Kristine Rolofson – Blame It On Babies (страница 6)

So Jess eased alongside of her and, as they lay facing each other, he fitted himself against her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, slid one leg over his, and welcomed him inside of her. He thought he’d died and gone to heaven—a heaven where a passionate woman wanted to make love with him.

Jess took his time, moving in and out slowly. Then deeper, testing to see if his length would hurt her. If anything, she seemed to want more of him, lifting her mouth to his to kiss him while they were joined together. He cupped her buttocks, holding her tightly against him as he took her again and again, until Jess wondered if he would ever want to do anything else but be inside of her. At the same time her breath caught, he felt the contractions of her climax and she made the tiniest of sounds against his mouth. That was all he needed to push him over the edge and when he came, it was for longer than he’d thought was humanly possible.

Much later, when dawn lightened the room and he slipped out of the bed to find his clothes, Jess made his escape. The woman was still asleep and Jess knew that, despite drinking too much last night, he’d managed to wind up in bed with Texas Tom’s waitress. How that happened, he didn’t remember, but he knew he wasn’t going to stick around to find out. He had a job to get to. And, besides, women were never as nice to him in the morning as they were at night.

3

“SHERIDAN’S BACK,” Lorna heard someone at the counter announce. “Carter said he walked into the sheriff’s office late last night and moved his stuff in.”

“Where’s he been?”

“Workin’ over in Huntsville, I heard. He was pretty broken up about that divorce,” another man added. “Had to leave town, y’know, ’cuz she ran off with—who’d she run off with?”

No one answered, which Lorna found a little disappointing. She would have liked to know exactly what happened to Jess’s marriage and why. She waited for someone to mention whether or not he had children, but no one offered the information.

“I heard he’s renting a place from Jackson.”

“Nah,” came another opinion. “He won’t live in town. He’ll go out to his place and start ranchin’ again.”

“I thought his wife got the ranch,” someone added. “You know, in the divorce.”

“She sold it,” another retired cowboy declared. “She always was a hard one to like, but she was a good looker, all right.”

Lorna picked up the coffee carafe and turned to refill cups along the counter. Ten stools, ten men, ten coffee cups. And one topic of conversation: the return of Jess Sheridan. Her hand shook a little as she made her way down the counter. She’d hoped Jess Sheridan would walk back into her life; she’d prayed he wouldn’t. It just depended on the day. And the weather. And how much her feet hurt.

“You okay, Lorna?” one of the older men asked. “Maybe you should rest a little.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, not much for sympathy. “You make your bed, you lie in it,” was another one of her mother’s maxims. Lorna figured she’d made herself quite a complicated bed, all right. And she would lie in it without complaining.

“Can we get some more cream in here?” the next guy asked, pushing the stainless steel creamer toward her.

“Sure.” She finished refilling the mugs, replenished the cream, rang up two transactions on the cash register and glanced out the window three times, but saw no one or nothing of any interest. January in Beauville wasn’t exactly the busy season, and the breakfast rush was over. She enjoyed her job at the Coffee Pot Café. The customers were, for the most part, a pleasant and undemanding group. Her boss believed in serving good food, kept the place spotless and didn’t mind when Lorna took a few minutes to rest whenever she grew tired.

She glanced at the clock above the door and saw that it was almost ten o’clock. There would be some time to sit down before the lunch rush began.

So Jess Sheridan was back in town. She’d read in the paper he’d accepted the job as sheriff. She’d also read he was some kind of hero, having risked his life doing undercover work at the Huntsville prison.

Lorna didn’t care what kind of hero he was. She only wanted him to go away before he discovered she was having his baby.

NOTHING IN BEAUVILLE had changed in six months, Jess figured. He’d done his stint at Huntsville, added a healthy sum to his bank account and now could afford to contact Bobby Calhoun about buying back his ranch. Until then he was homeless, or pretty close, if he didn’t count his room at the motel. He’d looked at a couple of apartments above the drugstore, but Jess wasn’t ready to move in just yet.

He drove along Beaumont Street, along the north border of the park, and realized he hadn’t set foot in town since the weekend of Jake Johnson’s wedding. That was one night he hadn’t forgotten. And probably never would. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since. He’d never been so stupid in his life, unless he counted his marriage.

But that night in July had been one hell of a night. He shouldn’t be thinking about sex. He shouldn’t be cruising the streets of Beauville looking for the sight of a curvaceous curly-haired blonde and trying to remember where she lived the night he slept there. He knew it was a small house not too far from the park, but the next morning pain, embarrassment and guilt had combined to make him unaware of his precise surroundings until he stumbled back to the Grange and found his truck parked around the corner. It hadn’t been one of his best mornings.

Jess turned on Main Street and tried to forget what a fool he’d been that night last summer. He could sure use a cup of coffee and he wouldn’t mind a little conversation, either. The Coffee Pot didn’t look crowded, which suited Jess just fine. He didn’t feel like talking.

And he didn’t think talking would be possible when his mouth went dry at the sight of the woman from last summer sitting in the café. But was it her? Jess hesitated before taking a seat at a table by the door. The woman in a booth at the other end of the room sat with her back to him, a familiar mass of yellow curls twisted into a knot at the top of her head.

He didn’t know if he wanted it to be her or not. For one thing, he wasn’t sure she’d remember him. Which wasn’t exactly a compliment to the lady. Or to himself. For another, it was damn embarrassing to come face-to-face with someone you’d only known for one night—and one sexual encounter.

But what an encounter.

Jess ordered coffee from Charlie, who’d come out of the kitchen to welcome him back.

“Is there anything else I can get you, Jess? Breakfast is on the house,” the man offered.

“In that case, I’ll have a couple of eggs over easy,” Jess said, not wanting to hurt Charlie’s feelings.

“We’ve missed you around here,” the cook said, going back behind the counter to pour the coffee. He came back with an oversize mug he set in front of Jess. “Black, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing once more at the yellow curls in the back booth. “You remembered.”

“Sure. You weren’t gone that long.”

“Are you the waitress now, too, Charlie?”

“Nah. She’s taking a break. Holler if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” Jess took a sip of coffee and looked around the café. The place hadn’t changed for as long as he remembered. Though he’d grown up outside of town, his father brought him here for breakfast every Saturday morning. He nodded at a couple of older men on their stools who swiveled at the counter toward him. He pretended he recognized them, accepted their “welcome back” and “good to see you again,” but his gaze went more often to the woman at the end of the room. In fact, she was seated at the last booth before the rest rooms, so Jess decided it was time he answered nature’s call. Or at least pretended to.

He slid out of the booth, left his hat on the table, and headed toward the far end of the restaurant. He couldn’t see her when he passed, though he tried to look out of the corner of his eye. Jess went into the men’s room and washed his hands, smoothed back his hair and looked at the fool in the mirror, who looked back at him as if he was the biggest idiot in Texas.

When he stepped out, he was conscious of his heart racing faster than usual, and his throat had gone dry again. And all because of the sight of yellow curls. His gaze went right to her, and he knew her right away, even though she had her head lowered and appeared to be reading a magazine.

“Excuse me,” he said, pausing at the table. The profile, the petite nose, the hair—it had to be her. So when she turned and lifted her gaze to meet his, there was no doubt he’d found the woman he’d made love to last July. In fact, she blushed. And he thought his own face felt a little too warm, but then again, Charlie didn’t care to use a whole lot of air-conditioning this time of year.

“Yes?”

It occurred to him that he didn’t know her name. “Haven’t we met?”

She looked straight into his eyes and lied. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Really.” He looked at her until those blue eyes blinked once and then looked away to her magazine. “Are you sure?”

She glanced toward him once again. “I’m sorry,” she said, but there was no regret in her voice. “I suppose I would have remembered.”