Thunder at Dawn Page 8

  He was turning away when Candy dashed up, her heels clattering against the floor.

  “For God’s sake, Zach, are you okay? Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ll fix you a drink at my place.”

  “No.” He looked into her wide, worried eyes. “We came here to shoot pool. Let’s shoot some.”

  “Well, if you’re sure, honey. Whatever you say.” Candy slanted him a smile that would have singed a cat’s tail. “But what do I get if I win?”

  He never even glanced toward Faith as he guided Candy back to the pool table.

  They made a great-looking couple, Faith thought, her gaze following them. Zach, impossibly handsome, tall and dark, and Candy, petite and curvy, with her baby-fine hair and pert little nose. She accepted a cue stick from him with a seductive smile that could have graced the pages of Cosmopolitan.

  Slowly, the crowd in the Tumbleweed drifted back to their drinks and their conversations. Couples were dancing again.

  Faith was silent as she slipped back into her chair.

  “Well, now, that was interesting.” Patti leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Are you all right? Or are you accustomed to men fighting over you whenever you go to the bars in Philadelphia?”

  “Oh, sure. Happens every night.” Faith reached for her beer and took a long drink.

  “He was drunk, wasn’t he?” Patti said aloud. “I thought so when he came to the table.”

  “Zach sure lost no time in decking him,” Roy put in with satisfaction as he and Bob took their seats. He threw Faith a thoughtful look. “What was up with that? Are you two . . . friends again?”

  “Hardly.” Faith shrugged. Despite the fact that she was trying to appear casual, her heart was racing.

  Zach McCallum had just jumped into her business, into her life, with both feet—and both fists.

  Why?

  There was also the little matter that he appeared to be here on a date with Candy Merck. So obviously he no longer had a wife . . . not that that mattered, certainly not to her . . .

  “I’m sorry I got you mixed up with Gallagher.” For once, Roy looked serious. And repentant. “I didn’t know he was an asshole.”

  “How could you have? I’m sure he’s only boorish when he’s had too much to drink. Besides, I was handling him, Roy. I just couldn’t do it fast enough.” She stood up, went around the table, and wrapped her arms around her cousin’s neck.

  “You’re the best. And I’ll tell Ty and Adam that you took good care of me.” She managed a short laugh. “But I think I’ve had enough fun for one night. Time to get some beauty sleep.”

  Patti and Corinne promised to call her in the morning, and Roy got up to walk her out to her car. But he stopped as he saw Owen headed over.

  “Faith, you’re leaving? Can I drive you home?”

  “I’ve got my car, Owen. But thanks.”

  “I’ll walk you out then. You never know what kind of scum might be hanging around.”

  “In Thunder Creek?” She smiled at him.

  “Yeah, in Thunder Creek. One piece of crud just got kicked out of here, and who knows if he’s barfing in the parking lot or waiting to hassle some other woman.”

  He had a point. She fell into step with him as they wove their way across the packed bar. Owen seemed pretty loaded himself, Faith noted as he stumbled once and swore under his breath. She could smell the beer on him.

  “I hope you don’t think I couldn’t have handled Rusty on my own,” she felt compelled to tell him. “But nobody gave me a chance to try.”

  “You shouldn’t have had to try. I saw him manhandling you. That guy was way out of line.”

  At her car, Owen held open the door and waited until she’d slid behind the wheel. But instead of slamming it closed, he held it open a moment, looking down at her with too-bright eyes and an uncertain expression.

  “I’ve been . . . kinda wondering something, Faith. Do you think you and I . . . could . . . talk . . . one of these days?”

  Something in his tone made her glance searchingly at him. “Sure. What’s on your mind, Owen?”

  “I need to ask your opinion about something.”

  “Care to give me a hint?” She tilted her head to one side, studying him as the cool night air wafted into the SUV.

  “Not now.” Owen glanced around as a Jeep full of young cowboys pulled into the parking lot, the radio blasting.

  “I’ll call you, Faith,” he said quickly. He ducked his head and turned away. “Soon.”

  She was curious about what was on his mind, but as she started the drive home in starlit darkness, she was even more curious about what had happened this evening between Zach McCallum and Rusty Gallagher.

  On her way out of the Tumbleweed, she’d been unable to resist glancing over toward Zach and Candy shooting pool, but neither of them had even glanced at her. They’d been joking, drinking, concentrating on the game and on each other.

  A silly little pain twisted inside her. She unknotted it brutally. When are you going to learn you can’t understand anything about Zach McCallum? she asked herself angrily as the SUV rattled over the darkened road.

  And more important, a little voice responded deep in the recesses of her mind, why in the world do you still want to try?

  Chapter 7

  CANDY MERCK WAS IN HEAVEN.

  Even though she’d lost two out of three games of pool to Zach McCallum, she didn’t mind a bit. Because now she was dancing in Zach’s arms while Patsy Cline sang her heart out. In the midst of a crowded dance floor of romantically swaying couples, Zach was holding her so close she could breathe in the subtle tobacco and leather scent of his cologne, and she could certainly feel the muscular strength of his body against her own, even through their clothes. Her skin warmed where their hands touched and a fevered heat began to beat in her blood.

  He had excited her when she was seventeen, and he excited her today. Some men just had that special heartthrob factor that there was no denying. And Zach had it in spades.

  Of course he’d never paid attention to her back then when she was in high school. She was younger than Faith and Patti and the other girls Zach had hung out with. She’d been pudgy, self-conscious, and shy back then—until she lost twenty pounds, dyed her hair a lighter, sheerer shade of blond, and learned to loosen up thanks to the judicious help of Mr. Budweiser.

  Now every guy in town wanted to date her, dance with her. But so far, not one of them had wanted to marry her.

  Maybe it was just meant to be that Zach would come back into her life and be the one. Candy smiled dreamily and shifted closer to Zach’s rock-solid abs. Maybe his coming back now, seeking her out to handle that land lease, was fate’s way of saying Candy, here’s your guy—the one you always dreamed of.

  That one summer he’d spent in Thunder Creek ten years ago had begun with Zach running around with his friends, drinking beer in the back of someone’s pickup truck every night, swimming in the creek, or drag-racing on the dirt road that ran for two miles behind the highway. But all that had changed the day he met Faith Barclay.

  They’d starting spending more and more time together. By the end of the summer, they’d been inseparable.

  And Candy had felt invisible.

  But now Zach had returned, all grown up, better looking than ever, rich as all getout, and he’d come looking for her. She’d handled all the paperwork he needed to lease his back acres to the Buffalo Kids Camp organizers. They’d been at enough meetings together for her to learn that he was divorced from his son’s mother, that he planned to settle indefinitely in Thunder Creek, and that he still had that slow crooked grin that had always had the power to send her into a tailspin.

  Candy had worn her sexiest suit today when she drove out to the Last Trail for one last signature. She’d seen Zach notice her snugly cut violet blazer—worn with a sexy silk camisole and a tight black skirt that hugged her bottom. When she’d suggested that they hang out tonight at the Tumbleweed, to celebrate finalizing the deal, he’d o
nly hesitated a tiny second before accepting.

  Candy was sure he was just thinking about who would watch his son while he went on a date. But that wouldn’t be a problem, since Zach had a live-in housekeeper who was paid to help take care of the boy.

  And she was equally sure that Zach wouldn’t be turning down anything else tonight either—including what she planned to offer him when they left the Tumbleweed and went back to her place.

  “How about one more dance?” she murmured, gazing up into his eyes as the music ended and George Strait came on the jukebox, crooning out another ballad. “This is my favorite song.”

  “It’s getting late, Candy. How about a rain check?”

  For the first time, she noticed the distant look in his eyes. What was he thinking about? Or maybe she should ask herself who?

  It wouldn’t take three guesses.

  “You wouldn’t turn Faith down for another dance, would you?” she blurted before she could bite back the words.

  Finally he seemed to focus in on her. Was it her imagination, or did his features suddenly harden, as if her words had made him retreat deep and fast into himself, far away from her, from this dance floor?

  “What are you talking about?”

  Candy sensed she’d made a misstep, but there was nothing to do now but bluster through it.

  “Well, you did jump in there kinda fast when she was dancing with Rusty Gallagher.” Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the peevishness from her tone. “And it’s not as if she even asked you for help. She looked fine to me. They were just talking—”

  “Faith Barclay has nothing to do with this conversation, or with you and me.”

  You and me? Hope surged through her. So maybe there is a you and me, she thought, her heart beating faster.

  “I’m glad to hear that, Zach. More glad than I can say.”

  She tossed him a smile she’d perfected by the time she turned eighteen, a sideways, come-hither smile that never failed to get a man’s attention. “How about one more drink at my place? I have a bottle of champagne I’ve been saving for a special occasion. We should have a toast to finalizing your deal with the camp.”

  Which is how Zach found himself twenty minutes later sitting on a sleek red leather sofa in a small ranch house two miles outside of town. Candy’s house was furnished like a Manhattan loft with lots of leather and glass, bold contemporary art, and dramatic geometric rugs on the hardwood floors.

  It looked amusingly out of place in the comfortable, down-home coziness of Thunder Creek, but Candy confided her secret goal—that if she ever built up her bank account enough, she’d be headed for the Big Apple. She had her sights set on going east, on selling luxury condos and penthouses in Manhattan and summer homes in the Hamptons. She’d lived her whole life in Thunder Creek and that was enough. She was going for the big time—where a single real estate deal would net her more commission than she earned in Thunder Creek in a year.

  “There’s only one thing that would stop me,” she told Zach, handing him a glass of champagne. She sat close to him on the sofa and took a sip from her own glass. “And that’s if I met the right man and he begged me to stay.”

  “You’d give up your dreams for a man?”

  “If it was the right man—maybe.” She shot him an assessing smile. “Or maybe I’d just convince him to come along with me. Then I could have it all.”

  Zach felt a spurt of pity for her. Did she really believe she could have it all?

  Well, good luck to her, but based on his own experience, anyone who thought that way was in for a rude awakening.

  He’d long ago given up on wanting to have it all—much less believing he ever could.

  His wants were much more conservative now. They all revolved around his business—and his son. A good life for Dillon. Keeping his company strong. Those were his goals. His focus. His lifeline.

  For himself, personally, he’d long ago given up what he’d wanted, and if there was anything he’d learned over the years it was that there was no going back.

  You live with your mistakes, give up your dreams, and move on, making the best of it, he thought, taking another swig of Candy’s champagne. It was a philosophy he’d honed in his battles with his father and in his dealings with his wife.

  Candy was giggling into her glass. She’d already consumed three beers at the Tumbleweed, and as he’d driven her home, she’d sung pleasantly off-key along with the radio.

  “I should be going.” He finished off his drink and set it down on her glass cocktail table. “I promised to take my son fishing in the morning. That means a five A.M. wake-up.”

  “But we just got here.” She touched his arm. “Stay. Please. Pretty please.”

  And before he could stand up, she scooted onto his lap, wound her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

  Her lips were moist and puffy, scented with champagne. She was a cuddly handful, and her blond hair tickled his chin. But Zach felt nothing as he kissed her. Nothing but frustration.

  She wasn’t the woman he wanted to be kissing right now.

  She wasn’t Faith.

  He ended the kiss, pulling back. Though she still clung to him, he held her at arm’s length.

  “I have to be going, Candy.”

  She blinked twice, looking as if he’d just thrown cold water in her eyes. “C’mon, you can stay a little longer, can’t you? We’re just getting started—”

  “Sorry. I have to go.” As he saw anger and hurt flash in her eyes, he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. You’ve had a lot to drink and I don’t want to take advantage of our friendship.”

  Shifting her off his lap, he stood. “You and I are friends, Candy.” His tone was firm. “Good friends. And that’s it. I hope we can keep it that way.”

  Driving home a few moments later, he raked a hand through his hair. He wished he’d never accepted her suggestion about going out to the Tumbleweed together. Then he never would’ve gotten himself into that damned awkward situation at her house.

  Damn, Candy will probably be embarrassed as hell in the morning, if she even remembers anything. He hoped to God she didn’t.

  But there was something else that never would have happened if he hadn’t been at the Tumbleweed tonight. He wouldn’t have run into Faith, wouldn’t have felt his blood boil when Rusty Gallagher had his hands all over her. He wouldn’t have acted like a geeky teen in love when he’d seen Faith trying to push Gallagher away.

  She had plenty of protectors: Roy, Bob, Owen. She sure as hell didn’t need him. But he’d acted reflexively, without thinking.

  He hadn’t done that sort of thing in a long time. Over the years, he’d trained himself to exercise self-control, to think through every action before initiating it.

  Tonight, the mere sight of Faith trying to pull away from Gallagher had triggered a grenade in his bloodstream and sent him barreling into battle.

  Despite the single beer he’d drunk at the bar and the glass of champagne at Candy’s place, he was wound up. A fierce restlessness gripped him as he drove. The night was bedazzled with stars, reigned over by a glittering half-moon of pure silver, and the air was tinged with an early autumn chill that swept straight down from the mountains.

  He knew he should go home, get to bed, set his alarm for five. Dillon would be raring to go by five-thirty. But he found himself passing the turnoff to Bear Paw Road, which led to the Last Trail ranch house, and instead heading west, toward Blue Moon Mesa.

  Zach stared straight ahead as he turned onto the lonely gravel track leading to the cabin, which was backed by woods and set within tall pines.

  The cabin was bathed in moonlight as he halted in the small clearing before the porch and shut off the lights and the engine.

  The windows were all dark. Faith must be asleep.

  Even if she wasn’t . . . what the hell was he doing here?

  Yet he sat, studying the cabin, the smoke curling from the chimney into the brilliant night sky. The peace of it enveloped him
even in his truck.

  He thought back to the night ten summers ago, when the two of them had hiked from here all the way to Shadow Point. Faith had worn cutoff khaki shorts and a white T-shirt that made her tanned arms and legs look even richer. Her mass of curls had been tamed and twisted into a braid down her back.

  She’d smelled of baby powder and Dove soap as they’d kissed over there . . . right beside that juniper tree twenty feet from the cabin. The sun had been shining that day, and her mouth had felt as soft as flower petals.

  He’d blurted that he’d loved her—just like that, in the middle of a summer afternoon, with birds singing in the trees all around them and not another human being around for miles.

  And she’d said she loved him too . . .

  Someone was over there. By the tree where they’d kissed.

  In the car, Zach stared through the darkness, alarm surging like ice through his blood. He saw movement, a man’s shape, the sheen of eyes, barely discernible through the starlit night . . . and then in an instant the man slipped toward the woods and disappeared into the dark.

  What the hell?

  Zach was out of the car in a flash. “Hey,” he yelled, sprinting forward, scanning the blackness. “Who’s there? Stop!”

  There was no answer, no sound. Zach kept running, straight toward the spot where the man lurking outside of Faith’s cabin had melted like a ghost into the dark.

  Chapter 8

  A NOISE OUTSIDE YANKED FAITH FROM A RESTLESS sleep. She shot straight up in bed, her heart racing.

  A motor hummed. Tires crunched gravel. Someone was driving up the track to the cabin.

  Rusty Gallagher was her first thought. Maybe he was drunk, wanted to “dance” with her some more. Or bawl her out for getting him kicked out of the Tumbleweed.

  Scrambling out of bed, she grabbed her gun from the bottom dresser drawer where she’d tucked it atop her sweatpants and zip-up jackets. Then, clad only in her pink tank top and white drawstring pants, she crossed to the window, peered through one of the slats of the plantation shutters, and saw the car outlined in the moonlight.