Marriage, Maverick Style!. Christine Rimmer

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СКАЧАТЬ showed him the hand and aimed her chin high. “Don’t. It’s no more your fault than mine. I don’t blame you. I drank that moonshine of my own free will.” It had tasted so good. And she’d never really believed the stories about it. Until now. Slow fury rose in her. “I might have to kill Homer Gilmore, though.” She spoke through clenched teeth. “Seriously. It’s like we were roofied.”

      He made a low sound of agreement. “So much for my big plans to get the formula for Drake Distilleries. That stuff is way too dangerous.”

      She pressed a hand to her queasy stomach. “I may never drink anything with alcohol in it again.”

      “Believe me, I understand.”

      They shared a wry, weary glance, and she said, “I really do want to go now.”

      “All right.”

      She looked away, toward the balcony and the snowcapped mountains in the distance. The covers shifted as he left the bed. More fabric rustled.

      He said, “I’ll just use the bathroom.” Footsteps padded away.

      As soon as she heard the bathroom door close, she jumped from the bed, grabbed her wrinkled clothes from the bedside chair and put them on. Once she was fully dressed, including her socks and red boots, she went looking for her hat.

      She found it on the coffee table in the sitting room—next to a sketch pad and a bunch of pastels and colored pencils. “What in the...?” She picked up the pad and turned the pages slowly.

      The drawings were her own, though she had zero memory of creating them. And as to where she got the pad and pencils, who knew? But apparently, not only did she and Carson use three condoms last night; she’d also whipped him up an ad campaign for Homer’s magic moonshine.

      For the first time that morning, she almost smiled.

      Not bad. Not bad at all. Clean, clear, imaginative and well executed, if she did say so herself. Even her domineering, tough-as-nails former boss, the legendary Della Storm of Innovation Media in New York, would approve. Tessa especially liked her rendering of a frosty-blue bottle with a sliver of silver moon on it and the words Blue Muse in a retro font. She also thought the sketch of a golden bottle with a lightning strike on the front was really good. That one was called Peach Lightning in bold copperplate Gothic. And the way she’d managed to work the Drake Distilleries logo of a rearing dragon into both designs? Damn good.

      Glancing up from the pad in her hand, she stared into the middle distance, remembering how much fun she and Carson had had in the park, how they’d bantered back and forth over whether the ’shine was blackberry or peach. She’d loved every moment with Carson yesterday—at least, every moment that she could recall.

      She heard the bathroom door open. With a hard sigh, she tossed the sketchbook back on the low table.

      He appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, fully dressed in jeans, a knit shirt and a different pair of high-priced boots than he’d worn the day before. Dear Lord, he was a fine-looking man. Regret dragged at her heart that there couldn’t be more between them.

      But no. It had all gotten way too complicated too fast. She didn’t need complications with a man, not until she had her own life figured out. She needed him to take her back to her grandmother’s boardinghouse. After that, she never wanted to see that amazing face of his again.

      Across the room, he stared her somberly. Probably trying to think of something to say to her.

      She knew exactly how he felt. “I’ll just use the bathroom and then I’m ready to go.”

      * * *

      Carson found his car in his usual space in the parking lot. He’d had his keys in yesterday’s jeans, so he must have driven them there. It freaked him the hell out to think that he’d gotten behind the wheel so drunk on moonshine he had no memory of the trip.

      The ride back to town was a silent one.

      Carson despised himself the whole way. And he couldn’t stop thinking about the condom wrappers, couldn’t stop asking himself if they were fools to depend on those empty wrappers as proof that they’d played it safe.

      When he pulled in at the curb in front of the boardinghouse, she grabbed her hat off the seat with one hand and the door handle with the other. He should just let her go. It was obvious she wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

      But he couldn’t let her walk away. Not yet. First, they needed to deal with the consequences of their actions—whatever the hell those actions had actually been.

      “Wait, Tessa. Please.” She froze and stared at him, her dark hair a wild tangle of curls around her unforgettable gypsy-girl face. He made himself ask, “Are you on any kind of contraception?”

      She winced and then confessed bleakly, “No. I had an implant, but when it expired last time, I didn’t replace it. And... I know, I know. Way more information than you needed.”

      His gut twisted at her news, but he kept his voice gentle and low. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stop thinking that those condom wrappers don’t really prove we were as careful as we needed to be.” For that, he got a soft, unhappy groan.

      She put her face in her hands. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” With a ragged intake of breath, she lifted her head and squared her shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it. I’ll get the morning-after pill today.”

      Rust Creek Falls had one general store. That store had no pharmacy area that he could remember. “Can you get it at Crawford’s?”

      She chuckled, a sound with very little humor in it. “No. I’ll drive over to Kalispell. It’s a quick trip, not a big deal.”

      He didn’t want her doing that all alone. “I’ll take you. We can go right now.”

      She looked at him for a long count of five. And then she answered firmly, “No, thank you. I appreciate the offer. You’re a stand-up guy. But I really need to get through the rest of this walk of shame on my own.” She grabbed the door handle again and was out on the sidewalk before he could think of some way to change her mind. “Goodbye, Carson,” she said. The word had all the finality of a death sentence. She shut the door.

      He watched her climb the boardinghouse steps and knew that it was over between them—over without really even getting started.

      * * *

      Tessa’s grandmother Melba Strickland was waiting for her in the foyer just inside the front door.

      “There you are.” Melba reached out her long arms for a hug. Tessa went into them. Her grandmother always smelled of homey, comforting things. Right now it was coffee and cinnamon toast and a faintly floral perfume. “When you didn’t come down for breakfast at seven as usual, I got a little worried. I knocked on your door. No answer. I tried calling you, but your phone went straight to voice mail.”

      “Sorry.” She’d left her phone in her room the night before. Because she’d only been running down the street to the park and she’d expected to return within a few hours. It must have died.

      Her grandmother took her by the shoulders. “Are you all right?”

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