Seeing Red(19)

“That’s almost word for word what The Major said about her.”

“God help me if I start sounding like him.”

“No chance of that. The Major doesn’t bite my head off when I ask a question he doesn’t like. He courteously told me ahead of time the topics I’m to avoid.”

“Me and what else?”

“Hunting.”

“Hunting?”

“I asked if he would consider removing the mounted trophies from his walls before the interview, and he said, ‘Hell, no.’ There are several subjects on which he and I have agreed to disagree.”

Sardonically, he repeated, “Me and what else?”

“Actually he and I are in total agreement about you. You’re sarcastic, defensive, and hostile.”

“You left out wicked.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call you wicked.”

“Somebody already did.”

“Who?”

“A cute redhead.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling a dart of resentment. “What had you done?”

“Told her I wanted to marry her.”

Kerra laughed, although she halfway believed him, and his grin—which was decidedly wicked—said he knew that, too.

There was a knock on her door. This time she did check the peephole, and it was her pizza delivery. She paid the young man, closed the door against the wind, and nudged her laptop aside to allow room on the table for the box, from which heavenly aromas were wafting. “Want some?”

“No thanks. I’ll go and leave you to it.”

But rather than move toward the door, he went to the nightstand and bent over it. She couldn’t help but notice the ragged hole in the rear pocket of his jeans or the way the leather jacket stretched across his shoulders.

Using the stubby pencil provided by the motel, he scrawled something on the notepad beside the telephone. When he finished, he tore off the sheet and brought it over to her. She read, “Sheriff Glenn Addison.” He’d written a phone number under the name.

“The Major’s friend for life and all-around good guy,” he said. “After leaving The Major’s place, I went to see him, told him about you and the interview.” He held up a hand when she was about to interrupt. “I didn’t tell him everything. If he learns who you are in the context of the bombing, he’ll hear it from The Major, not me.”

“Initially you were certain The Major would turn me down, yet you went straight to the sheriff as though the interview were a sure thing.”

“At that point, it was. The photo made all the difference. I saw his reaction to it. His ego wouldn’t let him pass up the opportunity to be a hero.”

“He’s already a hero.”

“But now he’s the man who saved Kerra Bailey, TV personality. Anyhow, I felt the sheriff should be alerted to the arrival of a TV crew and the excitement that will generate. Lodal is the county seat but basically a small town.”

She’d been in the area for only a few hours, but already she’d gotten a sense of place. The town and surrounding ranch land were far removed from the metropolitan sprawl of Dallas and Fort Worth, not only geographically but in atmosphere and mind-set.

“I’m afraid our presence will create a stir,” she admitted.

“News of the interview will spread like wildfire. By noon tomorrow everybody will know. Put the sheriff’s number in your phone, so you can call him immediately if you need him.”

She laughed. “I doubt there’ll be that much of a stir.”

“I’m not joking, Kerra. Put Glenn’s number on speed dial.”

Mystified, but subdued by his no-nonsense tone, she promised she would.

He looked like he had more to say, but he glanced at the pizza box. “It’s getting cold.”

She followed him to the door. “Will you be watching Sunday night?”

“No.”

He hadn’t given it a moment’s consideration, which was unsurprising but disappointing. Feeling awkward and illogically deflated, she said, “I guess this is goodbye, Trapper.”

“Guess so.”

“Drive safely.”

“I’m stone sober. Parking meters can rest easy tonight.”

She gave a quick smile and stuck out her hand to shake with him. “For any inconvenience I’ve caused you, I apologize. I know I was an unwelcome and unexpected intrusion into your life.” Then, quoting him, she said, “Bad things happen when you least expect them.”

“So do good things.” The low pitch of his voice caused heat to blossom in her middle. Rather than shake her hand, his right one curved around the back of her neck and pulled her up until she was on tiptoe. “What I said about kissing you …”

“If you had it to do over?”

“Happens I do.”

Her mouth was stamped with all things wonderfully masculine: the agreeable prickliness of scruff, the sureness of lips that knew what they wanted and how to get it, the deft and possessive slide of tongue.

All too soon it was over. He set her away from him but kept his hand clamped around the back of her neck for a few seconds longer, his eyes searching hers.

Then Kerra was struck with a blast of cold air, and he was gone.