Chapter Eight
Marcy glanced at the kitchen clock one more time as she braced her foot on the chair rung, bouncing her toes in time with the passing seconds. JB never knew the meaning of a short meeting or assignment when he had been a Crayton deputy and evidently hadn’t learned in the time he’d been gone. She didn’t plan to let herself be overcome with wild what-ifs like she had three years ago when he didn’t show up for two days, though.
If he didn’t show up soon, she planned to dump the pot of minestrone she’d made earlier into a few containers, stick them in the freezer, and go to bed.
After pouring another cup of coffee, she devoured her third cupcake. Moist, yellow cake with chocolate, fudge icing just the way JB liked them. So much for letting her emotions get in the way of her better judgment. For all she knew, he’d left town and wouldn’t be seen for another three years. She peeled the paper from another cupcake, ate the icing, and tossed the rest in the trash.
The slam of JB’s truck door interrupted her thoughts. She’d make him have to ring the bell while she took her time in answering and considered whether to unlock the door or not.
Easy as anything, he stepped inside. She jerked to her feet, frowning, eyes rounded, and mouth open.
“You forget I still have a key to our house.” He grinned along with his gotcha wink. “I’m surprised you didn’t change the locks when you divorced me.”
“I’ll get that done first thing in the morning.”
“No need. If you want the key, I’ll give it to you.” He walked into her space. Braced his arms on each side of her against the kitchen counter. Leaning toward her ear, his breath whispered through her hair. “Do you want the key, Marcy? Should I leave it on the table?”
JB smelled like JB, and she tilted her head in his direction. Would be so easy to… She jerked back. Too close…he was too close. Bobbing under his arm, she walked to the stove and filled a bowl with minestrone, setting it on the kitchen table.
“I’m not hungry.” He held his hand to his stomach.
“Should have known you were out with the guys having pizza.” She placed a spoon next to the bowl in case he changed his mind. He’d always loved that soup. Was one of the few things she made halfway decent.
“No.” He sighed, ragged and hard with a hitched groan.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him steady himself against the table with one hand, the other arm curled tight against his ribs. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” The clench of his teeth told a different story as he lowered himself to the chair.
“Don’t give me that. You forget I know your cover-ups.” She filled a glass of iced tea for him.
“Long day. I’ve been at the scene then police headquarters all this time.” JB downed the drink in one long gulp. As she’d expected, he picked up his spoon and dug into the soup. “The local department seems a little overwhelmed, but they’ll be okay. Landon tried to bulldoze his way into their investigation.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, except he’s a know-it-all. I’ll keep an eye on him. By the way, looks like I’ll be around a little longer.”
“Should have known.” She sat a jar of crackers on the table.
“Not my idea. Deputy Evans said Sheriff Davis asked me to stick around until he gets back in town. Got a problem with that?”
She sighed heavily in return. “No problem. I’m sure my uncle has his reasons. I just figured you’d rather be on your way.”
He mindlessly crushed a handful of crackers into the bowl of soup. “Smells good, thanks.”
She nodded and continued to putter around the kitchen.
“No more soup.” His cheeks puffed with a sigh of air as he pushed the bowl away. “Think I need to go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Marcy watched him walk down the hall and turn to go in their bedroom. “Hey, bucko. Wrong room.”
“Sorry. Force of habit.” He stepped down the hall.
“Hasn’t been much of a habit the past few years, now has it?” She swore she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she might still care.
Too late.
“We need to talk.” He staggered, stopped walking, then did the slow-turn glance over his shoulder. “Not tonight.”
She opened her mouth to make one of her sarcastic remarks, but he slumped against the wall, and she darted to his side. “Dizzy?”
Nodding, he straightened. Eyes wide open, he wobbled with each step. She looped his arm around her shoulder and wrapped hers around his waist. Together, they stumbled to the side of the bed before he lowered himself down.
Elbows braced on his knees, head lowered to his palms as they scrubbed his forehead, he grunted, accentuating his current state. “Where’re those pain pills the doc gave me? My head feels like it’ll explode any second now.”
After rushing to the kitchen, she brought him one with a glass of water. “You need to be in the hospital.”
“No.” He downed the medicine and stretched out across the bed. “I’ll be okay.”
“Let’s get you out of those clothes and under the covers then.”
“I’m okay like this.”
“JB Bradley, you never once slept in a lick of clothes in this house. And you’re not starting now.” Where the heck had that come from? She might as well have opened the door to her bedroom. The man she knew would pounce on that suggestion’s implication.
Nothing. No movement. No comment. He did nothing to indicate he even realized what she had said. Not even that sexy wink or bite of his lip that could entice her to hell and back. He must really be sick. Or done and over her. Maybe both. Didn’t matter. They were nothing more than two friends thrown into circumstances beyond their control.
She pulled him up until he sat on the side of the bed again.
“Go on. I can undress myself.” He pitched toward the floor.
Shaking her head at his stubbornness, she braced her body against his to keep him on the bed as she bent down and tugged his boots and socks off. He leaned into her side, steadying himself with his hand against her hip, and her core flashed with recognition.
Down girl. That is not a pass.
“Stand up, so we can get you in bed.”
He stood, flicked the button on his jeans, and unzipped. She tugged the pants downward, and they fell to the floor. Her insides tingled on her intake of breath. The air in the room grew heavy with need. He hadn’t changed since they left the hospital. Still commando.
She lifted the edge of his T-shirt, but he shook his head, pushing her hands away.
“I saw the burn marks at the hospital. And the slash marks. Which we will talk about later. Now help me get this off of you.” She grabbed the shirt one more time, successfully pulling it over his head with his help.
Her gaze flowed down his lean, muscled body from his shoulders to his chest to the tan line riding low on his hips. She fought to keep from following the dark line of hair from his belly downward. After all, the man was sick. They were divorced. He’d made it clear he wasn’t back in town for her. Wasn’t planning to stay. She shouldn’t…she damn well shouldn’t.
She lost the battle as she skimmed the rest of the way down. He was still the hottest man she’d ever seen. Not that she’d seen anyone else but JB in her life. Damn it was hot in this room. She flicked on the fan switch on the wall.
Turning back the covers on the bed, she pushed him to sit. “Now lie down, and go to sleep. If you aren’t better by morning, I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“No. No more doctors.” As he slid under the sheet, his hand covered hers. “Stay with me, Marcy.”
Stay?
She eased her hand away. “Probably not a good idea. Get some rest.”
Looking at JB, all muscle and need and the man she loved, she knew it would be more than easy to slide alongside him. Easy to give everything she had to him again. In fact, her body pulsed and ached with the thought of what his words meant. Did she? Did she dare let him know the power he held over her?
No.
He’d broken her heart twice already—the second time when he’d signed the divorce papers. The first time had been when he’d told her he wanted to join the FBI.
After her dad had been killed on the job, her mother had moved the family back to Crayton. Nothing bad would follow them to such a small town. Especially one where the sheriff was the girls’ uncle. Being young, she hadn’t realized what her mother meant. Being grown-up, she knew exactly what that statement meant.
Marcy wanted children, and she didn’t ever want to have to worry over things like that. She didn’t want to wonder every night if her children’s dad was just late getting home or if the unthinkable had happened. No, she wouldn’t give JB any sign that she might still care. Even if he wasn’t a Bureau agent any longer, he’d still head to another job with law enforcement once his dad’s estate was signed off on.
Unless he decided to stay in Crayton. Join the police department again.
Now wouldn’t that be just dandy? She’d always known there were plenty of women in town who’d love to take him off her hands. Some single…some not so single. What if he chose one of them, and Marcy and the happy couple ended up living down the street from each other? That would mean she’d see them holding hands, kissing, dancing so close everyone would know what was going to happen at home that night.
Damn. Damn. Damn. What was wrong with her? With those thoughts bouncing around her brain, not only did her shoulder ache from her wound, so did her heart. That was one of the hardest parts about filing divorce papers—the thought of him in another woman’s arms.
The sound of his already-asleep breathing made her smile. Almost with a mind of their own, her fingers lightly brushed through his dark hair. Down his cheek. Across his shoulder.
Whew. She needed to walk away fast. Take a shower. Scurry into a sleep shirt and tonight, even into a pair of panties.
She left his door open a bit in case he needed anything later. Tomorrow morning he should be better. If not, she meant what she’d said about the hospital. How she’d get him there she didn’t know, because he was one stubborn man when it came to doctors. He’d always been stubborn.
Then again, so was she. After all, she had taken her own advice and let JB go. Let him follow his dream. Let him stay gone. She could have gone to find him, but…
Finally feeling tired enough to sleep, she locked the front door and turned out the lights. She climbed into bed and scrunched her pillow before snuggling into the softness.
“Marcy! Marcy, where are you?” JB’s anguished shout filled the air.
In the darkness, she rushed to his side and flipped on the bedside lamp. Still asleep, his head rolled from side to side. His face a contortion of pain and panic. His arms flailed at the covers.
“Marcy!”
“I’m here, JB. Open your eyes, I’m here.” She crawled in bed beside him, grabbed one arm, and soothed his face with her other hand. “You’re dreaming. It’s only a dream.”
He jerked awake, then engulfed her in his arms. His soft kisses pressed into her hair. “I couldn’t find you. I searched everywhere, but you weren’t there.” His voice echoed his emotions. “I thought I lost you for good.”
“No, JB. You didn’t lose me.” She felt herself swept into the moment and stayed close by his side. In all likelihood, he’d just relived the explosion in nightmare form. “I’m right here. See? Right here.”
He rolled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. The sound of running water filled the air. Wiping his face with a towel when he returned, he looked awake and alert.
“Whatever’s in that pain med zonked me good.” He lay down in bed and offered his arm for her to snuggle inside his hold. “Stay here tonight. I promise I won’t try anything. Just stay here with me.”
“Okay.” Sometimes her mouth had a habit of speaking before she thought things through. Oh, well…one night wouldn’t hurt. And JB always kept his promises.
Still, how could she be sure? She was about to backtrack and tell him no way when her traitorous body folded against him, her leg automatically slipped across his, her cheek nestled into the crook of his shoulder, and her hand rested on his chest. It might have been three years since she’d touched his bare skin, but her body remembered the markers, the paths, the man.
Oh, how she remembered the man…
His arm folded around her curves, pulling her tight against his rock-solid body. Nuzzling his face against her hair, he softly groaned. “You feel so good. I’ve missed you, Marcy.”
The words and the heat from his skin against her own rekindled her desire. She fought to control the urge to push his promise to be good aside. Roughness from the branding mark on his left, upper chest caressed her fingers with each breath he took, and without thinking, she softly kissed the spot. She leaned closer, sliding her knee between his thighs, moving her cheek to rest against the mark.
She didn’t feel the sharp, jarring worry of sympathy-pain she had felt all the times before when he’d been wounded. This time, she felt strong and proud to be the woman lying by this man who had suffered so much, yet held her with such tenderness. She brushed her lips across the mark again, then laid back against his chest.
Still, she couldn’t go back to the way things had been before. She couldn’t.
He sighed heavy, yet peacefully. “Goodnight, Marcy.”
“Goodnight, JB. Sweet dreams.”