A Perfect Fit Page 7

  And she had done things to him, things that had made him moan and gasp, which in turn had made her hot all over again.

  It was a dream, of course, because in reality no couple could have that many orgasms in one wild session of raw, no-holds-barred sex.

  Brooke moaned and rubbed her throbbing temples. Could they? No, of course not. But then, how would she know?

  Elijah. Elijah would have coffee. Strong, black, and probably bitter, but beggars couldn’t be choosey. Maybe by the time she had coffee and walked the distance to Elijah’s house and back, she would be better prepared to face the half-naked man in the living room.

  As for Dee, Brooke wasn’t certain she’d ever be able to face her again. The enormous guilt she felt for allowing him to kiss her—not once, not twice, but four times—would surely kill her. Granted, he’d caught her by surprise all of those times, but she hadn’t exactly fought him.

  The first time pride had kept her still.

  Okay, so it had been her infernal pride the second time, as well.

  Brooke frowned and pinched the bridge of her nose hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. The third time she had recklessly goaded him, and the fourth time she should have anticipated. She never should have opened the door.

  How would she explain it to her sister? Dee loved the man, worthless lump of muscle that he was. If he had forced her, if she had hated it, then she might have a wobbly leg to stand on.

  But neither of those excuses applied and she wouldn’t allow herself to believe they did. It galled her to admit it, but she was no better than him.

  Heart aching, Brooke tiptoed to the door and eased it open. She held her breath and listened, moving forward only when she identified his gentle snores.

  Five breathless minutes later, she was trotting through the woods down the overgrown path to Elijah’s house. When she emerged into the clearing where his cabin stood, she stopped to catch her breath.

  “Been expecting you,” Elijah said.

  Startled, Brooke glanced up. In his customary blue-jean overalls, Elijah sat in an old, weathered rocking chair on his front porch, a mug of coffee balanced on his crossed knee. He’d trimmed and combed his beard, and his long, gray-streaked hair looked newly washed. Beneath the overalls he wore a white T-shirt that looked as if it had just emerged from the package.

  He’d cleaned up just for her, Brooke thought, her heart softening as she looked at him. A few more wrinkles had joined the lines on his face, and his faded blue eyes had lightened another shade, but all in all he hadn’t changed much in the past year since she’d last seen him. She felt ashamed for not visiting him sooner.

  “Your coffee’s gettin’ cold, and I’m waitin’ to hear about your new boyfriend.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Brooke said, grabbing the mug of coffee from the porch railing. She cursed the guilty flush that heated her skin and took the chair beside him on the porch, sinking onto the worn cushion with a sigh.

  All around them, the woodland creatures began to stir. There were several squirrel feeders nailed to the trees in the yard, and as she watched, the squirrels converged on the dried ears of corn impaled on the spikes. They chattered and nibbled, ignoring Brooke and the generous man who kept them supplied with food.

  “Well?” Elijah demanded in his gruff way. “If he ain’t your boyfriend, what’s he doing at the cabin?”

  Brooke took a fortifying sip of the coffee. It was hot, strong, and delicious. Not bitter, as she had expected it to be. Apparently Elijah had taken her advice about not boiling the coffee. “He’s Dee’s boyfriend.” She paused to clear the hoarseness from her voice. “His name is Cliff, and he’s the father of her baby.”

  Nothing, it seemed, shocked Elijah. “Hm.” He took his time, watching the squirrels fighting over the corn with obvious enjoyment. “So Dee’s at the cabin with you?”

  This, Brooke thought, was what one called an ‘awkward’ moment. “She’s not there yet, but she’s coming.” Hopefully. “I sort of...um...forced him to come with me so that he and Dee could talk.” She felt Elijah’s shrewd eyes on her reddened face.

  “I reckon I’m wondering how you managed to force him, seeing how big he looked. Course, my eyesight ain’t what it used to be—”

  “He thought I had a gun in my pocket,” Brooke blurted out. But of course Elijah knew, because he’d been there when Cliff realized it wasn’t a gun. Her face heated several more degrees. What had been funny then, wasn’t funny now. Elijah was old-fashioned; she’d probably offended his sensibilities with the plastic—

  “Yep, that was pretty funny,” Elijah surprised her by saying. “The look on his face...” He chuckled and slapped his knee, jostling his coffee. “Bet he didn’t take too kindly to you foolin’ him.”

  Mildly put, Brooke mused, her lips twitching. “You’re right, he didn’t find it too funny.” And his brand of revenge was something she didn’t care to remember.

  Her lips stopped twitching at the reminder.

  “So after he found out you didn’t have a real gun, he didn’t hightail it back to town?”

  “I don’t think those rattlesnake-skin boots were made for walking,” Brooke said dryly. “We talked, and he agreed to stay until Dee arrived.”

  “What do you reckon happened to little DeeDee?”

  Brooke shrugged. “I can’t imagine, unless she chickened out. Her excuse better be a good one, after leaving me alone all night with Mr. Sure—er, Cliff,” she amended hastily.

  The chair creaked as Elijah leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. He cradled his coffee mug in his hands and began to roll it back and forth between his palms. “You ain’t afraid he’ll press charges?”

  “I didn’t have a real weapon.”

  “But he thought you did,” Elijah retorted. “The fact is, kidnapping is a felony.” He glanced at her, his faded blue eyes widening as if an alarming thought had just occurred to him. “You could go to jail!”

  Brooke tried to laugh at his concerns, but the sound came out a little shaky—and none too confident. “What would he tell them? That he was kidnapped by a hundred-pound woman carrying a plastic—plastic—”

  “It ain’t like I’ve never heard the word penis,” Elijah said mildly, shocking Brooke into silence.

  After a stunned moment, she burst out laughing. Elijah joined her. The startled squirrels ran for cover, and the rickety old floor boards beneath their chairs shook from the force of Elijah’s pounding feet.

  Gasping for breath, Elijah finally managed, “It’s time for the Home Town News. You want more coffee while I fetch the radio?”

  Nodding and chuckling, Brooke handed him her empty mug. “Thanks, I’d love another cup.” When he’d gone inside the small cabin, she let out a long sigh and leaned back in the rocker. This was just what she needed to regroup and refresh her mind, she decided. Good company, strong black coffee, and the peaceful serenity of the surrounding woods.

  Elijah returned toting a fancy boom box and fresh coffee. He handed her the mug and set the metallic silver stereo on the worn boards of the porch beside his chair. He pulled out the antenna as far as it would go and flipped the power switch. When he caught sight of Brooke’s grin, he flashed her a toothy, sheepish smile.

  “Damned thing takes a fortune in batteries, but it gets good reception, and the sound rocks.”

  Impressed with his modern slang, Brooke lifted a brow as she said, “Hey, whatever works. What happened to your old transistor?”

  “Kicked the bucket. Tried to find a replacement, but they don’t make them anymore.” He bent over and fiddled with the knobs. Snatches of conversations zipped by at an amazing speed. Finally, with one ear cocked, he let out a satisfied, “Ah,” and settled into his rocking chair. “Nobody tells the home town news like Benny.”

  She had to agree. Benny, who she vaguely remembered from high school, possessed the deep disk-jockey voice common among radio announcers. Right now he was informing his listening audience that it was goin
g to be another warm day in Quicksilver, Oklahoma, with a slight possibility of scattered thunderstorms.

  “And this urgent report just arrived on my desk ,” Benny said as Brooke took a cautious sip of her coffee. It was hot. Eyes burning, she held it in her mouth to let it cool before swallowing. She’d only been listening with half an ear, but Benny’s sudden, urgent tone snagged her attention.

  “Business tycoon Alex Bradshaw is reported missing this morning. Unrevealed sources claim foul play is suspected and an investigation is underway.”

  Brooke bolted forward in her chair with a mouthful of cooling coffee. Her throat had closed tight. Alex Bradshaw—her new boss—was missing! She tried to swallow and couldn’t, not knowing whether to rejoice or cry. If something happened to Bradshaw, what would happen to the factory? Benny’s next words wiped those thoughts from her mind.

  En route to his vacation in Hot Springs, Arkansas, Bradshaw was last seen wearing a hunter-green shirt, jeans, and rattlesnake-skin boots. As Benny chuckled, Brooke’s heart did a triple somersault. “Snake-skin boots...he sounds like a Texan, all right.”

  No! It couldn’t be!

  “But here’s the real kicker, folks! Bradshaw was last seen right here in our hometown by the owner of Treva’s Diner, Treva Brannum. She claims she gave him a recipe for peach cobbler. Kinda hurts my feelings, because I’ve been after that recipe for—”

  Brooke spewed lukewarm coffee onto the porch, choking on the small amount that had managed to trickle down her closed throat. Concerned, Elijah reached over and pounded her on the back hard enough to knock her lungs loose.

  “You okay, gal?” he asked, pounding the flat of his hand steadily onto her back.

  Gasping, Brooke drew in a gurgling breath and managed to croak, “Yes! I’m...fine.” She wasn’t fine. She was beyond shock, beyond stunned.

  She was—she was—she wished she were dead! Please God, let it be a joke. All of it. Dee’s pregnancy—everything leading up to this moment. I swear I won’t be mad. I won’t break a single dish. I won’t yank a single hair from Dee’s head, and I’ll only stab Alex Bradshaw in places that won’t cause too much damage.

  But Benny didn’t end his all-important bulletin with a laughing confession and a squeaky “Surprise!”

  “A ten-thousand-dollar reward is being offered by the Bradshaw Corporation for any information pertaining to the whereabouts of Alex Bradshaw. Ooh, baby, what a pile of dough! I’d turn in my own mother for that kind of money!”

  Elijah, thankfully, finally stopped pounding her back to shreds. He sank back in his rocker and muttered in a wounded voice, “I guess the coffee’s too strong for ya.”

  Brooke used both shaking hands to settle her mug on the porch rail before she scalded herself. Then she held her hands to her shaking knees and tried to hold them still.

  They knocked her hands loose.

  She firmly clamped them back down, watching her hands jitter along with her knees. Her teeth picked up the beat. Standing right this moment was out of the question.

  Throwing up was a definite possibility.

  Clenching her teeth to keep them still, she squeezed her eyes shut and threw back her head, forcing herself to face the awful, mortifying truth.

  She’d kidnapped Alex Bradshaw.

  Her new boss.

  And then, to make matters worse—as if those facts weren’t bad enough—she recalled every derogatory, hateful, mean thing she’d told him about Alex Bradshaw. “Pretend I’m him. What would you say to him if you had the opportunity?

  Oh, God!

  Fate wouldn’t be so cruel, so inhumane, so terrible.

  Oh, God!

  She’d kidnapped, humiliated, and thoroughly reamed Alex Bradshaw, the new owner of the factory where she was supervisor.

  She was dead meat, or at the very least, soon-to-be unemployed. Possibly convicted of kidnapping. No—probably convicted of kidnapping. A ruthless man like Alex Bradshaw wouldn’t let someone of her caliber go unpunished for such a crime.

  “Brooke? You okay? You’re looking pretty green around the gills. Want me to get you a shot of whiskey?”

  In a fit of hysteria, Brooke grabbed the straps of Elijah’s overalls and nearly toppled him out of his chair as she pulled him close. He grabbed the arm of his chair for balance, his faded blue gaze alarmed as he looked into her wild eyes.

  “I have made the biggest mistake of my life,” she croaked hoarsely. “I have kidnapped...my...boss! Alex Bradshaw...is my...boss!”

  Elijah licked his lips and tried to pry her fingers loose. When she wouldn’t let go, he tried to reason with her. “Now, Brooke, you just settle down, ya hear? Tell ‘ole Elijah what’s wrong.”

  “I...just...told you!” Brooke gritted out, squeezing his straps so hard the buckles bit into her fingers. She felt sanity slipping away at an alarming rate of speed.

  To give him credit, Elijah attempted to make sense of her disjointed words and ease her mind. “You kidnapped your boss? You mean, instead of Dee’s boyfriend, you kidnapped your boss? Well, seems to me you made an honest mistake.”

  Feeling as if her lungs would burst, Brooke let go of Elijah and lurched to her feet. The world spun. She grabbed the porch post for support, clutching it like a lifeline. When the trees stopped moving, she tried to focus on Elijah’s alarmed face. “You don’t understand,” was all she could manage to articulate.

  “You kidnapped your boss by mistake,” Elijah repeated.

  She flinched at his words. “Yes, I did.” The mistake part hardly mattered at this point.

  Elijah straightened his overall straps and thrust out his beard. “Well, why didn’t he tell you he wasn’t who you thought he was?”

  Brooke slowly closed her eyes. “He tried,” she whispered, remembering the clues he’d dropped. “I didn’t believe him.” “What if I told you that she doesn’t?” he’d said when she’d reminded him that Dee loved him.

  Of course Dee didn’t love him! She didn’t even know him.

  And even earlier he’d said, “I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.”

  “He could have showed you his I.D., couldn’t he?” Elijah demanded, rising from his chair with a groan and a grunt. “Seems to me this young feller’s been having fun at your expense.”

  Elijah was right, Brooke thought. He could have told her outright, and she also should have demanded to see his driver’s license. But in a small town like Quicksilver, drop-dead gorgeous men like Cliff—Alex—weren’t exactly a dime a dozen. Going by Dee’s eloquent description, she had automatically assumed the man exiting Treva’s Diner was Cliff.

  A stupid, stupid assumption.

  Alex Bradshaw lay sleeping half-naked in her cabin.

  Brooke gripped the post more firmly, her knuckles turning white as she remembered every kiss, every erotic, mind-blowing comment he’d made since she forced him into her car, as if he were having the time of his life instead of fearing for his life.

  What she had only suspected suddenly became an embarrassing reality; Alex Bradshaw had not only not feared her, he’d probably known who she was the moment she told him her name. He’d played along—deliberately deceiving her. Why? Hoping she’d talk about the factory?

  Brooke normally welcomed the familiarity of anger, but this time it frightened her. She now realized the massive, crushing guilt she’d accumulated since that very first kiss was in vain. A big, not-so-funny joke.

  He wasn’t Dee’s boyfriend.

  In fact, according to the factory gossip, he wasn’t anyone’s boyfriend. His wife—ex-wife—had left him two years ago. And no wonder. The man possessed a very cruel sense of humor.

  Launching herself away from the post, Brooke navigated the porch steps and made her purposeful way onto the path through the woods—to that black-hearted, half-naked devil sleeping on the floor in her cabin.

  Elijah appeared at her elbow, his tone anxious. “Brooke, you’re not fixin’ to do something you might regret, are you, gal?”

>   “I don’t know. Ask me after I kill him. Right now I can’t imagine regretting it.” Brooke was surprised to hear how calm her voice sounded. She almost frightened herself.

  “Maybe you should stay a while, let your temper cool down,” Elijah suggested, breathing hard as he tried to keep up with her furious strides. “Your Daddy would have given this some thought.”

  “It won’t work,” Brooke hissed. “And you know damned well Daddy would be just as furious as I am.”

  Giving up, Elijah stopped on the trail and cupped his bony knees with his hands, gasping for breath. “At least give yourself time to think!” he called after her.

  Brooke shoved a branch aside, wondering if the rising sun had anything to do with the reddish haze that clouded her eyesight.

  She didn’t think it did.

  Chapter Nine

  Alex awoke to the sound of pounding. He groaned, thinking the sound was the steady beat of an impending migraine knocking at his brain. Lying very still, he waited for the sharp, darting pain he knew would soon follow.

  Five tense moments ticked by. Above the muffled, distant pounding, he could hear birds chirping outside; inside the cabin it was blissfully quiet. No ringing phones, no radio, no television, not even the background hum of a refrigerator. He inhaled the lingering scent of wood smoke from the fire of last night, and the slightly musty smell of the unused cabin.

  Primitive and wonderful.

  Finally, Alex allowed himself to believe the pounding wasn’t inside his head. In fact, his head didn’t hurt at all. A reason for celebration in itself, he thought, gingerly sitting up. And a good thing, too, since he’d left his medicine at the hotel.

  He glanced around at his rustic surroundings, his curiosity aroused by the erratic thack-thacking sound.

  Brooke...Brooke would know what it was, he thought, her name conjuring a heated image in his mind. Throwing the covers aside, he got to his feet. He stretched and thought about putting on his shirt, but with a wicked grin decided not to. On bare feet, he padded to the bedroom and eased open the door.