Talk Me Down. Victoria Dahl

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      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?”

      “Oh, um, really? You’ve got pomegranate juice?”

      “Nah, not really. But I do have cranberry juice and apple sour. What’s your poison?”

      Molly glanced around. Most of the booths were full and every single person had a beer or shot glass in front of them. But, damn, she wanted a cosmo.

      Her sigh ruffled the little napkin Juan had set in front of her. “I’ve got to build up some street cred here, Juan. I’d better have a Coors.”

      Juan glanced up and down the bar, then leaned a little closer. “How about if I make you a lemon-drop martini and put it in a highball glass with ice? Think you could pull it off as a vodka tonic?”

      Molly sat straighter and laughed. “Hell, yeah. Bring it on.” This night was gonna be all right after all.

      While Juan turned his back on the bar to mix the secret drink, Molly strolled over to the jukebox to check out the selections. Apparently they hadn’t been updated since the eighties; all the selections were still classic country or guitar rock. She chose George Strait СКАЧАТЬ