Never Let Go

  “Don’t draw analogies between my lingerie and my morals.”

  “Another gift from the banana king?”

  Dinah lifted her chin proudly. “Since you’re going to think the worst no matter what, I see no point in discussing it.”

  “Get that damned fur coat,” he ordered in a rough tone. Dinah knelt beside the bed and reached underneath. She pulled the sable out and stood up.

  “What are you going to do? Shoot it?”

  “Bring it and come with me.”

  She followed him through the house to the kitchen, then out a door to the back porch. Damp, cold wind curled through the screens and combined with anxiety to make her shiver. From their charcoal grill Rucker got a can of lighter fluid and a pack of matches. He went to the outer door and swept a hand toward the dark, rain-drenched backyard.

  She walked outside and waited. He angled ahead of her and they stopped on the matted lawn a few dozen feet from the house. He threw the robe down and pointed at the coat.

  “I wanted to buy you something like that once, but you gave me a speech about the cruelty of trappin’ animals for their fur.”

  Dinah smiled sadly. “And you said I made you feel so guilty that you couldn’t look Jethro in the eye for a week. You told him not to worry—that possum skins were only good for decorating highways.” She paused, and her smile faded. Dinah dropped the luxurious coat atop the robe. “This was a gift I couldn’t refuse.”

  “Well, it’s about to be a fried gift.”

  He doused both garments with lighter fluid, then lit several matches and threw them onto the pile. Blue-gold flames leapt into the air, and Dinah’s nose crinkled at the smell of burning fur.

  Her chest swelled with pride. This angry ceremony of Rucker’s gave her a sense of victory. Valdivia had forced her to wear these things; now Rucker was telling Valdivia to go to hell.

  “Stop cryin’ over it,” he commanded. “I’m sure you know how to get another one from good old Diego.”

  She glanced at him in shock and saw that he’d been watching her face in the firelight. Dinah smoothed away the tear on her cheek. “Rucker, you don’t know when to be quiet.” She marched back inside.

  Rucker proved that he did know when to be quiet. They left the house without speaking another word to each other, and the silence continued as they drove along a winding two-lane road. Rucker didn’t bother to warn her when he suddenly swung the Land Rover off the blacktop. Dinah bounced hard and grasped the dashboard for support. They seemed to be heading into the middle of the woods. A second later the headlights illuminated a narrow dirt road overhung with skeletal oak trees.

  “Where are we going?” she asked drolly. “And why didn’t I bring my bear repellent?”

  “Just relax and let me do the talkin’.”

  “I never talk to bears.”

  “Better to talk to bears than to Russian agents.”

  She clamped her mouth shut and vowed to speak only when necessary. There’d be less conflict that way.

  A few minutes later the trees thinned and they entered a clearing. Dinah studied the ill-kept house and the car carcasses that dotted its front yard. A half-dozen baying hounds surrounded the Land Rover.

  “Oh, no. No,” she whispered with dread.

  Two of them reared up and planted huge paws on her window. She made a guttural sound of panic and lurched frantically toward Rucker’s side of the truck. Dinah collided with his right leg. Without thinking she reached for him with both hands. Her fingers dug into his denim-covered thigh.

  He yelped in pain. “What the hell?” Rucker pried her hands away and held them hard. “You’re shakin’. They’re just old huntin’ dogs. What’s wrong with you?”

  She gulped for air, and reason began to return. Dinah forced herself to move back to her side of the truck. “They startled me. They’re so … loud.”

  “You always liked dogs. Even big dogs. You wanted a Labrador retriever.”

  Nerves turned into anger. “I’ve changed, all right? Just forget it.”

  He grasped her chin and forced her to look at him. Even in the dim light from the dashboard she could see his eyes probing her expression. “Does Valdivia keep dogs?” he asked gruffly.

  She nodded. “Rottweilers.”

  His fingers tightened against her skin, but there was suddenly something gentle in his touch. “There’s so much I don’t understand. There’s so much fear in you.”

  “The world isn’t nearly the safe, wonderful place we thought it was.”

  “Why are you afraid of dogs now?”

  His voice held a soothing quality that was new. Dinah quivered and reached up to stroke his hand. “Oh, Rucker,” she whispered. “I wish …”

  A rifle blast shattered the night. Rucker pushed her head into his lap, then bent over her protectively. He shoved his door open and yelled, “Dammit, Halfacre, calm down!”

  They heard a high-pitched laugh. “Ain’t used to gettin’ visited in the middle of the night! McClure, you ugly jackrabbit, I wouldn’t shoot nobody and you know it.”

  Rucker muttered darkly, “There’s nobody who could star in a movie of Halfacre’s life, because Walter Brennan passed away and Francis the Talking Mule ran off with a she-mule.”

  Dinah chuckled, then realized that her cheek was pressed against a denim-covered bulge that had begun to stiffen. Rucker realized the same. He sat up and she quickly followed. They avoided looking at each other.

  “What you doin’ here, jackrabbit?”

  Rucker turned toward the squeaky voice. “Came to borrow one of your trucks for a few days.”

  Dinah peered past Rucker at the white-haired gnome who stood beside the truck wearing overalls and carrying a gun. The gnome smiled.

  “I see you quit mopin’ and got yourself a gal.”

  “Yep.”

  “How do, ma’am.”

  Dinah nodded to him. “How do.”

  “Boaz Halfacre, esquire. And what’s your name, ma’am?”

  “Lurleen,” Rucker interjected solemnly. “Lurleen Studebaker.”

  “Same as the car?”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “My grandfather designed it.”

  “You rich?”

  “See any Lurleens on the road lately?” Rucker inquired dryly.

  Boaz laughed with explosive hee-hee-hees. Rucker swung his long legs to the ground and helped Dinah out through his doorway. The hounds milled around her legs, and she sidestepped them gingerly. Rucker moved close to her and put an arm around her waist. She forgot about the dogs and gloried in the affection he’d begun to show her.

  “I want to put my Land Rover in your barn and use your old pickup for a few days, Bo. I’ll pay. How does a hundred bucks sound?”

  “Like honey from heaven. You got a deal.”

  “And if anybody comes by askin’ questions, you never saw me.” Rucker hesitated. “Or Lurleen.”

  “Never saw you.”

  Rucker drove the Land Rover into a ramshackle barn. They transferred their bags and the shotgun to a decrepit old pickup with peeling paint. Boaz put a rusty padlock on the barn door and tossed Rucker the key. The icy wind picked up and Boaz shuffled toward his house, Rucker’s hush money clutched in his hand.

  “Rucker McClure?” he called over his shoulder. “Never laid eyes on the boy.”

  Dinah studied Rucker lovingly as they went to their new vehicle. His stories had been peopled with real-life characters like Boaz, and he treated them with great respect. She wasn’t surprised that he and the old codger were friends.

  “How did you meet him?” she asked.

  “I’ve taken to walkin’ in the woods. I came up on his house one day. He nearly shot my head off. He’s the last of the moonshiners.”

  They settled in the old truck. Dinah stared incredulously at its plush, sheepskin-covered seat and expensive stereo system, complete with tape deck. “What else does Boaz sell?”

  “I never asked. It’s none of my business.”

  “Can
you trust him?”

  Rucker looked at her sharply. “That’s a fine question for you to ask.”

  Dinah settled on her side of the truck, tilted her head back on the seat, and shut her eyes. She tried not to feel wounded, but she couldn’t help it. After the gentleness he’d shown her the new harshness was doubly painful, even though she deserved it.

  Rucker started the truck and guided it back down Boaz’s driveway. His silence grew oppressive. Dinah glanced at him anxiously and saw that his features had once again hardened with anger.

  “Do you know what today is?” he asked.

  She thought for a moment. “I think it’s Tuesday. I’ve lost track.”

  “It’s March twenty-sixth.”

  Dinah groaned softly. Today was their fourth anniversary.

  Four

  Dinah had her back turned toward the bedroom door, and she was busy fastening the lacy garter strap to her stocking. When she heard the door click shut softly, she smoothed her silk-sheathed leg and didn’t bother to look around.

  “Thanks, Millie. Just leave the milk on the dresser. I’ll drink it in a minute.”

  “Bulls don’t give milk,” drawled a deep voice, smooth and sexy as warm bourbon.

  Dinah whirled around. “Sir,” she said drolly, putting her hands on her hips, “You’re supposed to be at the church.”

  “I got lonely. And I don’t like to do what I’m supposed to do. You know that.” Rucker stood there, a devilish but distracted smile on his face as his eyes roamed over her.

  “How did you sneak past Millie?”

  “I didn’t. I’ll have you know my tough little secretary’s a romantic at heart.” He paused. “And I promised her two extra days of vacation.”

  He wore a black tux with a white cummerbund. The white shirt had an old-fashioned wing-tip collar. He looked so handsome and gallant and utterly provocative that her knees went weak. He started toward her, his stride slow and purposeful, his body poised for action.

  Laughing under her breath, she began to back away, tottering a little as the heels of her white pumps caught on the carpet. “It’s bad luck for you to see me before the wedding.”

  “It’s bad luck for me to see you in your weddin’ dress,” he corrected. His gaze moved down the low-cut bodice of her minislip to her garter straps and bare thighs. “Lord, Dee, that’s not weddin’ underwear. That’s not proper at all.”

  Her face flushing with pleasure, she touched the slip’s lacy hem. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  She kept backing, angling around the corner of the bed. He followed nonchalantly, knowing she couldn’t run too far and that she didn’t really want to escape. “Oh, I’m not surprised,” he said in a low, gruff tone. “I’ve always known that there was a wild woman behind that southern-belle smile. Com’ere, Scarlett.”

  “Why, Rhett …” Dinah bumped into the wall beside the bed. Smiling, her chin up, she pointed to her intricately braided and upswept hair. “This took two hours. You don’t want to be responsible for the damages.”

  He closed in on her, slid an arm around her waist, and pressed himself to her, gently pinning her to the wall. His mouth almost brushing hers, he murmured, “Our kids’ll see the weddin’ pictures some day and say, ‘Momma, how come you look like a hen that’s just been electrified?’ And you can tell ’em that Daddy ruffled your feathers.”

  “As usual.” Sighing with exaggerated defeat, she wound both hands into his hair and pulled him to her for a long, intimate kiss.

  He drew his fingers up the center of her back. They slid across the nape of her neck, caressing languidly. Something cool trickled down the center of her chest and stopped just above her breasts. “Surprise,” he whispered.

  Dinah tucked her chin and gazed at the diamond and sapphire pendant that hung from a slender golden chain. “Oh, no.”

  “What?” he asked anxiously, and cupped her face between his hands.

  “I’m going to ruin my makeup.” She looked up at him with teary eyes. “But I don’t care.” Dinah kissed him tenderly, then put her arms around his neck and hugged him. “It’s beautiful.” She whispered into his ear, “Put your fingers between my breasts.”

  He drew back and gazed at her with feigned shock. “If I’d known jewelry would get me this much fun, I’d have given you some the night we met.”

  Dinah chuckled. He trailed one hand down to her breasts and gently slipped his forefinger into their warm valley. His eyes widened with intrigue. “You carryin’ a bus ticket in case you get bored with the honeymoon? I don’t think you can get a bus home from Acapulco.”

  “Be careful. It’s pinned to my bra.”

  Thoroughly fascinated, he cocked his head and examined her bosom. Using both hands, he unfastened the small white envelope nestled between her breasts. “Hmmm, can’t resist,” he noted, then placed a kiss on the top of each one. He straightened, looking curiously at the envelope in his hand. Dinah stroked his shoulders and watched him with devotion. “You were supposed to find it later, but I can’t wait. Open it.”

  He reached inside and retrieved the contents. An incredulous smile appeared beneath his thick mustache. “How did you get a pair of tickets to the Masters Tournament! Nobody can get these tickets! People wait for years to get tickets to the Masters!”

  “The daughter of the tournament coordinator was a sorority sister of mine. I told her that my husband-to-be, the infamous Rucker McClure, loved golf more than anything in the world except me and grits. And that tickets to the Masters would be the best wedding present I could give him.”

  The look in his eyes was so loving that she gazed back in rapt silence, her mind blank and an awed little smile on her lips. He put his arms around her and studied her upturned face.

  His low, gruff voice nearly melted her. “I take you to be my wife, to love and cherish, no matter what, for as long as I live. And afterward, too, if there’s any way to arrange it.”

  She smiled wider at his somewhat practical rendition of the vows. “I take you to be my husband, to love and cherish, no matter what, for as long as I live. And afterward, too, because I’m sure you’ll need someone to keep you out of trouble in heaven.”

  He sighed happily and brushed a kiss across her mouth. “You’ve got me, ladybug. You’ve got me for good.”

  “I’ll never let you go,” she promised.

  Never.

  “Never,” Dinah whispered out loud. The sound of her own voice woke her from the uncomfortable half-sleep. The panic of disorientation, of waking too many times in too many strange and unpleasant places, jerked her eyes open in cold fear.

  She sat in the floor on the truck’s passenger side, her legs bunched against the door, her blue wool poncho wrapped around her. Overhead the windows let in the dim light of early dawn, and she glimpsed the tops of an oak grove. Rucker lay on his back on the seat beside her, his knees drawn up awkwardly.

  He had his face turned toward her. The sight of him sleeping only inches away was another shock, but of a different sort. She was still desperate and vulnerable, but she wasn’t alone anymore. I love you so much, she thought.

  Thinking of nothing but that, she made a soft, keening sound of happiness and scrambled to her knees. Trembling, Dinah slowly joined her mouth to his.

  For just a second his mouth remained relaxed in sleep, then its subtle tightening warned that he was groggily aware of her presence. Dinah was too reckless to stop; he would push her away at any moment, but she’d take as much of his affection as she could until then.

  She nuzzled his mustache, then ran her tongue over his lips and pressed her mouth tighter to his. To her amazement his mouth became mobile, accepting, giving. A shiver of desire ran through her like wildfire.

  His blue, quilted outdoorsman’s coat was unsnapped. Dinah placed a hand, palm down, on his broad chest. The heat and hardness of it radiated through the soft plaid shirt. She stroked lightly, then lifted her hand to his throat, where she drew a fingertip along the ruddy skin.

&nb
sp; She dipped down to the collar of his white T-shirt, where curly hair peeked out. Still kissing him, Dinah brushed her finger across that hair, remembering how many wonderful times she’d nestled beside him with her cheek against the tickling fur.

  He inhaled roughly and stirred. Deep in his throat he made a small, primitive sound that was a pure masculine response to her touch. Dinah kissed his chin, his jaw, his forehead. She stroked his hair and studied his face with an almost reverent gaze.

  Her other hand trailed lightly down his stomach to the waistband of his jeans. Oh, how he had loved her uninhibited caresses. So many times she had wakened him this way, her hands bawdy and her kisses delicate until he reached for her, eager to return the attention.

  Dinah slipped her palm over the front of his jeans and found him eager now, though he still breathed with the languid rhythm of sleep. The slow heat of desire rose inside her, and her swollen breasts ached with sensations that only his hands could soothe.

  Dinah rested her forehead against his. “Oh, honey,” she mouthed silently. “I want you so much.”

  She knew that as soon as he woke up, which would be any moment now, he’d be angry with her. Trying to preserve the tenderness between them, she forced her hand away from his hardness. As her fingers skimmed over him she felt the angular imprint of the truck keys in his front pocket.

  Dinah froze, her fingers resting on the forbidden item. She explored a little, and her breath stalled in her throat when she realized that the edge of the key ring protruded from his pocket. It would be so easy to steal the keys.

  He wouldn’t notice. When he woke up there’d be a good chance that he’d step outside of the truck for a minute. At which time, if she really loved him, she’d grit her teeth, crank the engine, and drive away without looking back. They were in the middle of nowhere, but they’d passed a small town a mile or two before stopping to sleep. He could walk there easily.

  He’d never forgive her, but at least he’d be out of this dangerous predicament.

  Sadness hollowed her inside as she caught the tip of her fingernail in the key ring and eased it out of his pocket. Dinah watched his face carefully for signs that he was waking. She slowly put the keys on the floorboard under the seat.