Cupid, Texas [1] Love at First Sight Page 15

  Dade was upon her, grabbed her before she got to the first deck step, clung to her elbow.

  She battled him, pounding at him with both hands.

  “Stop fighting,” he growled, holding her tightly around the waist. “I’m not going to harm you.”

  Her eyes widened as if she did not believe him. “You are not the gringo I am looking for.”

  “Who are you looking for?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  He grasped her shoulders, forced her to look him in the eyes, letting her know that he meant business. “Tell me.”

  She turned her head away. “I do not know his name.”

  “Then how do you know I am not the man you want?”

  She peeked at him. “I was told the man I am to meet has red hair.”

  “Red?” His breath stilled in his lungs. At last, a lead on Red’s whereabouts! “You came looking for Red?”

  She nodded. “Sí. Rojo.”

  “What do you want with him?”

  A frightened expression crossed her face and she squirmed to get away. Dade tightened his grip. “What do you know about Red?” he demanded.

  “Nothing.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I do not know,” she wailed.

  “You’re lying.” He spit out the words. “What are you up to?”

  “Please. My English. Not so good.”

  “Bullshit. Your English is fine. You came here looking for Red. Who sent you?”

  She shied from him. “Please, do not hurt me, señor.”

  Dade grit his teeth. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know where Red is.”

  She trembled. “Por favor, my arm.”

  Dade loosened his grip. Settle down, Vega, you’re scaring her. “Why did you come here in the middle of the night?”

  She shrugged her huddled shoulders.

  He took her chin in his palm and forced her to meet his gaze, saw stark fear in her eyes. “Tell me.”

  “Señor, I cannot.”

  Impatience kicked at him. “You said you needed help. I can help you.”

  “Not you. No.” Violently, she shook her head.

  “Give me a chance.”

  “No.”

  Frustrated, Dade shoved a hand through his hair. This woman knew something, but she wasn’t talking. It might not have a thing to do with Red’s disappearance, but this was the first viable clue he’d gotten since arriving in Cupid.

  “You’re an illegal,” he guessed.

  She nodded, eyes wide. “Please, please do not tell.”

  “I’m not going to tell. I just want to find Señor Rojo. Are you Red’s . . .” He paused, searching for the Spanish word for girlfriend. “Novia?”

  “No.”

  Okay, so she wasn’t there for a romantic tryst. Why then was an illegal immigrant looking for Red? A handful of possibilities popped into his head, none of them pleasant. You were supposed to settle down, buddy. Stay out of trouble. Not rescue damsels in distress.

  She said something in Spanish that he didn’t understand. He didn’t know why she was here expecting to find Red, but one thing was clear. She was not going to tell him the reason. Plus, if she had expected to find Red here, that meant she didn’t know he was missing.

  He released her arm.

  She backed up.

  “If you find Red, if you hear from him, call me.” He took a business card from his back pocket, passed it to her.

  She tucked it into the bosom of her blouse, but he could tell from the expression on her face that there was no way in hell she was going to tell him anything.

  “Go on.” He sighed and waved her away.

  Relief flooded her face. She turned and fled down the steps, leaving Dade with even more questions now than he’d had before. Who was the mystery woman? Why was she looking for Red? What in the hell was his buddy mixed up in?

  The next morning, Natalie awoke with a lazy smile stretching her mouth wide. She stretched, yawned, remembered. Last night she’d danced with Dade. Kissed him. And it had been amazing. What a beautiful morning! What a glorious day!

  Energized, Natalie hopped from the bed, limped through the pile of wadded-up notebook paper on the floor, to reach the window seat. Anxious to embrace her future, she leaned over and threw open the window wide. Dawn, rosy and soft, spilled into the room, fresh and hopeful, but along with it blew a hot, blustery summer wind gusting from the south.

  Oops, bad idea.

  She moved to shut the window, but the brisk breeze picked up Shot Through the Heart’s letter, along with the one Natalie had written to Cupid the night before, asking for his help in sorting out her feelings about Dade, and sent them flying over the roof.

  The letters caught against the side of the rock chimney, quivered there in the wind.

  Oh, dammit. She could not leave the letters there. What if they flew off? She needed Shot Through the Heart’s letter to remember exactly what she’d written, and as for the letter Natalie had written, well, what if someone found it? What if Dade found it?

  Her face flushed hot at the thought of Dade reading it and discovering exactly what she felt about him. She simply wasn’t ready for that. She had to get those letters back.

  But how?

  The chimney wasn’t very far from the window, just a few short feet. In fact, if she stretched really long, she could probably reach out and grab them.

  There was just one problem. Her fear of heights.

  She stood there, nibbling her bottom lip while the wind flapped against the letters. They made a sound like playing cards pinned to bicycle spokes. Night shadows still darkened the shingles. She could go get a ladder, but the thought of climbing up a shaky ladder was even more intimidating than the notion of leaning out across the pitched roof. She thought about getting Zoey to do it, but her sister would make a big deal of it and insist on reading Natalie’s letter to Cupid.

  It was high time she conquered her fear. Just go get the letters.

  Resolutely, she kept her eye on the chimney. Don’t look down. Gingerly, she crawled up on the window seat and leaned out over the sill.

  The wind gusted against her with surprising force.

  She sucked in a deep breath, and it was all she could do not to pull back. Clinging to the window with both hands, she eyed the distance to the chimney. It looked no farther than a foot away, but then again, she was terrible at gauging distances.

  Well, you can’t stay here forever.

  Tentatively, she let go with one hand and reached out for the letters. The wind buffeted her hair into her face, the whipping strands stung her eyes, and this time, batting at her hair, she did draw back.

  She sank against the window seat. Nausea rose in her throat, and in a flash, she was nine years old again and on that mountain, dangling from a tree.

  Oh God, she couldn’t do it.

  Forget the letters. It wasn’t worth this.

  Really? Was she going to let her phobia defeat her? At this point, it was no longer only about the letters. It was the principle of the thing. She’d been sheltered and petted for too long. Was she going to spend the rest of her life controlled by fear?

  You can do it.

  She swallowed, closed her eyes, clenched her teeth, and tried again. This time she was braced for the wind, but no matter how much she stretched, the letters lay inches from her grasp.

  If she wanted to reach them, she was going to have to venture out on the roof. Ah, crap. Crawling, she placed her left leg on the slanted roof, the gritty shingles rough against her kneecap.

  She paused, needing a moment before she tried to move forward. From the corner of her eye, she spied the ground. It looked a million miles away. If she fell, she could break her neck.

  Don’t look down.

  Natalie closed her eyes. Hung there. Her breathing grew as ragged as a dull saw dragged back and forth across the tough bark of piñon pine. Her muscles seized up.

  Move. It’s only inches.

  Th
e nausea crept up to her throat, but she swallowed it back, opened her eyes, and brought her right knee out onto the roof to join her left.

  The sun peeped over the horizon, a happy yellow egg yolk, unbothered by the wind that ruffled the material of Natalie’s cotton nightshirt. Sweat popped out on her brow and she shivered the length of her body. Hotly cold? Or coldly hot? Who knew?

  Eye on the prize. Grab those letters and get the heck back into the bedroom.

  She brought her left knee forward again, moved forward a couple of inches, completely free of the window now. No anchor. No landline.

  Don’t be silly, the window is right behind you.

  It sounded logical. Of course it was logical, but when you were afraid of something, logic didn’t enter into it.

  She reached out toward the chimney. Her fingertips grazed the paper but she couldn’t quite grab it in her fist. One more inch. Just slide forward. You’ve got this thing.

  Chuffing out her breath, she scootched forward, knees dragging across the shingles. Her fist closed over the letters just as a particularly strong gust of wind bulleted around the chimney and knocked her off balance.

  Natalie toppled over, cried out, and slithered lickety-split down the steep angle of the roof, barreling toward the ground below.

  Dade came out of his room at the carriage house, dressed in shorts and running shoes, ready to pound out a good five-mile run.

  After the Mexican woman had awakened him, he’d been unable to go back to sleep, so he’d returned to the Cupid’s Rest to change clothes in hopes of burning off the restless energy that had dogged him since he’d kissed Natalie.

  He rounded the corner, started up the paver stone driveway, and stopped in his tracks.

  There, dangling from the roof, was Natalie. She wore a thin white nightshirt, the short hem showing off her legs, and the outline of purple bikini-cut panties showing through. She clutched the gutter tightly in her white-knuckled hands and her breathing came in ragged, panicked gasps.

  Instantly, Dade ran to her, reached up, and encircled her waist with his hands. “I’ve got you,” he said. “You’re okay. You can let go.”

  “I can’t,” she wailed.

  “You can. I’ve got you,” he repeated. “You’re safe.”

  The tension seeped from her body into his and he felt her fear. She was terrified. “Natalie,” he said firmly. “Let go.”

  It took her a minute to release the gutter. How long had she been hanging there?

  He set her gently onto the ground, but her knees collapsed beneath her weight. Dade gathered her to him, held her against his chest.

  She was trembling from head to toe.

  “What is it?” he murmured in her ear. “What happened?”

  She said not a word, simply clung to him, buried her face against his neck.

  He lightly kissed the top of her head, smoothed down her hair with a palm. “Natalie, what is it? Speak to me.”

  “I . . . I could have been killed.”

  “Not really. You were only a few feet off the ground.”

  “What if I’d fallen on my head?”

  “You didn’t.”

  “But I could have.” She shuddered against him. “I’m terrified of heights.”

  He tightened his arms around her like a cocoon. The material of her nightshirt was dangerously thin and the curves of her breasts were mashed against him. He should let go of her before his body responded in a totally normal way to a smoking hot, scantily clad woman. “It’s okay. You’re okay now. How long were you up there?”

  “It felt like hours, but it was probably only a couple of minutes.” Her voice was wheezy.

  “I know it’s none of my business, but what were you doing up there if you’re afraid of heights?”

  She waved a fist. She had something clutched in it. Something yellow like notebook paper. “Embarrassing story.”

  Hmm. He narrowed his eyes. What was she hiding?

  She stepped back from him, glanced down at her barely there garment, and immediately wrapped her arms around herself. The wind, which had been blowing hard and steady for the last hour, sent whirling eddies of sand dancing across the street and lifted Natalie’s nightshirt all the way to her hips.

  And Dade got a great glimpse of her smooth white skin. He gulped, and the boner he’d been battling to hold off poked jauntily against his shorts.

  Ah, damn.

  Natalie yanked down the hem of her nightshirt while Dade ducked his head.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled.

  “Gotta go,” he muttered.

  She turned toward the house. He turned toward the street. And they both took off in opposite directions.

  Chapter 11

  It’s usually the skeptics who fall hardest.

  —MILLIE GREENWOOD

  Several hours later, Natalie arrived at the community center still shaken from her tumble down the roof.

  “You don’t look good,” Aunt Carol Ann fussed. “Do you have a fever?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Her aunt put a palm to Natalie’s forehead. “You’re cool as a cucumber.”

  Natalie pulled away from her. “I said I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine. Something’s up.”

  Even though she wasn’t hungry, Natalie snatched up a plate and went to the buffet table for the beef brisket that Junie Mae had brought for lunch; anything to avoid Carol Ann’s scrutiny.

  Sandra walked in carrying an oversized metal bowl of banana pudding and put it in the community refrigerator. “Don’t forget the ’naner pudding, when you leave,” she told Natalie.

  Although she’d run the risk of galling Pearl, Natalie had ordered the banana pudding from Sandra for tonight’s outdoor catfish fry that she was throwing for her B&B guests to kick off a week of Fourth of July celebrations.

  Pearl would have her hands full manning the deep fryer on the backyard patio without having to worry about creating dessert. Her cook had pitched a bitch because that was Pearl, but in the end, she acquiesced and grudgingly gave her permission for the order. Even cranky Pearl had to admit Sandra made the best banana pudding in west Texas.

  “Thank you,” Natalie said, happy to have the focus off her. “I’ll get you a check after the meeting.”

  “No rush.” Sandra smiled. “I know you’re good for it.”

  The reprieve was short-lived. Mignon came over, narrowed her eyes. “Are you hungover?”

  “You know I don’t drink,” Natalie said, wishing they’d find another topic of conversation.

  “I heard that you drank last night.” Mignon grinned. “And that you kissed Chantilly’s handsome new bouncer.”

  “I had to kiss him. I lost the Life Saver relay.”

  “Why do you say lost?” Carol Ann asked. “It’s the object of the relay to be the last one with the Life Saver.”

  Natalie made a face. “I guess the definition depends on whether you want to kiss someone or not.”

  “Some people would consider that winning,” Mignon said. “He’s very handsome.”

  “I heard you kissed him twice,” Lace added.

  “Zoey’s got a big mouth,” Natalie grumbled.

  “I didn’t hear it from Zoey,” Sandra said. “I heard it from Calvin and Maria.”

  “I heard it from my mailman.” Junie Mae poured herself a glass of sweet tea. “I think it’s wonderful. Long past time you had a beau.”

  “He’s not my beau!” Natalie protested as she took her seat at the table. “We just kissed. End of story.”

  “If you say so, dear.” Junie Mae’s eyes twinkled.

  “Leave her alone,” Delia defended Natalie. “She’s entitled to her privacy.”

  “Thank you, Auntie Delia.”

  Delia patted the chair beside her. “Come sit by me and tell me all about him. Junie Mae says he’s got muscles to make the Incredible Hulk weep.”

  “Junie Mae!”

  “Well, he does. Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’m bli
nd. I know a good-looking man when I see one, and it’s about time you did too.”

  “Could we please talk about something besides my love life?” Natalie pushed halfheartedly at the brisket on her plate.

  “Ooh-la-la,” Mignon said. “At least she’s admitting she’s got a love life.”

  Oh crap. This was backfiring on her from every angle.

  “I don’t have a love life. I admit nothing,” Natalie declared.

  “Ah, chère, you should have a magnificent love life. You are young—but not getting any younger.”

  “We just want to see you happy,” Sandra chimed in.

  “They need romantic fodder,” Lace said. “Heaven knows that no one is living vicariously through me.”

  Natalie looked around the table, spread her arms open wide. “Anyone else want to weigh in? This is your opportunity. Tell me what to do. Should I shag him till I’m blue in the face?”

  Delia laughed. “Sounds good to me.”

  “Woo, Nat, way to get sassy.” Lace pumped her fist.

  “You’re right,” Aunt Carol Ann said primly. “We do need to change the subject. Let’s talk about Shot Through the Heart’s letter. Have you answered it yet?”

  Well, that change of subject hadn’t helped her any. “Not yet,” Natalie admitted.

  “Dear, really, it’s not an indictment if you just can’t do it. Any of us would be happy to take that letter off your hands and answer it today, problem solved.”

  She should just turn the letter over to one of the other volunteers. If she were being sensible, that’s exactly what she would do, but Natalie did the tasks she’d been assigned. She was dependable that way. It was just that this particular task felt impossible. “You said I could have until Monday.”

  “I have a feeling you’re not going to have it done by Monday. You’re going to be crazed with getting the B&B ready for the Fourth of July celebrations. Let me ease your burden. I don’t mind.” Carol Ann smiled.

  “If you want to ease my burden, then please give me another week.”

  Carol Ann pursed her lips. “Natalie, that means it would have taken you three weeks to answer a simple letter. It’s unheard of and a violation of our policy, I might add.”

  “Could we put a humorous, short comment to Shot Through the Heart in the next newsletter that Cupid is taking her letter under extended advisement, and plead for her understanding?”