* * *
Clint's palms slipped against the Packard's steering wheel as he struggled to make the turn down Veronica's street. He tried to remember the last time, if any, he'd felt like this. His body, weak with exhaustion from the round-up but more so from unwanted emotions, had broken out in an abnormal sweat. He wound the window down, letting the fresh air cool him. The evening breeze hit his face, drying the moisture and bringing back a degree of normalcy.
Though his body relaxed a little, his mind chugged through every occurrence that had happened this day with the two women currently complicating his life. One had elicited guilt while the other had broken through barriers to stroke his heart with something like tender fingers. The incident in the kitchen had shaken him. No doubt about it. Why Jessie? She definitely wasn't his type, so what was the draw? Why in the world did he want to spend time at the stove helping her, watching her cook, laughing with her, teasing her . . . touching her?
A set of headlights blinded him for a moment, rousing him from his thoughts. Once the car passed, the secluded street only bared light from his own steady beams. They pierced the darkness and bounced off the pavement and tall grasses growing at its edges. He glanced over at Veronica. The full moon sliced a shaft of light through the window and onto her lap. He grimaced when he noticed she twisted a handkerchief around and around her jeweled fingers, her agitation clear. In fact, he figured by her gestures that she had passed angry and had reached seething. Clint remained silent, working on what he would say to her at her door when he dropped her off.
"Penny for your thoughts," she said sweetly, disrupting the quiet and surprising him with her even tone.
He mulled that over. What thoughts would she even want to hear?
Not waiting for an answer, she continued, "We'll be alone, soon. I'm looking forward to . . . you know . . . the touch of your hot breath on my neck." She reached out a slender finger to caress his temple then slid it slowly down to trace the hollows of his ear.
He jerked a bit at her touch. "Yeah. Maybe."
"Maybe?" she squeaked. "Isn't that what we've been waiting for all day?" Disappointment had overrun her voice, making it sound pinched.
He stole another glance. Rolling his eyes he thought about how predictable and sad this game was she played. She'd been exciting once. But whenever she was unhappy—which was more often than not these days—her face contorted into a harsh pout, leaving him to wonder why he ever thought her beautiful.
She scooted close and pressed into his arm.
This is why I don't trust her, he thought with a sigh. What he witnessed in her body language always played out differently when she switched to bold action. She forced her soft body against his arm. A burst of warmth careened through him, but he doused it with a force of will. She caressed his thigh with one hand, and with the other, trailed her fingertip around the back of his ear and down the pulse in his neck as she'd done plenty of times in the past. He usually leaned into that classic maneuver of hers. Tonight he stayed rock steady, eyes pegged to the road, back stiff as a two by four.
They fell into another silence, though she remained relentless with her touch. How had she coaxed him into intimacy so many times before? For the first time he felt compelled to analyze how she'd done that. Sure, he'd been attracted to her beauty and her body, but lately that wasn't what sent him over the edge. What did?
"Whatcha thinking, big guy?" she said with sweet finesse. "Tired?" She palmed the nape of his neck and rubbed. "How's a bath sound? All that smelly hard work you did with those cows. That would ruin a lesser man. But, you . . . well, nothing lessens you."
Clint's stomach knotted. Blatant seduction in its perfect form. That was how she'd reached him, kept him, and almost gotten him to marry her. Besides the guilt that held him to her, she practiced sweetness. Pure and simple sweetness.
Feigned sweetness. This time he could see the act as clearly as if he were watching the local high school drama team. He took a quick look into her eyes. She hated having to do this. It was going against her grain to be sweet to him. Yet here she was, willing to endure what was necessary to gain his undivided attention. He wanted to laugh out loud. How could he have missed this for so long? Then it struck him. He hadn't been looking. If he had married her, it would have been to appease Roy, and fulfill his own debt.
And, no wonder she stayed so jealous of Jessica. Jessie's sweetness bubbled out of her, as natural and appealing as a hot mountain spring.
Clint pulled the Packard up to the front of her small cabin, and trudged around to open her door. Night air cooled the sweat off his brow, relaxing his protesting body a little. When he opened her door, before he could offer her a hand she launched herself into him, stretching her arms around his middle and squeezing. He took a step back under her momentum and stiffened. She only snuggled against his body with more vigor, and stretched to nibble on his throat.
"Come on, handsome. Let's go inside and I'll change into something—ah—more comfy while you make us a drink."
He took his eyes off her to stare into the blackness of the night, hoping to rid himself of the twisting emotions inside; lust, disgust, emptiness. A small gust of wind lifted Veronica's loose hair into his face. Irritated, he heaved a sigh, pulled the blonde wisps off his stubble and looked down at her. "Ronnie, I'm sorry—"
"Listen, Clint, I know I don't look my best right now."
He had to agree. Her mascara had run, her makeup was amuck from the bout of heaving she'd done, and her hair was stringy. Still, before now, if she'd been a little disheveled, it wouldn't have mattered to him. "But I'll go in and clean up. Come on, we can—"
"Ronnie," he broke in, capturing her shoulders and stepping back to force her from him. He hoped his eyes showed compassion, and not exasperation. "I don't see any reason to keep up this façade." He kept his voice smooth. "We were never meant to—"
"It's her, isn't it? That homely little intruder—"
"That's enough, Veronica!" Fury filled his ears with a low roar. He worked his jaw muscles, trying to regain control. "We talked about this. You and I were never meant to be long term. Had some fun for a time, and you knew that going in. It has nothing to do with Jessie."
Tears streamed down her face. Was this anger? Regret? "I saw how you looked at her." She wiped at her cheeks with an open palm. "How you almost kissed her. Don't deny it!"
The air evaporated in his lungs, as surely as if he'd just taken a fist to the gut. He stared into her face, guilt taking first seat, confusion a close second. He felt himself laboring for air around a constricting throat. He had almost kissed Jessie. And he didn't know why.
He stared upward, focused on the tips of the pine trees swaying in the breeze. Silvery against the moonlit sky. He concentrated on pulling the air in and out of his lungs.
"Come to think of it"—Veronica leveled her gaze at him. —"You haven't been with me, really with me, since she showed up!" She searched his face. "Are you even listening to me?"
When he didn't answer her, he was only slightly aware when she sighed audibly. "Come in, Clint," she said, with that sweet voice again.
Clint broke out of his spell, grasped her by the elbow and marched her up the path toward her front door. The small porch light exposed her jumbled blonde mane as she rummaged around in her purse for her keys. He remembered a time when he'd been drawn to the beauty of her hair and the appeal of her well-endowed body. He found himself comparing Veronica to Jessie and shook his head. No real comparison. Jessie had substance. All Veronica had to offer was what one could see, and there had been no denying her unequaled attractiveness. Suddenly he felt small and shallow at his obvious knack for bad choices. Yet there remained a reason he chose women like Veronica—arm candy with no entanglements. No risk to the heart.
He camped on that for a split second and wondered if he shouldn't spend one last night with her.
Before the thought had a chance to settle securely in his mind he berated himself. No, he couldn't do it. It wouldn
't be right—not for her. And, it would put another fatal gouge in his heart as well. Mostly, these interludes he entered into were purely for physical satisfaction. Never mind that they always left him emotionally distressed. But if he were to indulge tonight the usual distress would be doing a tango with a whole host of other emotions as well. He took a deep breath and let it out as he drove a hand through his hair.
All he felt now was uneasiness and a desperate need to close this chapter of his life.
Veronica unlocked the door and looked up at him. He leaned down and kissed her platonically on the forehead, guiltiness tying him in a knot. "Good-bye, Ronnie. Take care of yourself."
Before he turned toward his car, he saw her face alter. Ignoring what might come next, with long-legged strides he headed for the car.
Behind him he heard the smack of her boot heels bustle after him. "Wait, Clint. Wait!"
He winced at the pleading in her voice, furious at himself for hurting her. He hated this part. The loving 'em was fine. Leaving 'em was pure torture, for both of them.
He stopped short, and she plowed into the back of him. "Oof! Man. Like I've always said, you're a solid one. Built like an oak." She laughed nervously.
He kept quiet, but turned to face her.
"Now, Clint. You don't really mean this. We've meant too much to each other." She read his face. "I've given you all of me. Everything! And, what about what I've done for you? You can't leave me now. You won't!" She straightened to full height and schooled her features, like he'd seen her do dozens of times before. Leaning in, she snarled, "You owe me."
He fisted his hands and closed his eyes a moment, pausing to think. If he were a prayerful man, now would be a good time for it. Clinging females—this one in particular—always made him quick-tempered since they prodded his conscience, and his honor.
"Veronica—"
"Don't you dare say it, Clint."
If evil had a face, he was looking straight into the very depths of it. All the beauty Veronica possessed had fled, and in its place had settled a sort of red haze. For the first time, he noticed how her nose resembled a pig's as it wrinkled up in a vicious sneer. The corners of her mouth had drawn down, creating a jowl-like effect to her cheeks.
"We are not through! You'll see." She raised her chin, twisted around and wiggled for all she was worth back to her front door. The door slammed behind her.
Sickened, Clint trudged to his car and dove for cover inside it. Except, he smacked his head against the door frame, cracked his elbow against the steering wheel and caught his foot in the door as he yanked it closed. Some foxhole this bucket is. "What's happening to me?" he roared into the empty car, gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled force.
Jessie.
He barked out a mirthless laugh and shook his head. If anyone could see him now they'd think he'd lost his mind. Maybe he had at that. Consummate lady's man, Clint Wilkins, was now fighting a battle with his heart over a woman who shouldn't even be in the running. Ha! The joke was truly on him.
He finally got a grip on his thoughts and headed for the local bar—whatever it took to drown these new feelings and dodge the lasso that kept trying to ensnare his heart.