Where There's Smoke

He lowered his hand to her waist and pressed it. Another tiny shudder went through her. God, it was exciting. He wanted to chart that shudder from her breasts, up her throat, and across her mouth. But of course he didn’t.

Eventually she angled her head back and gazed up at him with rapidly blinking eyes. She was embarrassed. Her cheeks were flushed. Her breathing was rapid and shallow. She rolled her lips inward, then released a breathy little laugh.

“I’d better go now. If I’m late for supper, Key’s likely to come looking for me.”

He scooted back behind the steering wheel. “Sure enough.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

There was the slightest inflection of inquiry attached. “Bright and early.” He smiled, although it was a strain because his cock was throbbing like a

son of a bitch.

She opened the door and was on the verge of getting out when she turned back and said in one gust of breath, “I love you, Bowie.”

She slammed the truck’s door, ran to her car, scrambled into the driver’s seat, and drove away. Bowie watched the cloud of dust she raised until it had dissipated. Even then he sat behind the steering wheel of the truck, staring through crusty insect carcasses and oil-field grime, unable to move, shell-shocked by her parting words.

Well, that explained the kissing spree, he thought. Janellen Tackett wasn’t right in the head. In fact, she was plumb crazy.

Nobody had ever loved Bowie Cato.

Chapter Fourteen

“Are you awake?”

“I am now.” Lara’s nightstand clock registered 2:03 A.M. “Who is this?”

“Key Tackett.”

She groaned, burrowing her head deeper into her pillow and almost letting the telephone receiver slip from her hand. “Is this another of your emergencies?”

“Yes.”

Sensing the strain in his voice, Lara came fully awake. This wasn’t a prank. She sat up and switched on the nightstand lamp. “What is it?”

“Are you familiar with the state highway everybody calls the Old Ballard Road?”

“I know where it is.”

“Go south on it two miles beyond the Dairy Queen. On your right will be a cutoff. There’s an old windmill there, so you can’t miss it. A few hundred feet beyond that, on your left, there’s a farmhouse. My Lincoln is parked out front. Bring your stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Doctor stuff. Hurry.”

“But—”

The line went dead. She flung back the covers; her feet hit the floor running. It was second nature to respond to an emergency call. She didn’t pause to consider the advisability of responding to this one until she was speeding down the dark, deserted highway. If the Tacketts really wanted to get rid of her permanently, how better than to trick her into going out in the middle of the night on an emergency call from which she would never return?

She had pulled on the first clothes her hands had touched and shoved her feet into a pair of sneakers. In the clinic, she’d filled her medical bag with supplies that would handle most, but certainly not all, emergencies.

She might very well be walking into a trap, but she could not have said no to the summons. And, strange as it was, she believed the urgency in Key’s voice had been genuine.

She sped past the windmill before seeing it. If his directions hadn’t included it, she never would have spotted the narrow, unmarked road. She backed up and took the turn sharply. Moments later her headlights swept across a frame farmhouse. As promised, Key’s yellow Lincoln was parked in front. She pulled in beside it, grabbed her bag, and alighted.

The dogs went berserk.

Key had been watching for her from the living room window. As soon as she wheeled in, he pulled open the front door. Unfortunately he didn’t reach it in time to call off the hunting hounds who charged out from their various lairs to surround Lara with snarling maws. They raised a horrendous racket.