Nighthawk & The Return of Luke McGuire (17 page)

But he was in no hurry. He whispered softly to her, as if his voice had deserted him and speech required almost more breath than he had. “I won’t hurt you,” he said. “Trust me, Esther…trust me….”

She was rapidly getting past the point where trust mattered. She just wanted that damn blouse over her head
now!
It covered her face briefly, concealing him from her, but even as it did she knew that her breasts in their lacy bra were revealed. The knowledge sent a sharp spear of pleasure straight to her core, causing her womb to clench almost unbearably.

Then the blouse was gone and she could see him looking at her breasts. With helpless fascination, she looked down and watched as his fingers brushed over the lacy cups of her bra, exciting her. Enticing her. She caught her breath in anticipation, wanting more, so much more….

Suddenly he tucked the first two fingers of both hands inside her bra. They felt scalding hot and she gasped at this new sensation against her virgin flesh. Grasping her bra, he leaned forward, gave the clasp an intent look, then released it.

Her breasts spilled free, and in that instant she became an absolute wanton. Arching her back, she offered herself to him, eager for the mysteries she had only read about.

“Esther…” he whispered raggedly. “Esther…” His dark eyes lifted to hers, holding her gaze as if seeking some kind of answer there. At the same time, he lifted his hands and cupped her in heat.

She drew a sharp breath and felt another wave of delight wash over her. So intimate, so…good. When his finger brushed across her nipple, the sensation was so sharply exquisite that she arched sharply and a soft whimper escaped her.

“Oh, it’s good isn’t it,” he murmured huskily. “So good to be touched like this…”

His thumbs played with both nipples now, suspending her in a pleasure like none she had ever known. She wanted it to go on and on and never stop…except that she began to feel other needs, needs for harder, deeper touches in other, even more intimate places.

“Put your hands on me, Esther,” Craig asked huskily. “Touch me, too….”

Her eyes were heavy-lidded with desire, her thoughts scattered to the four winds. A moment passed before she comprehended what he wanted, and when she did, a sudden shyness overtook her.

“It’s okay,” he coaxed when she hesitated. “I like to be touched, too.”

Finally, finding her courage, she lifted her hands to his shoulders and slipped them within the collar of his shirt.

“Open my shirt,” he demanded hoarsely.

The snaps ripped open with a loud popping noise, baring his chest to her. And suddenly she didn’t need courage, because she wanted nothing more than to touch his smooth coppery skin and learn its contours and textures.

Oh, he felt so good! And the freedom to caress him felt even better. He leaned into her tentative touches as if they felt as good to him as his felt to her. Esther was transported, caught on a wave of pleasure that seemed to come from both what he was doing to her and what she was doing to him.

Then, oh then he drew her close to him, so that her breasts met his hard chest—such a wonderful feeling—and he bent his head to take her mouth in a kiss so deep she felt she was drowning in him.

She shifted, trying to get closer, and pinched the skin of her thigh between the strap of her brace and the counter. It was a sharp pain, out of place, and it jerked her back to reality as abruptly as if she had been dunked in ice water.

Suddenly she was pushing desperately at him, needing to be free of his hold, afraid of what she was doing and where it might lead. Oh, God, she couldn’t allow any man to have control over her ever again! Not even control of this sweet kind!

“Esther…Esther, what… Honey, what’s wrong?”

He backed up quickly and watched with concern as she burst into sobs and tried to cover herself with her hands.

“Here,” he said hoarsely, yanking off his shirt and draping it around her. “It’s okay. Sweetie, I’d never hurt you. It’s okay.”

But she could hardly hear him. Her mind was suddenly full of memories of her mother and how she had given her life into the hands of a man only to wind up dead at the foot of a staircase. Maria Jackson had made the mistake of trusting a man’s hands to be gentle, but they were only gentle when they wanted to be. Other times they wanted to be hard and hurting. Buried deep in her mind in a place no reason could reach was the memory of the sickening sound of a fist hitting human flesh hard, and of a woman’s keening cry.

“Esther…Esther…”

Gradually she became aware that Craig was calling her name and that Guinevere was whimpering nervously. Returning to herself she wanted to die with humiliation.

“Oh, God! Oh, God, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay,” he said soothingly. In fact, he had a pretty good idea that some memory of hers had been triggered and sent her into a panic, because there had been no mistaking her enjoyment of their mutual exploration. He had to confess, though, that he didn’t know what in the hell he was going to do about it—if anything. It wasn’t his problem, after all. At least as long as he didn’t make it his problem.

And damn, what was he doing getting himself tangled up with this woman anyway? For the love of Mike, he ought to know better.

But his heart twisted with sympathy for her. She looked so damn miserable huddled there on the counter trying to hide in his shirt—which she actually could almost do. When had she become so tiny, and why hadn’t he noticed it before?

Because she was so straightforward. Because she stood tall and never let the world see the frightened woman inside her. Well, not precisely. There wasn’t any way to explain it. Esther Jackson just somehow seemed like a woman who could handle damn near anything. Only she couldn’t. Some things could sneak up on her and overwhelm her before she had a chance to stiffen her spine and rally her defenses.

Like now. Whatever had just happened had occurred without warning. It had come up and latched on to her like a shark out of the deep. That was the only reason it had gotten the upper hand, of that he was sure. If she had known it was coming, it never would have overwhelmed her.

Now she was probably more embarrassed by her reaction than upset at whatever had caused it. He had the worst urge to reach out and wrap her in his arms, but he knew from experience that wouldn’t be wise.

Damn, he felt so helpless, and there was nothing he hated more than feeling helpless. Finally, not knowing what else to do, he pulled out a chair and sat at the table. The two dogs, fully sensing the tension, looked from him to her in a quandary.

“Oh, hell,” Craig finally said, tired of soulful brown eyes accusing him. “Get out of here, you two.” He opened the back door and let both dogs run out. They went with evident relief.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Esther sniffled.

“Why the hell not? I don’t think Mop is going to make her any more pregnant than he already has. Besides, they won’t go far. Mop’ll bring her back soon.”

She kept her head bowed. “How can you be sure of that?”

“Because he’s a sheepdog. He’ll herd her.” Thank God she was talking again.

She looked up, and a fugitive smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “As well as he herds Cromwell?”

“Cromwell is an exception to every rule.” He felt his heart twist again as he looked at her. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her nose was swollen. She looked perfectly miserable, but like some warrior princess she was trying to put the best face on it. Trying to move past it bravely. He admired the hell out of her.

“Yes, I suppose she is.” Clutching the shirt around her, she looked miserably around as if she wanted to find a way out.

He hesitated, not understanding, then realized, she couldn’t get down from the counter without using her hands, which were fully occupied trying to keep her covered with the shirt.

He stood up quickly. “I’ll just…go into the next room while you, uh, get your shirt on.”

The look she gave him was unabashedly grateful. “Thank you. My legs are going numb up here.”

He waited in the living room until she called out, “Okay.” Then he hurried back wondering what the next stage in this fiasco was going to be. Surely it couldn’t be simple.

She stood uncertainly in the middle of the kitchen, fully clothed again, and offered him his shirt. “Thank you,” she said.

“Nothing to thank me for.” He pulled on the shirt and snapped it quickly, wanting to put her at ease.

“Yes, there is. You’ve been very patient with what can only be described as lunatic behavior on my part. I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”

He cocked his head to one side and told her. “That you’re a woman who’s been hurt very badly. That you can’t trust easily, which is hardly surprising. I can certainly understand why you’re leery of men.”

She looked astonished, and finally another small smile peeped through. “You’re damn good, Nighthawk.”

“No, I just pay attention. My gift is to listen.”

That gave her pause. She hadn’t thought of it that way before. “Your
gift?
”

“Each one of us has an ability of some kind that is a gift to others. Mine is listening.”

“And mine is painting.”

He shook his head slowly. “No, I think yours is laughing.”

“Laughing? Me?”

“You laugh a lot. You’re very humorous. You sure know how to make me smile. Your painting is a talent, but your laughter is a gift.”

Intuitively she understood what he was getting at. She liked the way he looked at things. There were times in her life when she felt the only thing about her that mattered to the rest of the world was that she could paint a decent still life. “Well, I wasn’t laughing a few minutes ago, and I want to apologize for the way I, um…you know.”

He smiled then. In fact, she had a sneaking suspicion that he almost laughed. “Apology accepted.”

“Thank you. It must have been unnerving for you.”

“Unnerving isn’t the word I’d choose.”

She blushed scarlet then and looked away. “Well, enough of that. I wonder what the dogs are up to.”

“Let’s go out and see.”

The night was chilly, kissed with the first breath of autumn. Craig had been right, the dogs hadn’t wandered far from the house. In fact, they were both frolicking in the yard, rolling with one another as happily as puppies.

Esther suddenly had a pang that Guin had never before known doggy companionship. Apparently she’d been missing it. And certainly Esther couldn’t roll around with her like that.

“I feel so guilty,” she said aloud. “I ought to get another dog for Guin to be friends with.”

“I think Mop has already taken care of the need for another dog,” he reminded her.

“That’s true. Heavens! What will their puppies look like?”

“I’m kinda curious myself.”

Esther giggled. “Oh, I can just see it! Imagine a komondor with spots like Guin’s. Or an all-white Saint Bernard.”

“How about a puppy with a mixture of short and shaggy hair?”

“Oh, no! No, that couldn’t possibly happen…could it?”

Craig smiled, wondering why everything should suddenly feel all right just because Esther Jackson was feeling humorous again. “Are you ready to put money on it?”

“No. Absolutely not! I’m not a betting woman.”

“Then maybe we’ll have a puppy that looks a little bit like both.”

Esther liked the way he included them both in that statement, as if they were having the puppies together. Which, she guessed, they were. Assuming, of course, that Guin was pregnant.

But looking at the big but gentle komondor, she somehow felt certain that he was as virile as he was big and shaggy. There would be puppies all right. And they would probably be as surprising as their parents.

C
raig had been sleeping on her couch for a week. Esther paused in the doorway of the living room and looked at his pile of neatly folded blankets and pillow. She could have offered him a bedroom upstairs, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to do it. That seemed way too intimate, and she wasn’t prepared for intimacy with him.

Oh, heck, why not be honest about it? She was uneasy sharing a roof with a man, any man. She could argue with herself until she was blue in the face, but the fact was, men just simply made her nervous.

Intellectually she understood that not all of them were abusive, but emotionally she was like a puppy that had been kicked one too many times. The conditioned reaction was there regardless. Foot means kick. Man means pain.

Sighing, she turned toward the stairs and began to limp her way up them. Guinevere darted ahead of her. Time for a shower. Her day’s work was done, the light was gone, and she was tired. A good hot shower would not only wash off the remaining pigment from her paints, but it would unknot muscles tight with tension and relax her. She could hardly wait.

She was halfway up the stairs when she heard a car engine out front. Verna, she thought. Must be some bill that hadn’t come with the rest of them last week. Guinevere, already waiting impatiently at the top of the stairs, dashed right down, taking care not to knock over her mistress.

Suppressing a wince, Esther turned around and headed wearily down the stairs, too. For some reason her leg was acting up today, feeling as if it were unbearably weary even though she hadn’t done anything unusual. She might have overtaxed it without realizing it, but the muscular weakness that had resulted from nerve damage could be unpredictable in its effect.

She reached the bottom of the stairs just as someone started knocking on her door. Guin woofed deep in her throat and nosed the door. Well, that certainly wasn’t Verna out there. After all this time she and the dog both recognized the letter carrier’s distinctive rap.

Caution gripped her and she tried to move silently as she crossed the foyer to the door. It had to be one of the sheriff’s deputies, she reasoned. They were coming so often now…but not at this time of day. Never at this time of day. Of course that didn’t mean they couldn’t be doing something different today.

When she reached the door, she checked to make sure it was locked. It was. Then she peered around the edge of the frame out the window and found herself staring straight into the face of her father.

“Esther!”

The nightmare had come true. Even through the glass she could hear his voice. She began backing up, lost her balance and fell. Panic clawed at her, causing her heart to pound thunderously in her ears as she dragged herself across the floor to the newel post. Behind her, Guin growled deeply.

“Esther! I know you’re there!”

Yes, he knew she was there. She’d looked right into his eyes and suddenly she was a small child again, utterly at his mercy.

Sobbing for air she reached the foot of the stairs and grabbed the newel post for balance as she pulled herself to her feet. Guin barked warningly at the door.

“Esther, please…”

Please? Was that really him saying please? Never…not once… Gasping, she achieved her feet and looked wildly around. All the windows were locked. They had to be. She’d locked them herself and hadn’t opened any of them since.

The kitchen door! Moving as swiftly as she dared, terrified of falling again, she headed for the kitchen. Behind her her father hammered on the door and called her name while Guinevere’s barks grew in volume and frequency.

“Just listen to me!”

When had he ever listened to her? Suddenly she was four again, looking up at the huge, angry man who towered over her, crying, “Daddy, no! No! Please, Daddy no!”

Never had he once listened to her, not once in fifteen years, and then he’d had to sit in court and listen to her accuse him of murder. If he’d been willing to hurl her down the stairs because she had cried when she slammed her finger in the door, then he was willing to kill her for sending him to prison.

The logic was as inescapable as her panic.

She reached the kitchen at last and took what comfort she could from the fact that Richard was still hammering at the front door and calling her. Sobbing, she reached the back door and found that it was locked. With shaking hands, she drew the café curtains closed so that he couldn’t look in and see her, then she grabbed the phone, dialing Craig’s number. Paula answered.

“It’s my father,” Esther gasped. “Paula, my father’s here, beating on my door….”

“I’ll get Craig over there,” Paula said quickly. “Did you call the sheriff?”

“Not yet.”

“Call. I’ll call, too. Now just hang up and call the sheriff—”

Esther slammed the phone into the cradle, then hit the memory button for the Sheriff’s office. Velma’s familiar voice answered her.

“Conard County Sheriff’s Office. State your name and address, please.”

“Esther Jackson. I’m at—”

“Esther!” Velma interrupted. “What’s wrong?”

“My father’s here, banging on the front door. He won’t go away….”

“Hang on. I’ll send someone right away. Don’t hang up, Esther, hear?”

“Yes…yes…” She could hear him calling her from the front, but that was nowhere near as scary as what she felt when he stopped calling her at all. Then Guin stopped barking. From the front of the house came only a diminishing growl. Moments later she heard the
tick
of Guin’s claws on the wood floor. It sounded as if the dog were checking out other rooms. Other windows.

Oh, God, she thought, he’s coming around the house to find another way in. And then a worse thought struck her. What if he went out to the barn and destroyed her studio?

Dropping the phone, she hurried to the window and peeked out. She couldn’t see him. Couldn’t hear him. He could come at her from almost anywhere.

Trapped! She felt so trapped! Time. She needed time. If she could just keep him from reaching her until help arrived, she would be okay. Maybe if she hid upstairs it would take him longer to find her.

But the instant she thought of climbing those stairs, her blood froze. What if he got inside while she was climbing the stairs? With her brace she would be at a distinct disadvantage. But worse—oh, God, the thought of encountering him on the stairs was more than she could stand. She might die for it, but she was not going to give him another chance to throw her down the stairs, the way he had thrown her when she was little. The way he had thrown her mother.

Shuddering, she grabbed her biggest butcher knife and tried to decide where the best place was to conceal herself. It never entered her mind to face him down. He had always been bigger and stronger and she had always been at his mercy. In her mind nothing had changed.

The closet seemed too obvious, but she didn’t want to crouch down behind furniture because in a crouch she was at a serious disadvantage since it was awkward for her to get up. Where then? There was no place that seemed good enough….

Minutes ticked by in utter silence while she dithered, trying to figure out where to hide. All the while her ears strained desperately, searching for any sound at all.

Guin chuffed from somewhere out front, the sound followed by the lazy
tick-tick
of her claws on the wood floor as she wandered back down the hallway. When she reached the kitchen, the dog sat down and regarded Esther from quizzical eyes.

Esther stared back at her for an interminable moment, wondering what this meant. Had Richard somehow managed to sneak so quietly around the house that he’d eluded the dog’s senses?

Suddenly there was another hammering on the door. Guin tore down the hall and started barking wildly.

Oh, my God, he was still there!

Craig was in the barn when Paula found him, laying another few yards of the plank floor they were replacing the old floor with as they could. The planks, separated by a small distance, would allow the sheep manure to fall through into the space beneath, and give the sheep a healthier environment for their hooves. Since he was planning to bring in all his pregnant ewes and keep them in here for lambing, it was going to be essential to get as much of this floor as possible done before spring. Although if Cromwell kept eating the neighbors’ flowers, things could get delayed.

“Craig?”

Paula’s voice conveyed enough worry that he sat up immediately and looked at her. “What is it?”

“Esther just called. Her father’s beating on her door. I called the sheriff—”

But he was already on his feet, dropping his hammer, shucking his tool belt, grabbing for his shirt. “I’m going.”

“I told her you were coming.”

Shoving his fingers into his front pocket, he dug out his truck keys. “I’ll call and let you know.”

“Please.” She looked up at him from dark worried eyes. “Hurry.”

But he was already out the door, loping across the yard to his pickup. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, slowing down time, making everything seem to take too damn long. He might have been running through molasses.

He cursed every inch of county road between his place and Esther’s but finally he was at the entrance to her driveway. He screeched into the turn but had to pull swiftly to one side to avoid a car that was tearing back up the driveway.

Richard Jackson! Craig was sure the gray-haired man behind the wheel of the old Chevy couldn’t be anyone else. He hesitated, wondering if he should follow the man. No, Esther had to be his first priority. If she was hurt…

He turned into the driveway and raced down it, nearly flying over the ruts and bottoming out in the potholes. Damn, her driveway must have gotten miles longer since the last time he’d driven it.

But at last he roared into her yard and jammed his truck to a halt. He jumped out without even taking his keys out of the ignition and ran up the steps to the door. It was locked. God! He started hammering as loud as he could. “Esther! Esther, for God’s sake, open up!”

He could hear Guin barking, but nothing else.

“Esther! Open up or I’m gonna break this lock!”

Suddenly the door flew wide open and Esther fell sobbing into his arms. He clutched her to him, holding her tightly around the waist, pressing her face to his shoulder.

“Thank God,” he said raggedly. “Thank God. When I saw him tearing out of here I thought—” He broke off sharply, unable to complete the sentence. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he held her as close as he could get her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she sobbed. “He was here. Oh, Craig, he was here and he wouldn’t go away….”

“I saw him. He was driving away…. Esther, he didn’t hurt you?”

“No! No! I never opened the door. He just kept hammering on it and shouting my name….”

He heard another engine behind him. Cuddling her close, he turned a little so he could see the sheriff’s Blazer come tearing up the drive.

“The sheriff’s here,” he told Esther, who was still weeping on his shoulder.

She held her breath and looked up, dashing away her tears with the back of her hand. At her feet, Guinevere chuffed uneasily, and whimpered happily when her mistress scratched the top of her head. “It’s okay, Guin,” she assured the dog tearily. “It’s okay now.”

Beau Beauregard stepped out of his vehicle and approached. “I take it he’s gone?”

“He was pulling out of the driveway just as I pulled in,” Craig told him.

Beau looked at Esther. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. Really. The doors were locked and I didn’t open them. He just stood out here hammering and calling me.”

Beau pulled out a pad and began writing. “Did you happen to see his car?”

“I did,” Craig answered. “A 1986 Chevy Nova, metallic blue, needs a new paint job. Sorry, I didn’t get the license number.”

“Did you notice if it was a Wyoming plate?”

“Out of state. Blue, I think, but I don’t remember for sure.”

“Well, out of state is almost as good as the number around here,” Beau said with one of his slow smiles.

“Can you keep him away from me?” Esther demanded. “Is there anything you can do?”

“I’ll talk to the sheriff about it, Miss Esther, but I honestly don’t know. Your property isn’t posted, so he wasn’t rightly trespassing. He didn’t hurt you or anything else, so I really don’t see what we can do. I expect the sheriff’ll want a word with him, though.”

Esther felt a frustration that bordered on rage. “This isn’t fair! He shouldn’t be able to terrorize me this way!”

Beau looked as if he were about to agree, then thought better of it. “I’ll talk to the sheriff about it, ma’am. I’ll let you know what he says.” Then he cleared his throat, looked down at the toe of his boot, and said, “Unofficially, the son of a gun better not cross my path. You want me to stay out here with you, Miss Esther?”

Esther looked at him in wonderment, then looked up at Craig. He didn’t look at all pleased by the deputy’s offer. “Uh…thank you, Beau. That’s very kind of you. But I’ll be okay. Really.” Craig’s arm seemed to tighten around her shoulders, and she found the touch surprisingly comforting.

“Okay, then,” said Beau. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the sheriff calls you later, Miss Esther. Have a good one.”

Esther didn’t feel much like going back inside after the deputy left, so she and Craig sat on the porch and watched the late-afternoon wind blow across the prairie. The mountains looked almost black this afternoon, against a sky that was washed out with dust. Esther absently picked at the flecks of pigment that were still stuck to her hands and tried to imagine how she would capture the not-quite-monochrome effect of the pale sky, black mountains and gray-green grasses. The world almost looked as if the sun had bleached it out.

Yet it wasn’t hot today. It was a surprisingly comfortable and dry eighty degrees. Perfect. Almost.

“I can’t believe it,” she said finally. “That man is terrorizing me and there’s nothing they can do.”

“They have to follow the law.”

“Well, the law is useless! There ought to be
something
they can do!”