Hill Country Holdup. Angi Morgan
very large tree limb. I’ve been dodging them. But this one got by me.” He wrung out the corner of his shirt and lifted it to his face, coughing for several seconds.
“Are you okay?” she asked and pounded on his back.
“As soon as you stop beating me to death.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“I’m all right. I was just kidding.”
He hadn’t sounded as if he was kidding. Her judgment of people didn’t have a great track record though. The book definition of sarcasm was locked in her brain, but she admitted her application needed improvement.
Steve put the key in the ignition and pushed the start button, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. Even with the storm pounding and thunder reverberating through the air, the excruciating silence of the engine dropped a black curtain. All her hopes died.
“Come on, baby,” Steve coaxed.
Then, with a couple of sputters the engine sprang to life, letting Jane breathe again. Her arms encircled Steve’s body, probably clinging too tightly in her relief, but she didn’t care. Her chest flattened against the ripcord muscles in his back, his labored breathing a comfort to her frayed nerves.
Even with the Jet Ski going as slowly as the throttle allowed, it was still horribly noisy for conversation. And what would she say? Steve couldn’t afford to be distracted. As evidenced by their incident with the tree limb.
For the second time in an hour, the thought of losing Steve crossed her mind. First his crazy dive off the dock, now this. She forced herself to remember that he wasn’t hers to lose. That had happened almost four years ago.
Their relationship had been intense from the start. A casual glance one moment and a flirtatious conversation the next. She rarely dated. She never had time.
Then or now.
But while awaiting word from research facilities and with the last of her classes finished, she couldn’t tell Steve no. She’d turned off every control button programmed to keep her in check and threw caution to the wind.
They’d seen each other every day and every night for six weeks. Then Johns Hopkins called and he’d gone into full retreat. Of course, she hadn’t realized the extent of his withdrawal at the time.
She’d analyzed his every move over the past four years. Comparing him to many case studies in the volumes of psychology books stored in her head. Steve Woods couldn’t depend on anyone but himself. On the surface he appeared to be a guy not ready for a commitment.
More than once she had hoped there was something else. Something he hadn’t shared with her. A deep dark secret that would explain why he’d pushed her aside. It didn’t seem that way.
She’d grown to accept the rejection of herself, but she couldn’t snuff a spark of hope for Rory. Her son needed stability and roots. She’d moved back to Dallas to be closer to Steve and his family. In case anything happened to her, family was an anchor Rory needed. And Steve had plenty of family. She wanted to be settled, then introduce his son.
Right now she needed his help to find Rory without distractions—without the truth. After they found their son, she’d tell him everything and then they could determine what to do. She and Rory had managed without him once. If that was what he chose, they’d do it again.
The going was slow, even slower than before. She hadn’t thought it possible to be this cold in July, but the northern rain kept beating down on them, chilling her inside and out with each painstaking minute of progression.
It stung her cheeks and exposed skin. So she buried her face between her arm and Steve’s back. She didn’t know how he managed to see where they were headed.
To take her mind off everything, she drew The Missing Years of Merlin from a shelf in her memory and skipped through the pages to her favorite scene. She’d recited parts of this story to Rory. He seemed to enjoy the words—or the excitement in her voice.
God, please keep him safe.
She couldn’t think about him kidnapped, afraid, perhaps hurt. She wanted to remember holding him, fluffing his soft downy hair and kissing the side of his neck to hear his laughter. But it hurt too much. So she continued to read, hold on tight to Steve’s waist and take comfort in his warmth.
“WAHOO!” STEVE THREW HIS head around, his laughter full of relief. “There it is, Janie. There’s the LCRA.”
“Wonderful.” She ventured to peek around Steve’s right to see where they were going.
Still thirty or so yards from the buoys, she couldn’t distinguish figures. But one image leaped out. A policeman in a bright yellow slicker stood near his car while the red and blue lights turned in a silent warning.
“We can’t go there, Steve. Turn around. Please.” She tugged on his shirt and he released the throttle so the ski would idle in the water.
He turned to her with a questioning look. He must’ve thought she was crazy. Well, she thought that about herself regarding this entire ordeal. With every development she wanted to wake up and find it was all a horrible nightmare.
Each wave carried them closer, but no one seemed to have noticed yet.
“If you don’t want to go to the shore, Jane, where do you suggest we go?”
“I can’t walk up to a police officer and ask for help. Can’t we go somewhere else and walk to the road?”
“Walk? Make our way through the swamp that’s become the lakeshore? Barefoot through the cactus and God only knows what else? Just so we can get back to the very place we can see a few yards away?”
His voice rose with every ridiculous question, turning his deep baritone into an angry tenor. The tension sang through his body, transferring to Jane’s hands at his waist. She let go, but his stress continued to zing through the air, as apparent as the lightning still above their heads.
“I can’t take a chance on being incarcerated.” She began untying the safety rope.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Steve said as he stilled her fingers with his own. “You aren’t swimming to shore alone. Why don’t you trust me, Jane?”
“I can’t.” Emotion like she’d never experienced with another person crossed his face. Anger, hurt, confusion. They were all there and she was causing his pain. “I mean, I want to, but…”
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