Easy Loving. Sheryl Lynn
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caught her shoulders in both hands and kissed her.
EASY RAN THROUGH his repertoire of dirty words—after spending four years as a military policeman, he knew plenty. None served to describe how he felt watching Catherine St. Clair kiss a killer.
He crouched at the base of a towering ponderosa pine, and peered through the thick foliage of a scrub oak. He watched Livman grasp Catherine’s shoulders and pull her close. She slid her arms around his waist and her right foot raised until only the toe of her running shoe rested on the ground. Intimate, familiar, comfortable—the sight turned Easy’s stomach.
Catherine patted Livman’s cheek and said something that caused the man to laugh. Easy tensed, wondering if they’d go inside now. Perhaps to shower together, to…
Catherine hopped lightly onto the deck. She wore satin running shorts, electric blue under the sun. Her ponytail bounced around her shoulders. Livman strode to a black BMW parked in the shade of the house. She waved and went inside.
Easy watched Livman guide the BMW carefully around potholes. Livman’s face was taut, angry-looking as he drove past. Easy waited until he was sure the man wasn’t coming back.
Catherine had spotted Easy at the park. That much he knew for certain. What he did not know was if she’d told Livman. And if she had, what she’d told him. Easy considered how she might react when he told her why he’d been tailing them. He suspected she wouldn’t clasp her hands and say, “My goodness, Jeffrey is a killer? Thank you for telling me. I’ll break up with him right away.”
He hefted the envelope he carried. The man was a creep. Other than his mother, few people seemed to like him. Some people acted afraid of him. Former employers all had the same thing to say: Livman talked a good line and had a gift for salesmanship, but he was unethical, dishonest and lazy. He didn’t get along with men, but actively cultivated relationships with women. Livman had been arrested twice, both times for beating girlfriends. Both times, the women dropped the charges.
Catherine could blow this investigation with a single phone call. Easy walked a fine line between protecting her and catching Livman.
The way they’d been kissing decided him. Livman moved fast; Easy had to move faster. He walked up to the house. Guessing she might slam the door in his face, he prepared himself for her anger. He rang the bell.
Catherine surprised him with a smile. A cold smile, true, but it beat having her yell at him. “Are you a stalker? Do I need to get a restraining order against you?”
She hadn’t lost her sense of humor. Her attitude gave him hope. “I’m not stalking you.”
“I see. You just happened to be at the park, and you just happened to follow me home. Coincidence?”
“No coincidence. I was tailing you.”
She laughed softly and swung her head side to side, so her pony tail curled like a lover’s hand around her slender neck. Her laughter pierced his heart, drumming up old emotions. Impulsively, he touched his fingertips to her cheek. He knew his mistake as soon as he felt warm silky skin and her eyes widened. She jerked her head away. She clamped her arms over her breasts, her shoulders hunched.
He crammed his hand in his back pocket “Can I have five minutes of your time? Please?” He turned on his most winning smile. “It’s important.”
Her eyes narrowed and she backed a step into the house. He seized upon what most courts would interpret as an invitation and walked inside. She huffed about his trespass, but didn’t throw him out. His hope flourished. At age sixteen she’d been different from any other girl he knew. Now a grown woman, perhaps she’d prove different than most women when presented with distressing news about a boyfriend.
The skinny dogs hopped off a sofa, ears pricked and eyes suspicious. The slightly larger brown-and-white male raised his hackles. Keeping a wary eye on the dogs, Easy paused by the door.
Catherine sized up her escape routes. Easy blocked the door, but she could reach the sliding glass doors in the adjoining wall, or make it down the stairs. She didn’t sense anything dangerous about him. While they dated he’d always been gentle with her, but a man could change in twelve years.
“I brought something for you.” He held up a white, nine-by-twelve-inch envelope.
Her mouth felt sticky. She’d seen the recent news stories about adoptions gone sour. Courts were favoring parental rights over the rights of children. She’d erred twelve years ago in not telling Easy about the child. She’d lied on the birth certificate about not knowing the father’s name. If he pressed the issue by taking her to court, he could learn what happened to Elizabeth. Or worse, he could fight for custody. Whether or not he successfully contested the adoption was moot. No matter what happened, he would destroy Elizabeth’s life.
He approached. She forced herself to stand fast. She tried not to notice his graceful, loose-hipped walk. She tried not to notice her own pounding heart. “The past is history, Easy. I did the right thing for our baby. Let it rest. Please.”
Her reference to his lost child stabbed through his heart. He clutched the envelope so tightly that paper crunched. He wanted to know what had happened to his daughter. He needed to know. He realized it with a certainty that infused his very bones and laid bare the massive hole in his life created when he lost Catherine.
“Even if you had known, it wouldn’t have made any difference.” Her eyes went soft and pleading. “We were too young to get married and too young to raise a child. I did the right thing. Please accept it.”
He pulled his attention away from her. The spacious front room had been turned into an art studio. The walls were covered with anatomical posters. Easels held partially finished paintings. Old cups, mismatched vases and cans held arrangements of dried weeds and flowers. Cork boards were covered with photographs of animals. Plastic models ranging from dinosaurs to whales perched upon shelves. Bookshelves and tables overflowed with books and magazines. The place smelled of paint and chemicals, overlaid with an odor of something spicy cooking in the small kitchen off the studio.
“You’re an artist?” A stack of children’s books caught his attention. Elizabeth probably adored books.
“I illustrate children’s books.”
“You always did draw good pictures.” He glanced at the dogs. “I thought you were going to be a veterinarian. You were always taking care of sick birds and stuff. Remember the baby magpie?”
He placed the envelope carefully on a table, making certain she noticed it. He wanted to trace the fine sheen of sweat on her flushed skin, and rub her hair between his fingers. He wanted to kiss away all traces of Livman’s kiss from her mouth. He made himself stand in place; his joints ached with the effort.
Her gaze went distant, softening the tense muscles of her face. A trace of a smile curved her lips. “You named it Bosco. That was a dumb name for a bird.”
“Mom almost had a heart attack when she found it in my room. But we saved its life.”
She fussed with a messy stack of magazines. When she finally turned to him, all traces of fear had left her face. Even if Livman weren’t a stone-cold killer, Easy didn’t want the man touching her.
“I’m sorry for how I acted the other day. I don’t usually lose my temper like that. Please forgive me.”
Humbled by her apology, he remembered vividly why he’d loved her so much. Around her, he’d always felt like a man. Even at sixteen, she’d had class. Drawn by her shining eyes, he leaned closer to her, catching a whiff of sweet womanly scent heightened by her exercise-warmed skin. He stared into her eyes, mesmerized by their sparkling azure shadowed by lush brown lashes. Her pupils swelled and her eyelids lowered, darkening her eyes into mysterious pools. He drowned gladly.
Don’t, she thought. Don’t look at him, don’t stand so close, don’t remember….
The warnings in her head proved no defense