Page 73 of Nomad

“There are two. Go to jail. Disappear.”

She looked away, picked a spot on the tile floor in front of her feet and stared until she nodded that she understood. “Why are you telling me?”

He barked out a laugh that held no humor. “Brant said the same thing. Not sure I can explain it really. Best I can do is say that I think you care about me. Maybe more than anybody.”

He looked over at her and knew the answer to that question didn’t need to be spoken.

“Do you want me to tell you what to do?” she asked quietly.

After a few beats he said, “No. I want you to tell me what you think.”

She put her hand in Cann’s where it was resting on his thigh. He didn’t pull away as she feared he might. “I like these people. This club has been good to me. If I understand things, it wasn’t always respectable, but it is now. I wouldn’t want to see anything hurt what they have here.” She rushed to add, “And I’m not just sayin’ that because it’s good for me and the baby. But look, Johns, I want you to do the thing that will free you from the burden you’re carryin’. The guilt.”

Even in the dim lamplight she could see that his eyes were red around the rims. “I don’t think that’s goin’ away. I’m good with cars. But I got so busy with the parts service, I didn’t pay close enough attention to Molly’s car.” A big tear rolled down Cann’s face and broke Bud’s heart even more. “Her car didn’t start because I hadn’t maintained it well enough. It was my responsibility to see that she had a car runnin’. I’m the one who ought to be dust. And my little girl ought to be in first grade.”

He pulled his hand away and wiped at his eyes like the tears were humiliating.

“I’ve heard that everybody looks for ways to blame themselves when somebody they love dies. It’s natural.”

“They didn’t die. They were murdered. Because of me.”

Bud took in a deep breath. “I know. Here’s the thing. If I was Molly, I’d be wantin’ you to live. Just like you wish it’d been you ‘cause you’d want her to live. I think she thinks the same about you.”

Cann said nothing.

“Let me ask you a question. Would you rather die or go to jail for the rest of your life?”

He turned his face toward Bud and studied her for a couple of seconds. “Die.”

She nodded. “So what’s the bigger punishment?”

He nodded as he stood up and walked to the door, but when he reached it, without looking back he said, “Will you wait up for me?”

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll always wait for you, Johns.”

Cann delivered his verdict to the club. They called Russell, who took Joe Reynosa into custody and turned him over to the Travis County Sheriff a little the worse for wear. Cann didn’t kill him, but while the other club members looked on, he had taken advantage of his chance to deliver some atavistic justice that stopped just short of killing the man.

It was after midnight when Bud heard the second knock on her door.

That time she was waiting for it.

She hurried to answer, but as soon as she opened the door, Cann pulled her up his body into a kiss that welded both souls together as the fire that had been simmering on low for so long burst into greedy, demanding flames.

He knew he’d never be free of the guilt he felt about Molly and the baby, but he also knew that they were in a place with impossibly blue skies, impossibly bright sun, light pleasant breezes, and full blown bluebonnets. She would want him to live. And maybe take care of a lost mother with a fatherless child.

As he’d wanted to do for so long.

He made love being careful of the baby bump even though Bud turned out to be cat scratch hot in bed. Her wanton leanings, while welcome, made taking care a challenge. She turned him on so fast he was afraid he might come in his pants like a fourteen-year-old.

Her breasts were as perfectly formed as he’d known they would be after seeing her in the scandalously translucent night shirt she’d worn in Del Rio as casually as if it actually hid her finer assets from view. Now no questions remained. Her nipples were an innocent pink, just as he’d imagined, begging to be teased, ultrasensitive to touch as was every inch of her body.

When he slid out of his clothes and joined her in bed, Bud learned that there are vast differences between fumbling around with a boy who doesn’t know what he’s doing and making love with a man capable of playing a body like a temperamental string instrument.

She reveled in the feverish heat of his skin, gasping as he pulled at her earlobe with his teeth while she ground her body against his. When his heavy, unwieldy erection slid home between the plump lips of her core, she began to spontaneously shed tears. Partly from the joy of the intimacy they were sharing, finally, and partly from the relief of having him finally be where he belonged. With her. Inside her.

He watched closely, moving slowly with purpose and a concentrated intensity, without questioning her display of emotion.

He knew the wait had been agonizing and antagonizing for both of them. It was also worth it. He’d needed to be sure she knew her mind and was ready for a commitment to a man. She had to be sure he was capable of making a new commitment to life.

---