Blue Sage (Anne Stuart's Greatest Hits Book 3) Read online

  His hands were gentle on her, pushing the thick hair out of her face, easing her against him. “Relax,” he whispered. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do.”

  She let out her pent-up breath, not even realizing she’d been holding it, and softened her body against his. “I’ve never done this before,” she confessed, her husky voice as quiet as his. The flickering light from the kerosene lamp was fading as the wick soaked up the last traces of fuel, and the shadows that closed around them were friendly ones. For the moment the memory of Charles Tanner was gone.

  He was stroking her hair, and at her shy words his hand stopped for a moment, then continued the steady caress. “You’re not in the habit of climbing into bed with strange men in the middle of the night?”

  She’d come to the inescapable conclusion that he was going to find out sooner or later. “I’m not in the habit of climbing into bed with anyone.”

  “Dear God,” he said, and she didn’t know whether it was a prayer or a curse. “Not even the Judge?”

  “Not even the Judge.” It was easier to talk in the semi-darkness, her face hidden against his skin, his arms warm and hard and safe around her. “That wasn’t supposed to be part of our marriage agreement.”

  He seemed to know intuitively what she was leaving out. “But he changed his mind?” he asked.

  He might as well know the whole sordid truth. “Yes,” she said. “But it didn’t do any good. He couldn’t—I mean, he didn’t—” She was getting agitated, and his hands kept up their hypnotic, soothing caresses.

  “I get the idea,” he said wryly. “And there hasn’t been anyone else?”

  She never considered lies or evasions. “There was Lonnie,” she confessed in a low, miserable voice.

  “Well, then,” he said, and then stopped. He must have felt the tension in her body. “What happened with Lonnie?”

  “The same thing.”

  Tanner let out a sigh, and Ellie unconsciously did the same. There was nothing worse for him to know, it was all out in the open. “Poor Lonnie,” he said absently, his lips brushing her forehead. “He really can’t do anything right.”

  He smelled like the rain. Like warm male flesh, and whiskey and the faintest tang of kerosene. She closed her eyes, pressing her face against him, drinking in the scents and textures of the night. “Tanner,” she whispered, “would you hold me? Just hold me tonight, and nothing more?”

  His hand didn’t stop its rhythmic stroking of her hair. “I’ll do anything you want me to,” he replied, his voice low and rumbling beneath her ear.

  She believed him. She trusted him, more than she had ever trusted anyone in her life. It didn’t matter that they were wedged together in a narrow cot in the deserted cabin that had seen one man’s descent into madness. It didn’t matter that he clearly had been through half the women west of the Rockies, and that there was no foreseeable future for them. Nothing mattered but the surprising comfort of his arms around her, the feel of his long legs entwined with hers, the heat of his body warming the chill that seemed to emanate from the very marrow of her bones. Nothing mattered but Tanner.

  * * * * *

  He was amazed how little time it took her to fall asleep. He was amazed at how comfortable he was, how relaxed with her surprisingly delicate body in his arms, despite the narrowness of the cot, despite the very normal pulse of desire vibrating through him. He lay there, at ease, watching the light burn lower and lower in the kerosene lamp he’d unearthed from behind the cabin.

  He didn’t want the light to go out. He liked watching her shadowed profile resting so trustingly against his chest, he liked looking at her legs stretched out with his, he liked the sight of her hand curled up in his shirt.

  The rain was slowing its relentless downpour. The lamp flickered and went out, the cabin was swathed in darkness, and instead of seeing her he could feel her, the softness of her skin and the seeming weightlessness of her body. He could smell her, the faint scent of flowers that clung to her, and he could hear her, the quiet, steady breathing of someone deeply asleep.

  He waited for the familiar restlessness to wash over him. He’d long ago lost count of the number of women he’d bedded. It wasn’t a fact he was proud of. And of all those countless, some of them faceless, women, he had never slept with one of them. Once the act was completed, whether it was adequate, boring or sublime, and his partner had drifted into sleep, he’d taken his leave.

  He’d figured it out once, when the lady of the moment, one who’d stayed around longer than usual, had pointed out his dereliction. He knew it was like his reluctance to shake hands. Making love was something natural, mutually pleasurable and temporary. Falling asleep with someone, sleeping through the night next to her, was an act of trust and faith, one he wasn’t going to make.

  Ellie sighed, dropping her head lower on his chest, and her hair tickled his chin. He could get out of the bed easily, he knew it. She was deeply asleep, and it wouldn’t take much of an effort to untangle himself. He had a sleeping bag he could spread out on the floor, or he could even head outside. The rain had almost stopped by now, and he wasn’t unused to sleeping on the wet ground.

  But the odd thing was, he didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to escape from Ellie Johnson Lundquist. In this narrow bed there was still room behind him, if he wanted to back away. Instead he slid his hand up inside her cotton sweater, gently cupping the soft round swell of her breast. She sighed again, pushing against him in unconscious longing, her nipple hardening instinctively against his fingers. And with that small victory he fell asleep.

  Somewhere in the night the rain had stopped. Somewhere in the night the moon had risen, sending faint tendrils of light through the open doorway of the cabin. Tanner awoke, slightly disoriented, his body very still.

  Ellie slept on, wrapped around him. He didn’t move, he scarcely breathed as his body resettled itself against hers. He didn’t wear a watch, and tonight neither had Ellie, so he had no idea what time it was. It didn’t matter. There was nowhere else on earth he would rather be, day or night, dawn or dusk.

  And then he heard it again. The unmistakable rustling of the bushes out back behind the cabin. The stream had swollen in the downpour, and the rushing water almost masked the sound of careful footsteps. Almost.

  Tension raced through his veins like fire. Someone was outside, watching. Someone with a gun?

  There were no animals here, but maybe whoever it was had already graduated to humans. There were more than enough people around who owed Charles Tanner revenge. People whose sons had been killed. Would it make some twisted kind of sense to kill Charles Tanner’s own son, fifteen years later, a posthumous evening up of the score?

  He could smell the whiff of tobacco. Tomorrow when he went out he’d find a crumpled butt outside his window. If he waited that long. If he got up right now he wouldn’t have to wait to find out who was behind this macabre game of repeating history. He was used to being silent in the wilderness—he had no doubt at all that he could sneak up on his watcher before he was even aware he was being stalked in return.

  But he wasn’t going to do that. For one thing, he didn’t know what he’d find lurking behind his cabin. Forcing a confrontation would mean involving Ellie, and he wasn’t convinced of his ability to keep her safe.

  For another, a tiny, twisted part of him was afraid of what he might find. Maybe his father was out there, maybe he’d never died. Or maybe no one was out there at all; maybe Tanner had gone crazy just like his father and was imagining things. Or perhaps half the town of Morey’s Falls was there as a lynch mob.

  But most of all, he didn’t want to leave Ellie. He didn’t want to risk waking her, risk having her panic and leave him. Right now he was willing to shut his eyes to the watcher in the trees, to the evil that lingered outside the cabin, and hold on to the goodness within his arms. Whether he’d regret that choice sooner or later didn’t matter. The choice was made.

  When he awoke again it was br
ight daylight, and he was alone. He sat bolt upright, instantly awake, dimly aware of a sweeping sense of desolation, of a sharp aloneness such as he’d never felt before.

  “Thank heavens you’re awake,” Ellie said from the open doorway. “I would kill for a cup of coffee, and there was no way I could start a fire, much less figure out how you could work that contraption of yours.” She gestured toward the dismantled coffee maker.

  He couldn’t read her mood. Or maybe he was afraid to. She was looking across at him, smiling, her hair a tangled cloud around her face—and he could see no regrets, no hesitation in her eyes.

  “You could have left.”

  “You know, I considered that.” She advanced into the room, brushing her hands against her jeans. “I thought I could drive over to Addie’s and beg a thermos of coffee from her, bring it back and… Oh,” she said suddenly, her eyes going blank. “You didn’t mean come back.”

  “I don’t know what I meant.” This was coming out wrong, but he was wary, too wary. He swung his legs out of bed, watching her.

  Color had stained her face, a soft blush spreading across her cheekbones. “I’m sorry. I suppose you want me to leave. I don’t really understand the etiquette in these situations, and I mishandled…”

  He’d reached her by this time, and it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world to pull her into his arms and kiss her as he’d wanted to the night before. If he’d expected opposition he found none. She slid her arms around his waist, pulling him closer, and tilted her head back, her mane of hair hanging down over his arm as he tasted the sweetness she offered so willingly.

  It was beguiling, the innocence and enthusiasm in her untutored mouth. He kissed her slowly, lingeringly, giving her time to get used to the contours of his mouth, the dampness and texture, before using his tongue. He loved her little start of surprise at his intrusion, the acquiescence, the growing boldness as her tongue touched his.

  Her hands tightened on his waist, digging in slightly, and if his mouth hadn’t been busy he would have smiled. Instead he encouraged her, teasing her, his mouth sliding wetly over hers, lips nibbling, touching, biting, tongues dancing against each other.

  A distant part of his brain wondered if she could feel how he wanted her. If, with her limited experience, she could sense his desire. She was pressed up against him, her hips rocking gently against his, and if her mind didn’t know, her instincts certainly did. He groaned, deep in the back of his throat, and broke off the kiss.

  “No, I didn’t want you to leave,” he said, his voice a ragged growl of frustrated desire. He kept his arms around her, kept her held against his fully aroused body. Her eyes were smoky and slightly dazed as they looked into his, and her mouth was damp and swollen from his kisses.

  “I don’t want to go.” She stood then on tiptoe, her body rubbing against his, and the gentle friction was agonizingly erotic. She pressed her mouth against his, seeking him, and he was lost. Without even realizing what he was doing he scooped her up in his arms, never breaking the kiss, and started back across the cabin to the narrow bed.

  Reality intruded seconds before he would have dropped her onto the cot and covered her body with his. Slowly, reluctantly his mouth left hers, slowly, reluctantly he set her down, every nerve in his body screaming with frustration. “No,” he said, taking a step back from her, knowing if he kept touching her he wouldn’t be able to stop.

  “No?” she echoed, uncertainty clouding her eyes.

  “Not here,” he said gently. “Not now. I don’t want to make love to you in Charles Tanner’s bed, worrying whether your friends or townspeople are going to walk in on us at any moment.”

  It was her turn to be frustrated, and if his body hadn’t been crying out in need he would have laughed at her expression. “I don’t mind “

  “I do.”

  “But when?”

  He wanted to kiss her again, but he didn’t dare. He wanted to soothe the taut lines of her shoulders, but he didn’t dare. “When it’s right,” he said, his tight voice belying his certainty.

  She looked around her, at the weather-stained walls and shabby, broken furniture and sighed in reluctant acceptance. “Soon?” she inquired, like a child asking for an ice cream cone.

  This time he did laugh, breaking some of the tension that held him in thrall. “Damned soon,” he said fervently, still not daring to touch her. “Come on, Ellie. We’ll go out for coffee.”

  * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  * * *

  This town was having a dangerous effect on him, Tanner thought several hours later. Never in his life had he turned down what was so freely offered. There had been Ginger, warm and lush and willing, with no strings, no commitments, and he hadn’t even been interested.

  And that morning there had been Ellie, sweet and eager in his arms, and he’d wanted her so much that the pain of it was a raw ache in his gut. For some reason he’d decided to be noble. Normally he wouldn’t have cared whether anyone had walked in the door. Normally he wouldn’t have cared where or when.

  But he cared with Ellie. He wanted to make it right; he wanted to make it perfect. And tumbling her on Charles Tanner’s bed wasn’t the way to do it, even if right then he was regretting his decision.

  He slid down a bit on the wide leather seat of Ellie’s Buick, squinting into the sunlight. She was taking a long time in the grocery store, but at least the good citizens of Morey’s Falls hadn’t noticed him lounging there. She’d parked on a side street, he didn’t know whether by accident or design, and not a single pedestrian had walked by.

  He looked over at the window of the Morey’s Falls Gazette. Sunlight was reflecting off the streaked glass, but he thought he could see the figure of a man inside. Poor Lonnie, indeed. He could almost be grateful to the guy. Not that he usually cared one way or the other about virginity, but some small, irrational part of him liked the fact that he would be Ellie’s first. He had every intention of being her best.

  That same small, irrational part of him wanted to carry the notion one step further. To be Ellie’s one and only. He knew that was a stupid fantasy. Ellie belonged to Morey’s Falls; he belonged to a horse ranch in New Mexico. He could just imagine her reaction to the idea of bearing Charles Tanner’s grandchildren.

  What in the world was he thinking of? Never in his life had he seriously considered having children. Never in his life had he even thought about one woman and marriage and happy ever after. He sure picked the strangest times to get conventional. And with the least likely of women.

  He reached in his pocket for his cigarettes. The pack was crushed—it had taken him longer than usual to smoke them, which was another strange sign. For some reason he put them back, thinking back to the night before.

  He should have gotten up, risked waking her, risked everything. Outside the cabin, by the windowless hole in the rear wall, were clear, recognizable footprints. The rain had left the ground soggy enough to hold the general shape of a print. He could tell it was an average size man or a big woman, and the tread wasn’t deep, probably made by some sort of running shoe. The crumpled cigarette butts lay scattered in a pile, shredded almost past recognition. There were at least three there—the watcher had stayed a long time, staring into the moonlit cabin, staring at the people in bed.

  Where the hell was Ellie? Tanner reached for the door handle and found he was looking up into Lonnie Olafson’s pale, bespectacled gaze.

  He was definitely Ellie’s type, all right, Tanner thought for a fleeting moment. Those bland, yuppie good looks, the creased pants and striped oxford shirts were more her style than his own faded flannels and denims and too-long hair, and those pale-rimmed glasses made the editor look downright studious. Poor Lonnie.

  “Howdy,” he said, pushing open the door but staying where he was. Lonnie was wearing running shoes, but they were spotless, no sign of mud on them. Anyway, half the town probably wore running shoes, particularly if they were out for a night of voyeurism.

/>   “This is Ellie’s car,” Lonnie said.

  “Yes,” said Tanner, waiting.

  “Where is she?”

  “In the store. Why?”

  Lonnie squirmed a bit. There was no noticeable hostility in him, despite the fact that he must know Tanner was well on his way to succeeding where he had failed. “I guess you haven’t heard about last night,” he said.

  Tanner felt his nerves tighten. “What happened last night? More animals killed?”

  “No,” said Lonnie. “Someone desecrated the graveyard.”

  Tanner’s response was a short, heartfelt obscenity. “Do they have any idea who?”

  “Same person who killed the animals, I expect,” Lonnie said. “Dave Martin is running around like a three-legged dog with fleas, and the townspeople are pretty upset.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, you can’t blame them. It was bad enough, losing kin like that, but then to find their graves messed up is more than a lot of people are willing to accept.”

  “You mean only the graves of the massacre victims were touched?” Tanner asked, already knowing the answer.

  “You got it. Red paint spilled over each tombstone and cross, all in the town graveyard. And none of the other graves were touched.” Lonnie brushed a careless hand through his boyish mane of hair. “Except, of course, your father’s grave.”

  Tanner stared at him in amazement. “My father’s buried here?”

  “Where else would he be buried? He has a corner all to himself in the town cemetery. People usually ignore it, but whoever it was didn’t last night.”

  Tanner was getting the oddest feeling that Lonnie was enjoying all this, enjoying making Tanner squirm. Maybe it was his only form of revenge for Ellie. “What did they do to his grave?”