Мистер Камень. Анна Ольховская
the essentials. I’d be happy to take it back if you can’t handle it.”
He scowled at her. “Don’t forget—I’m the one with the gun and the handcuffs.”
“Yeah, and I’m the one whose favorite sister is married to your boss.”
And he kept managing to forget that.
He directed her to his truck around the corner, then put her bag in the back seat. “Have you had dinner?” he asked when he settled in the driver’s seat.
“I had a chili dog at the drive-in across the street from the motel.”
“You like to live dangerously, don’t you?”
“I’ve been doing that ever since I set foot in this town,” she said quietly.
They drove the nine blocks to the motel in silence. How many times had he gone to a motel with a woman he hardly knew? And yet it felt strange this time. Maybe because he already knew to pull around back and park next to the Mercedes.
Or maybe because this time he wanted like hell to go inside with her…but not as much as he wanted to say good-night in the parking lot.
He shut off the engine, and for the space of a few heartbeats, they both sat there. Brady was looking at the window of the room in front of them, and he could tell by nothing more than feeling that she was looking elsewhere, too.
As the cool air inside the SUV was replaced with warmer, damper air, she opened the door. He did the same. She led the way up the stairs, and he followed…but only as far as the top landing. She had covered half the twenty-foot distance to her room before realizing that he’d stopped. Turning back, she smiled uneasily. “Would you like to come in?”
“Very much.”
“But you’re not going to.”
He shook his head.
“Why not?”
Because it would be wrong—more so than the first time, not as much as the second, but still wrong. Because, in spite of her assurances, he wasn’t sure what her expectations were. Hell, he wasn’t sure what his expectations were. Because they were a great match for a one-night stand, but neither of them brought much hope to the success of anything more.
And because he liked her, honestly liked her, and though he didn’t know what he wanted from her, he did know one thing for sure—he didn’t want to hurt her. She’d gotten enough of that for a lifetime.
She smiled faintly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to answer that. I’ve got plenty of answers to choose from.” Coming back, she held out her hand, and he gave her the camera bag. “Thank you for the ride home.”
He nodded, then watched until she’d unlocked her room. “Hallie?”
She glanced at him.
“I’d like to see your pictures sometime.”
“Sure.” Once again she started to go inside, and once again he stopped her.
“You want to have lunch tomorrow?”
“Sure. Should I meet you at the courthouse?”
“That would be good. Around noon?”
“Okay. Good night.” She went inside and closed the door. Even from that distance, he heard the lock click.
As he started down the stairs, he swore silently. He couldn’t believe he’d found himself twenty-five feet from a bed and a beautiful and willing woman, and he was walking away. Sure, it was the safe choice, but how much was he going to hate himself a few hours from now, when he was alone in bed and unable to sleep?
Not as much as if he’d taken advantage of her again.
Hallie Madison was the most wrong person for him in all of Oklahoma. She was vulnerable and lonely and needed more than he’d ever been able to give.
But he wasn’t going to hurt her. He swore to God he wouldn’t.
He just wished he could be as sure that he wasn’t going to get hurt, either.
Hallie loved old furniture—not antiques, necessarily. Just old. Pieces that people had lived with, that showed the marks and scars of use. Anticipating lunch with Brady far more than was safe, she went downtown more than an hour early on Tuesday and spent the time wandering through antique stores on the block across from the courthouse. She’d bought a couple of pitchers in the first store—one glazed green and brown, the other beige and brown. Oklahoma-made, the elderly woman behind the counter had declared, at Frankoma Pottery over to Sapulpa.
Hallie didn’t care where they came from. She liked the lines, the colors, the weight in her hand.
Now, in the third store, she was eyeing an oak dining table. It was wide and long, big enough for six without the leaves, eight or ten with. It looked as solid in its own way as the courthouse did, as if it had already seated generations of hungry farmers and would continue to do so for generations to come. It could become her very own heirloom, passed down through the family for years to come.
Of course, first she would have to have a family, and the odds of that were somewhere between slim and none.
Still, it was a lovely piece, and came with eight equally sturdy ladder-back chairs, and it was such a tremendous change from the elegant and huge table in her dining room at home.
With a sigh, she drummed her fingers on the tabletop.
“Having trouble deciding?” The clerk slid into a chair opposite her. “What’s the drawback? The price? The size? Afraid it won’t fit in your dining room?”
“I don’t actually have a dining room yet. Well, I do, but I’m getting ready to sell that house and everything in it.”
“Someplace around here?”
Hallie shook her head. “In California. Beverly Hills.”
“Oh.” The woman gave her an appraising look, then laughed. “Don’t worry. The price is the same no matter where you come from—well, except maybe Texas. Then we might have to add a surcharge to cover your ego.”
With a laugh, Hallie extended her hand. “I’m Hallie Madison.”
“Stella Clark.” The woman leaned across to shake hands, then sat back again. “Are you just passing through?”
“Not exactly. I’ll be here a few weeks—until my sister comes back from her honeymoon.”
“Oh, you’re Reese’s new sister-in-law. We’re all so happy to see him married. You know, his daddy and mama just got married themselves the week before his wedding.”
“Yes, Neely mentioned that.” Reese’s mother had been the love of Del Barnett’s life, but she’d never stayed around long, and every time she left him, she’d left their son behind, too. Initially, Reese had been disinclined to welcome her into the family—and considering the way she’d abandoned him, who could blame him? But he’d come around before the wedding. Almost getting killed could make a person rethink the grudges he was holding.
“So,” Stella said. “No ring on your finger. Does that mean you’re single, or are you just too liberated to wear one?”
“I’m…single.” Hallie smiled to cover her guilt. It wasn’t exactly a lie. As Brady had pointed out Saturday night, the difference between single and divorced wasn’t enough to count—at least, not always.
“Well, now, we have a fair number of single men in town—some really fine-looking ones. Let me think…”
“I appreciate it,” Hallie said quickly, “but I’m not going to be here long, and I’m really not interested in a relationship.” Except for the one she had going with Brady…sort of.
Rubbing her finger along the grain of the table, she