Best Kept Secrets(97)

to come see her. She didn't care. It was enough that he was

here.

When she handed him his cocoa, he smiled disarmingly

and asked, "Do you have any spirits in the house?"

He followed her into the living room, where several bottles

of liquor were stored in a cabinet, to be taken out only on

the most special occasions.

"This isn't your first drink of the night, is it?" she asked

as she tilted the spout of the brandy bottle against his mug

of chocolate.

"No, it isn't." Lowering his voice, he whispered, "I

smoked a joint, too."

Her lips pursed with stern disapproval. "You know how

I feel about dope, Junior."

"Marijuana isn't dope."

"It is so."

"Ah, Stacey," he whined, bending down to kiss her ear.

"An ex-wife has no right to scold."

The touch of his lips made her insides flutter. Her censure

melted as quickly as ice cream in August. "I didn't mean to

scold. I just wondered why, after all this time, you came to

me tonight."

"I wanted to." She knew that to Junior's mind, that was

reason enough. He sprawled on the sofa and pulled her down

beside him. "No, leave the lamp off," he told her when she

reached for the switch. "Let's just sit here and drink our

cocoa together."

"I heard about the trouble out at the ranch," she said after

a quiet moment.

"It's all cleaned up now. Can't tell it ever happened. It

could have been a lot worse."

She touched him hesitantly. "You could have been hurt."

He set his empty cup on the coffee table and sighed.

"You're still concerned for my safety?"



"Always."

"No one's ever been as sweet to me as you, Stacey. I've

missed you.'' He reached for her hand and pressed it between

his.

"You look worn out and troubled."

"lam."

"Over the vandalism?"

"No." He slumped deeper into the cushions of the couch

and rested his head on the back of it. "This mess we're in

about Celina's murder. It's depressing as hell." He tilted his

head until it was lying on her shoulder. "Hmm, you smell

good. It's a smell I've missed. So clean." He nuzzled her

neck.

"What bothers you so much about this investigation?"

"Nothing specific. It's Alex. She and Mother had a row

today. Mother let it slip that Celina got knocked up and had

to get married to her soldier. It wasn't a pretty scene."

His arm slid around her waist. Automatically, Stacey lifted

her hand to cradle his cheek and pressed his head against her

breasts.

"I lied to her," she confessed in a small voice. "A lie of

omission."

Junior mumbled with disinterest.

"I never told her I was in the barn the day Celina was

killed."

"How come you did that?"

"I didn't want her hounding me with questions. I hate her

for causing you trouble again, Junior."

"Alex can't help it. It's not her fault."

It was a familiar refrain, one that set Stacey's teeth on

edge. Junior had often said the same thing about Celina. No

matter how shabbily she treated him, he had never spoken a

harsh, critical word against her.

"I hate this girl of Celina's as much as I did her," Stacey

whispered.

The alcohol and strong Mexican grass had dulled Junior's

thinking. "Never mind all that now. This feels good, doesn't

it?" he murmured as his lips followed his hand inside her



robe to her breast. His damp tongue glanced her nipple. ' 'You

always liked for me to do that."

"I still do."

"Really? And this? Do you still like this?" he asked,

sucking her nipple into his mouth and pushing his hand into

the furry, damp warmth between her thighs.

She groaned his name.

"I'll understand if you don't want me to." He pulled away

slightly.

"No," she said quickly, guiding his head back down and

clenching her thighs closed around his hand. "I do want you

to. Please."

"Stacey, Stacey, your tender loving care is just what I need

tonight. I could always count on you to make me feel better."

He raised his head from her breast and gave her mouth a long,

slow, thorough kiss. "Remember what always made me feel

better than anything?'' he asked, his lips resting on hers.

"Yes." She looked up at him solemnly. He smiled as

beatifically as an angel. When he looked at her that way, she

couldn't deny him anything--not when they were teenagers,

not when they were married, not now, not ever.

Stacey Wallace Minton, the judge's proper, straitlaced