Talk Me Down

Cameron just chuckled. “Pete said you were in a bad mood. I don’t think mountain living suits you.”

“I’m not coming back to Denver. Now, goodbye.”

When she hung up this time, Molly turned the phone over, searching for an off switch. But apparently Ringer Off switches hadn’t been invented forty years ago, so she just unplugged it.

Un-fricking-believable. Cameron Kasten was now officially ruining even her solo sex life. Had he known she was masturbating? Molly glanced at the windows, just to be sure, then shook her head to clear the shocked buzzing away.

The buzzing stayed. Frowning, she tugged the sheets up over her chest and glanced around the room. But of course it was nothing menacing, just her favorite toy, shaking its little blue self half to death against the baseboards. Despair slapped Molly full in the face.

She didn’t even want her favorite blue toy. She wanted Ben Lawson, and he didn’t want her.

Legs weak and heavy, Molly forced herself to get up and retrieve the vibrator. She stared down at it for a moment, but she wasn’t even close to being in the mood now. She just switched it off and headed for the shower.

Thank God she hadn’t adjusted to the altitude yet. She was going out tonight and she needed those drinks to hit her hard. It was all the hard she’d be getting for a while.

CHAPTER FOUR (#u26a6b4c7-0275-59f9-9037-129c265a9608)

PROSTITUTE.

Ben cringed even as he wrote it.

No way was Molly Jennings a hooker. She was sweet and smart and had always been a good student and daughter.

But then who were all these male “friends” she seemed to have acquired? Sure, she’d claimed she was doing nothing illegal, but she’d already lied about a half dozen other things, why not that?

He glanced at his computer, tempted to do a background check. It’d be easy enough to find out if she had any arrests on record. But it felt unethical; he didn’t really have a good reason to pry into her life.

Even if she had been a hooker in Denver, it was nothing to him. He wasn’t going to date her. She certainly wasn’t going to be turning tricks up here; she’d have moved to Aspen for that. So he just couldn’t convince himself he had a reason to look her up.

“Plus, she’s not a prostitute,” he muttered. There was no way in the world she’d be so cute and shiny if she’d been living that lifestyle. She had a sharp wit, but that was the only thing hard about her. Molly Jennings was all softness and light. And heat.

Ben crossed the offensive word off his list and let his body fall back in his chair. He cracked his neck, ran his hands over his face.

It was almost seven. He was exhausted and frustrated and jumpy. He needed a damn drink.

Leaning as far to the left as he could, Ben craned his neck to catch a glimpse of The Bar outside his office window. The h on the sign had burned out long ago; half the locals called it T-Bar now. The place was worn-out and small, and it was the only place in town to get a drink.

And she’d be there.

He couldn’t avoid the woman; there was only one gas station, one grocery store, one bar. Still, maybe seeing her tonight wasn’t a good idea. He’d been picturing her in her fuzzy pink hat and white coat and high-heeled boots…and nothing else. In his mind, she looked all wrapped up and proper, bundled against the cold. But then she untied the belt on the thigh-length coat and tossed it open and there she was in all the natural pink and white glory of her naked body.

“Jesus, I need to get laid,” he groaned, rubbing his face again. Except that he immediately thought of Molly and his body began to cast its own vote on the subject.

No, he wouldn’t date her. But drinking wasn’t dating, after all. Neither was flirting.

Ben shut down the computer and headed for home. A shower and then…bed. Probably.

MOLLY PRACTICALLY hopped down her front steps as she left to meet Lori Love at The Bar. It had been a good evening, despite her disastrous afternoon. All that sexual desperation had served her work well. She’d channeled her lust into the new story and managed to bang out twelve pages. Twelve awesomely good pages, if she did say so herself.

Hips swaying over her heeled boots, Molly hurried down the hill toward Main Street, her grin widening as she walked. Even the new e-mail from that nasty Mrs. Gibson hadn’t ruined her mood. The woman wrote to Molly and her colleagues on a regular basis to call them whores and smut-peddlers, but she was strangely well-versed in the stories. In fact, it seemed clear that she read every one. Sometimes Mrs. Gibson even provided statistics about which dirty words were used and how many times. This new book was really going to set her off.

Molly had never written anything quite so wicked before, and Mrs. Gibson wouldn’t be the only one shocked by it. Molly expected her editor to be very pleasantly surprised. Though Molly wasn’t into bondage herself, there was a huge market for that kind of story.

And heck, even if she wasn’t into being tied up, she just might change her mind after this book. That sheriff was one hot hero. Almost as hot as Ben himself.

Ben. If he didn’t show up at The Bar tonight, Molly had promised herself she’d leave the poor guy alone. If he did show up…well that was another beast altogether. She didn’t want to add complication to her life any more than he did, but there was nothing complicated about gettin’ it on.

She was giggling at her own thoughts when the night darkened around her. She’d passed all the houses on her street and walked right out of their friendly porch lights and into the small strip of forest that divided her neighborhood from Main. Her neck prickled in warning. She stopped.

She wasn’t scared. This was Tumble Creek, after all. But she did turn in a slow circle all the same, searching every shadow for signs of movement. Nothing except her city-girl imagination.

The full moon shone on the street a dozen yards ahead of her, illuminating the back lot of the feed store. The apartment above the store was where Ben and Quinn had lived together during college summers. The rent had been cheap—really cheap—and the summer jobs plentiful. And Molly had hung around as much as she could manage.

She’d made herself at home there, even to the point of bursting in without knocking.

Oh, her little heart had broken that night, even if her sex drive had roared awake at the sight of Ben naked and impressively aroused. That girl—definitely not a local—had…

Molly’s familiar thoughts froze when dry leaves crackled behind her. Her steps stuttered as she shot a look over her shoulder. That wasn’t the sound of the wind tossing dead leaves around. A twig snapped. All her muscles jumped.

“Who’s there?” No answer.

She hurried toward the lights ahead. She’d had this feeling before of being watched and followed. But that had been in Denver, where Cameron had shown up in odd places—at restaurants, at her local Starbucks, even a women’s clothing store. A complaint to his supervisor had resulted in nothing but a lecture about how she was clearly sending mixed signals.

Was he here now? Trying to scare her? Chase her back to Denver where he could control her life?

Molly rushed down the sidewalk, almost to the light, and the corner of Main Street was only a little farther. She broke free from the shadows, gasping, and dared a look back.

Dark shifted against dark, then deepened to nothing. But she was sure that shadow had been movement, and not just her imagination.

It took only seconds for her to reach the corner and dash around it. Leaning against the brick wall of the feed store, Molly drew freezing air into her lungs and watched it rush out in clouds as she exhaled.

This is Tumble Creek, she told herself. You’re in the wilderness. It was a raccoon or a possum, maybe even an elk.

Her heart seemed to believe her. It slowed to an almost normal pace, and Molly risked a glance around the corner. She saw nothing. Was it possible that cheap coffee had more caffeine in it than the good stuff? She’d been jumpy all day. Her vibrator hadn’t tried to kill her and neither had that raccoon or whatever the hell it was.

Willing herself into a shaky laugh, she pushed off the wall. The Bar was just across the street, less than a block away. As if on queue, she heard the door of the place open and tinny music spilled out. Someone pulled out of the grocery store parking lot and drove toward her. Life resumed its normal pace. Everything was fine.

Forcing a smile, she headed for The Bar.

“Molly Jennings!” the barkeep called as soon as the door swooshed shut behind her.

Molly tilted her head, studied his face, and then grinned. “Juan! You look great.” A bit of an exaggeration, but he smiled and shrugged. Juan was two years older than her. He’d been a star football player at Creek County High, but his bulky muscles had softened to something that looked suspiciously like fat. His smile was just as wide and genuine, though. Molly grabbed a seat at the bar.

“Lori called,” Juan said right away. “She’ll be a little late. Had to go pull a car out of a ditch.”

“Thanks, Juan.”

“What can I get you? Some kind of wimpy drink? Cosmo? Appletini? Pomegranate Twist?”