Authors: Perfect
She pressed the back of her fingers to her bruised lips, her eyes filled with accusation and bitterness.
"Liar," she said. And then she closed the door.
For the next two weeks, Ted found himself watching for her wherever he went, whether he was off duty or patrolling or doing paperwork in the office, and when he failed to see a glimpse of her or her white Corvette, he felt … let down. Empty. He decided she must have left Keaton and gone off to wherever rich girls go when they get bored in the summer time. Not until the following week, when a burglar was
sighted two miles from her house, did he realize how obsessed with her he truly was. Telling himself that it
was in the line of duty for him to drive up a winding hill that no burglar in his right mind would climb on foot, Ted drove up to her house—to make certain it was secure. There was a light on in a window at the back of the house, and he got out of the car
…
slowly, reluctantly, as if his legs understood what his mind
was denying—that his being here could have long-lasting and probably disastrous results.
He raised his hand to ring the doorbell then dropped it. This was insane, he decided, turning away, then he jerked around as the front door opened and she was standing there. Even in a simple pink tank top and white shorts, Katherine Cahill was so beautiful she drugged his mind. She was different tonight, though—her expression was sober, her voice softly frank rather than flirtatious. "What do you want, Officer Mathison?"
Confronted with her calm, direct maturity, Ted felt like a complete fool. "There was a burglary," he dissembled, "not far from here. I came up here to check—"
To his disbelief, she started to close the door in his face, and he heard himself say her name. It tore out of him before he could stop it: "Katherine! Don't—"
The door opened, and she was smiling just a little, her head tipped to the side as she waited. "What do you want?" she repeated, her eyes searching his.
"Christ! I don't know—"
"Yes, you do. Furthermore," she said with a funny teasing catch in her voice, "I don't think the son of Keaton's very own Reverend Mathison should go around lying about his feelings or using words like
crap
or taking God's name in vain."
"Is that what this is all about?" Ted snapped, completely off balance, a drowning man, grasping at straws
to save himself from a fate he's about to embrace.
"You think it would be a sexual kick to sleep with a minister's son? To find out how we make love?"
"Was anyone talking about sex, Officer?"
"Now I get it," he said scornfully, seizing on her use of his title. "You've got a hang-up about cops, haven't you. You've got me mixed up with Bruce Willis and you think having sex with—"
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"There you go again, talking about sex. Is that all you can think about?"
Nonplussed and furious with himself, he shoved his hands into his pockets and glared. "If it isn't sex with me that you have on your mind, then what the hell is it?"
She stepped forward onto the porch, looking gutsier and more worldly than he felt, but his hands reached for her arms drawing her closer to his hungry body. Softly she said, "Marriage is what I have on
my mind. And don't swear."
"Marriage!" Ted exploded.
"You sound shocked, darling."
"You're crazy."
"About you," she agreed. Leaning up on her toes, she slid her hands up his chest and around his neck, and Ted's body ignited as if hers was a torch held against it. "You get one chance to make up for hurting
me the last time you kissed me. I didn't like it."
Helplessly, Ted bent his head, touching his lips to her soft ones, and his tongue slid across them. She moaned and the sound snapped his control. He seized her mouth, his hands shifting over her, pulling her
hips tightly against his, but he gentled the kiss, and then he deepened it. She tasted like heaven and felt like it; her breasts swelled to fall his hands, and her body fit his as if they'd been sculpted exclusively for each other. Many minutes later, he finally managed to lift his head and speak, but his voice was hoarse with desire and he couldn't pull his hands from her waist. "We're both crazy."
"About each other," she agreed. "I think September is a lovely month for weddings, don't you?"
"No."
She tipped her head back and looked at him, and Ted heard himself say, "I like August better."
"We could get married in August on my twentieth birthday, but August is hot."
"Not nearly as hot as I am."
She tried to look censorious at his sexual remark and ended up giggling instead as she teasingly admonished, "I'm shocked to hear such talk from a minister's son."
"I'm an ordinary man, Katherine," he warned her, but he didn't want her to believe it. Not really. He wanted her to believe he was all the extraordinary things she made him feel—powerful, soft, strong, wise.
Still, he felt she should have more time to find out exactly who and what he was. "September is fine with
me."
"I don't think it's fine with me, though," she said as she studied his face with a teasing smile. "I mean, your
father is a minister, and that probably means you'll insist on waiting until
after
we're married."
Ted managed to look innocent and confused. "To do what?"
"Make love."
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"I'm
not
a minister, my father is."
"Make love to me then."
"Not so fast!" Suddenly Ted found himself in the awkward position of taking a stand about the kind of marriage he expected when he hadn't expected, one hour ago, to get married at all. "I won't take a cent of your father's money. If we get married, you'll be a cop's wife until I get my law degree."
"Okay."
"Your parents aren't going to like the idea of you marrying me one damned bit."
"Daddy will adjust."
She was right, Ted discovered. When it came to wheedling her way around people, Katherine was a genius. Everyone, including her parents, just automatically adapted to her willful little whim.
Everyone
except Ted. After six months of marriage, he couldn't adjust to living in a house that was never cleaned and eating meals that came from cans. Most of all, he couldn't adjust to her sulky moods or irrational demands.
She'd never wanted to be a wife to Ted in any real sense, and she certainly didn't want to be a mother.
She'd been furious when she realized she was pregnant two years after they were married and pleased
when she managed to miscarry. Her reactions to being pregnant had been the last straw for Ted, the final
motivating factor in his decision to give her the divorce she'd threatened him with every time he refused to
give in to whatever she wanted.
Carl's voice broke into his reverie, and Ted glanced up at his older brother as he said, "There's no point in mentioning Benedict's name to Mother and Dad.
If Julie's in danger, let's keep it from them as long as possible."
"I agree."
"
W
e're lost, I know it! Where in God's name are we going? What could possibly be up here except a deserted logging camp?" Julie's voice shook with nervous tension as she peered through snow hurtling at
her windshield. They'd left the highway and turned onto a steep road that climbed the mountain in an endless series of hairpin turns, turns that would have made her nervous in the summer; now, with slippery snow and poor visibility to complicate things, the climb was hair-raising. And just when she thought the
drive couldn't get worse, they'd turned onto a twisting road so narrow that the branches of the thick
black pines on either side of it reached out and brushed against the sides of the car.
"I know you're tired," her passenger said. "If I'd thought there was a chance you wouldn't try to jump out
of the car, I'd have done the driving and let you get some rest."
Ever since their kiss nearly twelve hours ago, he'd been treating her with a warm courtesy that was far more alarming to Julie than his anger had been, because she couldn't shake the feeling that he'd altered his
plans—and his intended uses—for her. As a result, she'd responded to all his pleasant conversational
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efforts with sharp, barbed remarks that made her seem and feel like a shrew. She blamed him completely
for that, too.
Ignoring his statement, she gave him a frosty shrug.
"According to the map and the directions, we're going the right way, but there wasn't any indication about a road that goes straight up! This is a car, not a plane or a snow plow!"
He handed her a soft drink they'd bought at a gas station/convenience store, where they'd also gotten fuel and he'd escorted her once again to the rest room. As before, he'd prevented her from locking the door, and then he'd inspected the rest room to see if she'd tried to leave some sort of note there. When he handed her the soft drink without replying to her complaint about the treacherous conditions, Julie fell silent. Under any other circumstances, she'd have been enthralled with the breathtaking views of majestic
snow-covered mountains and soaring pine trees, but it was impossible to enjoy the view when it required all her concentration and effort just to keep the car moving in the right direction. At long last, they were nearing their destination, Julie assumed, because they'd turned off the last decent road over twenty minutes ago. Now they were wending their way up a mountain in a full-fledged blizzard on a road that seemed only inches wider than the car. "I hope whoever gave you that map and the directions knew what
he was doing," she said.
"Really?" he teased. "I'd expect you to hope we were lost."
She ignored the good-natured amusement in his voice. "I'd love it if
you
were lost, but I have no desire
to be lost with you! The point is, I've been driving in terrible weather on rotten roads for over twenty-four hours and I'm exhausted—" She broke off in alarm at the sight of the narrow wooden bridge ahead of them. Until two days ago, the weather had been unseasonably warm in Colorado and melting snow had
caused little creeks, like this one, to become swollen, rushing minirivers that flowed out of their banks.
"That bridge doesn't look safe. The water's too high
—"
"We don't have much choice." She heard the concern in his voice and fright sent her foot to the brake pedal. "I am not driving across that damned bridge."
Zack had come too far to turn back, and besides, turning back on the narrow snow-rutted lane was impossible. So was backing down the mountain on those hairpin turns. The road had been plowed recently—probably this morning—as if Matt Farrell had learned of Zack's escape and guessed why Zack had asked him to phone someone weeks ago with detailed directions to the mountain house. Evidently Matt had also had a caretaker plow the road to make certain Zack could get in if he tried. Still, the bridge didn't look safe. The swollen creek had taken large tree limbs with it, and it was moving fast enough to have put intolerable stress on the structure. "Get out," he said after a moment.
"Get out?! I'll freeze to death in an hour! Is that what you intended all along—for me to drive you this far and then leave me to die in the snow?"
None of her barbed remarks had pierced his good humor all day, but her agitated words did just that—his jaw tightened, and icy anger edged his voice. "Get out of the car," he snapped. "I'll drive it across the bridge. If it holds, you can walk across it and get into the car on the other side."
Julie needed no further urging, clutching her sweater around her, she opened the door and got out, but her relief at being safe turned to something else, something utterly absurd under the circumstances: As she
watched him move under the steering wheel, she felt guilty for leaving the car, ashamed of her cowardice and worried about his safety. And that was before he reached in the back seat and took out her coat and two of Carl's blankets that he passed to her through the open door and said, "If the bridge doesn't hold,
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wrap yourself up in these and find a narrow place where you can cross on foot. At the top of the hill, there's a house with a telephone and plenty of food.
You can call for help and wait the storm out up there until it arrives."
He'd said "if the bridge doesn't hold" without betraying an iota of emotion in his voice or face and Julie
shivered at the realization that Zachary Benedict could risk his own life without the slightest apparent concern. If the bridge didn't hold, then he and the heavy car would both end up plunging into that swollen, icy creek. She clutched the door to prevent him from closing it. "If it doesn't hold," she said, "I'll throw you a rope or a branch or something so that you can get to the bank."
He closed the door on her last words, and shivering, Julie clutched the coat and blankets to her. The car's tires spun in the snow then caught, and the automobile began inching forward. She held her breath,
mumbling disjointed prayers as she stumbled through the snow to the bridge. There, she looked down
into the rushing water, trying to gauge its depth.
Logs raced past, swirling and bobbing, while she dragged a dead limb about eight feet long to the edge and stuck it in. When it didn't touch the bottom, her fear escalated to panic. "Wait!" she yelled, trying to make him hear her over the howling wind. "We can leave the car here and we can both walk!" If he heard her at all, he ignored her. The motor revved harder
as the tires slipped in the snow and grabbed, then the car rocked and bumped forward, gathering enough speed to plow through the snow across the bridge.
Suddenly Julie heard the timbers of the bridge begin to groan and she screamed, "Don't try it! The bridge won't hold you! Get out! Get out of the car—"
It was too late. The Blazer was moving steadily across the creaking timbers, plowing snow with its bumper, tires spinning and grabbing and spinning again as the four-wheel-drive gear did its work.