“That went well,” Molly said as she and Chandler walked out into the cool evening air. The scent of exhaust from the idling trucks nearby left a metallic taste in her mouth as she followed Chandler to the SUV under the watchful eyes of the law enforcement officers scattered around the lot.
“It did,” he agreed as he held the door for her, taking her hand as she made the climb up into the vehicle. “John saw you on television. Hopefully that will keep him from hurting anyone for a while.”
Molly hoped so, too, though John’s cryptic question still careened around in her mind. What had she ever done to bring the wrath of a sociopath raining down on her head? It simply didn’t make sense.
“You’re quiet,” Chandler said as he steered out onto the highway west of town.
“Thinking,” she murmured, adjusting her seat belt. “Or trying to, at least. I’m a little sleep deprived right now.”
His hand suddenly rested on her knee. It was comforting and exciting all at once. And she was simply too exhausted to sort through the many reasons why she should avoid repeating the earlier mistake of kissing him. Wanting to kiss him, actually. That was what bothered her so much. The consuming, thrilling want that his mere presence inspired.
“I know you need to get to bed, but I’ve got to stop by my place to pack a few things. Okay?”
“Sure.”
The drive out to Mountaindale Estates took less than fifteen minutes. In that time, Molly had suffered no fewer than three nap jerks. The hum of the car’s engine, her fatigue and the comfort of knowing that she wasn’t alone had allowed her to relax to the point where she would slip into a near-sleep state, then her body would convulse back to consciousness.
Chandler used a small black remote to activate the iron gate to the community. It swung open regally. Though it was nearing midnight, the full moon and decorative streetlamps allowed her to see many of the lovely homes set back from the street. It was a newer development, complete with manicured laws, sculpted hedges and trees standing at precise increments along the curb like soldiers at attention.
They had passed maybe a dozen homes when he turned into a long drive. The instant they approached, floodlights illuminated the curved, slightly sloping drive and the impressive front of his house.
“I wouldn’t have pictured this,” she commented when he parked and cut the engine. “This is so different from your family’s ranch.”
“That was the point,” he said, leading the way to the front door. “I wanted something more personal to me. And neat.”
So he liked modern architecture, she mused. The house was an odd blend of glass, wood, steel and concrete. Stepping across the threshold, she was surprised to smell orange.
“My cleaning woman was here today,” he explained.
She probably would have spent more time wondering how he had read her mind, but she was too taken with the house to speak. As he walked ahead of her, flipping switches, her eyes darted from one wonderful feature to the next. The foyer and living room had art glass light fixtures in soft blues. As she ventured further, she found a state-of-the-art chrome and stainless steel kitchen dominated by a warm butcher-block island. Above the island, chrome lamps dangled from the high ceiling, flooding the area with the perfect amount of light for the workspace. The cabinets were glass, trimmed in light wood that matched the flooring.
The kitchen opened into a large dining area, complete with a shared counter that would be perfect as a breakfast bar or a buffet server.
“Impressive,” she commented, her gaze drawn to the large oils hanging in the dining room. The lush landscapes provided color in the otherwise sparsely decorated area.
“The paintings?” he asked, tossing his keys on the counter.
“Everything,” she gushed easily. “This is my dream house,” she admitted as she ran her fingers over the ceramic tiles behind the double sink. The artwork was amazing, and she’d bet her last dollar they were all originals.
“Callie painted those for me last Christmas. And Savannah found the glass and ceramic stuff. It helps to have willing sisters-in-law when you’re fixing a place up. Make yourself at home,” he added as he headed toward the floating staircase of wood plank and wrought iron. “I won’t be long.”
Zombielike, Molly roamed around the first floor, admiring each room and its unique contents. She could hear him upstairs, and though she longed to see what gems were on the upper floor, she didn’t dare follow him up there. Not when there was sure to be a bed close by.
She contented herself by strolling back through the living room, past the cream-colored leather sofas, down the hallway. Moonlight poured in from arched glass above expertly appointed window treatments. There was a powder room that also contained some lovely ceramic tile work along with the necessities. And again, the art glass light fixtures with a hint of color were a subtle and perfect complement to the decor.
She peeked around an open door, after turning on the switch, and discovered a neatly appointed home office. She had to smile, it was neat as a pin and organized better than a card catalog. She remembered his office at the television station, so it should have come as no surprise that Chandler’s home would be equally well arranged.
There wasn’t a single fingerprint or streak on the massive glass-topped desk that dominated the room. A large, black leather chair was centered behind the desk and a laptop computer was centered in front of that.
Even his pile of colored sticky notes was stacked as if shrink-wrapped, and three containers were evenly spaced beside the notes. One for pens, one for pencils, and the last held markers and highlighters. Very neat.
“Very anal,” she chuckled. Then she spotted the books. Well, four books in particular. L S. Connor books to be exact. He had her dream house and read her favorite author. “Amazing.”
Then on closer inspection, she rethought that notion. Though she didn’t remove them from their assigned places—mainly because she was afraid to mess with his OCD tendencies—she could tell the books were unread. The dust jackets were crisp and the pages seemed too pristine to have been touched by human hands. Her copies were mangled, spotted with water and well loved. And, she concluded, since the books had been relegated to a lonely, lower shelf all by themselves, she assumed the books were gifts he’d been too kind to refuse.
She guessed one of the sisters-in-law might be the culprit. L. S. Connor was a wildly popular author, especially with women, and it made perfect sense that one of the women in his life would discover the appeal of the Wyatt adventures and need to share.
Before leaving the room she made a mental note to ask him about the books. Encourage him to read them. She turned and fell against him.
She was startled and aware. Too aware. Even though she’d taken a reflexive step backward, and the only part of him touching her was his steadying hands at her waist, Molly felt the familiar sensation of heat surging through her body.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“I’m not,” he teased. “Feel free to run into me anytime.”
She shrugged out of his grasp. Tilting her head back, she met and held his gaze. “Let’s set some rules, Landry.”
“We need rules?”
She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “I do.”
“Shoot.”
He seemed entirely too reasonable. Or maybe she was just a taut wire of raw emotion and envious at the ease with which he seemed to handle everything. “You have to be strong for both of us.”
His brow wrinkled into an amused frown. “I’ve been the picture of restraint. Even though I’d like nothing more than to carry you upstairs and—”
She held her hand up to stop him. “That’s the point. That’s why we need rules. Look, I’m a wreck, and the easiest thing in the world would be to jump into bed with you.”
He reached for her. “Glad we’re in agreement. I like how you think.”
She sidestepped his grip. “I said it would be the easiest thing. Not the best thing.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Damn him. His slightly cocked head and easy smile were making this very difficult. “Look, I think you’ve been a real stand-up guy these past days.”
“Why do I feel like I’m about to be dumped?”
“Like that’s ever happened to you,” she scoffed.
He leaned against the doorjamb. “It has. Several times in fact.” He paused and made a production out of stroking his chin. “But I was assured in all those instances that it wasn’t me, it was them.”
Molly bit back a laugh. She’d used that line a time or two. “Whatever. My point is, I’m totally needy right now, which means my defenses are completely shredded, which means I probably might be dumb enough to sleep with you purely as a diversion and that’s not a good enough reason.”
“I agree.”
She blinked. “So, you’ll back off?”
“A little. For a while.”
No harsh look, no recrimination in his tone. Total, easy acceptance. She didn’t know whether to be happy that he’d acquiesced so easily or affronted for the very same reason. “Okay, then. We’re fine?”
“Moderately fine,” he answered as he motioned for her to head out of the room.
“So this is going to be an issue for you?”
“It’s an issue for me,” he admitted when they reached the front door. He placed his hand on the knob, then turned and met her gaze. “I want you, Molly. That’s my problem. I haven’t made any secret of that, but I’m a big boy, I can handle it. I’ll wait.”
“Thank you.” She started out into the night.
Chandler leaned down and added, “For a while.”
And as he got back into the SUV, he hoped the time would pass quickly. He hoped it would but had his doubts. He ached.
His cell phone rang as he was leaving the development. “Landry.”
“Make that Landrys,” Chance gleefully yelped over the line. “Val and I are on the way to the hospital now.”
“Congrats, bro,” he said, feeling thrilled and anxious at the news. “How long?”
“I’m a doctor, not a psychic,” Chance replied dryly. “The baby will come on its own time.”
“It better be soon!” Val called in the distance, followed by a very loud, very primal scream. “This hurts!”
“Better go,” Chance said on a rush. “If I don’t get her an epidural soon, she’ll probably kill me.”
“Sounds like a plan. Keep me in the loop. I’ll be at the ranch.” He disconnected the call and told Molly what was happening.
“You should be with your family,” Molly told him.
Her tone was so earnest it touched his heart. Then his brain realized that his heart had been touched and it scared the hell out of him. His heart wasn’t usually one of his first body parts to be attracted to a woman.
Banishing the troubling thought from his head, he said, “Believe me, I don’t want to be there. I’m the uncle. I get to skip the tough moments and proceed directly to the spoiling and cooing stage.”
“That does have its advantages,” she agreed. “Still, I don’t want to keep you from a family obligation.”
“Obligation?” She made it sound like a vile curse. “My family can be annoying as hell, but I never think of them as an obligation.”
“You’re lucky.”
His interest was piqued. “Not into family?”
It was dark, but he was pretty sure she shrugged. “Not an option for me. I’m an only child and my parents are both dead.”
“No aunts, uncles, cousins? No one?” He couldn’t imagine that life. He didn’t want to try.
“Just me,” she answered in a bland, emotionless tone.
“That sucks.”
“Depends on your perspective. I never had to share my toys. I had a bedroom and a bathroom to myself.”
“No one to play with. No one to share your secrets with. And no one to fight with.”
“I shared my secrets with girlfriends from time to time and as for the fighting, well, I have always treated that as something to avoid.”
“Then you’ve never had a great fight. Clears the air.”
“Barbaric. People should be able to sit down and rationally discuss their differences.”
Chandler tossed his head back and laughed. “Believe me, if you’re a Landry, you act first and talk later. Survival 101.”
“Whatever works for you.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, massaging the fatigue that had set in there. “Did you become a shrink because of your unhappy childhood?”
“I don’t remember telling you that I had an unhappy childhood.”
Nope, but the frost in her tone did. “Did you?”
“I became a psychiatrist because—”
“No,” he cut her off gently. “Did you have an unhappy childhood?”
“No more or less than most people.”
He sighed heavily. “See, Molly, this is me asking you questions so we can get to know each other better. We’re building a friendship. Finding things out about each other.”
“You’re just trying to find a way to separate me from my panties.”
“That, too,” he admitted freely, “but for now I’ll settle for a complete history.”
“Not much to tell.”
He doubted that.
“My mother died when I was thirteen. My father died when I was an undergraduate.”
“Thirteen?” he repeated, his mind switching gears.
“Yes. A difficult age to lose a parent, but I got through it.”
“Who knows that fact about you?”
“No one.”
“No one?”
She sighed. “My girlfriend, Claire. And anyone else who searched through obituaries. It isn’t something you can keep a secret.”
“Would this Claire person have told anyone?”
“Her husband. Maybe. If it came up.”
“What about other people?”
“Why?”
“Maybe that’s the thirteen John was hinting at when he branded the torso and stabbed your patient.”
“Very improbable. Besides, as I said, my mother’s death is a matter of public record.”
“Here?”
“No, back east. But anyone who cared could probably get the information off the Internet. Interesting, though. I’d almost forgotten about the thirteen.”
He gripped the steering wheel tighter. There was something evasive about her answer. He didn’t know what, he just knew there was something guarded in her voice. “I haven’t forgotten. I’m still wondering how you remembered the atomic number for aluminum.”
“Free association. I also happen to know that a firing squad has thirteen members. And there were thirteen people present at the Last Supper.”
“You’re a regular trivia whiz.”
“It’s a gift.”
He was glad to hear her tone return to normal. “Were you one of those people who sailed through school?”
“As if it was the last leg of the America’s Cup and all my competitors sank on the first day.”
“Modest,” he teased. “You’re lucky. I had to work for every credit.”
“People tend to appreciate the things they have to work the hardest to attain.”
“So what do you appreciate?”
“Life.”
“Too general.”
He heard her breathing and smelled the floral hint of her perfume. He was doing his best to be a gentleman, but as expected, his thoughts turned to his baser needs. He couldn’t help it. She was just too appealing, and he wanted her more than he’d wanted anything in his life.
“It’s the middle of the night, Chandler. Can’t you interview me tomorrow?”
“It wasn’t an interview.”
“Felt like one,” she countered. “It’s what you do. You can’t help yourself.”
Denying all the passions simmering inside of him had a predictable effect. Chandler’s mood grew dark. The SUV felt like a cage and he was the animal. Being close enough to touch her but denied the pleasure was the stick poking through the bars. Twenty-two hours without sleep wasn’t helping, either. He would have loved to punch something. Anything. The frustration was getting on his last nerve.
AND IT WASN’T ANY BETTER a few hours later when he joined Shane in the kitchen. The inviting smell of coffee had roused him from a fitful sleep.
“Morning,” Shane greeted from behind the paper.
He took one look at his youngest brother and felt a scowl come to his lips. “Go put some clothes on.”
Shane lowered the paper and smiled. “I did. I put on my boxers.”
The teasing didn’t do much to improve Chandler’s mood. “You jerk. I don’t want Molly getting up to find your practically naked butt in the chair.” He rolled the section of newspaper closest to him and smacked Shane on the top of the head. Not hard, but with enough force to let him know he was serious.
“Ouch.” His brother stood and walked out of the kitchen, then returned a second later with his jeans and a shirt hooked on his index finger. His smile was broad and annoying. “I stripped these off when I heard you get up. I was just having some fun with you.”
Chandler poured himself a mug of steaming coffee and then glared at Shane. “We should have put you up for adoption.”
“Wasn’t up to you,” Shane countered affably. “Besides, the folks always loved me best.”
He snorted, then sucked down another gulp in hopes that the caffeine might kick in faster. “No one loved you, Shane. We just kept you around to do chores.”
“Kiss my—”
The phone rang, cutting off one of Shane’s favorite directives. Both men dove for it. Shane got there first.
“Uncle Shane at your service.”
Chandler was waiting for the news about Val’s delivery. He was concerned about his sister-in-law’s well-being, but he also knew he had picked “labor lasting less than twelve hours” in the family betting pool. But when Shane’s expression grew suddenly serious, Chandler felt panic knot in his gut. They’d already had one difficult birth in the family that had, luckily, turned out okay, but he said a prayer there wasn’t a second complication.
Holding the receiver out, Shane simply said, “It’s Seth.”
Grabbing the phone and putting it to his ear, Chandler asked, “What’s up?”
“I need to speak to your house guest.”
There was something ominous in Seth’s tone and rather abrupt delivery. His brother was usually more laid-back. “What is it?”
“I need to talk to her Chandler. She’s been keeping a pretty big secret.”