Seventeen
When it registered why he just sat there staring at her with
a vacuous, unfocused, and somewhat surprised expression,
Alex tried to scream, but nothing came out. Her mouth had
turned to cotton. Reaching behind her, she tried to open the
pickup door. It stubbornly resisted.
After frantically tugging on the handle, she gave it her
shoulder. It swung open so suddenly that she almost fell out.
In her scrambling haste to put distance between her and the
bloody corpse, the toe of her shoe got caught in the gravel.
She stumbled and fell, landing hard on the heels of her hands
and scraping her knees.
She cried out in pain and fear and tried to stand. Plunging
headlong into the darkness, she was suddenly blinded by a
pair of headlights and petrified by the blasting of a horn.
Reflexively, she raised her hand to shield her eyes. Against
the backdrop of brilliant light, she made out the outline of a
man approaching her. Before she could run or utter a peep,
he said, "You get around, don't you?"
"Reede!" she cried in a mix of relief and terror.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
He didn't sound at all sympathetic. That enraged her. "I
could ask you the same question. That man," she said, pointing
a shaky finger toward the pickup, "is dead."
"Yeah, I know."
"You know?"
"His name is, uh, was Pasty Hickam. He's a ranch hand
who used to work for Angus." He peered through the bug-splattered
windshield and shook his head. "Jesus, what a
mess."
"Is that all you can say?"
He turned on her. "No, I could say that the only reason
I'm not taking you in on suspicion of murder is because
whoever phoned in the tip that Pasty was sitting in his pickup
with his throat cut didn't mention that there was a broad with
him."
"Somebody tipped you?"
"That's right. Any idea who?"
"I guess whoever knew I was coming here to meet him,"
she shouted. Then, when another thought struck her, she
became still and quiet.' 'How'd you get here so fast, Reede?''
"You think I headed him off and put a knife to his throat?"
he asked with an incredulous laugh.
"It's possible."
Holding her stare, he called for one of his deputies. Alex
hadn't realized until then that there was someone with him.
She became aware of a couple of things at once--the wail
of an approaching siren, the appearance of curious customers,
who were rushing out the door of the bar to see what the
commotion was about.
"Escort her back to her motel," Reede curtly instructed
the deputy. "See that she gets inside her room."
"Yes, sir."
"Keep an eye on her till daylight. Make sure she doesn't
go anywhere."
Alex and the sheriff exchanged a hostile stare before she
allowed the deputy to lead her back to her car.
'' Sheriff?'' The deputy tapped hesitantly on the door before
daring to open it. The word around the office that morning
was that Reede was in a bitch of a mood, and only partially
because of Pasty Hickam's death the night before. Everybody
was walking on eggshells.
"What is it?"
"I've got some papers for you to sign."
"Give them here." Reede eased up from his half-reclining
position in the swivel chair and reached for the stack of official
documents and letters. He scrawled his signature where it
was called for.
"How's Ruby Faye this morning?"
Pasty's lover had been found in her mobile home when the
sheriff arrived there to question her, beaten to a pulp. Before
passing out, she named her cuckolded husband as the culprit.
"Lyle did almost as good a number on her as he did on
Pasty. She's gonna have to stay in the hospital a week or so.
The kids have been packed off to her mama's house."
Reede's expression turned even surlier. He had no tolerance
for men who physically abused women, no matter what the
provocation. He had been on the receiving end of too many
beatings from his old man to stomach domestic violence.
He passed the paperwork back to the clerk. "Any feedback
on that APR?"
"No, sir. I'll let you know. And you told me to remind
you that you're scheduled to testify in Judge Wallace's court
this afternoon."
"Shit, I would've forgotten. Okay, thanks." The deputy
gratefully withdrew, but Reede had mentally dismissed him
from his mind even before the door clicked shut.
He couldn't hold a thought for longer than a few seconds
this morning. The image of Alex left little room for any
others.
Swearing liberally, he left his chair and moved to the window.
Outside, it was another sunny day. He was reminded
of yesterday, when he'd pulled her up on that horse with him
and the sunlight had turned her hair a deep, mahogany red.
That's what he must have been thinking about when he'd
started shooting off his mouth about that stupid football trophy.
Why, for crissake, had he kept it all this time? Every time
he looked at it his emotions were split right down the middle, the way they'd been the night he had received it. His elation
had been dampened because Junior hadn't been named most
valuable player. Crazy as the notion was, he had wanted to
apologize to Angus and Junior for winning the award. He'd
deserved it because he was the better athlete, but winning
over Junior had tainted the prize.
Alex had figured all that out by herself. She was smart,
all right. But she wasn't as tough as she pretended to be.
She'd had the daylights scared out of her last night, and
justifiably so. Pasty had never been a pretty sight, but dead,
with blood congealing on his down jacket, he was even uglier.
Maybe it had been good for her to see that. Maybe she
wouldn't be so eager to uncover secrets that were none of
her concern. Maybe Pasty's grisly murder would scare her
out of investigating Celina's. Maybe she'd leave Purcell and
never come back.
That possibility should have cheered him. It didn't. It made
him angrier with her and with himself.
Kissing her yesterday had been a dumb move. He had let
her provoke him. He'd lost his temper. He hadn't been in
control of himself. The excuse relieved his conscience, just
enough for him to live with what had happened. At the same
time, however, it scared the hell out of him. Alex had pushed
him over the edge of sound reason. Only one other person
had ever been able to do that--Celina.
How had the clever little witch tricked him into mentioning
that kiss, he wondered. He hadn't thought about it in years,
but all of a sudden, it had been vivid in his mind.
It had been a hot September day, he remembered, when
he had gone to check on Celina after she had failed to report
to school. The old window air-conditioning unit had labored
to cool the stifling little house without much success. The air
was hot and humid, instead of hot and dry.
Celina wasn't acting like herself. She had let him in, but
had acted subdued, as though this first rite of passage into
womanhood had robbed her of girlish animation. Her eyes
had been puffy from crying. He had been scared that something
was terribly wrong.
When she had told him about her period, he'd been so
relieved he had wanted to laugh. He hadn't, though. Her
bleak expression had quashed any levity. He had put his arms
around her, held her tenderly, stroked her hair, and reassured
her that it was something wonderful, not shameful. Seeking
comfort, she had wrapped her arms around his waist and
nuzzled her face against his collarbone.
For a long time, they had just clung to each other, as they
had so many times in the past when it seemed that the two
of them were at odds with the rest of the world. But he felt
a need to solemnize this occasion, to officially mark her
departure from childhood.
He had kissed her cheek first. Tears had left it damp and
salty. He kissed his way down. She caught her breath suddenly,
and held it, until he pressed his lips firmly upon hers.
It was a fervent but chaste kiss.
He had kissed other girls using his tongue. The Gail sisters
were already adept at French kissing, and had been eager to
share their expertise with him. At least once a week he met
the three of them in the abandoned VFW hall and took turns
kissing them, feeling their breasts, and slipping his hand into
the elastic legs of their cotton panties to touch the hair between
their thighs. They quarreled over which one got to undo his
pants and fondle him first.
Those sweaty, sordid interludes made life with his father
bearable. They were also the only secret he kept from Celina.
What he did with the Gail sisters would probably embarrass
her if she knew. It might also make her mad. Either way, it
was better that she didn't know about the condemned VFW
hall and what he did there.
But when he felt Celina's mouth beneath his, and heard
that little catch in her throat, he had wanted to kiss her the
correct way--the good and exciting and forbidden way. Unable
to resist the temptation, his body had overruled his mind.
He'd barely touched the seam of her lips with the tip of
his tongue before he felt them separate. Heart pounding,
blood boiling, he drew her closer and pushed his tongue into
her mouth. When she didn't recoil, he moved it around. She
clutched his waist. Her small, pointed breasts burned like
brands against his chest.
God, he had thought he was going to die of pleasure. It
was immense. The experience rocked the foundations of his
adolescent soul. His body had vibrated with volcanic energy.
He had wanted to go on kissing Celina Graham forever. But
when his penis became so engorged it pressed against her
middle, he pushed her away and began babbling apologies.
Celina had stared at him for several seconds, wide-eyed
and breathless, then threw herself against him, wrapped her
arms around his neck, and told him that she was glad he had
kissed her like that. She loved him. He loved her. They were
going to get married someday, and nothing was going to come
between them, ever.
Now Reede, rubbing his eyes tiredly, returned to his desk
and flopped down into the creaky chair. He had been furious
with Alex for calling forth memories he had strived for years
to keep at bay. It had been his intention to punish and insult
her with that kiss.
But, dammit, he hadn't counted on her feeling so good
against him--all fur coat and soft wool and warm skin. He
hadn't expected her mouth to taste so goddamn sweet.That
sweetness still lingered on his tongue. How could he have
guessed that her breasts would be that full and soft?
He sure as hell hadn't bargained on his body becoming
embarrassingly, instantly aroused for Celina's daughter. It
was harder than he'd ever gotten for the Gail sisters--harder
than he'd ever gotten period. Hell, he was still hard.
That was just one reason why the impetuous embrace had
left him feeling mad as hell at her and not much kinder toward
himself. Alex Gaither, the woman he had kissed like crazy
yesterday, had all but accused him of two murders, first
Celina's, then Pasty's. Even if she couldn't make those
allegations stick, she could still spoil all his plans for the
future.
He was so close to realizing his dreams. He was about to