by Kim Redford
“Stay here,” he said, echoing her thought. He eased her down his body with shaking arms, obviously as much affected as she had been.
She leaned against the wall, narrowing her eyes against the future as she tried to regain her balance and strength. She watched him leave the shower, get rid of the condom, and turn back. Somehow, he seemed different, as if she were seeing him for the very first time. Bigger, yes. Stronger, yes. But vulnerable, too. Maybe they were both vulnerable now in a way they hadn’t been before she’d returned to Wildcat Bluff. Would they be able to handle it?
He stepped back inside and pulled the door shut behind him, a slight smile playing about his lips.
She picked up the bottle of soap—something, anything to get past this too-fragile moment when she knew they both felt vulnerable. She held the soap up to him.
He smiled broader, taking it from her hands. “If you think I’m going to use a washcloth, think again.”
She chuckled, grabbing the bottle from him and squeezing a large dollop into her palms. She was instantly enveloped with the scent of lavender and sage. She gloried in the smell as she rubbed her hands together until she had plenty of suds. “Me first.”
He followed her actions, coating his hands in slippery soap and smiling at her with a twinkle in his hazel eyes.
Soon, they were running their hands over each other, lathering up every bit of skin but paying particular attention to their most sensitive areas. They added shampoo to the mix, soaping their hair, until they were completely covered in fragrant suds. Finally, they looked at each other and laughed as they let water cascade over them, sending bubbles as well as emotions down into the drain, so that they were both completely clean, inside and out.
She turned off the water and stepped out first, grabbing a big gray towel and tossing him a black one. Again, no words were needed as one look said it all. She started to dry him while he did the same to her. After too much lingering over favorite areas of each other’s bodies, she was breathing quicker just as he was.
“There’s wine in the fridge in the bedroom.” He grabbed her towel and tossed both towels in the bathtub. “And the bed’s comfortable.”
“Slade’s wine?”
“No! And don’t mention him again. I don’t want him in the bedroom. It’s us alone.”
“Okay.” She smiled as she walked past him. “But it better be good wine or—”
“It’ll be as good as we make it.” He cupped her bottom as he caught up to her, propelling her toward the bed.
As she started to sit down, she glanced at the bank of windows that now looked like big, open eyes with the drapes drawn back. She pointed at the windows, letting him know she felt uneasy.
“I’ll close the drapes.” He headed over there, then abruptly stopped in his tracks. “Would you get into bed and cover up or pull on one of my T-shirts?”
“What do you mean?” She suddenly felt exposed, standing nude in the middle of his room.
“I’m going to take a look through my telescope.”
“Do you mean you think he might be back and watching us up here from the road?” She crossed her hands over her body as if she could shield herself from Graham’s prying eyes, but she realized that wasn’t a bit of help. She hurried over to Shane’s dresser and pulled out a bright-yellow Wildcat Bluff Fire-Rescue T-shirt and slipped it on. It hung down to her knees, soft and warm and protective.
“Unless he’s got high-powered binoculars, he can’t see in here—at least, not in any detail. Anyway, I doubt if he’s back out there.” Shane drew the drapes on all the windows except in front of his telescope.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled the covers up over her thighs, feeling chilled once more. She watched him bend over the telescope, position it, and spend time looking out over the pastures. She felt more and more tense the longer he watched out the window.
Finally, he stood up, came over, and sat down beside her, cradling her hands in his lap. “He’s there.”
“What!” She leaped to her feet, hand to her throat. “Did he see us?”
“Doubt it.” Shane clasped her hands again. “Look, I’m going to call Sheriff Calhoun. There’s probably not much he can do. It’s a public road, but there ought to be some ordinance or other that allows him or one of his deputies to have a conversation with the guy. But that means first getting a name and license plate.”
She felt her throat tighten again, but she wasn’t going to let her ex scare her or run her out of her home. “I agree. Nothing can really be done until Graham—if it is him, and it looks likely—breaks a law. We won’t be intimidated.”
Shane enfolded her in his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I know you like living in your uncle’s house, but will you please move in with me at least till this is all settled and you’re completely safe?”
“I don’t want Graham to win.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him hard. “If I let him run me out of my home, I fear he’ll win.”
“Tanner can’t win, not in Wildcat Bluff.”
She glanced up at Shane’s face and saw the absolute certainty in his eyes. She wished she could be as certain. “I’ll stay the night with you. As far as tomorrow, we’ll see.”
“Maybe I can lure you into living here with pie and wine.”
“As far as lures, I do believe you have a better one than those.” She smiled as she stroked a single fingertip down his bare chest.
Chapter 23
A few days later, Eden sat in the sound studio with headphones on and mic at the ready. She felt safe enough to leave the front door to KWCB unlocked, since the station was a business, but she locked it during late hours. She’d been staying nights with Shane and enjoying every moment, from skinny-dipping in the hot tub to Chuckwagon takeout. They’d settled into an easy routine that had her spending days in Uncle Clem’s home or at the Wildcat Den while he ran his ranch. Neither of them was bringing up the looming end of their lease, but it still nestled in the weeds like an angry rattler just waiting to strike. But the lease wasn’t her concern today. She had bigger fish to fry.
Jack had the afternoon off. Ken was driving the ATV with its trailer to water the horses. Shane was tending to ranch business. She figured he wasn’t too far away, since they’d been on watch since the gray-vehicle incidents. Maybe they’d alerted the driver that they’d caught onto him, so he’d left the county. In any case, they hadn’t seen the car since Shane had spotted him through his telescope. Sheriff Calhoun hadn’t seen the sedan either, but he and his deputies were on alert.
For some reason, the car’s absence didn’t reassure her. She felt something was building to a head, and whatever it was, she wasn’t going to like it. But she couldn’t understand why Graham would come after her again. He only exerted himself for a payoff. And she had nothing left he could take from her.
She pushed her ex from her mind. He was nothing but past trouble. She was about to go on the air live for the first time since returning to Wildcat Bluff County. She felt tense about it but hoped, once her program started, she’d get in character and be fine. But she still wasn’t sure of the strength and staying power of her voice. Just in case, she had Wildcat Jack’s Rae Dell as backup.
She wiped her damp palms on her jeans, revving up her energy. She’d found some of her old clothes in a closet at her uncle’s place. She’d lost enough weight to fit into them again. As far as western went, she was right in style with a bright-red pearl-snap shirt, jeans, and red cowgirl boots. She’d even applied a little makeup for the event. Nobody would see her, but she still wanted to feel professional, like the old days.
She checked the big analog clock on the wall. Time was ticking down to her lead-in song. Pretty quick, she’d hear the rich, smooth voice of Gene Autry croon “Deep in the Heart of Texas.” She glanced to the right of the clock at the faded, yellowed, ripped poster of the Highwaymen
with Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, and Kris Kristofferson looking tough but friendly. The poster had seen better days, but so had all of them. They’d gone through a lot in their lives, and so had she.
As she stared at their famous faces—drumming her fingertips on the board, thinking how strong she needed to be—a top corner of the poster popped free. It was quickly followed by the other corner, causing the entire poster to slip to the floor in a heap. That gave her a start. Maybe she shouldn’t look at any of the other posters that’d been tacked, taped, or glued to the walls over the years, just in case the first one started a downward trend that went all the way into her first show. She needed better mojo.
She looked away from the posters and through the window that revealed the Den’s shabby reception room. Maybe in time, with enough money and the right situation, she could bring KWCB back to its former glory. Still, there was nothing to do but set aside that pipe dream for the moment.
She picked up the glass bottle that held Morning Glory’s voice concoction. She unscrewed the lid, took a sip, and felt it slide down her throat, warming and soothing as it went. As far as taste, it wasn’t too good and it wasn’t too bad. It was drinkable—and hopefully helpful. All in all, she was as ready as she’d ever be to strut her maybe-not-too-tattered stuff. She poised her fingertip over a control, took a deep breath, and saw the front door open.
A tall, thin man with silver hair, in a pricey, gray suit and carrying a leather briefcase stepped inside. He was LA chic and carried personal power like a weapon. Z. C. Fontaine, as she lived and breathed. He was Graham Tanner’s personal junkyard dog, better known as his upscale attorney. The ax had fallen on Wildcat Bluff. And her very own neck. Again.
She didn’t hesitate. No point. Today was obviously not going to be her day. Bad mojo was bad mojo. She gave the country supergroup on the floor an understanding nod, then cued up Rae Dell, took off her earphones, and set them on top of the board. She felt shaky as she got to her feet. She was glad she had on makeup for defense and boots for height because she needed every little edge she could get in Graham’s new power play.
She watched as Fontaine gave the reception area a cursory and dismissive glance before he focused on the door to the studio. She wasn’t about to let him into the inner sanctum. For one reason, she didn’t want his nasty slime anywhere near what was the best part of her life, and for another, she didn’t want him to figure out how little or how much the contents might be worth. He had dollar signs for eyeballs, and he wouldn’t have come all the way to North Texas for a lark. He saw money, prestige, honor, or something else here that’d benefit him.
She picked up her cell and sent a quick text to Shane, alerting him to trouble, but he might not be nearby at the moment. She had to handle this alone. She quickly stepped into reception, shutting the studio door behind her.
Fontaine gave her a white-porcelain smile. “I’d heard you’d gone back to your hillbilly roots, but I hadn’t expected to see you fall so far so fast.” He swept his hand around the area and ended up pointing at her clothes.
“Why don’t you go back to the rock you crawled out from under?”
He shook his head, making an exaggerated sigh. “No need for insults. Let’s backtrack.”
“Fine.” She pointed at the entry. “There’s the door.”
“Not quite so fast.” He shoved papers off her desk, sending them scattering in a white snowstorm to the floor. He set down his briefcase in their place with a snap, clicked open the locks, and stopped mid-motion as he noticed the black phone. “Does that rotary actually work?”
“Yes.”
“Vintage.” He cast another smile her way. “I like the looks of it. Who knows what it might bring at auction?”
She returned his shark smile with one of her own. “Good point. Back in the day, all the major and minor country music stars probably used it at one time or another.” She had no idea if that was true, but it could be. Mainly, she just wanted to torment him that he’d never get his hands on the Wildcat Den’s phone.
“Excellent. I’ll keep that in mind.” He extracted an official-looking document from his briefcase.
She’d seen way too many of those in his hands.
“To let you know how much I’ve always admired your talent, if not your personal choices, I’m here to hand deliver this property deed.”
“Deed?” She didn’t reach for it. She wasn’t about to touch anything offered by him. Instead, she was furiously thinking about what she needed to do. She wanted Shane here. She wanted Sheriff Calhoun here. She wanted Jack here. But there was no time to get any of them to the station in time to support her. She’d simply have to draw upon her reserve of strength and handle this moment all on her lonesome.
He snapped his briefcase shut and picked it up. “Graham Tanner and I have concluded that you misrepresented the full scope of your properties during the divorce settlement.”
“What?” She stared at him, feeling rocked to the bottom of her cowgirl boots at the blatant lie.
“To make matters right, I would like you to sign this deed to all property of KWCB, also known as the Wildcat Den, which includes the radio station, two Quonset huts, transmitter, and all contents of said property, transferring ownership to Graham Tanner, my client.”
She simply stood there staring at him, speechless at his audacity.
“If you don’t sign the deed, we will be well within our rights to demand a reopening of the matter in court. And the media, of course, will no doubt be delighted to pick up the story again.” He cocked his head, giving her another fake white smile. “You have my deepest sympathy that the public can’t seem to get enough of your bad behavior.”
“Not mine! Graham’s bad behavior is what drives media stories. I’m an innocent bystander.”
“I doubt I need to remind you that it is all about the narrative. Graham worked that angle like a pro. You? Well, as I said, you do have my sympathy. For now, I’m given to understand that you are in the process of rewriting your narrative into a more positive outcome.”
She felt sick to her stomach at everything he was implying, if not actually saying outright. Graham wasn’t the only pro. Fontaine was all-star, too. They were trying to outplay her again, and she couldn’t let them.
“With that in mind, I’m sure you would prefer to leave the past in the past. Now, if you would be so good as to sign this deed to my client, I’m sure we can see our way clear to not reopening the proceedings.”
She took a deep breath to try and stay calm and strong. “I’m not signing one more thing over to Graham.”
“He thought that might be your attitude.”
“He thought right.”
Fontaine set the deed on her desk and tapped it with the tip of his forefinger. “Please give your answer more consideration.”
“Please leave.”
“My contact information is with the document. I’m sure you will see fit to change your mind, so I look forward to hearing from you at your earliest convenience that you are in total agreement with my client regarding this property.”
“Out!” She jerked open the front door and felt color drain from her face as she stood face-to-face with her smug ex-husband. He looked like a clone of his attorney except he wore no tie, for a more casual, artistic appearance. He’d had his thick, dark hair recently styled, his classic features were sculpted with filler, and his gray eyes emphasized with a touch of eyeliner. He looked ready for a photo shoot instead of an appearance at KWCB.
“Eden, how lovely to see you again.” Graham gave her a brilliant-white cap-toothed smile.
“Ms. Rafferty prefers to take more time to think about the matter at hand,” Fontaine said, moving to stand behind Eden. “I’m sure she will eventually decide she prefers to make a misrepresentation adjustment out of court.”
Graham nodded in agreement as he gave a sad and regr
etful look. “She may also need a little more encouragement. I suggest we go on to plan B.”
“I suggest you leave.” Eden couldn’t move, even though she was trapped between two vultures, or she’d signal weakness. That’d be like waving red meat in front of their greedy beaks. They stood so close she could smell their expensive aftershave—they wore the same brand—probably necessary to cover up their rancid scent. She clenched her fists, holding on to her anger by sheer force of will.
“Just a few more moments of your time,” Graham said with a smile as he turned and motioned toward someone.
Surprised, she glanced up and her breath caught in shock. She’d thought things were bad, but now they were infinitely worse. A videographer wearing a gray T-shirt and faded jeans repositioned his handheld camcorder away from the Quonset huts to focus on her. As he walked forward, he recorded all the way. She’d been suckered and set up—again.
Graham turned so his perfect profile was to the camcorder. “Eden, are you willing to admit that you misrepresented the full scope of your properties during our divorce settlement and to sign over the KWCB property to me?” He gestured toward the two Quonset huts, the radio station, and the broadcast tower with a grand, sweeping gesture, his hand open to indicate trustworthiness.
“You’re the one, aren’t you?” She realized everything too late as Graham’s obvious plan B fell into place. “You’ve been stalking me.”
“Oh no. I simply scouted here to make sure Mr. Fontaine had a good reason to come to the wilds of Texas.”
“Leave my property right now.” She ended her words on a whisper as her throat tightened and her voice almost failed her.
“You have my deepest regrets that you still have vocal issues.” Graham pretended to swipe a tear from one eye. “I’m sure in time, when you are under less duress, you will be in fine voice.”
