The Sweethearts’ Knitting Club (18 page)

“That’s me, tender and juicy, just like chicken,” she joked. She pulled in a shaky breath and lowered her lashes.
Keep kissing on down to the sweet spot
, she thought, but didn’t have the courage to say it.

“Lucky for you, I love chicken.”

His tongue was at the top of her panties, and for all practical purposes her mind had gone to mush. His hands were softly kneading her butt cheeks and his hair was tickling her belly and she was aware of absolutely everything. The smell of new rug, the ticking clock on the wall, the rich taste of lust on the back of her tongue, the sight of Jesse’s teeth tugging on her white cotton panties, the feel of his warm breath against her achy flesh.

“Lucky me,” she whispered as tiny little campfires ignited along her nerve endings. Everywhere his lips touched, she blazed.

A robust laugh rolled from him. He tilted his head and looked up at her, his eyes shiny with lust. His hands moved from her bottom to her waist. “Feel like you won the lottery, do you?”

“No,” she said, “I feel like you won the lottery. I’m the prize here.”

“Oh, you think so?”

“I know so.”

“Such an ego,” he said, and drew her down on the rug in front of him.

They were eye to eye, nose to nose, his hands still resting on her waist. For the longest moment he said nothing, did nothing except peer into her.

“Knock, knock, anybody home,” she finally ventured.

“Gotta,” he said.

“Gotta what?”

“Gotta have some of this,” he said, and with a low groan, he tugged her against his chest for a soft, slow kiss. He drew her tongue from her mouth with gentle suction. He reached up and cupped the sides of her face with both palms.

Her hands got busy exploring him, moving them up his thick biceps to his shoulders. She dug her fingertips into his muscles, kneaded them. Heat rolled off him in waves, causing sweat to dew between her breasts.

Jesse made love to her with his mouth; in turn she combed her fingers through the sprig of hairs at his chest. “Woman,” he mumbled against her neck, “you drive me crazy.”

“Right back at you. You’re not alone in the booby hatch.”

He pulled her into his lap then, and she felt the throb of his erection through the fabric of his jeans. The man was enormous, and the pressure! Glorious pressure squeezed the floor of her pelvis.

She rocked against him.

He groaned really loudly this time—all masculine need and hungry arousal. She was hot, he was hot, the room was a frickin’ sauna. They were kissing again, their tongues dancing, dueling, taunting. She dug her fingers into his skin and kissed him and breathed him and pushed her bottom against his stiff penis.

Sweetness vanished from his kiss. Tenderness?
Out the window. Everything was rough and primal and wild and carnal.

They were moving too fast, rocketed by passion and the past; she should tell him to stop, but her tongue didn’t work. Who was she kidding? It worked too well. She was licking and tasting and teasing and having way too much fun to stop.

More. She had to have more.

His thumbs brushed her nipples, and she let out a hungry moan. Her hands were all over him. Touching, stroking, probing, exploring. Her head spun, her heart thumped, her skin burned. Her breasts tightened, her nipples beaded. Had she ever felt a pleasure this delicious? Yes. Once. On a bridge, long ago.

She was in his lap, riding his thighs, pressing her palms against the zipper of his jeans where his penis strained, dying to get out and come play. She groped him through the denim, feeling every hard edge of him.

He groaned.

The ache between her thighs was painful now. A wet, hot ache that swirled her brain. One of his hands stayed at her breasts, lightly pinching a nipple while the other hand crept down to give as good as he was getting. He slipped past the waistband of her panties, his thick finger searching for her most sensitive spot.

His hand was between her thighs, his thumb on her…

Oh, dear Lord, he’d found it.

She squirmed and wriggled, pushing against his hand. She was on fire, burning, burning. But
she wasn’t ready for this. “Jesse, wait…” She panted.

“You mean it?” His voice was ragged, disappointed. “You want me to stop?”

“Yes, no…”

Jesse pulled back, looked her squarely in the eyes. “Which is it? Yes or no?”

“I want you…”

“Well then, that’s settled. I want you too.” He slipped his hand back between her thighs; the air was sweet with the smell of her sex. Her scent caused his cock to twitch. She was so hot and wet down there. Wet and ready for him.

Jesse wanted her so badly. Had wanted her for ten long years. Lust pounded through him. This was it. She was finally going to be his. He shifted her in his arms, stretched her out on the braided rug, looked down into her face. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

“You’re not half bad yourself.”

Gently, he parted her slick, warm flesh with his fingers. She was dripping for him, and when he slipped his finger inside her, she gasped and her eyes widened and she grasped his shoulders in her hands.

“Does that feel good?”

“Yes, yes.”

He could feel her trembling against his hand. “You’re so wet. You have no idea how much you turn me on. I want to kiss you here.” He touched her clit. “Lap you up with my tongue.”

Her muscles tensed and her breath grew shallow and quick.

“Do you want me to use my tongue on you here?” He lightly strummed the nub of her clit with his thumb.

“Uh-huh.” She nodded. “Jesse,” she rasped.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Please, please…”

He flicked his thumb against her clit, softer and faster.

“Please, please, I want you to…”

“I know.”

“No, no—” Her words broke off on a strangled cry of pleasure. She moaned and clutched him and quivered.

His heart galloped. She was coming, big time. Her eyes widened and her face twisted up into a look of pure orgasmic ecstasy. Perspiration popped out on her face, and when she’d finished shuddering, he drew her to him, rocked her against his chest, feeling mighty damn proud of himself.

He nestled her in the crook of his arm, kissed her forehead, and ached to be buried inside her hot feminine body. She had no idea what this restraint was costing him.

“Oh my.” She exhaled and looked up at him. “I’ve never…that was…”

“Flynn one, Jesse zero.” He laughed.

“So that’s how it is? We’re keeping score?” Her eyes glimmered mischievously. Then she pushed him over onto his back and straddled him, her glorious breasts bobbing sexily in the light from the overhead fluorescent bulb. “You’re in trouble now, bucko.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. First thing, those jeans have got to
go.” She undid the snaps of his jeans and grabbed hold of the waistband. “Hips off the floor,” she said, but she didn’t have to tell him, Jesse was already arching his back, his cock twitching to break free.

He heard her audibly suck in her breath when she got a good look at him, but when she touched the head of his shaft he was the one sucking in air.

She slid down his body until her butt was on his knees and her breasts were resting on his upper thighs and her tongue…hot damn her maddening tongue…was lightly flicking over his tip. She grasped his shaft with one hand, cupped his balls in the other.

“Jesse,” she murmured. “I had no idea you were so big and juicy and beautiful.”

He propped himself up on his elbows so he could watch her swirl her tongue around him. She glanced up, and her eyes locked on his. She winked, flashed her dimples, then ducked her head. The intensity of sensation quickly grew too much for him to fight against and he just sank back on the rug and let her have at him.

She toyed with him a moment more and then she drew him into her mouth, taking him as deeply as she could.

Jesse moaned as the heat escalated inside him. Her rhythm picked up. Her hands slid all over his body. Indescribable, this intimacy. His chest expanded, tightened. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. This took the meaning of sex to a whole new level for him.

“Yes,” he hissed as she moved back and forth,
her hair a silky glide beneath his fingers. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Flynn worked her magic, with her fingers, her tongue leading him into uncharted territory. He was on sensory overload as she gently guided him to a paradise he’d only dreamed of. But this wasn’t a dream. The warm wetness of her mouth, the sweet taste of her lingering on his tongue, the heavenly smell of her feminine scent, the sound of her raspy breathing. This new awareness of him, of her, was breaking up his outer shell. All the old failures and disappointments fell away.

Her mouth moved over him without caution or fear. She pushed him past his knowledge of himself. He had never before been so physically possessed. His knees were quaking and he was as loaded and hot as he could ever be. Past thinking, with no coherent thought residing in his head, he was nothing but cock and ass and balls.

Relentlessly, Flynn pushed him forward. He was aching, gushing, throbbing, beating. He threw back his head and let loose with a primal cry, pleading for release from this magnificent torture, for the ecstasy he could almost touch.

Tingling. Pounding. Rushing.

He had no idea she was capable of wreaking such havoc. And then, just like that, it was upon him. Jesse tumbled. Jerking and trembling into the abyss, hurtling across time and space. Lost in the wonder of her awesome tongue.

He peered down, blinked. He could barely see. He lay there sweating, shuddering, panting for breath.

Flynn was sitting at his feet, smiling coyly, her lips glistening creamy and wet. She winked at him and swallowed his essence. She curled up on the rug beside him, spooned against his back. For a long while they just lay there together, not speaking, waiting for him to recover.

And then her cell phone rang.

She moved to get up. He grabbed her wrist. “Don’t go, don’t answer it.”

“It might be important.”

“I’m important. This is important. We’re important.”

“My family,” she said.

When she gave him a look like that how could he deny her? He waved a hand. “Go ahead.”

She scrambled off the rug, went for her purse, snagged up the phone. “What’s up?”

Jesse rolled onto his side, watching her. In his eyes she was the most beautiful woman on earth.

“Okay, don’t panic. I’ll be right there.” She hung up the phone, started putting on her clothes. “Oh crap, look at my blouse. You’re hell on clothes, Calloway.” Her blouse hung open, buttonless.

He grinned sheepishly. “Take my shirt.”

She scooped his Harley T-shirt up off the floor, wrestled it over her head.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” she said, leaning over to kiss him. “For now it will have to stay Flynn one, Jesse one. They had a water main break down at Froggy’s and my father is flipping out. Gotta go. See you later.”

“Wait, wait.” He got to his feet. “I’ll go with you.”

Flynn shook her head. “Nah, that’s okay. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“But maybe you could just use the company.”

“Relax,” she said. “Bask in the glow.”

Without another word, she plunged down the stairs, leaving Jesse feeling as if he was nothing more than her dirty little secret.

Ten minutes later, Flynn pulled into Froggy’s empty parking lot. Her father’s car was there and so was Carrie’s. The outdoor neon sign was switched off, but inside the lights blazed. Floyd must have closed up and sent everyone home after the water main break.

Feeling edgy and breathless, she pushed her fingers through her hair and let out a sigh, her mind webbed with thoughts of what had just happened in the Yarn Barn.

Jesse
.

The taste of him lingered on her tongue, his smell loitered in her nose, her skin still sizzled from his touch, her ears hummed with the sound of his rich and sinful voice. When had he so completely captivated her?

Who was she kidding? She’d never gotten him out of her system. All this time she’d been using her mother’s illness, her father’s problems with alcohol, and raising her siblings as an excuse to avoid saying yes to Beau, because deep down inside she’d always been in love with Jesse Calloway.

The full realization of her feelings hit her. This was more than a schoolgirl crush. She’d been trying to deny it for ten years, but she couldn’t deny it any longer. Flynn didn’t know whether to throw her head back and howl at the moon, or giggle until her side ached. In the end, she did what she always did. She stuffed her own emotions to the side and did what needed to be done to help others. Inside Froggy’s she found her father and Carrie ankle-deep in water with mops in their hands.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Ground must have shifted,” her father said. “Central pipe in the kitchen burst. I knew the soil under the pier was eroding, but I didn’t realize the foundation under Froggy’s was so shaky.”

Flynn suppressed a groan. This was going to cost a mint to fix, and insurance probably didn’t cover it.

“Thanks for coming so quickly, sweetheart, but I managed to find the main cut-off valve,” her father said, clearly proud of himself. “Imagine, I’ve owned this place for almost twenty years and I never knew where the water valve was located.”

“Good work, Dad, now where’s the wet vac?”

“We have a wet vac?”

“We do and it’ll make the cleanup go much faster.”

“Well, what do you know, I had no idea we had a wet vac.”

Flynn bit her tongue to keep from saying,
That’s probably because you were soused to the gills when I bought it
, but her father was doing his best. No need for sarcasm at this stage of the game.

“Keep mopping,” she instructed. “I’ll go in search of the wet vac.”

After slogging on tiptoe through the drenched dining area, she headed out the back door toward the storage shed. She pulled the key ring from her pocket, unlocked the door, flipped on the switch, and stepped over a stack of plastic buckets that had seen better days.

Okay, so back to Jesse. How did he feel about her? That was the scary part. Not knowing if she was just a good-time fling for him. Or worse, was she just a tool with which to gouge Beau?

Ouch. That thought hurt. Especially since she’d just admitted to herself she was in love with him and that time and distance had done nothing to change her feelings. Was she being stupid? Was she just asking to get her heart broken?

Ah, there was the wet vac. She reached down, grabbed it by the handle, and lugged it toward the door. She’d just stepped out of the storage shed and was busy snapping the lock back into place when it happened.

The bang was so loud it rang her ears as if she were a punchy heavyweight who’d taken a hard fist to the temple. The windowpanes rattled. The ground vibrated. Were there earthquakes in Texas? Shocked, she spun around to see the river behind
her light up in a crazy clap of over-the-top fireworks.

She wheezed in air. Blood slithered through her veins suddenly gone ice-cold. She was frozen, welded, watching. Seconds later she was in motion, abandoning the shop vacuum and sprinting at a dead run to the water’s edge. Mouth agape, she watched burning debris rain from the sky.

It took a moment for it all to soak in.

The old Twilight Bridge—the place where she’d spent some of her happiest hours as a kid, the place where she’d had her first kiss (and her first orgasm at Jesse’s wicked hands)—was gone.

Her mind sprinted. Her pulse skittered. She sucked in the acrid smell of burning timbers, watched the iron railings collapse, leaving only the brick and mortar support columns.

Someone had blown up the Twilight Bridge!

Instantly she was in motion, her hand reaching around to unclip her cell phone from her waistband, calmly punching in the numbers 9–1–1. Even as she functioned outwardly, inwardly her thoughts tumbled back to the past.

To that other night. To that other time. When Jesse had blown up the bridge. She recalled the exact moment he lit the match to the M80, grabbed her hand, and yelled, “Jump.”

She’d never done anything so wild before or since. She’d taken his hand, taken a leap of faith, and jumped.

That explosion hadn’t been nearly as loud or as forceful as this one, but in her sixteen-year-old mind, it had been just as spectacular. They’d hit the
water at the same moment the powerful firecracker detonated. She gulped in air as they plunged deep into the Brazos, Jesse’s hand still clinging tightly to hers. They surfaced in unison, bobbing up, falling back, floating with their eyes to the sky and their blood slipping quicksilver through their veins.

Together, they’d stared up at the gaping, smoking black hole. Something had nudged her elbow, and she realized it was a wooden plank knocked from the bridge’s runners. The railings trembled like vibrating tuning forks.

She’d sat up treading water, realizing other planks surrounded them. The river was littered with planks. In the pale moonlight, they looked like long bones blanched ghostly white. Sadness rushed over her then as it was rushing over her now.

That blast had rendered the bridge undrivable. It had been closed to cars and unofficially designated as a footbridge. But this…this blast…was different.

The bridge that had held so many memories had been completely destroyed.

Along with the rest of the concerned crowd, Patsy stood on the Twilight side of the river’s edge, immersed in the foggy midnight dampness, staring agog at remains of the town’s beloved landmark, shivering in the knitted sweater she’d thrown over her pajamas.

Firemen bustled around them, dragging their big hoses back to the trucks. On both sides of the riverbank, red, white, and blue lights from the
highway patrol cars strobed against the darkness. The air lay thick with the smell of charred timbers. Several people coughed against the smoke.

The old Twilight Bridge, built on the very spot where the original Twilight Sweethearts had met fifteen years after the Civil War had torn them asunder, was nothing but a pile of smoldering rubble. Looking at the ruins sent Patsy’s stomach scraping along the bottom of her house slippers. She’d spent many childhood hours on that old suspension bridge—swan-diving off into the Brazos, picnicking with her friends and gabbing about boys, experiencing her first kiss with Hondo, escaping up there to sob her heart out when she lost their baby. Now it was gone, like so much else in her life.

She didn’t expect it, this knife to the chest, but she knew her emotions were not just about the destroyed bridge. All around her people were shaking their heads, speaking in low, hushed voices about their memories of the bridge and the influence it had had on their lives.

A wake, we’re having a wake.

Tears burned her eyes; blinking, she turned away. The acrid smoke was making her dizzy and nauseated.

A new batch of onlookers arrived and the tone of the conversation changed as the initial questions cropped up again.

“What happened?”

“Dunno.”

“Pulled me out of a deep sleep. Set my dogs to barking.”

“Who could have done something like this?”

“Had to be dynamite. Something much stronger than when Jesse Calloway set off that M80.”

“Jesse
is
back in town.”

Several heads swiveled to glare at Patsy. A ripple of apprehension raised the hairs on her forearm. This could turn ugly quick. Where was Jesse? She had to find him, let him know what was going on. Fishing her keys from her pocket, she headed toward her car parked haphazardly with dozens of others on the nearby boat ramp.

She sensed him before she saw him, his face in the crowd—hard-jawed, dark-eyed, all male.

Hondo.

He was in his paramedic uniform, crisp white shirt, blue slacks, stethoscope dangling from around his neck. She should have expected him to be here. There’d been an explosion. Of course he would have come with the fire crew to check it out, make sure no one had been harmed in the blast.

He sauntered toward her. Patsy gulped, reached for her door handle, and then froze when she realized she was completely blocked in by a minivan. She couldn’t run away from him without drawing attention to herself. She was cornered.

Resolutely she squared her shoulders, took a fortifying breath, and met his steely gaze.

“Patsy,” he said with a sharp nod as he rounded the bumper of her Crown Vic.

“Hondo.” It took every ounce of courage she possessed not to flinch or glance away. Why had she come here?
Curiosity killed the cat
.

“Can we talk?”

“What about?”

“Jesse.”

“Oh,” she said, not really sure what she’d expected him to say. “What about him?”

“He didn’t do this.” Hondo waved at the downed bridge sticking up out of the water like some hellish bouquet of ebony bones.

“I know he didn’t.”

“You and I are the only ones.” He was within two feet of her, closer than he’d been in years. “Everyone else thinks he did it.”

“Based on what?”

“Past history.”

“He was seventeen, he knocked a couple of holes in the aged runners with a powerful firecracker. He was a rebellious kid, having a lark. This is…” Patsy nodded toward the river. “Malicious destruction.”

“Still, first time he comes to town he shoots off fireworks, causes the bridge to be closed to car traffic and turned into a footbridge. Now, the second time he comes back to town after spending time in the state prison. The explosives are bigger, the damage beyond salvage…”

“Whose side are you on?”

“Jesse’s. I’m merely pointing out what the rest of Twilight will be thinking.”

She wanted to ask him why he cared about Jesse so much, why he’d visited him in prison and loaned him the money to buy the motorcycle shop, but she was afraid of the answer so she avoided it, as she had for years.

“Especially Beau Trainer,” Hondo said.

“Speak of the devil,” Patsy muttered as Beau drove up.

“Are we the only people in town who think that pup is too big for his britches?” Hondo asked.

“Jesse,” she said. “And Flynn.”

“What’s going on between those two?”

“Flynn and Beau or Flynn and Jesse?”

“Either, both.”

Patsy sighed. She’d wondered the same thing herself. “The girl’s conflicted. On the one hand she’s got the lawman, on the other, the outlaw. One leads you to safety, the other straight to hell. Question is, which one is which?”

“Sounds awfully damn familiar.”

Their gazes met, and for a flash Patsy saw pain in his eyes so stark it made her chest ache and her throat close off. “Yeah.”

“Mrs. Cross, may I have a word with you?” Beau called to Patsy.

“Someone under thirty shouldn’t have that kind of authority,” Hondo muttered.

“Once upon a time you said trust no one over thirty.”

“Yeah, well, once upon a time I was a dumbass.”

They smiled at each other then; it was slight and fleeting, but it was a smile. A tentative truce after all these years? Patsy’s heart fluttered.

“Patsy, a word,” Beau repeated.

“I’ll go find Jesse and warn him what’s coming,” Hondo murmured. “You keep an eye on little Big Britches.”

“Thank you.” She said it so softly she wasn’t sure Hondo even heard her, but then he reached out, took her hand, and gave it a quick, reassuring squeeze.

One bridge had come down tonight, but was another unexpectedly being rebuilt?

She felt awkward and self-conscious, but she squeezed his hand in return. She thought of their past. Thought of her husband lying in a nursing home, crazy with Alzheimer’s. Thought of her dead sister, Phoebe. Thought of Jesse and Flynn and Beau. Thought of the stupid things people did in the name of love.

Stupid, destructive, irrevocable things.

“Where’s your nephew?” Trainer asked Patsy.

Jesse had been running along the river when he heard the explosion. He’d been jogging, trying to sublimate his physical needs and thinking about Flynn. But the noise and bright flash of light had jolted right through his bones. After that all he could think about was getting to Flynn and making sure she was okay.

He showed up just in time to see Trainer pestering his aunt.

From his place in the shadows, Jesse could see the stress on Patsy’s face as she stood underneath the vapor flood lamp beside the sheriff. His pulse pounded. He knew who was going to be blamed for this. He also had a sneaking suspicion who’d blown it up. But no one would believe him. Reflexively, Jesse touched his black eye.

“I don’t know,” Patsy answered.

Jesse stepped from the darkness. “Quit badgering my aunt. I’m right here, Trainer. What do you want with me?”

Trainer whirled around and drew his service weapon. “On the ground, Calloway. You’re under arrest for the bombing of the Twilight Bridge.”

Moe called an emergency town council meeting to discuss the fate of the Twilight Bridge. Just before six
P.M
. on Monday evening, the movers and shakers of Twilight crowded into city hall. The air boiled with discussion of the downed bridge and speculation on whether Jesse Calloway was the culprit.

Flynn took a seat near the front beside her father and Carrie. She kept looking over her shoulder, watching the door, waiting to see if Jesse was going to put in an appearance. She’d learned through the grapevine that Beau had arrested Jesse the night before and that Patsy had hired a high-powered lawyer from Fort Worth who’d gotten him out on bail. Jesse hadn’t come into the motorcycle shop that day, and when she tried calling him, his cell phone went to voice mail. Was he lying low on advice from his attorney?