Double Take - Catherine Coulter [74]
“But you know something? No matter what smacks me in the head, I know I won’t have to deal with it by myself any longer. You’ll always be there for me. It makes the world exceedingly nice, Dix.”
He came up onto his side, leaned over her, and riffled his fingers through her dark hair, all wild about her head, a beautiful contrast to her white skin, and those dark eyes that seemed to see all the way to his soul.
She touched her fingers to his cheek and heaved out a soft sigh. “I love you.”
She loved him? This incredible woman actually loved him? “You’ve never said that before,” he said.
“Now was the time,” she said simply. He was basking in what she’d said when she added, “On the other hand, I also love football, and thank the good Lord there’s only four more months to wait.”
He turned his hand palm up and twined his fingers with hers. “Now you’re doing your Ruth thing—mixing the utterly serious with a joke. What would you think,” he went on as he leaned up to nuzzle her jaw, “of getting married before football season starts? That way we’ll have a good week for me to fly high and sing arias to you in the shower before we’re yelling our heads off in front of the tube for the Redskins. And you know what would be really good about that?”
“Great sex whenever I want it?”
“That too. Better yet, it would mean no more questions, no more doubts, no more putting things off—”
“Just you and me and a big bed and a bigger—?”
“You gonna finish that thought?”
“And a bigger heart, Dix. I’m so glad I staggered into your woods. I would love to marry you. You and the boys are the center of my life now.”
He leaned down to press his forehead against hers. He felt the goodness in her, the bone-deep honor, and the strength. “Have you ever considered that maybe tracking down killers and psychopaths isn’t all that normal and expected?”
She kissed him, stroked her hand through his hair. “Nah. What I can’t understand is milking a cow or taking apart a smoking motherboard.”
He grinned, fell onto his back, felt her hand move to lie flat on his belly again. He lay quietly, finally heard her breathing even into sleep. No wonder. Both of them were tired to the bone, what with the long flight from Richmond, then dropping her off here at the Sherlocks’ because of his decision to see Charlotte as soon as possible. He’d tried to get some information out of her, anything at all they could use about her and her husband, but she had cut it short. He had no idea if she really wanted to see him again, or was pretending. When he’d told Ruth he might have to play-act at seducing her, she’d merely nodded, and said in that no-nonsense way of hers, “It’s your call, Dix.”
After he’d left Charlotte, he’d stood by his rental car a moment and felt cold to his soul. He knew something wasn’t right about Charlotte. He knew too that something really bad was out there that concerned Christie, waiting for him to find it.
Savich and Sherlock, with Sean and his nanny Graciella, had arrived a little after six o’clock, welcomed by all, especially Sherlock’s parents. Isabel called out over their heads that she’d made her baby’s favorite sausage enchiladas.
Sean had yelled “Yes!” until told by his mother that she was Isabel’s baby, not him. Sean had looked puzzled a good long time about that.
Of course, there’d been more discussions, more plans made over a big pot of coffee—until all of them, in their pajamas and their jet lag—were shooed off to bed by Mrs. Sherlock.
And now, as Dix lay in the sinful big bed, Ruth’s head on his shoulder, he thought of the endless string of lies he’d told the