Myron Lambardo grabbed his Swisher Sweet between his stubby fingers and pulled it from the corner of his mouth. He blew a fog of cigar smoke and smoke rings toward the ceiling. If he had to spend one more day hiding out in his Winnebago in Paris’s barn, he was going to go freakin‘ nuts. Maybe go medieval on someone.
He rose on his elbow and looked down into Paris’s face. Beneath the sheet on his bed, her bare body was pressed to his. She was a nice woman, and he cared about her more than he’d cared about any woman, except for his mama, of course.
Paris could cook like nobody’s business, and until two days ago she’d been a virgin. The first night she’d come to the Winnebago, they’d had sex, and it was still a bit unbelievable to him that he was her first. She’d chosen him, and that knowledge puffed out his chest and put a swagger in his step. It was just too bad he wasn’t the type of guy to settle in one place for very long, because if he were, he could see himself settled with her.
“I wish you could go to the dance tomorrow night,” she said, all dreamy as she looked at him. “They get colored streamers and decorate the grange for the Founder’s Day Ball. Everyone dresses up real nice, and they even hire a band. I could teach you the two-step.”
She already knew he couldn’t be seen anywhere in town, but he thought it was real sweet of her to want to go dancing with him. Even if it was to crappy country-and-western music.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to be leaving here soon.”
A frown settled between her brows. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Do you think I can hide here in your barn forever?”
She smiled. “I’ve enjoyed having you here. It’s been fun sneaking out.”
“Yeah, but I can’t stay much longer. The thing is, I’ve been thinking of going to Mexico. Since the WWF won’t sponsor midget wrestling, and Hope Spencer made everyone think I’m a pansy, I don’t know that I have a future in this country. I’ve been thinking of making a name for myself in Mexico. It’s always been a dream of mine to be one of the top wrestlers. Those guys get respect.”
She turned her face into his chest and he felt her tears. “I’ll miss you, Myron.”
He stuck his cigar in his mouth and rubbed her shoulder. “I’ll miss you. You’re a good woman, Paris.”
“Not so good. I’m not proud that I got angry and called all those reporters up here.”
“If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t have met.”
“That’s true,” she sobbed. “And you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
Chapter Sixteen
LOST WOMAN FOUND IN WILDERNESS
Dylan pulled the sheriff’s Blazer off the side of the highway and parked in the shadow of a dense crop of pine. It was close to eight in the morning, and he positioned his radar to pick up speeders. Not that he thought he would get many. The highway was usually quiet this time of morning, but there were always a few stragglers late for work and pushing the posted limit. He radioed his location to dispatch, then sat back with copies of People magazine and The Weekly News of the Universe. He’d picked up both at the M & S this morning and flipped open People to the interview Julia had given them. He read about half before he became so disgusted he lobbed it into the back. She’d all but come right out and said he’d kidnapped Adam and brought him to Gospel to live. She’d made Dylan look like a jerk, while she’d come off smelling like a rose.
He wondered how many people would believe her bullshit.
He reached for The Weekly News of the Universe and thumbed past a “Bloodsucking Vampire” story to Hope’s alien article. He chuckled a few times, thinking it was all pretty amusing, until he read on and discovered Dennis Taylor, the cross-dressing sheriff of the small wilderness town.
“Jesus,” he swore as he read about himself dressed up in a pink marabou teddy. The story reported that the sheriff always placed bets on how many unsuspecting female tourists he could lure up into the mountains under the guise of “wanting to show them the most beautiful place on earth.” The sheriff in the piece didn’t bet on broken bones, but on broken hearts.
He folded the paper and tossed it on the seat beside him. He was obsessed with Hope, there was no other explanation. Especially after he’d kissed her yesterday. He’d thought of little else but the texture of her tongue and the taste of her lips. His heart had pounded in his chest, draining the blood from his head and sending it to his groin, and in those short moments while he’d held her again, he’d felt an almost overwhelming… rightness. A feeling like every cell in his body whispered yes, and his hair stood on end.
He’d thought with each passing day he’d miss her less, but the opposite was true. He missed the tangle of her hair in his fingers, and he missed looking across his pillow and seeing her sleeping beside him. The other day in the M & S, he’d picked up a peach and smelled it before he even realized he’d been searching for the scent of her skin. Just this morning, as he’d reached into the freezer for a box of Eggos, he’d thought of her naked on his kitchen table, him buried deep within her body, her eyes filled with lust shining up at him. Remembering had gripped his belly and flushed his face, and he’d stuck his head in the freezer to cool down. Adam had walked into the room and asked what he was doing. He’d lied and said he was inspecting the ice cubes.
You really never cared for me, she’d told him, but she was wrong. He was in love with her. He’d been in love before, but not like this. For the first time in his life, the love he felt for a woman was total and consuming and he ached for the touch of her hand in his. Heart and soul, it went to a place so deep, he couldn’t imagine living without her. It filled him up and left him longing for a glimpse of her smile and the sound of her voice. Something had to be done. Each day without her was worse than the day before, and as he sat in the sheriff’s Blazer, morning light spilling through the windshield, he knew what he had to do. He had to believe her. Not just for himself, but for Hope also. He had to believe her without proof or witnesses. He had to listen to his heart, and to the deep-down part of his soul that knew about unconditional love and faith in another person. And in the end, he believed her simply because he loved her.
The radar’s digital display flashed, and Dylan straightened as a small Winnebago with Las Vegas plates sped past. He pushed his hat down on his forehead and shoved the four-by-four into gear. His foot hit the gas pedal, and the Blazer shot onto the highway as he radioed the code. He flipped the switch to his grille lights, and within less than half a minute he came up behind the Winnebago.
He didn’t know what to expect from Myron Lambardo. He hoped he didn’t have a long chase ahead of him, and he hoped Myron didn’t resist arrest. Dylan just didn’t feel right about wrestling a dwarf to the ground. Especially a dwarf who knew how to tombstone.
The Winnebago slowed and coasted to the side of the road. Dylan parked behind the recreational vehicle and turned on the video camera mounted overhead. As he approached the driver’s side, the window rolled down, and he got his first good look at Myron the Masher. He had to admit that the wrestler really did look a bit like Pat
rick Swayze, just more compact.
“May I see your license, please?” he asked as he took in the cab; then his gaze suddenly stopped on the woman sitting in the passenger seat. “Paris?”
“Hello, Dylan.”