The Woman For Dusty Conrad

“Oh, Jolie, the last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you.”

Her brows drew together and her voice was low when she spoke. “How did you think I would feel when you left, Dusty? Filed for a…divorce? Did you think I’d be happy?”

He grimaced. She’d likely felt the same way he had after he’d lost his brother, Erick, six months ago to the same kind of fire she fought nearly every day. A loss that had changed his life. Made him realize the importance of life period. “Of course I didn’t—”

“Please explain it to me, because right now I’m not understanding a whole lot. If you didn’t want to hurt me, then why did you leave? If you didn’t want to hurt me, then why did you send me divorce papers? If you didn’t want to hurt me, then why—” her voice caught “—why did you come back?”

“Aw, Jolie…”

Dusty wasn’t sure of the logistics, but suddenly his arms were full of Jolie. Sweet, soft, wonderful Jolie. Her fresh-smelling hair tickled his nose. Her breasts pressed against his chest. Her back was as rigid as all get out, and he was the only one doing all the holding, but right that minute it didn’t matter.

Given the way things had been between them in the end, he’d had no idea his leaving had hurt Jolie so deeply. So irreparably. She had always been so strong. Taken everything in stride. He’d thought she’d be relieved when he left. For the first time in five years of marriage she could lead her life the way she wanted without someone questioning what she was doing. All she was putting at risk every time she walked out that door and went to the fire station.

Hadn’t she grown tired of their arguments? Hadn’t she had enough of their going nose-to-nose at the dinner table until every last bit of their appetites left them?

“Aw, hell, Jolie,” he said, burrowing his nose into her hair and whispering into her ear. “I’ve never stopped wanting you.”

She drew back, her blue, blue eyes nearly swallowed by tears. It was all he could do not to kiss her then. To claim her trembling lips with his. To mold her compact little body to his. To show her with actions how very much he wanted her even now.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth and he nearly groaned, immediately pegging the gesture for what it was. She wanted to be kissed as much as he wanted to kiss her. And he knew in that instant that he was going to do it, consequences be damned.

A brief touch. That’s all. He’d brush his mouth against hers, then pull away.

The instant his lips made contact with hers, her tear-damp ones softened under his. Dusty groaned. Okay, maybe he should broaden the kiss parameters a tad. Say full contact for no more than ten seconds. As if on its own hungry accord, his tongue dipped out and gently lapped her salty tears. Whoa, that wasn’t supposed to happen. But, oh, she tasted so good. Jolie swayed against him, her arms curving around his waist, her fingers digging into the small of his back near his spine. In that one lucid moment, he knew he was a goner.

A brief touch melted into a needful seeking as he slid his tongue into the hot, honeyed depths of her mouth. Everything might have been all right if she hadn’t responded. But she had—in a breathless, thirsty way that sent his blood surging hotly through his veins like the fires they’d spent so much of their lives fighting. It was all Dusty could do not to back her against the edge of the unfinished Jacuzzi, push her sweater up over her ribs and pop open the button to her snug jeans….

Just like old times.

The thought caught and held. Just like old times. Only it wasn’t old times, was it? No matter how right she felt in his arms right now, the emotions she had momentarily bared to him, how much he wanted to take their kiss to the next level, nothing was the same.

He purposefully set her away from him, his hands a little rough on her arms. “Jolie, this…isn’t a good idea.”

She drew a shaky hand across her parted, well-kissed lips, looking as shocked as he felt. “No. No, it isn’t.” She stepped a little farther back away from him. “I’m sorry…I don’t know what came over me. I guess I’m tired. And—”

“Don’t blame yourself, Jolie. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.” He gave her a halfhearted smile. “Though your cooperation didn’t help matters much.”

She dropped her hand to her side and returned his smile. “Good thing one of us is thinking clearly, huh?”

He looked away. He may have stopped himself before things spiraled out of control, but Dusty was far from describing his thoughts as clear. If he didn’t get out of this room, put some major distance between himself and Jolie now, it wouldn’t take a whole lot for him to sweep her up into his arms and carry her to the bed in the other room.

Jolie picked up her coffee cup. “I’d better go get some sleep. Maybe after…” Her gaze locked onto his. “Will you be around for a couple more hours?”

He wanted to tell her no, he needed to leave now. But his simple mission had swelled into a complicated one. He needed to stay and work those complications out. As much for Jolie’s sake as for his own.

He finally nodded. “Yeah. I will.” He reached out and tucked a stray strand of her hair behind a tiny ear. “You go on. I’ll be here.”

For now.

The words couldn’t have been louder if he had shouted them, though he was pretty sure he hadn’t even said them aloud.

Chapter 3

Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb. Dusty paced restlessly across the length of the living room, then back again, his every instinct wanting to lead him to the stairs and up to where Jolie lay in the bed they had once shared together.

Knowing he’d either end up in that bed with her—if she’d have him—or go crazy keeping himself away from her, he snatched up his jacket and headed for the front door. It was only when his booted feet pounded against the pavement, the crisp autumn air whisking by his ears, that his thoughts were no longer dictated by the longings of his body.

What had he done, kissing her like that? He had no right to touch her, much less take liberties with her mouth, no matter how tempted he’d been. He’d given up that right months ago.

So why was it he wanted for all the world to reclaim that right?

None of this made sense. The instant he rolled back into town, he’d felt as if he’d been gone five minutes. His old friends warmly welcomed him back, no questions asked. Every memory he’d ever formed in the small, quirky town had come flooding back. And his feelings for Jolie seemed to have grown more acute rather than diminishing, as he would have guessed.

He reminded himself that his reasons for leaving Jolie had nothing to do with not loving her anymore. Rather, they had more to do with her loving something more than him that he could no longer compete with.

He groaned, still practically able to taste Jolie on his tongue. Aching with need for her.

Hormones run amok, he told himself. It was as simple as that.

Simple. There was that damn word again. Simple didn’t come near describing a single event of this trip. He’d expected to waltz into town, get the divorce papers signed, then waltz right back out again, ready to restart his life from scratch. Allow Jolie to do the same.

Instead he’d hung out at the fire station, stayed the night in Jolie’s sweet-smelling bed, resumed work on the master bath, and nearly molested her the first time they were left alone.

Smooth move, Conrad.

There was nothing like further confusing the issue than…further confusing the issue.

And if he’d really only planned to stay a couple hours, why had he taken a week off work?

He was so occupied by his thoughts he had no idea where he was heading. Until his feet stopped and he found himself staring at the ironwork archway leading into the town’s only cemetery.

He grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. It was as though his subconscious had sensed his need for reinforcement, and the death of his brother was definitely that.

Dusty stood there for long moments, absently watching colorful leaves flutter from the tall oaks flanking the gate, then swirl lazily along the path. To say that losing Erick had been the beginning of the end of his marriage might be overstating things, but his brother’s death was the one event that had set everything that came after into motion.

With slow, measured steps, he walked into the plainly laid-out cemetery, sticking to the cobblestone pathway barely wide enough to hold a car. For two hundred years this is where the townsfolk were laid to rest. It had only seemed natural that Erick should be buried here, as well.

The quiet hum of an engine sounded behind him, forcing him up onto the grass as a funeral procession drove slowly by. He watched the flagged cars, clearly remembering the cool spring day he’d buried Erick. Twenty-eight years old. Far too young for a life to be snuffed out.

Finally, he stood before the chest-high marble stone that reflected his brother’s name. It was difficult to reconcile the cold etching with the zealous man Erick had been. Beloved Husband, Father, Son and Brother, it read.

His gaze caught on something at the base. He leaned over and picked up a shiny red toy fire truck.

His fingers tightened around the tiny metal frame. He’d been in phone contact with his brother’s widow about once a month since he’d left. When he’d decided to come back, an important item on his agenda was to stop by to see Darby at her sprawling ranch on the outskirts of town. See how she was truly doing with his own two eyes and if she really didn’t need the help he tried to extend to her. To say hi and breathe in the little-girl smell of his twin six-year-old nieces who resembled Erick so much it hurt just looking at them.

He was sure that one of the girls, or maybe even Darby herself, had left the toy fire engine. He rubbed his thumb along the painted side, the toy reminding him of one he and Erick used to fight over when they were younger. When their father headed off for one of his twenty-four-hour shifts and he and his brother would sit on the front step watching him go, rooster-proud that their father was a firefighter. Wanting nothing more than to grow up so they could become firefighters themselves.

Firefighting was a Conrad tradition. Their father, his father before him, and his grandfather before then, the tradition reached back to the time the town was settled. It was only natural that Dusty, himself, would apply at the firehouse the instant he graduated community college and was old enough to enroll. Dusty smiled grimly, remembering how soundly jealous Erick had been that he’d gotten to go first. Erick had probably hated their age difference in that one moment more than he had at any other time in their lives.