Stevie Lee Page 6

  Hal recognized a severe case of hero worship when it hit him in the face, but this was the first time he hadn’t been the hero. He’d like to see this Kip guy try to climb Everest, or raft the Waghi River. As a matter of fact, he’d like to see it real bad.

  “Yep, we all thought Stevie did good for herself when she finally got Kip to the altar. Mom and Dad pitched in with Mr. and Mrs. Brown and built them that cabin for a wedding present, right on the edge of the ranch, right where Stevie wanted it.”

  The A-frame had been a wedding present? A sick feeling plummeted into the middle of Hal’s stomach. Stevie had told him it was only two years old. This wasn’t an old ex-husband they were talking about. This was a brand new ex-husband.

  “Kip spoiled her, too, even at the divorce. He let her have the house and the car and half interest in this place. If Stevie hadn’t caught him red-handed, they’d probably still be together.”

  Thankfully, a man came up to order a drink, distracting Doug from the conversation. But Hal wasn’t any happier left alone with his thoughts.

  A jerk named TNT, who fancied himself hot as dynamite had loved, spoiled, and walked out on a woman who treated Hal like a bad case of hives, something to be endured. Hal couldn’t figure it: he wasn’t such a bad guy. But then again, every car he’d ever owned bore a remarkable resemblance, in looks and temperament, to his truck. The only house he’d ever owned was almost a memory—and the adventuring business wasn’t something you could just up and give to somebody, at least not the way he went about it. Not many people wanted to paddle their guts out on a white-water river for three meals a day and damn little else, or haul a hundred and twenty pound pack up the side of an unforgiving mountain for bragging rights and a few items of equipment.

  Hal liked things that way. The fewer people out there cluttering up the wild places, the better. But he liked something else too—the way Stevie Lee made him feel—and he could imagine a thousand ways to spoil her, none of which he could afford. Even with all the facts in place, he wanted her.

  Damn. Life was suddenly getting a lot more complicated.

  Friday rolled into Saturday, into Sunday, and finally into Monday, seemingly without end. She’d said he’d be working twelve-hour days, but fourteen or sixteen had proven to be the norm. Under Doug’s tutelage, Hal’s drink repertoire had risen dramatically. Even more amazing for someone used to having a few hundred miles between himself and the rest of humanity, he’d learned the finer moves of working with two people in a cramped space without stepping on anybody’s toes. But he hadn’t been able to get Stevie alone for a minute.

  Hal stacked the last clean glass on the shelf, then took it back down to wipe a few spots off with his bar towel. He twisted the glass around the cloth and checked out the bar. The coolers were stocked with beer, the place was tidy, and the chaotic crowds had piddled out to a few regulars. It was time to make his move.

  Tossing the towel over his shoulder, he called to Doug, “I’m taking a break.”

  The younger man nodded and went back to counting out their tips on the bar.

  * * *

  “. . . four, five, six, seven hundred,” Stevie whispered under her breath. “And twenty, forty.” Twelve hundred and forty dollars. She counted it again.

  “Hmm, not bad.” She tippity-tapped the number onto her calculator, then picked up a bundle of tens.

  Stacks of cardboard boxes, most of them empty, towered over the side of her rolltop desk, blocking the overhead light and throwing her slender form into the slanted shadow of the ceiling fan. Various and sundry pieces of replacement parts, tools, and busted equipment littered the remaining floor space.

  Standing in the doorway, Hal looked at the mess and wondered how she ever got any work done. Her desk reminded him of a miniature junkyard. Empty beer bottles and pop cans were scattered here and there like beacons among the flat paper waste.

  “For double wages, I’ll clean this place up for you,” he offered from across the infamous back room.

  Stevie swivelled her chair around, one pencil in her hand, another stuck behind her ear. “Don’t even try it, mister. I’ve got a system going here.” A surprisingly soft smile curved her full, wide mouth, sending a jolt of anticipation through his chest. Then she went and ruined it. “This is the best Memorial Day weekend the Trail’s ever done, close to thirty-five hundred dollars.”

  “Looks as though I’m earning my keep,” he said dryly. Was money all she ever thought about? he wondered.

  She answered him silently with an arched brow, and swivelled herself around and went back to work.

  “What’s the big deal, anyway,” he continued, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. “According to Doug, good old Kip set you up for life.”

  “If you call ridiculous car payments, an outrageous mortgage, and a piece of a decrepit bar that can’t even pay for the beer being set up for life, then he did.” While she talked, she shuffled through the piles of ledgers and papers on the desk, eventually coming up with a rubber band. “Frankly, I had something else in mind.”

  Her words, however lightly spoken, caused an uneasy tightening in his chest.

  “Thought you were smarter than that, Stevie Lee,” he said softly, hurting for her and not knowing exactly why. Sure, he’d seen how hard she worked, keeping a lid on the pandemonium and charming the customers. But he’d also seen her drop with exhaustion at the end of each night.

  From the back, he saw her lift one shoulder in a slight shrug. “It was a small price to pay to get rid of him.”

  He took her nonchalance as a cue and sure rejection of any pity he might have offered, if he’d been dumb enough to offer Stevie Lee Brown pity. Changing tactics, he said in a lighter tone, “I guess I showed up in the nick of time.”

  She replied silently again, this time lifting both shoulders in an all-out, dismissive shrug.

  Okay, Hal, you’ve tried the subtle approach.

  Stevie sensed his encroaching presence and shifted closer to her calculator, trying with all her heart to ignore him, wishing he’d get what he’d come for and leave. Then she felt a warm tingle on the back of her neck, and a corresponding heat in her cheeks. Damn him. What did he think he was doing? She dared to look up and immediately wished she hadn’t.

  The broken shafts of light from the ceiling fan cast him in shadow, adding mystery and danger to a face she’d been secretly memorizing all weekend. His rolled up sleeves and open collar of his shirt revealed a warm, dark brown body, lean with muscle and ready for—what? Stevie unconsciously scooted closer to her desk.

  Hal was taking his time, enjoying the view, and stalking her, slowly, easily, and inevitably. His gaze traveled up the length of her legs to the wide leather belt cinching her waist. A white T-shirt he’d like to see wet, clung to her upper body.

  “Thanks for not firing me Friday night.” He lifted two of the reinforced cardboard boxes off the stack and dropped them on the near side of her desk, neatly trapping her between himself and the wall.

  Stevie’s eyes widened as he sat down on the double box, knees splayed, booted feet planted firmly on the floor. A tiny, delayed shot of panic released in her brain. “You’re welcome. You’ll . . . um . . . get the hang of it.”

  ‘Yeah, I think I will.” Hal made himself comfortable and watched her, letting his anticipation build. He’d waited a long time. “Is it going to be crazy like that every weekend?”

  “No. We’ll get hit again on the Fourth, and Labor Day weekend, but the rest of the time it will just be busy, not cra—What are you doing?”

  With the toe of his boot, Hal swivelled her chair around, putting her between his legs. Her tiny shot of panic turned into a heart-pounding wave.

  “Hal,” she said with a gasp, pressing back into the chair. Her braid slid over her shoulder, making a honey-colored ribbon down the front of her shirt. “Wha-what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Well, Stevie, I’ll tell you,” he said in a soft drawl, leaning in close and resti
ng his hands on the arms of the chair. “For a week and a half all I’ve been able to think about is kissing you again. . . .”

  The rolling roughness of his voice pulled her ever-widening eyes up to meet the indigo sultriness of his.

  “Hal, you promised.” Slight desperation made her voice weak, and, oh, so vulnerable to the power of his.

  “. . . But I’m having trouble pulling it off.” His mouth lowered to her cheek, and his words blew against her skin. “I was hoping you’d help me, maybe we could practice for a while.” Every phrase drew him closer to the sweet nape of her neck. At her ear, he paused and whispered, “Come on, Stevie . . . help me.” Then his mouth opened.

  The warmth, and the wetness, and the wildness of his touch exploded across her skin, drowning reason with desire. He was above her and over her, his hands linking behind her head, gently nudging her, coaxing her, asking her to turn her mouth into his.

  “Hal . . .” His name whispered from her lips on a soft moan. “Please, no.”

  “Shh . . .” His hand came around the side of her face, cupping her chin and making the decision for her.

  More lost than she’d ever been, Stevie opened her mouth, and slowly sank into the heat and passion of his kiss. A depthless longing lifted her hands to the bare skin of his arms, just to feel the warmth and the hardness of him. Beneath her fingers, his muscles flexed and tightened, drawing her closer.

  Without warning Hal had slipped in over his head. He’d started something he didn’t want to end. Sweet, sweet, Stevie Lee surprised him again and again with the hunger of her touch, the lazy track of her tongue in his mouth, the pressure of her knee on the inside of his thigh. A slow ache drew a groan of pleasure from his mouth into hers. He slid his arm behind her back and pulled her out of the chair and between his legs. He needed her closer, wanted her fully against him.

  “Don’t mind me, kids. I’m just getting a case of beer for the cooler.”

  Stevie instantly froze in his arms. Hal swore, first in Spanish, then Arabic—the little rat, he thought. The coolers were fully stocked.

  Doug hefted the case and walked back toward the hall.

  Thoroughly flustered and even more embarrassed, Stevie disentangled herself from his passionate embrace.

  “Stevie,” he began.

  “No. No, Hal. I can’t afford this . . . this situation. You, me, I can’t afford this.” She turned away, but Hal caught her hand and pulled her back into his arms. Lowering his mouth to hers, he reminded her of what they’d shared. Once again she responded, telling him everything he needed to know.

  When he lifted his head, it was to cloudy gray eyes, tawny skin flushed with warmth, and a full mouth too breathless to close.

  “You can afford me, Stevie,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m here anytime you want me—free of charge.”

  Five

  “Free of charge. Free of charge. Tell it to the Granby National Bank, Mr. Morgan,” Stevie muttered, tightening her one-handed grip on the steering wheel. The Mustang flew down the highway, a red streak burning up the road. Wind whipped through the open window and tangled her hair.

  Depositing the week’s receipts had barely covered the Trail’s outstanding checks, a fact her banker had insisted on dwelling upon, pointing it out—over and over again. The man was uncanny. Inside of five minutes, without her even asking, he’d made it darn clear that her line of credit was drier than a desert in June. He obviously hadn’t studied Hal Morgan’s theory of economics.

  “Free of charge.” An unladylike snort summed up her opinion of his offer. Unfortunately, nothing she’d tried in the last three days had been able to negate the effect of his last kiss. With very little effort, she could recall every mesmerizing, emotionally drowning second. She also remembered how she’d kissed him back. The thought alone was enough to bring a blush to her cheeks. She’d tried to forget how it felt to be held by a man, and it hadn’t been too tough. Kip’s charm had been his love of fun not his lovemaking, at least not with her—that probably was why he’d left. But Hal Morgan’s kisses, the growing spiral of sensuality he so easily pulled her into, refused to be forgotten. Damn him anyway.

  The last thing she needed was another man, especially one of the traveling kind. If he thought he could breeze into town and fool around with a country girl for a couple of months, he had another thought coming.

  The Mustang roared up behind a slow-moving trailer, and Stevie downshifted, gunning the motor for a burst of speed. The car delivered in seconds and she shot by the vehicle. The action matched her mood, reckless. If she’d had a dime to her name, she’d have turned around and headed the other way, out of the county, out of the state, out of the whole mess. The only thing awaiting her in Grand Lake was a line of suppliers she couldn’t pay, and Halsey Morgan. She didn’t know how she was going to face either.

  Sighing, she put the car back into fourth gear and felt the responsive surge of pure power. A wide, silver ribbon of water flickered between the pine trees bordering the road, the first of the three-lake chain leading into Grand Lake. Midafternoon sunshine streamed over the mountains and turned the high country meadows into fields of greenish-gold, but Stevie didn’t see the beauty, only the sameness of a view she’d memorized long ago, a view she’d probably take to the grave unless a financial miracle fell out of the bright blue sky.

  Typically, trouble not miracles was lined up in front of the Trail’s End. Stevie pulled in next to Hal’s hunk-of-junk truck and counted no less than three delivery trucks parked on either side, one for liquor, two for beer. The drivers, she knew, would be chomping at the bit, hanging around like a trio of vultures to pick her checkbook clean. Another heavy sigh blew from her lips, convincing her to sit in the car for a few minutes until she could find a cheerful mood. She’d take them on one at a time and do her best to talk them out of full payment. No, she thought, she’d do better than her best. If any one of the drivers walked out with more than a hundred of her dollars, she’d buy the bar a round—and she sure as hell couldn’t afford that. And Hal Morgan? She’d save him for last, after she had a few successes under her belt.

  Straightening her shoulders with a deep breath, she got out of the car and walked into the Trail.

  “Hi, Tom, Paul, Garrett. How are you guys doing today?” She deliberately left Hal out of her greeting as she strode into the bar, not trusting herself to look at him without staring at his mouth. Whoever had taught him how to use it hadn’t left anything out of the lessons, and despite his sultry-voiced confession, the man hadn’t forgotten a move.

  Surprisingly, the drivers barely acknowledged her entrance. Tom lifted a hand, almost as if he was shooing her away. Paul mumbled a “Hello.” Garrett didn’t even give her a glance. The three of them sat at the bar, leaning forward with rapt looks on their faces. Confusion forced her gaze to Hal.

  “Afternoon, Stevie Lee. How’d it go?” He was leaning against the cash register, bigger than life and smiling at her with the mouth that haunted her dreams. The rolled-up sleeves of his chambray shirt exposed dark brown forearms and the rhythm of slowly tightening and releasing muscles as he polished yet one more beer mug. Her glassware had never had it so good, she thought with a repressed sigh.

  “Fine,” she answered noncommittally, watching the drivers out of the corner of her eye, waiting for one of them to pounce. “I’ll be in my office if—”

  “So, you’re hanging there, and you hear that rumbling business,” Tom interrupted, his voice practically breathless, his eyes glued on Hal.

  Old Tom Hanson breathless? Stevie arched a brow at Hal, and he grinned. Then he did something strange. Under the bar, where the other men couldn’t see, he jerked his thumb toward the back room. Confusion complete, her glance darted in the direction of his gesture. Was it a warning? Or was he trying to get rid of her too?

  “And the other guy, John what’s-his-name, he’s slipping away on you,” Tom continued, obviously trying to regain Hal’s attention. “The rope’s a frayin
’, the wind’s a blowin’, and ole John’s a slippin’.”

  “And then you hear the rumble,” Paul repeated, hunching farther over the bar.

  “Yeah, the rumble,” Garrett added his two bits, pulling his rag of a cowboy hat further down on his brow.

  Hal turned his back to her, blocking her from the men’s view, and gave the silent signal again, all the while picking up the threads of his story.

  “Well, I’ll tell you, twenty thousand feet up a Himalayan beauty there’s only two places for a rumble to come from, the sky or the mountain, and they’re both bad news.”

  Finally Stevie understood. Without another word, she slipped around the end of the bar and into the hallway. If he wanted to run interference for her, fine, but she doubted if it would work for long.

  Ten minutes later, most of it spent on the edge of her office chair, waiting, she silently conceded a point in his favor. Anybody who could hold the vultures at bay was well worth the minimum wage she paid. Fifteen minutes later curiosity got the best of her. Quietly she slipped back into the hall, staying out of view but not out of earshot.

  “. . . the biggest, suckingest hole this side of the Waghi, driving us against the boulder and holding us tight. Charlie yelled ‘High side!’ and we were scrambling like mad.”

  Stevie settled against the wall, head cocked to hear every hair-raising twist. In a week of working with him side by side, she’d never heard the same story twice, and although he obviously always survived, he never failed to put enough doubts in her mind to make her wonder each time whether Halsey Morgan would come out alive.

  “Ted fell in the river and shot the rapids the hard way, getting tumbled around and bouncing off every rock. Lars went next,” Hal’s voice softened to a hush, “and that left me and Charlie. I could hear him praying in the back of the raft, and I’ll tell you, there’s nothing like hearing your team leader praying to shoot your confidence all to hell.”

  The drivers chuckled in unison, and a wry smile tilted Stevie’s mouth. Tom, she knew, wouldn’t even dip his big toe in Grand Lake, let alone get on a river raft.