LITMIR.BIZ

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collapsed, sweating and breathing hard.

      “Sweet Jesus,” he whispered against her ear.

      She could barely breathe, couldn’t think, as she held him close, enveloped in a warm shawl of afterglow, lost in sensation.

      It seemed like eons later when he lifted up on one elbow and the low rumble of his voice asked, “Is it pizza time?”

      She turned to him and guided his head so that he kissed her, sucked at her breast and began rubbing his hands over the small of her back and the slope of her rump. “Not yet,” she murmured.

      They made love again, more slowly this time, and Becca was slightly amazed at how much she wanted him, how languid and lovely she felt in his embrace, how wild and sensuous she could become without a whit of reserve. When finally they both stirred, dressed, and headed downstairs, it was hours later.

      “I believe that pizza might be cold,” Becca said.

      “That’s what microwaves are for.”

      “Just so you know, that wasn’t a complaint.”

      He shot her a warm look as he placed several pieces of pepperoni pizza in the microwave. Becca’s gaze fell on a dog bowl shoved by the back porch, something she’d missed earlier. He must have guessed what she was thinking because he said, “My lab, Booker T., died last year.”

      “Oh, I’m sorry,” Becca said, heartfelt.

      “He was old.”

      “I have a dog. A mutt. Ringo. He’s kind of…my sanity meter. As long as Ringo’s around, everything else can be a problem and it’ll still be okay.”

      Hudson glanced at the empty bowls. “I suppose I should put them away.”

      “When you’re ready, you will.”

      When the pizza was hot, they took their plates and sat down at the banquette in the corner, a scarred version that was surprisingly comfortable with gold cushions.

      “I’ve always liked this place,” she said, looking out the window toward the barn, visible beneath the security lights. How many times had she and Hudson made love in the hay loft?

      “Yeah…” He sounded pensive, as if his thoughts had traveled down the same path. “I told you I have a new foreman? My old one, Grandy, was with my parents for years. He was so much a part of this place, it’s a whole new world without him.”

      “Did he retire?”

      “He’s got personal stuff going on, so he suggested someone else to help me.” Hudson shrugged. “Hasn’t quite been the same. I’m hoping he’ll be back soon.”

      “Personal stuff encompasses a lot of things,” Becca observed, thinking about her own issues as she bit into a pizza.

      “His son is raising kids alone, broke his leg or something, and Grandy’s granddaughter’s pregnant. The whole family thinks the father’s a loser. She might be moving in with him. It sounded messy.”

      “A baby?” Becca asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.

      “Grandy’s stepping in to help. Not the ideal way to bring a new life into the world, without any kind of stability.”

      “She’s keeping it?”

      “I think that’s the plan, but there doesn’t seem to be any solid decision-making going on.”

      She swallowed and looked away, wondering if she’d ever be able to tell him about the baby they’d almost had, wondering what kind of effect it would have, if any, at this late date, wondering if he would be glad the decision had been taken from them.

      The conversation turned away from the tricky subject and Hudson gave her an oversized jacket and they walked through the rain and darkness to the barn where Hudson switched on the light and Becca was greeted by the smells of dry hay and old leather mingled with the warm scents of horses. She was introduced to three mares, Christmas, Tallulah, and Boston, an Appaloosa who seemed heavy with foal. “This is really more of a hobby than anything else, I guess,” Hudson admitted. She knew, though he didn’t say so, that he’d made his money elsewhere. That this farm was a dream he’d turned into a reality.

      “You’ve never been married, have you?” Becca said as the horses snuffled in their mangers and she petted Boston’s soft nose. Tallulah, the bay, nickered softly for attention and Hudson scratched her between her dark ears.

      “Nope.” He shot her a look. “Would you do it again?”

      “Maybe.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Ben and I, we…just weren’t suited to each other.”

      “What was wrong?”

      “What wasn’t.”

      “Mmmm…”

      “I don’t know why I married him,” she said, not wanting to sound completely bitter. “I wanted the dream, I guess. A husband. A family. Children. After we were married he would always tell everyone we didn’t want children, when he knew good and well that I did. I never knew what to say in front of people. I couldn’t really respond by saying, ‘No, my husband’s wrong. I do want kids. He’s lying. He just doesn’t want kids.’ I couldn’t figure out how to put that in words without starting a huge argument, so I said nothing. And then he got involved with someone else and he died in her arms. And she was pregnant when he died. So she has a baby now.” Becca stuffed her hands in the deep pockets of his jacket. She could feel him looking at her, but she couldn’t meet his gaze.

      “You still want the dream?” he asked.

      “Well, yes, but I don’t really expect it to happen.”

      He seemed to want to ask her more questions, but in the end he let the conversation shift back to safer topics and entertained her with a story about how Tallulah had scraped him off her back using tree boughs and how he’d had to trudge home on a sore ankle only to find the mare waiting expectantly at her stall for her next meal, completely unrepentant.

      Hudson snapped off the lights. As they returned to the house, skimming puddles and ducking against the rain, he said, “It’s strange, but all this stuff about Jessie seems to have brought us together again.”

      “Yeah.” She half laughed. “Fairly ironic,” she said over the patter of the rain hitting the roof of the porch as they walked up the steps.

      The phone was ringing as they walked back inside and Hudson let the answering machine pick up.

      “This is Detective McNally,” a deep male voice said. “I’d still like that face-to-face meeting with you, Walker. Call me back.” He finished by leaving his number.

      “Guess there’s no way out of it,” Hudson said, frowning as he stared at the phone.

      “Maybe he has more information.”

      “More likely he wants some.” But Hudson returned the call, catching McNally and agreeing to meet the detective the next day at a diner a couple of miles from the police station.

      “An informal meeting, whatever the hell that means,” he said, reaching into the fridge for another beer. “Want to come with me?”

      “Hell, no. But I’m sure my name’s on that list somewhere, too, so…”

      “Then it’s a date,” he said.

      She laughed as she exchanged his jacket for her coat in the front hallway. “You, me, and Detective McNally.”

      “I’m sure it’ll be a blast.”

      Chapter Thirteen

      “How long does it take to draw a picture?” Gretchen kvetched as she and Mac drove to the Dandelion Diner, where they were to meet Hudson Walker. McNally was behind the wheel, squinting against sunlight that bounced off the wet pavement. “Facial reconstruction on a computer

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