Читать книгу Nick's Long-Awaited Honeymoon - Sandra Steffen, Sandra Steffen - Страница 9

Chapter One

He wasn’t lost. Nick Colter had a sixth sense about direction. It came in handy in back alleys and bad situations. No, he wasn’t lost. Custer Street, on the other hand, was lost as hell. Street signs would have been nice. For some strange reason only half the streets in this town had them.

He inched his car to a corner and peered in every direction. Jasper Gulch, South Dakota, wasn’t much different from fifty other towns he’d passed on his way from Chicago. The houses were at least a hundred years old and looked as if they’d seen better days. Porch lights were on, but the dwellings themselves were dark. Nick shook his head. Might as well hang a sign out front for burglars: “House empty. Take your time. The good silver is in the pantry.”

“Careful, Colter,” he muttered under his breath. “One of these days somebody’s gonna accuse you of being cynical.”

His next turn landed him back on Main Street where he’d started. He strummed his fingers on the steering wheel and studied his surroundings. The street was lined with cars and pickup trucks, but not a single person was in sight. Spotting a lit building a block over, he parked his car in the first available space and headed inside.

He gave the room a sweeping glance the instant he set foot inside the door. A wedding reception was taking place, and if the volume of the boot-stomping music coming from the country-western band and the laughter and raised voices of the crowd were an accurate indication, the folks of Jasper Gulch were having a good time. Only a few of the wedding guests noticed his presence—a handful of kids who stopped their game of tag to stare at him, two teenaged girls who whispered behind their hands, and an old man whose thumbs were hooked through his suspenders.

“Can I help you, son?” the old cowboy asked.

Keeping his eyes and ears open, Nick said, “I don’t make a habit of crashing wedding receptions, but I can’t seem to find Custer Street.”

“You visiting,” the other man asked, scratching his craggy chin, “or just passing through?”

“Visiting, I suppose.”

The old man nodded. “Then you must be lookin’ for the boardin’ house. No sense goin’ there right now. The owner’s not home. I’m Cletus McCully. We ain’t much for standing on ceremony around here, so you might as well grab yerself a cup of that there punch and join the party.”

Nick tried to pass on the punch. Cletus would hear nothing of it. With a shake of his head and a snap of one suspender, the old man ambled away to get it himself. Nick put the minute of solitude to good use, systematically giving the town hall a more thorough once-over. White streamers trailed from the ceiling. A half-eaten wedding cake sat on a small table. The three-piece band was set up in one corner, a table piled high with gifts in another. Most of the men wore bolo ties and cowboy boots while the women wore calico dresses or Western skirts. So far he hadn’t seen a man with a sinister leer, a silver ponytail and a jagged scar.

“What’s going on, on the dance floor?” he asked as Cletus shoved a cup of punch into his hand.

“Follow me,” Cletus muttered. “Maybe we can get a better view from the other side.”

It wasn’t difficult to keep up with the old man’s bow-legged gait. Keeping up with his conversation was another matter. The man talked about people Nick couldn’t possibly know, telling him about the weddings that had taken place since the boys had decided to put an ad in the papers luring women to this-here neck of the woods. In a very short amount of time Nick had learned that someone named DoraLee had eloped with a local rancher named Boomer, Cletus’s grandson Wyatt had snagged one of the first gals to come to town, and his granddaughter, Melody, had married the “boy” she’d been in love with most of her life. Today’s bride was a Southern belle named Pamela Sue, the groom a mama’s boy named Grover.

“One by one the new gals who’ve moved to town are bitin’ the bullet,” Cletus declared. “I’m afraid none of the ones who’re left are makin’ it easy on the poor Jasper Gents. Crystal Galloway, the newest gal in town, is a looker, but she’s got a mouth on her that could scare the average sailor clean away.”

Other than nodding now and then when it was expected of him, Nick kept silent. Listening with only one ear, he made a sweeping perusal of every person in the room. The first glimpse of a shaggy, gray ponytail on the other side of the hall had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Homing in on a silver-haired man in the shadows, everything inside Nick went perfectly still.

“Then there’s our own Louetta Graham,” Cletus was saying, “but I’m afraid she’s so shy it’s almost hopeless. That only leaves the girls fresh out of school and the new gal who bought the boarding house. She’s a pretty little thing, that’s for sure, but she’s mighty stubborn, too.”

Nick flexed his fingers at his sides, squinting into the shadows across the room. The man was the right height, but the cowboy hat was deceiving. Nick checked the exits, gauging the most direct route to cover, just in case things took an ugly turn.

“I tried my darnedest to get that gal to reach for the bouquet...”

Nick was barely listening now, all his attention trained on the length of shaggy hair across the room.

“But she says since her divorce ain’t final, she ain’t really single. Like I told her, if that husband of hers was dim-witted enough to let her get away, a few weeks one way or the other won’t make any difference whatsoever. Says she don’t feel married. Problem is, I don’t think Brittany feels unmarried, either.”

The silver-haired man stepped out of the shadows at the same instant Cletus uttered the one name in all the world that could bring Nick to his knees. He was caught between two force fields. Danger. And need. Blood pounded in his head, and his lungs felt too large for his chest.

The silver-haired man turned, giving Nick a good look at his face. The guy was sixty years old if he was a day and sported a handlebar mustache and a hefty paunch. His face was deeply lined, but there was no jagged scar. It wasn’t his man.

It didn’t take long for the roaring din in Nick’s ears to quiet. The brick in his chest was going to be more difficult to eliminate.

“I’m hoping it’s only a matter of time before one of our shy-but-willin’ Jasper Gents catches Brittany’s eye and sweeps her off her feet, but I’m afraid it might be more complicated than that. She says it’s just semantics—whatever in tarnation that means—and has nothin’ to do with the fact that her soon-to-be ex-husband is paying her a little visit in a couple of days.”

The old man’s voice trailed away. Peering up at Nick through bushy white eyebrows, he said, “I don’t believe I caught your name, son.”

The crowd parted, and Nick had his first clear view of a slender, dark-haired woman who was trying to ward off the advances of one of the cowboys on the other side of the dance floor. The man brushed aside a lock of her chin-length hair and bent his head as if he wanted to whisper something in her ear. Instead, he planted a sloppy kiss on one corner of her mouth.

Nick’s fingers curled around the cup in his hand. Handing it back to Cletus, he said, “My name’s Nick Colter. That dim-witted husband you mentioned. You’ll have to excuse me. There’s a man I have to punch in the nose.”

“Now don’t be too hasty there...”

Nick moved with the same kind of purpose he used in the streets and alleys of Chicago, maneuvering around the people blocking his path so quickly they had to turn their heads to keep him in their line of vision. He stopped behind the cowboy and tapped him on the shoulder with enough force to leave no doubt that Nick meant business.

The man spun around so fast he teetered slightly. “What the—”

“Pardon me,” Nick ground between clenched teeth, “but I don’t appreciate watching another man kiss my wife.”

“Your wife?”

Brittany Matthews’s decision to step between the two men who were squaring off opposite each other wasn’t made consciously. Once she’d done it she wasn’t sure it had been wise. Now she had a half-drunken cowboy behind her and an angry man in front of her. She had no doubt which of the two was going to be more difficult to deal with.

“Nick.”

His eyes were narrowed, accenting sculpted cheekbones and a slightly crooked nose. His hair was dark and just wavy enough to be unruly. His mouth was set in a straight line, his chin squared in a manner that had always meant trouble. There were taller men in the room. But none were more intimidating. Nick’s striking blue eyes were his one feature that could be soft. Right now they were shooting daggers at the man behind her. “Step aside, Brittany. This won’t take long.”

Brittany heard the murmur going through the crowd. Swallowing, she was more aware of the murmur going through her. She’d spent the better part of the past week preparing herself to see Nick again. If he had arrived when he said he would, she might have been prepared. Or maybe nothing could prepare a woman for the sight of the man who had been her first lover, and her greatest heartache.

She studied him thoughtfully for a moment, trying to get her emotions under control. Finally she shook her head and said, “You don’t have any reason to pick a fight with Forrest, Nick.”

Nick’s lip curled. “I think anytime a man’s wife is caught kissing another man is cause for a fight.”

“She told me she’s gettin’ a divorce,” the other man slurred.

Groaning out loud, Brittany snagged Nick’s hand and pulled him to a more-secluded spot on the floor. “I didn’t kiss him, you idiot.”

“You gonna give me a lesson on who puts what where?”

“Come on, Nick. Forrest is half-drunk.”

“Did you like it?”

“Did I—” She bristled. Nick Colter made her so mad.

“Well?” he prodded.

Oh, for heaven’s sakes. “Did it look like I liked it?”

“What the hell kind of answer is that?”

Brittany took a fortifying breath and willed herself to refrain from saying what she was thinking. Taking the utmost care to instill her voice with patience, she said, “What are you doing here tonight, Nick? I thought you said you weren’t coming until Monday.”

Nick ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the man with the silver ponytail and handlebar mustache. What was he doing here? There was a question. Turning his attention back to Brittany, he thought a better one would have been How did he ever let her go? Suddenly he felt very tired, and very alone.

Releasing a pent-up breath, he said, “I cleared up everything back home and took off a couple of days early. How are you, Brittany? And how’s Savannah?”

There was nothing Brittany could do to keep her heart from sliding into her stomach. Angry, Nick Colter was a force to be reckoned with. Nice, he was almost impossible to resist. Fighting valiantly to do just that, she gave in to a heartfelt sigh. “I’m fine, Nick. And so is Savannah. She fell asleep a little while ago. She’s going to be tickled to see you.”

Leading the way to a table on the far side of the room, she felt the eyes of half the people in town, yet she was more aware of Nick’s gaze following her every move. He’d always been able to undress her with his eyes. No matter what else had gone wrong between them, her husband had always been an earthy, virile man. Her soon-to-be ex-husband, she reminded herself. Training her eyes on her six-year-old daughter’s dark head nestled in the hollow of Crystal Galloway’s shoulder, Brittany hurried through the crowd.

“Well, well,” Crystal exclaimed, watching them advance. “Who have we here?”

Hoping her friend would attribute this sudden attack of breathlessness on her brisk trek across the room, Brittany said, “Crystal, this is Nick Colter. Savannah’s father.”

“Nice to meet you,” Nick said.

With delicate eyebrows arched knowingly, Crystal extended her right hand. Nick shook it, but strangely, his fingers didn’t linger.

Crystal smiled. “Charmed I’m sure.”

Brittany glanced up at Nick. She’d been wondering how he would react to Crystal. She wasn’t jealous. It just so happened that she thought the world of her new friend. But Crystal was gorgeous. And men always noticed, which made them easy targets for her flirtations. Nick’s attention had already shifted back to her as if seeing a buxom blonde with startling green eyes was no big deal. Brittany absolutely, positively forbade herself to melt.

“Taste this punch, Brittany,” Crystal said, holding up a paper cup.

Thankful to have something to do with her hands, Brittany lifted the cup to her lips. Two hours ago the punch had been sweet. Now, it warmed a path from her throat to her stomach where it curled outward in waves.

She glanced around the room, suddenly understanding the reason why the noise level was bordering on a dull roar. The punch was spiked. From the depth and heartiness of the men’s guffaws and the silliness of the women’s laughter, it had been that way for some time.

“Can you believe Isabell missed it?” Crystal asked, pointing to a gray-haired woman who bore an amazing likeness to the cartoon character Olive Oyl, and was twittering louder than anybody else.

Brittany smiled at the spectacle Isabell Pruitt and Opal Graham, two of the staunchest leaders of the Jasper Gulch Ladies Aid Society, were making from the center of the dance floor. “It looks like they’ve made up,” she said, thinking of all the months it had been since the former best friends had spoken. Cheeks flushed and chins bobbing, they moved their hands and shook their hips in a manner that looked very little like the dance they were trying to do.

“Isabell and Opal doing the Bunny Hop. Now there’s one for your history books, Brittany,” Crystal declared.

“Everybody’s getting sloshed,” Nick said, tossing the cup into a nearby trash can. “Reminds me of your senior prom. Somebody spiked the punch that night, too. Remember?”

Brittany didn’t intend to meet his eyes. Once she had, she couldn’t look away. He was gazing at her much as he had that night all those years ago. He’d been young and defiant then. He wasn’t much different now. Neither of them had touched a drop of alcohol that night. Brittany had felt intoxicated without it, drunk on whimsy and on love.

Nick had rented a tux for the prom, when she knew darn well he couldn’t afford it. Nick Colter had always been proud, had always been intent upon impressing her. What he’d never understood was that he didn’t have to try to impress her. She’d been a girl on the brink of womanhood. He’d been the first boy to kiss her with his tongue, the first boy to touch her breasts, the first boy to make her heart speed up and her breathing deepen. She could practically hear the rasp her dress zipper had made as he’d lowered it after the prom. She could practically feel that first touch of his hand on her naked skin. She’d been so certain he’d loved her, and so filled with the vehemence of youth. They’d managed to keep from going all the way that night. But they’d both known it was only a matter of time.

She came back to the present slowly. Nick was breathing through his mouth, a muscle working in one cheek much the way it had when he’d walked her to her door that night all those years ago. She still sighed when she thought about how reluctant she’d been to allow the night to end.

Crystal cleared her throat, reminding Brittany that she and Nick weren’t alone. “How old were you two when you met?” Crystal asked.

“Brittany was seventeen,” Nick answered. “I was two years older.”

“You went together for a long time, didn’t you? You must have known each other pretty well.”

Brittany didn’t know how to answer. She’d thought she’d known him. As the years had gone by, she’d begun to realize that knowing someone wasn’t always enough. Suddenly feeling as if she could use a stiff drink herself, she gave herself a mental shake and said, “I should take Savannah home.”

She reached for their child, but Nick beat her there. It required little effort to lift Savannah into his arms. She was petite like her mother, but he pretended to stagger beneath her weight. “She’s grown.”

Brittany nodded. “She just turned six.”

Nick knew how old his little girl was. He remembered every detail of the night she was born, just as he remembered every detail of the night she was conceived.

She stirred, smiling at him before her eyes had completely opened. “Daddy.”

“Hi, Savannah-banana.”

“Are you still mad at Mommy and me?” she asked.

Nick closed his eyes and shook his head. “I was angry, Savannah, but never at you or Mommy.”

He was almost glad when Brittany didn’t meet his gaze, not that she was fooling him with the way she pretended that all her attention was trained on getting Savannah into a small red coat. She was aware of the strong emotions between them, and so was he.

A helluva lot more people noticed Nick’s exit than had noticed his entry into the room. He could practically hear the speculation behind their stares. After all, he was leaving with a beautiful woman who happened to be his wife.

“Where’s your car?” he asked from the top step.

Brittany went down to the sidewalk before answering. “I came with Crystal.”

It was the end of March, and officially spring. A person couldn’t prove it by the snow clinging to the ground or the wind cutting through his clothing. Anxious to get Savannah and Brittany inside where it was safe and warm, Nick said, “Come on, my car’s over here.”

He made short work of the drive to Custer Street, thanks to Brittany’s simple directions. Her house was located in the middle of the block on one of the streets that didn’t have a sign. He’d driven past it earlier, just as he’d driven past every other house in town. While Brittany helped Savannah from the car, Nick reached into the back seat for his duffel bag and a battered old suitcase. With a case in each hand, he took a moment to study his surroundings. The house looked as old as all the other houses in town, but this one was larger than most and had a high roof, a long front porch and burgundy siding that set it apart from the others.

Brittany took a key from her purse and unlocked the front door. Eyeing the mechanism, Nick wondered why she bothered. The lock was old and could have been jimmied with a screw driver, a credit card, or a bent paper clip, for that matter.

“Mommy said you weren’t coming until Monday,” Savannah said, still holding her mother’s hand.

Nick’s gaze swept his daughter’s face. He knew before she batted her eyelashes that he was a goner. He could interrogate hardened criminals, yet one innocent statement from that little scrap of a girl had him scrambling for an explanation. He had planned to arrive on Monday. But he hadn’t planned on this driving need to get here sooner. Saying the only thing he could think of that was still the truth, he said, “I’ve missed you.”

“Are you going to stay, Daddy?”

He glanced up and found Brittany watching him. “For a while,” he said quietly, and left it at that.

All three of them walked inside, Brittany turning lights on as she went. “It’s past your bedtime, Savannah. Tell Daddy good-night.”

“But Daddy just got here.”

Nick almost smiled at the shrillness in Savannah’s voice. It was definitely an improvement on the nightmares followed by long stretches of silence she’d been having a year ago. Going down on his haunches, he said, “Mommy’s right. We’re all tired tonight. Tomorrow, when we’re rested, we’ll spend the whole day together.”

“Promise?”

His throat convulsed and all but closed. How many promises had he failed to keep these past seven years? “I promise, Savannah.”

Her smile finished the job to his throat, her arms winding shyly around his neck. “Good night, Daddy.”

He must have answered, because Savannah allowed her mother to lead her from the room without a struggle. Nick hovered in the doorway until they were out of sight. Then, testing the shakiness of his legs, he strode into the next room and the next. There was an old-fashioned kitchen with a monstrous antique stove and a round oak table, a bathroom with a claw-footed tub and green tile floor. A door led to the backyard via a laundry room. Another door led to the side yard off the kitchen. In fact, as far as he could tell, there were three exterior doors on the main floor. And enough low windows with faulty, or no, locks to make him shudder. The house had all the security of a chicken coop.

The floor creaked slightly, alerting him to Brittany’s presence behind him. “What are you doing, Nick?”

Trying for nonchalance, he crossed his arms and slowly turned around. “Is Savannah asleep?”

At her nod, he realized he’d been lost in thought longer than he’d realized. Shrugging, he said, “I guess I was snooping. This is quite a house.”

“It has seven bedrooms,” she answered. “That’s a lot of rooms to heat, believe me.”

Nick thought they were a lot of rooms for someone to hide in.

“Isn’t it incredible?” she asked, spreading her arms wide to encompass the entire house.

The light was on in the kitchen behind him and in the living room behind her, but not in the tiny alcove where they were both standing. As if she didn’t think it was wise to stay too long in a darkened room with him, she took a backward step, then deftly led the way through another door.

Nick followed as far as the doorway. Leaning one hip against the oak trim, he watched her switch on a low lamp.

“At one time this was used as a study,” she said. “It’s my favorite room. This house was one of the first to be built in Jasper Gulch and belonged to the first doctor to settle in this part of the territory.”

She strode to a low table where she turned on another lamp. The soft bulb cast shadows into the corners, delineating the curve of her hip through the thin fabric of her dress. She was talking about the history of the house, but Nick couldn’t stop thinking about the history between them. He took a step toward her, propelled by the need to be closer and something else he’d never fully understood.

Her hair looked even darker in the soft lamplight. Tendrils curled over the collar of her green dress and clung to her cheeks, accenting the delicate hollows below her cheekbones and the darkness of her eyes. She slanted him a look, then immediately started to speak, as if she thought talking would break the pull that had always been between them. He could have told her there was nothing she could do to accomplish that, but he didn’t want her to stop talking. Lord, he’d missed the clear, sultry sound of her voice.

“See those books?” she asked, gesturing to a tall bookcase. “Some of them are the very texts Doctor Avery used to treat patients. I think he used this room as an examination room when he first started his practice.” She moved again, this time to sweep a thick curtain aside. “Look at this. Fur traders and Indians and later gold seekers and cowboys could come right in without traipsing through the rest of the house.”

Nick stared at the narrow oak panels behind the curtain. Make that four doors leading directly to the outside.

“Nick, what is it?”

Nick heard the hesitation in her voice, saw it in her eyes. He didn’t know what to tell her, how much to tell her, if he should tell her at all. He waited a moment too long to come up with an answer, because she straightened, bristling.

“I was hoping you would try to keep an open mind.”

Ignoring the stiffness he’d acquired during his twelve-hour drive from Chicago, he tried to decide whether to be relieved or angry that she’d automatically jumped to the wrong conclusion. “Don’t I always keep an open mind?”

“Pu-lease.”

“What?”

She was staring at him, mouth gaping. “Since when have you been open-minded about anything?”

He started to speak, closed his mouth and tried again, only to repeat the process. By the time he’d thought of an answer, she was trying not to smile. He almost couldn’t speak all over again. “Well,” he finally said, “I didn’t punch Forrest in the nose when he kissed you tonight.”

“It was very big of you to refrain from hitting a man who was making an innocent pass at me in a crowded room, Nick.”

He stared at her silently, then took a step closer.

“What?” she asked.

“Oh. I was just thinking about the first time I saw you. It seems to me you were with another man that night, too.”

Brittany took careful note of Nick’s features and calmly crossed her arms. “I was not with another man tonight. And the night we met I was with a boy.”

“Your hair was long then,” he said as if she hadn’t spoken. “It hung straight and shimmery halfway down your back. Every time I looked at it I knew I had to wrap my hands in it. Never mind that you were too young, too innocent and way too good for a boy like me.”

Brittany knew she should put a stop to all this reminiscing. Just as she knew she had to put the past in perspective. And she would, as soon as she got her bearings and reminded herself of her resolve. That had always been hard to do with Nick. If he had walked directly to her, she could have put her hand up to ward off his advance. But he only took one slow, easy step at a time, and he kept talking in that same easy way he had, melting her resolve one degree at a time.

“Never mind that I had a bear of an exam to take at the police academy at 8:00 a.m. the next morning and my brother would have had my butt in a sling if I was late,” he said, his blue eyes now as soft and mellow as lamplight.

Brittany tried to swallow the hoarseness in her throat “We went out for burgers, Nick, and talked until midnight. But you never touched my hair that night.”

“I was imagining it the whole time, savoring the moment, enjoying the anticipation.” He reached up and threaded his fingers through the hair at her ear.

“It isn’t long anymore,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes. And she knew he was savoring again. A muscle convulsed in his throat and his lips parted. And then, as if he’d had all the savoring he could stand, he pulled her to him and covered her mouth with his.

His kiss was as familiar as the sound of her own name, his scent one that could never be bottled. She breathed it all the way to the bottom of her lungs, the scent of man and soap and cold winter air. Her own eyes drifted closed, her lips parting beneath his.

His mouth moved over hers like a man a long time denied. He’d always kissed her like this, even the first time. He’d swept her off her feet that night. And she’d let him. She didn’t blame him. And she didn’t blame herself. She’d been a lonely girl in another new town, and he’d been a dark, brooding nineteen-year-old with a bad-boy smile and an amazingly kind heart. She’d been hopelessly in love with him. Also hopelessly naive. She’d latched on to him for stability, when she should have been nurturing her own fledgling strength.

She was older now and wiser and, God help her, stronger. Strong enough to put an end to what was happening between them before it burned out of control.

He groaned what sounded like her name. Deepening the kiss, he wrapped his arms around her back, molding her to every hard inch of him. Even as she sighed his name she knew what she had to do. She shuddered, turning her face an inch and then two. Sucking in a ragged breath of air, she straightened her spine and let her arms fall away from his waist.

He kissed her cheek, her temple, the delicate ridge of her ear, moaning in protest when she shook her head.

“Nick. We can’t do this. Not anymore.”