Excerpt from Hard Lovin' Man    

Leaning back in his chair, with his booted feet crossed on the corner of his desk, his hands folded behind his head, Jack studied the sixteen-year-old girl sitting before him. She had attitude written--and pierced--all over her. Probably tattooed as well.

She was also scared to death. Her green gaze kept darting to the closed door of his office, and she'd gnawed all that horrible gunk off her lips. Now she was busily working on her fingernails.

"Look, I know you're scared--"

"I'm not scared. I just want to go home."

"Your sister should be here any minute."

"She's going to be so totally freaked out."

"Does she ever hit you?" he asked.

She looked at him as though he'd just spoken in Klingon. "Of course not."

"But she freaks out easily?"

"Wouldn't you if the police called you at one o'clock in the morning to tell you that they'd arrested your kid?"

She wasn't technically arrested, but he hadn't informed her of that fact. Better to let her worry about the ramifications of her actions for a while.

"You should have thought of that before you went bar hopping with a fake I. D.," he admonished.

"Bar hopping would imply there was more than one bar in this dump of a town."

Ah, now he was getting somewhere. "So you're not impressed with Hopeful?"

"That's some remarkable deducing there, Sherlock."

Damn, but she made him want to smile. "How long have you been in our illustrious town?"

"Too long."

The sharp rap on his door made her flinch.

Mike Warner opened it and stuck his head inside the room. "Chief, Miss Gardner's sister is here."

Although it was difficult to be a hundred percent sure, Jack thought his detainee paled beneath her thick layer of makeup. "Send her in."

"Yes, sir."

Jack came to his feet, while the girl slouched down lower in her chair. If not expressing remorse, at least she appeared to be embarrassed. Maybe there was hope for her yet.

He turned to the door as Mike moved back, and a young woman stepped into the room. Blond hair, green eyes, and a body that simply would not quit. Jack felt as though he'd taken a swift, brutal kick to the gut. Of all the police stations in all of Texas, why in the hell did she have to walk into his?

Especially with that just-crawled-out-of-bed-look that made him want to tumble her back onto the rumpled sheets. She'd fueled his fantasies when he was nineteen. Hell, if he were honest with himself, she fueled them now.

"Miss Spencer?" he asked, reflexively reverting to the manner in which he'd addressed her for most of the time he'd known her.

She had that startled-deer-caught-in-the-oncoming-headlights expression, her eyes reflecting confusion and disbelief. All the blood rapidly drained from her face as recognition dawned. She nodded jerkily. "Jack?"

"Oh, great," Miss Attitude muttered. "Another one of her former students."

Oh, yeah, he was a former student, but she'd taught him far more outside of the classroom than she ever had inside it. His senior year had been her first year to teach. She'd tried so damned hard to reach her students. With his bad-assed, take-no-prisoners attitude, he hadn't made her job easy.

Maybe that was the reason he'd felt a connection to the girl at the bar. Nine years ago he'd been exactly like her. With a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas, he'd dared the world to call his bluffs.

Obviously disoriented Miss Spencer shifted her bewildered gaze between him and the girl, as though she recognized that she needed to deal with both of them, but didn't have the physical or emotional strength to deal with either of them.

"Mike?" he called out.

Mike poked his head back inside, his novice cop gaze darting quickly around trying to assess the situation. "Yeah, Chief?"

"Why don't you take Miss Gardner for a tour of the facilities, so she'll understand exactly where she'll spend the night if I catch her drinking again before she's twenty-one?"

"Sure thing," Mike said.

"Drinking?" Miss Spencer asked at the same time. "Madison, tell me you weren't drinking."

"Okay. I wasn’t drinking."

"Don't lie to me."

"I was just telling you what you told me to tell you."

Miss Spencer shook her head, her expression one of surrender, as though she'd suddenly discovered her entire arsenal had been spirited away.

Jack gave a pointed glare to the little felon. "Go with Officer Mike, and leave your car keys with me."

"Why the fu"--he glowered ominously at her--"fu-fudge do I have to do that?" she demanded.

"The main reason is because I told you to. The other, less important reason, is so I can pick up your car from the Sit 'n Bull and drive it home for you."

"I can drive it home."

He shook his head. "Not on my watch. I'm releasing you into Miss Spencer's custody which means she'll drive you home."

"You're such a hard-ass."

"Darlin', you've got no idea. Now go with Officer Mike while I discuss the terms of your release with your guardian." 

Slinging her keys onto his desk, she sashayed toward the door.

As though in a trance, Miss Spencer put her hand on the girl's arm. "Why are you doing this? Why are you making everything so difficult?"

"Why shouldn't I? Not everyone is Miss Goody Two-Shoes like you. Besides, it's what you expect, isn't it? I can't even breathe without asking permission. You're not my mother. I wish you'd quit trying to act like one, because you're lousy at it."

Miss Spencer simply stood there, watching her sister go, as though she'd fought one too many battles with the little hellion and had lost the majority of them. Jack made his way around the edge of his desk and strode to the door.

Apparently dazed, Miss Spencer watched him reached past her to shut the door as though she couldn't quite figure out what he was doing here.

He knew he could have simply asked her to close the door in her sister's wake before taking a chair. But he recognized his actions for what they were: a desperate excuse to get close enough to inhale her fragrance. A sweet, flowery, welcoming perfume that haunted his dreams. Beneath it all was that just-woke-up scent that he loved most. He envisioned her naked, spread across the bed, ready and waiting for him to lower his body over hers.

"What are you doing here, Kelley?" His voice sounded rough, hoarse, even to his own ears.

She lifted her wounded gaze to his and raised her hand as though she was about to explain the diagramming of a sentence that she'd written on a blackboard. "Someone called me."

"I'm not talking about the police station. I'm referring to Hopeful. What are you doing back in Hopeful?"

"Trying to keep Madison safe."

Every protective bone and muscle in his body snapped to immediate attention. "From whom?"

She gave him a wry smile. "From herself. Obviously I'm not doing a very good job of it."

As though needing to reassure herself that he was real, that his presence wasn’t simply a nightmare she'd eventually wake up from, she laid her delicate hand against his beard-shadowed cheek. The warmth of her touch speared him clear down to his boot heels.

It took all his inner strength and resolve not to cover her hand with his and turn his head to press a kiss against her palm.

"I didn't know you'd moved back either," she said softly, as softly as she'd once whispered endearments near his ear.

And he couldn't help but wonder: if she had known, would she have returned, would she have risked facing a past that had scarred them both?

Giving her head a quick shake as though she needed to clear it, she dropped her hand to her side as her eyes lost their dullness and became sharp and clear. "Madison. I'm here to deal with Madison. You wanted to discuss the conditions under which you'd release her?"

"Yeah." He cleared his throat, fighting the need to beg her to touch him again, fighting the urge to take her in his arms, and fighting the impossible yearning to latch his mouth onto hers as though tomorrow had never come to destroy what they might have had. "Have a seat."

He only dared to follow her with his eyes while she walked to the chair in front of his desk, her hips swaying slightly and enticingly. She still had the cutest little ass he'd ever seen. Nice and tight. Firm and heart-shaped. The lady made the cheapest pair of jeans look like a million bucks.

"Coffee?" he asked, as he turned to the coffeemaker that he kept near his desk. He'd started brewing a pot as soon as he'd returned to his office with the hellion, figuring he'd need something to help keep him alert. Now he wished he'd grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels off the shelf on his way out of the Sit 'n Bull. Oblivion had never looked so damned inviting.

"Thanks. I could use the caffeine. I feel as though I’m trapped in a fog," she responded.

Feeling the same way, he poured the strong brew into two mugs. He glanced over his shoulder. "Still like it the same way?"

Color jumping into her face, her cheeks burning a bright red, she nodded slightly. He wondered if she was remembering all the moments they'd shared that he could never forget.

He dumped two teaspoons of sugar and one of creamer into a mug, stirring until the coffee turned the light chocolate shade she preferred. He handed her the mug before dropping into his chair behind his desk. Studying her over the rising steam of his black coffee, he took a slow sip from the chipped mug he'd magnanimously taken for himself--the one that proclaimed that he had, over time, donated two gallons of life during the local blood drives.

She brought her mug to her lips, lips bare of any lip gloss. He'd always preferred them that way. Possessing a natural beauty, she never required makeup in order to appeal to any man still breathing. He wanted to yank off that scrunched up thing holding her hair into a ponytail, so he could see the heavy strands brush her shoulders, could more easily envision the satiny feel of them gliding over his bare chest.

Her eyes were the green of the clover he'd often fantasized about laying her down on. Although they still reflected softness and kindness, her eyes also held sorrow now. He wondered if he was partly to blame. Or worse, if he was completely responsible. She'd had tears in her eyes the last time he'd seen her, but then he'd been close to having them in his as well.

Looking at her from a distance, he could see a strong resemblance between her features and those of the hellion. That's what had haunted him back at the bar. Eyes he'd gazed into a thousand times, lips he'd kissed not nearly enough.

She had both hands wrapped around her mug as though she needed something to hold onto, something to offer support. Incredibly tempted to lend her a shoulder, he watched as she swallowed. He'd loved the feel of her silken skin against his mouth, the beat of the pulse at her throat against his lips.

"How long have you been in town?" he asked.

She seemed to snap to attention, as though she'd been wandering through some deep and mystifying thoughts. He wasn’t egotistical enough to imagine she'd been reminiscing about him instead of thinking about her sister. Although nine years ago, he would have been. Back then, he'd thought he was the center of her universe. Probably because she'd been the nucleus of his.

"I moved back in July. I'm teaching at the high school again."

How had he managed to miss that little tidbit of news? He wasn't exactly a recluse in this town. But in July he'd gone camping near Jackson Hole, Wyoming. He'd probably been hiking around Jenny Lind Lake when news of her arrival had been circulating around town.

"When did you move back?" she asked quietly.

"Five years ago."

She ran her tongue around her lips, not in the provocative manner her younger sister had earlier. Still, her action caused his gut to clench, his chest to tighten, and he gripped his own mug as though that insignificant action could keep him shackled on his side of the desk.

"After you married Stephanie and joined the army"--she lifted a delicate shoulder--"knowing how much you hated this town, I didn't think you'd ever return."

That answered his earlier self-asked question. The hope of running into him had never entered her mind.

"There's something to be said for the familiar," he responded flatly.

"I suppose. How is Stephanie these days?" she asked.

"I wouldn't know. After the kid was born, we got divorced and she split. Haven't seen her since."

He saw the disappointment in her eyes, just as he had countless times while he'd sat--defiant and rebellious--in her classroom. He resented her judgment now more than he had then. She knew things about him no one else did. And yet he still couldn't measure up.

"I'm really sorry to hear that," she said.

He loosened his grip on the mug and leaned back in his chair, striving to give the impression that he couldn't care less what she was sorry about. "All you told me was that I needed to do my duty by the girl and the kid. I did that. But we're not here to discuss my failings. Tell me what's up with Cruella De Vil."

Her eyes rounded in surprise. "I wouldn't have expected you to know the name of a character from 101 Dalmatians."

"Yeah, well, there's apparently a lot about me that you don't know. So what's her story?" he prodded impatiently.

She set her mug on the edge of his desk and popped her knuckles--a habit which signaled she wasn’t comfortable with the situation. She'd exhibited the same action every time she'd made him stay in her classroom after school. He'd given her lots of reasons to punish him. Her punishment had always been his reward.

"Madison is my half-sister. Same mother, different fathers." Her cheeks flushing with embarrassment, she laughed self-consciously and avoided his gaze. "You probably figured that out, since we have different last names."

"That was my first assumption. But I've learned you can't build a case based on assumptions. You have to collect facts. Therefore I try not to assume anything."

Concern darted into her eyes as she looked back at him. "Are you trying to build a case against her?"

"I'm trying to determine how best to handle the situation." How best to help you.

            She nodded. "Okay. Fair enough. The summer you left, I moved back home. About eighteen months ago, my parents died in a car accident. I became Madison's guardian. Since then she's become almost impossible to control.

"We lived in Dallas. Big city. Easy access to drugs. I think Madison was experimenting with them. One of her friends died of an overdose. I was terrified the same thing would happen to Madison. I thought if I got her out of that environment . . . I thought a small town, with small town values." She shook her head. "Like you said. There's something to be said for familiarity. You mentioned something about her car being at the Sit 'n Bull."

"That's where I ran into her flashing around a fake I. D. and that very provocatively dressed little body of hers."

"Oh, my God." Kelley buried her face in her hands. "Why is she doing this?"

"She obviously likes to punch your buttons. I can relate to how much fun that is."

Her head came up, fire flashing in those emerald eyes. "Yeah, I'll just bet you can. The difference is that she can get hurt--badly--if she keeps up these rebellious stunts."

He'd been hurt as well, more deeply than he cared to admit, more profoundly than he wanted her to know. He needed to keep their meeting focused on the business at hand, not personal matters. Unfortunately, he'd already made the mistake of letting it get far too personal.

Giving his throat a sound clearing, he straightened and planted his elbows on the desk. "Dave Lighten was hitting on her. He has a reputation for wearing out the mattresses at the local motel. Why his wife puts up with him is a mystery to me. But I'll have a talk with him to make sure he understands Madison is jailbait. I've confiscated her false I. D., but she can probably get another one easily enough. Morty will kick her out if she shows up at his bar. You might consider grounding her."

"She was already grounded. You see how well that works."

"I can hold her in a cell for the rest of the night. It's cold, lonely, and damned frightening to be locked up. Might give her some time to reflect on the ramifications of her actions."

She shook her head. "No, I need to deal with this situation. I simply want to get her home for now."

"All right. Her real driver's license still shows a Dallas address, so write down your address in town, and I'll deliver her car to you in the morning." He passed a pen and pad of paper to her.

He watched as she wrote in what he knew was beautiful flowing script. He'd spent hours gazing stupidly at her as she graded papers, while he was supposed to be reading classic literature. Little wonder he'd nearly failed her class.

He'd been held back once. Along with cutting as many classes as possible, he'd stopped doing homework his sophomore year. An act of rebelliousness. He hadn't truly believed the teachers would fail him or that the school administration would enforce the State mandatory attendance law.

It was a hard lesson learned. After that, he'd made more of an effort to pass, but still he'd done only enough to ensure he made it to the next grade. He was a year older than the majority of the students at his level. And when Kelley Spencer had walked into that classroom the first day of his senior year, his hormones had reacted with a savage awakening.

Much as they were doing now, making him acutely aware that he was male and she was female. After everything that had passed between them near the end, he shouldn’t want her now with this powerful intensity that was downright irritating.

She placed the pad on his desk. "There. Can I take her home now?"

"Yeah." He took the pad, tore off the top sheet with her address, scribbled a note on the next page, and handed it to her. "Give this to the young kid that brought you to my office."

"'Mike, let her go home'?" she mused aloud as she stood. "Isn't that a little informal?"

"She was never technically arrested."

"What time will you bring her car by?"

"What time will you be up?"

"Around eight."

"Still an early riser on the weekends?"

"Old habits are hard to break," she said, blushing. "Thank you for handling this situation the way you did."

"Sure."

He found it difficult watching her walk out of his office, out of his life. Almost as hard as he'd found it nine years ago.

He'd always heard that in every kid's life there was one special teacher. Kelley Spencer had been his. Unfortunately, she'd been a hell of a lot more than that. She'd been the first woman he'd ever loved. The first he'd ever hated.

Her being back in town was the last thing he wanted.

#

With a sigh Jack climbed out of the truck and headed into the house. It wasn't fancy, but it was a hell of a lot nicer than the trailer he'd grown up in.

He didn’t bother turning on the lights. He simply switched on the television, muted the volume, and dropped into his recliner. Anywhere he looked, he could see evidence that it was a male-dominated environment designed to serve the needs of the hunters, not the nesters. No sign at all of much nesting going on.

Jack had convinced himself that he preferred the house this way: a reflection of manly tastes. But in his youth, he'd always fantasized about having a house that included the personality of a caring woman. A woman who could make plants grow, furniture shine, hearty meals tasty, and his body ignite with nothing more than a sensual lowering of her eyelids, a slow curving of her lips.

A caring, sexy woman. A woman like Kelley Spencer.

He'd been torn between shame and desire the day she showed up at his trailer . . .

#

Jack was stuffing his shirt into his jeans, getting ready for his Saturday afternoon shift at the Auto Shop, when he heard the car pull in with a thumping that indicated it needed a little maintenance. Looking through the bedroom window, he couldn't believe his eyes.

Miss Spencer.

How many times had he dreamed about her coming to him? Only she was supposed to arrive closer to midnight, when no one would see her. That's the way illicit affairs were handled, and he sure wanted to have an affair with her.

Rooted to the spot, he watched as she climbed out of her car and slowly looked around. He could well imagine what she was thinking. Trailer trash. At that precise moment he hated his mother for leaving him here in this dump.

Making her way to the trailer, Miss Spencer carefully stepped over who knew what--the weeds made it impossible to figure out what dangers lurked within. He knew he really needed to mow, but it wasn't like he actually gave a damn--usually. Right now, he cared more than he thought it was possible to care about anything other than a good romp with a willing woman between the sheets.

She climbed up the steps and knocked. Waited. Knocked again. Cupped her delicate hands around that beautiful face of hers and peered through the screen and the grimy window of the door beyond. He knew she'd realize soon enough that she wouldn't be able to see much of anything.

He considered pretending he wasn't home, ignoring her summons. The inside of the trailer looked worse than the outside. It stank, too. His mom had been a chain smoker. He couldn't get the disgusting stench of cigarette smoke out of the furniture.

"Hello?" Miss Spencer called out in that sweet voice she had. She knocked again.

What the hell. Maybe she was here for the exact reason he wanted her to be. Maybe she just didn't have sense enough to come after dark.

He strode through the trailer, cringing at the dirty dishes he'd left in the sink and the empty pizza box on the table.

He yanked open the door, and Miss Spencer jerked back, nearly tumbling off the steps, her arms doing this little windmill thing until she caught her balance. She wasn’t that much older than he was--in years anyway. In experience, he figured he was three or four times older.

She gave him that shy, nervous smile she had and began cracking her knuckles. He knew he made her anxious. He was bigger than she was, tougher, unafraid. Her voice had warbled the entire first week of school, while he'd sat there in her classroom and mentally undressed her day after day.

"Hello, Jack," she said. "Is your mother home?"

"Nope." She hadn't been home for over a year. She'd simply packed up one day and driven away without so much as a fond farewell wave. He pushed on the screen door. "But you can come in."

With her smile faltering, she looked around, unsure, popping her knuckles more quickly. "I really wanted to talk with your mother."

"You can wait inside. I keep thinking she'll be back any minute." And he had thought that. For the first month anyway. Maybe even the second. Then he'd given up all hope of ever setting eyes on her again. Good riddance, the man side of him that had grown up too fast thought angrily, but the little boy inside him still grieved over the loss.

Miss Spencer gave a quick nod, and he held the screen open. As she edged past him, taking great care not to brush her body against his, he inhaled her scent, holding it deep in his lungs, the way he figured dope fiends did when smoking a joint.

In spite of his reputation for being a troublemaker, he'd never gotten involved with drugs. In addition to being too expensive, they messed up the mind way too much and he was having a hard enough time surviving as it was. He needed all his wits about him.

He closed the door, and she spun around, backing up a step, waving her hand. "Your mother isn't much of a housekeeper."

"She's not much of a mother either."

He saw pity touch her eyes and knew letting her come inside had been a big mistake. She was so innocent, so naïve, that he had to tamp down his anger. She came from a world of butterflies and rainbows. That fact alone made her totally wrong for him. Add to that little detail the fact that she was not only older, but his teacher as well, and he didn't stand a chance in hell of ever being with her the way he dreamed of.

Still, he couldn’t get her out of his mind, couldn't stop wondering how it would feel to have her beneath him, couldn't stop hoping that maybe a little of her would rub off on him.

"So what'd you want to talk to her about?" he asked.

She furrowed her brow. "Your grades. You're close to failing, Jack."

"Yeah, but close isn't failing." At any given time, he knew exactly what score he needed on an exam or assignment to stay within passing range.

"I don't understand why you refuse to allow your grades to reflect your intelligence. I can see how smart you are, I can see it in some of the answers you give, and it just makes me so angry that you don't apply yourself. I was thinking if your mother would get more involved--"

His harsh laughter echoed between the thin walls of the trailer. "All my mother was involved in was my birth. After that, I was on my own."

The pity in her eyes again. Damn it.

"You didn't come out here to see her," he said in a low rumble. "You came out here to see me."

He took a step toward her. She took a step back.

"Admit it. You like the way I watch you in class."

She shook her head frantically and made a move toward the door. "I'd better come back another time. Will you tell your mother I was here?"

"Yeah, I'll tell her when I see her."

He didn't know what possessed him. Adolescent hormones probably, but he blocked her way before she reached the door. She pressed her back against the wall, while he effectively moved in to cut off any hope she might have had of escape.

As close as he was, he wasn't touching her. Just staring into those big green eyes of hers. Her breath was coming in short little pants, but she didn't shove him away. If she had, if she'd given any indication at all that she didn't want him this close, he would have stepped back.

Instead he relished her nearness. He found every aspect of her beautiful. Her features were flawless. But it was more than that. It was her excitement when she read Shakespeare. Her joy when she asked a thought-provoking question and a student gave a introspective response. The way she walked quickly down the hallway as though she had someplace that she truly wanted to be. The only place he truly wanted to be was out of this town that had never done him any favors.

"Why are you really here, Teach?" he asked.

"Because I truly want to help you, Jack. You're throwing your life away, and I desperately don't want you to do that."

He angled his head closer to hers. "Do you know what I think about when I'm in your classroom?" he whispered.

"What I look like naked."

A jolt of surprise rushed through him. Not only because she'd known exactly what was on his mind, but because she'd dared to voice it aloud. Maybe she wasn’t the sweet, innocent thing he'd always imagined her to be. Maybe she had a spark of fire within her that could send him up in flames.

"I take it further than that," he told her. "I not only think about what you look like without any clothes on, I think about taking you to my bed."

She shook her head slowly. "That's a fantasy that's not going to happen, Jack. You're my student."

"And if I wasn't your student, would you allow this?" He cupped her cheek with one hand and lowered his mouth to hers.

She was heaven--pure and simple. He'd been imagining this moment for almost five months, and now that it was here, he wasn't disappointed. Desire took a firmer hold, as she parted her lips for his questing tongue.

Groaning low, he pressed his body against hers until he could feel her breasts flatten against his chest. She ran her hands through his hair, along his neck, across his shoulders. He wanted that touch with no clothing separating them.

He drew back. "Come to bed with me."

The desperate plea in his voice echoed between them, embarrassed him a little because he sounded so uncool, so not in control. His body was aching with need. He'd never wanted anyone, anything, as much as he wanted her.

"Do you know what would happen to my career if your mother walked in and found me in bed with her son who happens to be one of my students?"

"She's not going to walk in. She walked out over a year ago. She's not coming back."

"Are you telling me you live here by yourself?"

He grinned with cocky self-assurance. Bless his mother for taking off. "That's right."

"I should get a social worker out here."

"I'm nineteen. Old enough to be on my own."

"But you're in high school, a student. How do you live?"

"I’m in the work-study program. Classes in the morning, work in the afternoon." He didn’t want to get into all this, didn't want to be distracted from his purpose in explaining his mother's absence to begin with. He took her hand. "Come on."

She tugged free. "No."

"There's nothing stopping us."

"Of course, there is, Jack. I'm a teacher. There's a measure of trust between the school board and me, a measure of trust between my students and me, their parents and me. I'm not going to violate that trust."

"But you want me," he insisted. "I see it in the way you look at me during class when everyone else is working on an assignment."

"My personal feelings are of no consequence. I'm here as a teacher, not as a potential lover."

"Lover. I like the sound of that. You think I'm hot."

"As long as you're my student--"

"I'll drop out of school tomorrow," he promised her.

"I'd never be interested in a quitter, in someone who didn't bother to finish high school."

He studied her. The determination in her eyes, the defiant angle of her jaw. He felt as though he'd somehow been manipulated.

"Are you saying the only chance I have of getting you into bed is if I finish school and graduate?"

"I'm saying if you don't . . . then there's no chance at all."

#

Jack Morgan was in town. Jack Morgan was in town. Like an irritating song stuck on replay, the unsettling refrain kept running through Kelley's weary mind. Jack Morgan was in town.

She had always worried that he'd end up entangled with the law. But she'd envisioned him having the handcuffs slapped on him, not doing the slapping himself. She couldn't quite wrap her mind around the fact that he was the police chief.

After a restless night, she looked like hell. She felt like it, too, with a headache threatening to erupt at any minute. Through eyelids swollen from lack of sleep, she squinted at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her skin was far too pale. Her light application of makeup didn't help, but she certainly had no desire to imitate Madison's guise from last night.

And talk about bad hair day. Even though she'd shampooed and dried her hair, it possessed no sheen, no shine. It simply hung--limp and dull--to her shoulders. She was halfway tempted to pull it back, but she had this incredible urge to feel feminine, to look feminine. It was in direct response to Jack's ability to look so damned masculine.

Her obsession with her appearance was ridiculous considering the fact that the only thing he was going to do was drop off Madison's car. No more than that. Any minute now, he'd pull into the apartment complex, park the car in a designated slot, give her the keys, and leave. She'd be in his presence for five seconds, tops.

The doorbell chime nearly made her jump out of her skin. She ran her hands over her hair one more time, over her clothes--which she'd changed three times, finally deciding on jeans and a red off-the-shoulder T--and headed for the door. She swung it open and had the breath knocked out of her for the second time in less than twelve hours.

Jack had obviously showered, shaved, and spruced up--much as he had the last time he'd come to her door. They'd both known it would be the final time. And it had hurt. It had hurt so much she'd thought it would destroy her.

Inwardly she shook herself back to the present. As he had last night, he still wore jeans, but now a blue cambric shirt stretched across his amazing shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms that even in repose appeared muscular. He didn't look like a man who had been awake for more than half the night. While she looked like something the cat had discovered behind a dumpster and decided to leave there.

"Morning," he said with a deep rumble that sent shivers vibrating through her.

She held out her hand for the keys. Take them. Close the door. Shut out the memories: the good, the bad, and the ugly ones. She could do that. "I appreciate you bringing the car by."

"Not a problem. But I was hoping you could give me a ride to work. Mike dropped me off at the Sit 'N Bull to pick up the car last night, so my truck is still at the station."

She hadn't considered the logistics surrounding his offer to bring Madison's car home, hadn't considered that he might still be in the habit of manipulating situations so he could make excuses to be with her. He'd been very good at it when he was nineteen. She didn't want to contemplate how much more skilled he might be now.

Still, to refuse his request after his kind offer was unthinkable. "Sure. Let me just turn off the coffeemaker--"

"You wouldn't happen to have any left, would you?" he asked.

"Coffee?"

"That's what a coffeemaker usually makes."

"Actually I have a full pot. I haven't sat down for breakfast yet." Her stomach had been a tangle of knots, while she'd waited for his arrival. Her lack of morning caffeine was no doubt contributing to her headache.

"I'm dying for a cup," he said.

Against her better judgment, she found herself nodding and saying, "Come on in."

He made his way past her. Suddenly the apartment seemed incredibly smaller, as though he had the power to make everything around him shrink into insignificance. She shut the door and rushed for the kitchen, pointing toward the small dining area beside the front window. "Why don't you sit at the table there? I'll bring a cup of coffee to you."

She escaped through a narrow arched doorway into the kitchen. She needed some distance, some time to reestablish her equilibrium. But apparently Jack had no plans to grant her a reprieve. Ignoring what she'd considered a polite suggestion that he sit in another room, he ambled in behind her and dropped onto a stool at the tiny island.

"Nice place," he said.

She snatched two ceramic mugs off the mug tree, incredibly aware of his presence dominating the room, his tangy scent wafting toward her. It had changed somewhat over the years. Was somehow deeper, more masculine. She couldn't explain it. Even in his youth, he'd given off a virile magnetism. Now he was almost lethal.

"It's a little small, and the walls are too thin. We're contemplating trying to find a house to rent," she babbled inanely, anything to stop herself from focusing on him as she poured the coffee. She inhaled the rich aroma, hoping it would distract her, would block out his scent. It didn't. Not in the least. She handed him a mug.

His mouth curved up into a devastatingly handsome grin that flashed his perfect teeth. "Black. Just the way I like it. After all these years, you remembered."

"Hardly," she lied. "I noticed last night, early this morning--whenever it was--that you didn't put anything except coffee in your mug."

He tapped his mug against hers. "To yesterday."

She skittered around the island and took the stool opposite his. "I'm trying to forget yesterday, thank you very much."

She took a quick sip, refusing to acknowledge he might have been referring to yesterdays that were nine years old, instead of the one that had caused them to cross paths last night. "Any idea where I might start looking for a house to rent?"

"Try Mrs. Lambert. Sweet, silver-haired lady with the negotiation skills of a barracuda. Her office is on Main Street. You can't miss it. She'll cut you a good deal if you can find a house."

"Thanks." She took a slower sip on her coffee, unable to shake off the feeling that being around him was wrong. She still experienced the little adrenalin rush, the fear of being caught. Was that the reason he'd appealed to her long ago? Because as Madison had pointed out, Kelley had tried so hard to be so terribly good, and Jack tempted her into being terribly wicked?

            "Where is the hellion this morning?" he asked, breaking into her thoughts.

"Still in bed, but we resolved a few issues after we got home last night. I think moving into a house will make a difference."

"You're kidding yourself if you think she's rebelling because of this apartment."

"She's rebelling because she's sixteen. She's rebelling because her parents were killed by a drunk driver--" Releasing a gust of air, she combed her fingers through her hair. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm exhausted right now, and I'm not in the mood to discuss my family situation. How you can look like you recently had twelve hours of sleep is beyond me. I find it extremely irritating."

"There's a massage parlor in town--"

She held up her hand to cut him off, surprised by the jolt of jealousy that speared her. "I don't want to hear about your decadent lifestyle."

His blue eyes darkened, his nostrils flared. "I remember a time when you wouldn't have objected to a little decadence."

"Jack, the past is the past. We've both traveled a lot of years since then. We're different people now."

He planted his forearms on the counter and leaned toward her. "I think with a little exploration we'd discover we're not so different."

He leaned toward her a little more, and she silently cursed the island for being so narrow, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her withdraw.

"I remember the way you tasted the first time I kissed you," he said, his voice low and seductive.

"Jack--"

"I remember the way you tasted the last time I kissed you."

"Jack, I really don't need this right now."

"Do you remember how I tasted?"

She dropped her gaze to his luscious, wicked, talented mouth. Oh, yes, she remembered how he tasted.

He leaned a little nearer. "Care to see if we taste the same?"

"We'd taste like coffee," she said a little too breathlessly.

"I like coffee."

How did he manage with only a few words, a few heated looks, to draw her in, to make her seriously contemplate pressing her mouth against his? To again experience the seductive nature of his kisses, the sensual stroke of his hands, the firm press of his hardened body--

"What are you afraid of, Kelley? I'm not your student anymore," he reminded her.

And that was what terrified her. That with all the barriers removed, he could hurt her worse than he had before. She'd barely survived. Thankfully, her humiliation had been private then. No one had known they'd been involved. To even contemplate trying again--

"Oops! Sorry, I didn't know we had company."

Guiltily jerking back, Kelley looked past Jack to where Madison lounged in the doorway, freshly showered, barefoot, wearing black shorts and a black spaghetti strapped top.

"I thought coffee was small payment for him bringing the car by," Kelley hastily explained.

"Whatever." Madison ambled into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door.

Jack settled back on the stool and glanced over his shoulder at Madison pouring apple juice into a glass at the counter. "What happened to the orange hair?"

Shrugging, she turned and leaned her narrow hips against the counter. "I washed it out."

"What about all the piercing?"

"Fake," she reluctantly admitted, extending her glass toward Kelley. "You think she'd let me get anything besides my ears pierced?"

"There may be hope for you yet, kid."

"Yeah, right. So you're not that old. How'd you get to be sheriff?" Madison asked.

"I'm not the sheriff. I'm the police chief."

"Same difference."

"Not really, but I doubt you're interested in a social studies lesson. As for how does a young stud like myself get to be police chief?" He rolled his shoulder into a careless shrug. "A town this small . . . they take what they can get."

"Yeah, but you gotta have some qualifications," Madison insisted.

"While I was in the army, I learned to be very good with a gun." He turned his steel-blue eyes on Kelley. "I need to get to work."

Kelley had been so intent on his conversation with Madison that she was startled by the abrupt change of subject. She nodded. "Right, of course you do. Madison, why don't you put on your shoes? You can go with us." She didn't want to be alone with Jack--not if he was in the mood to reminisce about how they'd both tasted, smelled, felt. "Jack said there's a real estate agent who can help us find a house to rent."

"Awesome."

Madison walked out of the room, and Kelley got to her feet. "I'll get my purse."

"All right." He grabbed her mug and his, walked to the sink, rinsed them out, and set them in the drainer. Then he washed out Madison's juice glass.

"I don't remember you being such a domestic," she said from the doorway where she'd stopped to watch.

He reached for a kitchen towel and started to dry his hands. "Yeah, well, you learn to do for yourself when you don’t have a wife."

"I’m sorry things didn't work out for you and Stephanie."

"We all went into it knowing it wasn't going to work."

Still, she'd hoped that maybe Jack would put forth some effort, would try for the child's sake to be a good father.

"What did she have? A boy or a girl?" Sometimes in the early years, after she'd left Hopeful, Kelley had imagined Jack with his child. A child he'd conceived six weeks before graduation, six weeks before he'd shown up on Kelley's doorstep, graduation cap in hand.

"A boy," he finally said.

"Do you ever see him?"

"Every day."

His answer surprised her. "You have custody of your son?"

"That's right." He tossed the towel onto the counter and held her gaze, a challenge in his. "It's like I told you. She split. I didn’t."

 

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