Mallory Rush - [Outlawsand Heroes 02] Page 7

  He thought for a while, then shook his head. "Bits and pieces, but very little comes together to make any sense."

  Lori sighed her relief while a part of her was somewhat disappointed. The idea of Noble knowing just about everything there was to know about her held a certain appeal.

  Still holding hands, she felt his thumb stroke hers.

  "Something does come to me now. It was about how your husband died—not naturally, some sort of tragedy. Will you tell me again?" When she hesitated, he added, "I'm almost as good a listener awake as I am asleep."

  "Okay," she slowly agreed. "Mick was a policeman and he was gunned down in a bank robbery." A soft groan came from Noble and she saw distress cloud his face. "You look upset."

  "I—" He took a deep breath and let it out on another groan. "Yes, this upsets me greatly. Had I known—remembered—I..." He grimaced. "I wouldn't have been so beastly about demanding the return of my gun."

  "That's okay. Really, it is. These are threatening surroundings for you—and besides, you come from a time when most men kept their guns as close to their hips as they would their wallets these days."

  "You're very gracious, Lori. More than I deserve," he said with a thread of humbleness she didn't understand. No matter, it plucked at her heartstrings anyway.

  Hands touching, their gazes connected, Lori deemed him an exceptionally sensitive man, even by current standards.

  "Do you wish to tell me more?" he asked her, his voice oddly strained.

  Maybe if she did, just maybe she could sleep for a change. And maybe if she did, Noble would feel free to unburden himself to her. She sensed that something was troubling him, deeply, something beyond his obvious turmoil.

  No doubt it was rooted in his past, perhaps sprang from those secrets he had mentioned in the tub. But any man who thought being afraid made him a sissy wouldn't easily part with his secrets or his darker demons within.

  Whatever they were, she couldn't imagine them being any darker than her own.

  Chapter 8

  "I was on duty at the hospital when it happened. Mick was rushed into the emergency room and he was so—so covered with blood that I didn't know who it was at first. But he was still alive and I heard him call my name while all these other people tried to drag me away from this—this man I loved who was calling for me."

  Lori... sweet... heart. I'm sorry... so... sorry. She heard his voice again, so clear she could remember the shallow wheeze of his breath, the gurgling sound in his throat as he began to asphyxiate on... blood. So much blood.

  Struggling for breath herself, she whispered, "I could hear him only because I was clinging to the stretcher, kissing him—I was kissing Mick and telling him that I loved him and everything would be all right. I told him that I wouldn't let him die, that I'd never forgive him if he did. And then—and then... He died." Tears welling in her eyes, she stared hard at Noble. "Know what? I still haven't forgiven him. It's too much to forgive."

  "God," Noble breathed out. "Dear God."

  "I haven't forgiven Him either." Knuckling tears from her cheeks, she said too brightly, "so, there you have it. My very own passion play, filled with murder and angst, a high drama worthy of the stage. Hey, even Shakespeare couldn't have done better if he'd written the script himself."

  Her mirthless laughter fell like brittle chips of ice in the too still room. But then she felt his gentle fingertips push back her hair, his warm breath beside her ear.

  "Might I hold you?" She shook her head and pulled slightly away. "Why not?" Noble asked.

  "Be-because I'm afraid I'll come apart if you do."

  "Would that be so bad?"

  "Oh yes, bad." Chancing a glance at him, she was rocked by the soul-deep compassion in his gaze. She felt herself teeter on the verge of throwing herself into his arms, begging him to make it all go away, to render her numb to everything except for the magic of his touch.

  "Very bad," she reiterated with more force.

  "I don't understand."

  "It's really simple, Noble. I'm a lot like Humpty-Dumpty. I had a great fall, and I've done my best to put myself back together again, but some pieces are missing. So it's really important for me to protect myself from anyone or anything that might jar what I've managed to keep intact."

  "But if you would let me, I would like to help you find those missing pieces so you might be whole again."

  Lori considered his offer. She needed some help and Lord knew her counseling sessions and grief group hadn't gotten her over the hurdle she continued to straddle—on better days.

  Thinking aloud, she said, "it's strange, but I actually do feel better since I told you about it—again. I don't talk about my real feelings to anyone, not in the last couple of years anyway. Not even to my parents or my friends. Hell, I don't even talk to myself about them anymore, my feelings just keep me awake, when I'd sell my soul for a good night's sleep. And here we are, not really knowing each other, while I spill my guts all over the place like you're the best friend I've got."

  "Nothing would make me happier than for that to be true." Noble tapped his lips, those marvelous lips that tugged at the corners and made her smile slightly too. "I feel a bond with you as well, Lori, one which defies logic and time. I pray that we shall always be the best of friends. Friends... and more."

  He looked as though he wanted to say more than he was actually saying. Or maybe it was just her, projecting onto him all the contradictions that defined her life and never got resolved. When would she get beyond the past and get on with her future? And yet, in the short time Noble had been with her, she had taken some great strides forward.

  Did she dare take another? A small but significant step that would alter their already unique relationship. Perhaps it was that uniqueness that was imbuing her with the courage to take the risk of listening to her heart, not her head.

  "I'd like you to do something, Noble. Something I haven't let another man do in a very long time." Reaching for the bedside lamp, she switched it off. "Hold me? And more."

  "How much more?" he murmured, taking her into his arms.

  "I don't know yet." How solid, how natural and good she felt in his easy embrace. "For now, I just want you to hold me until I go to sleep." She rubbed her cheek against the coarse stubble of his. "This feels right."

  "It is right."

  Even as he said it Noble knew it was not right at all. Something terrible was between them, something he could not ignore. Neither could he ignore her fleet kisses to his cheek, as they shifted downward on the bed. He pulled the covers over them then urged her head to his chest.

  Lori nuzzled against him, stroked her palm over his heart. It beat too quickly, too heavily. For her. Hold her, she'd asked. And hold her he would, forever and beyond if she would but let him. But just as he had stolen back his gold, he was stealing these precious moments now. This Noble knew.

  Her husband stood between them—more surely than the fabric separating their bodies as her knee slid between his.

  Noble's breath caught while her own became even and deep. In sleep she sought a natural fit, Lori's covered thigh wedged against his groin, pressed like a secret promise against the strain of his arousal.

  It was a sweet torture Noble endured, listening to her breathe, smelling her apple-scented hair, stroking it while he imagined stroking into her with a gentle fury— an imagining that made his body ache where she pressed.

  Yes, he was hurting there; but even more he was aching in places unseen.

  Early dawn turned the white shades of the window a pale lemon. The room softly illuminated, he shifted his gaze to the bedstand and stared grimly at the picture he had avoided looking at since he'd first entered her room.

  Encased in a silver frame was a lifelike image of Lori in a wedding gown, her face radiant as she smiled up at a formally dressed man who could only be Mick.

  A handsome chap, though a bit long in the jaw.

  Noble's own jaw tightened.

  Mick wasn't dead, not
really. Even from the grave he had a powerful hold over Lori's affections. And her loyalty. Noble could understand that, having lost his parents much the same way. Nevertheless, he considered this man, this Mick, his enemy.

  Not only must I compete with your exalted memory, he silently told him, your martyrdom has put me in a dreadful position.

  His eyes narrowed in hostility at the picture, Noble carefully reached over and turned it down.

  He gathered Lori more tightly to him. Her soft sigh made him yearn to sip the breath from her lips, tautened his keen need for release. Release, how he did need it. A borrowed escape from the mire of his troubled thoughts, some small ease for his physical distress, which she worsened with her nuzzles.

  Never had he felt such comfort and discomfort all at once. Never had he sought ease in the arms of a slumbering woman, but he held Lori as if she were his own, not the lawman's.

  The man whose ghost stood between them.

  * * *

  Lori stretched languorously as she came slowly awake. Ahhh... mmmm, but she felt so rested, so at peace, so—

  She sat up with a start. Bright light beat against the window shades and she knew it must be midday. Had she overslept? Impossible, she never overslept. A quick glance at the bedside clock informed her that the impossible had happened.

  About to bound from the bed, Lori stopped.

  "Wait a minute..." she whispered. The cobwebs clearing from her head, she felt surging images from the night before rush in, wave upon wave.

  Her gaze went to the pillow that bore proof Noble had been there. A single rose lay where his head had been. Beside the rose was a note. Lori picked it up and was struck by the elaborate flourish of his handwriting, a stark contrast to the pharmaceutical-company heading on her notepad—the one she kept beside the kitchen phone. An uneasy premonition niggled at her, but she pushed it aside and proceeded to read:

  My dear, Lori, I took the liberty of plucking a flower from your garden, for it reminded me of you—yellow petals the color of sunshine. Fragile and soft, belying a strong stem and the threat of thorns.

  Lifting the rose, Lori ran a fingertip over the stem. And smiled. The thorns had been removed.

  While strolling your front grounds, I saw many things which pricked my curiosity—even more so than the oddity in your kitchen which allows voices to speak, same in foreign, tongues even, with a random, press of numbered buttons.

  Lori's groan gave way to a gasp of alarm.

  Should you awaken before I return, no need to fret. I have gone to embark upon what promises to be a grand adventure but shall return in time to take tea with you. Quite an assortment I found in your pantry—as intriguing and delightful to the senses as you, my lady.

  Faithfully, I am yours—Noble.

  "Oh my God," she breathed. "Oh my God!"

  Leaping from the bed, Lori tossed aside both flower and note and took off, shouting, "Noble! Noble! Are you here? Please, be here!"

  His room, maybe he was in his room. No Noble there. Just a made-up bed and Mick's pants folded neatly at the end. By the time she flew into the kitchen, her heart was pounding, her stomach churning, and her imagination racing faster than her feet. Oh Lord, please don't let him get run over or arrested or taken to the psych ward at the hospital.

  She had to find him before someone else found him first. The more help she could get, the better. Ryan, she'd call Ryan at work, then Warren, Jacob, and Jennifer, and tell them to beg off from their jobs, too, on account of an emergency.

  Grabbing the phone, she fleetingly wondered where in the world Noble had called. No time to worry about it now, she'd worry after she got her phone bill.

  Just as a ring sounded on the other end, the doorbell buzzed.

  Maybe it was Noble. Maybe he'd locked himself out and was back, safe and sound. If he was, she'd cover him with kisses and hug him like she'd never let him go. And then... then she'd kill him.

  "Emergency room. Hello... hello?"

  Lori slammed down the phone and rushed to the front door.

  She threw it open and sighed her relief.

  Relief that lasted all of two seconds. Next to Noble stood a man in uniform.

  "Uh... hi. Hi, Jack! Long time no see."

  "Good to see you, too, Lori. Sorry to wake you up, but..." He turned his attention from her—disheveled and bed-rumpled, she realized, and quickly pulled together her gaping robe—to Noble, who bowed slightly in her direction.

  "This man says he's a friend of yours, Lori. Is that true?" Jack gave her an apologetic smile, letting her know he didn't believe it for a minute. "I picked him up walking down the middle of your street—got a call on him from the local pawnshop. Seems your 'friend' here tried to buy a television with a pouch of gold,"

  Lori summoned what she hoped passed for a burst of laughter.

  "Noble," she said with a roll of her eyes while she latched on to his arm and all but yanked him inside. "I know you have this crazy thing about getting into your characters, but actually pretending this is the gold rush..." She sighed dramatically. "Really, Noble, this is too much."

  "You mean, you actually know this guy?"

  "Of course I do," she said, hooking her arm around Noble's shoulders—stay away from his neck or you'll strangle him—giving the appearance that they were the best of buds. "Noble's an old friend from college. Just visiting, taking a break from Hollywood while he gets into his part. It—it's one of those shoot-'em-up frontier-adventure flicks."

  "Hey, no kidding?" Jack got a star-struck look in his eyes as he regarded Noble. "A real live Hollywood actor right here in Juneau! Have I seen you in anything before?"

  "Probably," Lori interjected. "He's done a lot of bit parts, but this is his first major role. Noble takes his work very seriously. In fact, I'm almost surprised he didn't rent a horse and take to the streets on it. Fortunately, he stopped with the wardrobe and a pouch of fake gold."

  "Might I have my gold back, please?" Noble drew himself up and extended his hand.

  Jack gripped it. "Well, I'll be damned. A real, live Hollywood actor with a lead role and I'm shaking his hand! Sorry about making you sit in the back of the squad car. I thought you were maybe a loony tune from the psych ward who'd met Lori and got some crazy ideas," Jack said while pumping Noble's hand.

  "My gold, please," Noble repeated, unsmiling.

  With a lopsided grin, Jack handed it over. Withdrawing a pinch of it, Noble offered it to him. "I'd like to pay you for taking me in your... car. I very much enjoyed the ride."

  Jack shook his head and flipped out his citation pad.

  "Think I could have your autograph? If you're half as good on screen as you are off, you're gonna hit it big. Especially with the ladies. Anyone ever tell you that you kinda look like Clint Eastwood?"

  "All the time," Lori said. Noble shot her a narrow glance as he signed his name with a flourish.

  "There you are, my good man."

  "Wow, sounds like you've got stage experience too. Were you ever on Broadway?"

  "I performed in England. Shakespeare."

  "Man, wait till the wife hears about this. Great to meet you, Noble."

  "A pleasure, to be sure."

  "Thanks, Jack," Lori said, feeling ignored.

  "Nooo problem. Take 'er easy, Lori." Jack turned to leave and she exhaled a deep breath. But then he called back, "by the way, what's the name of the movie you're in?"

  The question was directed to Noble. She whispered, "tell him it's called The Gold and the Glory."

  Without looking at her, Noble replied, "it's called Guns and Roses." With a gracious smile, he added, "see you at the, ah, movies, Jack."

  Chapter 9

  "Tea?" Noble asked, pulling out two cups and scanning for matching saucers, which he slid from the bottom of a pile in the cupboard.

  "Fine." Lori drummed her fingertips on the table.

  "You're sure you don't mind me rummaging about your kitchen?" After her muttered, "fine," he filled a kettle with water an
d took it to the stove. Paused. Given the magnitude of what he had learned on his own in a few short hours, surely he could master this rudimentary skill without her tutoring.

  Noble studied the placement of knobs, their relation to the four black circles. He settled the kettle on one then selected the lowest setting. By the time the steam whistled, he had prepared the tray, as well as himself, for what was bound to prove a less-than-genteel tête-à-tête over tea.

  After pouring the boiling water, he turned the stove off. Amazing that he should take pride in such a minor accomplishment. But he did. Just as he took pride in having come to realize one did not walk in the middle of the street. While horses and carriages paid proper respect to those who took to their feet, automobiles apparently did not.

  Automobiles. Otherwise referred to as cars. What an exciting invention. He couldn't wait to master the driving of one himself. Driving, not riding. This he had gleaned from Jack, a jolly good chap—even if he was a lawman.

  Looking over the assortment of boxes, he selected the one he deemed most appropriate for Lori.

  "Would you care for Red Zinger?"

  "Fine."

  He placed the tea bag into her cup then chose Earl Grey for himself. While the tea steeped and she continued to drum her fingers, Noble set out two plates, a tube of crackers, and a brightly labeled jar of peanut butter. It was the best he could do given the sparseness of her pantry contents—which he had investigated hours ago, as he had much else in this house filled with infinite wonders.

  "Sugar?"

  "Fine."

  Unable to resist, Noble ladled four heaping spoonfuls into her cup. He usually took one for himself, but certain he was due far more tartness than sweetness from Lori, he added an extra sugar to his own tea.

  "Cream?" When she didn't answer, he filled the remainder of her cup with a generous splash. "Have you any cognac?" he asked hopefully.

  "Cognac?" she repeated, looking at him directly for the first time since Jack had left. "All I've got around here is a six-pack of Bud Light and two bottles of André fermenting in the fridge since New Year's Eve. Oh yeah, and a bottle of Crown Royal I bought for Mick. An anniversary present for an anniversary that didn't happen."