she carefully filled the pot with water and poured it into the coffeemaker, then measured out the coffee into the paper filter. Her coffeemaker was slow; it took almost ten minutes to make a pot. The perking, hissing sounds it made were very soothing.

“Please sit down,” she invited, indicating the chairs at the kitchen table.

Slowly he took a chair, then placed the pistol on the table. Michelle didn't let herself look at it as she turned to take two mugs from the cabinet. Then she sat down and took another cracker from the pack she had brought with her; she had left it on the table earlier, when she was going around the house turning on all the lights. Her stomach was rolling again, perhaps from tension as much as the effects of pregnancy.

“Would you like a cracker?” she asked politely.

He was watching her again, his eyes both sad and wild. “I love you,” he whispered. “How could you leave me when I need you so much? I wanted you to come back to me. Everything would have been all right. I promised you it would be all right. Why did you move in with that brute rancher?
Why did you have to cheat on me like that?
”

Michelle jumped at the sudden lash of fury in his voice. His remarkably pleasant face was twisting in the hideous way she remembered in her nightmares. Her heart began thudding against her ribs so painfully that she thought she might be sick, after all, but somehow she managed to say with creditable surprise, “But, Roger, the electricity had been disconnected. You didn't expect me to live here without lights or water, did you?”

Again he looked confused by the unexpected change of subject, but only momentarily. He shook his head. “You can't lie to me anymore, darling. You're still living with him. I just don't understand. I offered you so much more: all the luxury you could want, jewelry, shopping trips in Paris, but instead you ran away from me to live with a sweaty rancher who smells of cows.”

She couldn't stop the coldness that spread over her when he called her “darling.” She swallowed, trying to force back the panic welling in her. If she panicked, she wouldn't be able to control him. How many minutes did she have left? Seven? Eight?

“I wasn't certain you wanted me back,” she managed to say, though her mouth was so dry she could barely form the words.

Slowly he shook his head. “You had to know. You just didn't want to come back. You
like
what that sweaty rancher can give you, when you could have lived like a queen. Michelle, darling, it's so sick for you to let someone like him touch you, but you enjoy it, don't you? It's
unnatural
!”

She knew all the signs. He was working himself into a frenzy, the rage and jealousy building in him until he lashed out violently. How could even Roger miss seeing why she would prefer John's strong, clean masculinity and earthy passions to his own twisted parody of love? How much longer would it be? Six minutes?

“I called your house,” she lied, desperately trying to defuse his temper. “Your housekeeper said you were in France. I wanted you to come get me. I wanted to come back to you.”

He looked startled, the rage draining abruptly from his face as if it had never been. He didn't even look like the same man. “You…you wanted…”

She nodded, noting that he seemed to have forgotten about the pistol. “I missed you. We had so much fun together, didn't we?” It was sad, but in the beginning they
had
had fun. Roger had been full of laughter and gentle teasing, and she had hoped he could make her forget about John.

Some of that fun was suddenly echoed in his eyes, in the smile that touched his mouth. “I thought you were the most wonderful thing I'd ever seen,” he said softly. “Your hair was so bright and soft, and when you smiled at me, I felt ten feet tall. I would have given you the world. I would have killed for you.” Still smiling, his hand moved toward the pistol.

Five minutes?

The ghost of the man he had been faded, and suddenly pity moved her. It wasn't until that moment that she understood Roger was truly ill; something in his mind had gone very wrong, and she didn't think all the psychiatrists or drugs in the world would be able to help him.

“We were so young,” she murmured, wishing things could have been different for the laughing young man she had known. Little of him remained now, only moments of remembered fun to lighten his eyes. “Do you remember June Bailey, the little redhead who fell out of Wes Conlan's boat? We were all trying to help her back in, and somehow we all wound up in the water except for Toni. She didn't know a thing about sailing, so there she was on the boat, screaming, and we were swimming like mad, trying to catch up to her.”

Four minutes.

He laughed, his mind sliding back to those sunny, goofy days.

“I think the coffee's about finished,” she murmured, getting up. Carefully she poured two cups and carried them back to the table. “I hope you can drink it. I'm not much of a coffee-maker.” That was better than telling him the coffee was stale because she had been living with John.

He was still smiling, but his eyes were sad. As she watched, a sheen of tears began to brighten his eyes, and he picked up the pistol. “I do love you so much,” he said. “You never should have let that man touch you.” Slowly the barrel came around toward her.

A lot of things happened simultaneously. The back door exploded inward, propelled by a kick that took it off the hinges. Roger jerked toward the sound and the pistol fired, the shot deafening in the confines of the house. She screamed and ducked as two other men leaped from the inside doorway, the biggest one taking Roger down with a tackle that sent him crashing into the table. Curses and shouts filled the air, along with the sound of wood splintering; then another shot assaulted her ears and strengthened the stench of cordite. She was screaming John's name over and over, knowing he was the one rolling across the floor with Roger as they both struggled for the gun. Then suddenly the pistol skidded across the floor and John was straddling Roger as he drove his fist into the other man's face.

The sickening thud made her scream again, and she kicked a shattered chair out of her way, scrambling for the two men. Andy Phelps and another deputy reached them at the same time, grabbing John and trying to wrestle him away, but his face was a mask of killing fury at the man who had tried to murder his woman. He slung their hands away with a roar. Sobbing, Michelle threw her arms around his neck from behind, her shaking body against his back. “John, don't, please,” she begged, weeping so hard that the words were almost unintelligible. “He's very sick.”

He froze, her words reaching him as no one else's could. Slowly he let his fists drop and got to his feet, hauling her against him and holding her so tightly that she could barely breathe. But breathing wasn't important right then; nothing was as important as holding him and having him hold her, his head bent down to hers as he whispered a choked mixture of curses and love words.

The deputies had pulled Roger to his feet and cuffed his hands behind his back, while the pistol was put in a plastic bag and sealed. Roger's nose and mouth were bloody, and he was dazed, looking at them as if he didn't know who they were, or where he was. Perhaps he didn't.

John held Michelle's head pressed to his chest as he watched the deputies take Beckman out. God, how could she have been so cool, sitting across the kitchen table from that maniac and calmly serving him coffee? The man made John's blood run cold.

But she was safe in his arms now, the most precious part of his world. She had said a lot about his tomcatting reputation and the women in his checkered past; she had even called him a heartbreaker. But she was the true heartbreaker, with her sunlight hair and summer-green eyes, a golden woman who he never would have forgotten, even if she'd never come back into his life. Beckman had been obsessed with her, had gone mad when he lost her, and for the first time John thought he might understand. He wouldn't have a life, either, if he lost Michelle.

“I lost twenty years off my life when I found that note,” he growled into her hair.

She clung to him, not loosening her grip. “You got here faster than I'd expected,” she gasped, still crying a little. “Edie must've gotten up early.”

“No, I got up early. You weren't in bed with me, so I started hunting you. As it was, we barely got here in time. Edie would have been too late.”

Andy Phelps sighed, looking around the wrecked kitchen. Then he found another cup in the cabinet and poured himself some coffee. He made a face as he sipped it. “This stuff is rank. It tastes just like what we get at work. Anyway, I think I have my pajama bottoms on under my pants. When John called I took the time to dress, but I don't think I took the time to undress first.”

They both looked at him. He still looked a little sleepy, and he certainly wasn't in uniform. He had on jeans, a T-shirt, and running shoes with no socks. He could have worn an ape suit for all she cared.

“I need both of you to make statements,” he said. “But I don't think this will ever come to trial. From what I saw, he won't be judged mentally competent.”

“No,” Michelle agreed huskily. “He isn't.”

“Do we have to make the statements right now?” John asked. “I want to take Michelle home for a while.”

Andy looked at both of them. Michelle was utterly white, and John looked the worse for wear, too. He had to still be feeling the effects of hitting a steering wheel with his face. “No, go on. Come in sometime this afternoon.”

John nodded and walked Michelle out of the house. He'd commandeered Nev's truck, and now he led her to it. Someone else could get the car later.

It was a short, silent drive back to the ranch. She climbed numbly out of the truck, unable to believe it was all over. John swung her up in his arms and carried her into the house, his hard arms tight around her. Without a word to anyone, even Edie, who watched them with lifted brows, he took her straight upstairs to their bedroom and kicked the door shut behind him.

He placed her on the bed as if she might shatter, then suddenly snatched her up against him again. “I could kill you for scaring me like that,” he muttered, even though he knew he'd never be able to hurt her. She must have known it, too, because she cuddled closer against him.

“We're getting married right away,” he ordered in a voice made harsh with need. “I heard part of what he said, and maybe he's right that I can't give you all the luxuries you deserve, but I swear to God I'll try to make you happy. I love you too much to let you go.”

“I've never said anything about going,” Michelle protested. Married? He wanted to get married? Abruptly she lifted her head and gave him a glowing smile, one that almost stopped his breathing.

“You never said anything about staying, either.”

“How could I? This is your house. It was up to you.”

“Good manners be damned,” he snapped. “I was going crazy, wondering if you were happy.”

“Happy? I've been sick with it. You've given me something that doesn't have a price on it.” She lifted her nose at him. “I've heard that mingling red blood with blue makes very healthy babies.”

He looked down at her with hungry fire in his eyes. “Well, I hope you like babies, honey, because I plan on about four.”

“I like them very much,” she said as she touched her stomach. “Even though this is making me feel really ghastly.”

For a moment he looked puzzled, then his gaze drifted downward. His expression changed to one of stunned surprise, and he actually paled a little. “You're pregnant?”

“Yes. Since the night you came back from your last trip to Miami.”

His right brow lifted as he remembered that night; the left side of his face was still too swollen for him to be able to move it much. Then a slow grin began to widen his mouth, lifting the corners of his mustache. “I was careless one time too many,” he said with visible satisfaction.

She laughed. “Yes, you were. Were you trying to be?”

“Who knows?” he asked, shrugging. “Maybe. God knows I like the idea. How about you?”

She reached for him, and he pulled her onto his lap, holding her in his arms and loving the feel of her. She rubbed her face against his chest. “All I've ever wanted is for you to love me. I don't need all that expensive stuff; I like working on the ranch, and I want to build my own ranch up again, even after we're married. Having your baby is…just more of heaven.”

He laid his cheek on her golden hair, thinking of the terror he'd felt when he'd read her note. But now she was safe, she was his, and he would never let her go. She'd never seen any man as married as he planned to be. He'd spend the rest of his life trying to pamper her, and she'd continue to calmly ignore his orders whenever the mood took her, just as she did now. It would be a long, peaceful life, anchored in hard work and happily shrieking kids.