by Zara Chase
“You really should have called ahead,” she said, tapping Isaac’s wrist. “Still, I’ve been holding a table for a party that’s over half an hour later. I guess I could let it go.”
“We’d appreciate it,” Drew said.
“I sure hope so.” She fluttered her thick lashes at them, picked up three menus, and sashayed across the crowded room. “Follow me, please.”
“Bet I wouldn’t have gotten a table without a reservation,” Farah said mulishly.
“We got lucky,” Drew replied.
Farah elevated her chin. “Seems that’s what Brianna’s hoping for, too.”
“You jealous, darlin’?” Isaac asked with a teasing smile.
Drew sensed Farah formulating a suitable put-down, but before she could voice it, Christian, their server, bustled over and reeled off a whole list of specials. Drew barely listened. Instead he stole surreptitious glances at Farah as she gave Christian a damned sight more attention than she’d so far spared for either of them. Since they’d virtually kidnapped her in order to get her here, Drew couldn’t altogether blame her. He did, however, fully intend to amend that situation, and didn’t care what tactics he had to resort to in order to get his way.
“Would you like some wine, babe?” he asked, consulting the list.
She shook her head, looking regretful. “I’m on pain medication. It doesn’t mix with alcohol.”
“No worries.”
Drew ordered beers for him and Isaac and a soda for her. When Christian returned to take their orders, Farah opted for seared scallops. He and Isaac ordered rare steaks. Once their drinks were delivered and Christian left them with their salads, all conversation ceased.
“What did you hope to do at the club?” Drew asked when the silence was in danger of becoming embarrassing.
“What did you hope to do?”
Drew laughed. “Okay, point taken. I just didn’t figure you as being into all that stuff, or as a voyeur, either.”
“You don’t know anything about the person I’ve become, Drew Baldwin. Stop trying to analyze every damned thing. You’re not at work now.”
Isaac grinned. “You’ve noticed he does that, too, have you?”
“It’s kinda hard to miss.”
Drew leaned in closer to Farah. “I know you made detective less than a year ago, one of the youngest cops in Billings to do so.”
“Well, duh, that ain’t exactly a trade secret.” She turned away from him and focused her attention on Isaac. “Okay, it’s my turn to ask questions. How come you two are so tight? You’re in very different lines of work, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“I don’t mind in the least, sugar.” Isaac treated her to a full-wattage smile, and Drew was amused when it brought color to Farah’s cheeks. Ah, so she wasn’t quite so immune to Isaac’s charm as she made out. “This ol’ lug and me, we were at college together in Phoenix. He was studying to be a mind doctor, while I majored in agriculture.” Isaac shrugged. “They say opposites attract, and in our case at least, I guess that’s true. I don’t come from a well-off family like you guys do. Don’t have much of a family at all, come to that, and had to work two jobs to pay my way through college. Drew started inviting me back here for the vacations, so I worked here instead and never got around to leaving.”
“I hate to admit this,” Drew said, “but he really is as good as he says he is with horses. They practically sing for him.”
“Well, what can I say?” Isaac tried to look humble and failed miserably, bringing a smile to Farah’s highly kissable lips. “It’s true.”
“He’s pretty good with those hands of his, too,” Drew said, pausing to thank Christian when he placed his food in front of him. “My daddy gave all his sons a parcel of land on the spread, a bit like I think yours did with your brothers.”
“But not his daughter,” Farah said with feeling.
That was interesting, but hardly surprising. She resented the fact that she’d been treated differently because she was the only girl. Drew was starting to think she had a right to feel aggrieved.
“Yeah, Tatum missed out, too.” Drew took a swig of beer and cut into his steak. “Anyway, I drew up a design for the house I wanted. In between charming all the horses on the ranch, this guy oversaw the building, and he did a lot of the hands-on stuff himself.”
Isaac waved one calloused hand in the air. “Ah, the sacrifices I make to keep my buddy happy. Not that it took much. It ain’t much of a house. I thought he’d have had something far grander.”
“It’s enough for now.”
“Because you’re not here much?” Farah asked.
“Right.”
“So where do you live now, Isaac?” she asked.
“In the house that I built, of course. Drew and I share it.”
“Oh well, I guess that works, what with him not being here very often.”
“Absolutely,” Drew agreed, cutting in before Isaac could put her straight. “How are the scallops?”
Chapter Five
Friday May 5th
Farah felt a combination of satisfaction, restlessness, and irritation. She’d had the stitches removed from her thigh that morning and had seen the full extent of her injury for herself. The doctor was happy with the way she was healing. There was no infection, but she would be left with a nasty scar. She shrugged, not caring. A lot of the guys at the precinct looked upon gunshot wounds as battle scars, and were proud of them. All Farah knew was that hers had messed up her smooth thigh, but since no one got to see her naked nowadays it was no big deal.
“Better than being dead,” she muttered, pleased to be able to walk more easily now the stitches weren’t pulling.
She ate a light lunch with her parents.
“I’m going into town this afternoon,” she said. “I have some errands to run.”
“I’ll drive you, honey,” her father said. “You’re not well enough to drive yourself yet.”
“Sure I am.”
“Let her take herself, Caleb,” her mother said, clearly sensing Farah’s need to prove something to herself.
“Well, okay, but if it’s too much and you need a ride back, just call.”
“Sure, Daddy.”
She didn’t tell them she also had an appointment to keep. That was mostly because she didn’t want to think about it herself. Besides, her thought process had been a pretty scary place to be recently. She still wasn’t sleeping well. Every time she closed her eyes her subconscious focused on the fight. She saw her partner go down, and that kid turning his gun on her. She always hoped it would end differently this time.
It never did.
She wasn’t so tough that she could dismiss a gun fight that resulted in her shooting a kid dead as nothing more than part of her job.
Her conscious thoughts were all taken up with Drew Baldwin and his buddy Isaac Kincaid. Of all the lousy timing! Someone should have told her he was home for a visit. That way she could have delayed her own return, and they never would have met. Aubrey and Tatum knew she was over her childish obsession with Drew—she’d told them often enough. So why had they abandoned her so swiftly outside of Consensual? And why had Aubrey visited every day since then, asking more questions about Drew than she did about Farah’s health? Same went for Tatum, who had to make do with phoning all the time. Was she really that transparent, or did her friends just want to see her have some fun?
Every time she thought about Drew carrying her out of that club, a disturbing thrill ricocheted through her body. It had lost none of its potency even now, three whole days after the event. She was pathetic! What was even more incredible was the way in which she’d reacted to Isaac with his twinkling cerulean-blue eyes and lazy, persuasive charm. She’d tried, really tried, to find a man who did the sorts of things to her that Drew had managed, even long distance for so many years, without laying a single finger on her. In five years she hadn’t succeeded. Then coming home on sick leave she found Isaac and Drew together, and they both lit her
fire.
Still, Drew was most likely gone again by now.
She ignored the aching void in her gut, telling herself it was for the best. The meal they’d shared had been fun. They were good company, flirting outrageously and making her laugh even though she was determined not to react to them. The same couldn’t be said for half the women in the restaurant. Even if Farah wasn’t a trained observer, she wouldn’t have been able to miss seeing how they’d made heads turn. Hand off, ladies, they’re mine, if only for tonight was the mantra that had run on a continuously possessive loop through her head.
Such was the attention they’d paid her she’d dared to hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there actually was a connection between her and Drew. Or better yet, between the three of them. Ménages seemed to be all the rage in this town, so why should she miss out? Drew’s gorgeous eyes had softened every time they clashed with hers, giving her hope. By the end of the meal she was absolutely sure he was attracted to her.
Now she knew better.
It would have been easy enough for him to get her cell phone number from Tatum, if he felt as strongly for her as she did for him. Every time it had rung since then she’d jumped in anticipation.
But it was never him.
“Get over yourself,” she muttered.
Farah stared into her closet and chose her afternoon’s outfit with care. A loose pantsuit in pale blue would probably strike the right chord. She pulled the outfit on over a pale-lemon vest and examined her reflection. She’d lost weight since she last wore it, but she wasn’t out to make an impression so what did it matter? She wore low-heeled shoes and pulled her hair up onto top of her head. Light makeup was necessary to again conceal the dark shadows beneath her eyes. A quick swish of mascara and lip gloss and she was good to go. She glanced in the mirror again and nodded. She appeared professional and in control, precisely the look she’d been striving for. She’d do.
Dressed for trench warfare, she headed toward her car.
“It’s stupid,” she muttered as she drove off the ranch in an antagonistic frame of mind. “I absolutely don’t need to see a shrink.”
She’d shot a young man dead in the line of duty, so even if she hadn’t been wounded, she would have been pulled off active duty. She’d been interviewed extensively by the internal affairs people, repeating the same information over and over again until she was ready to scream. If she was fit for work, a desk job would have been found for her until the compulsory investigation was carried out and she was cleared of any wrongdoing.
Wrongdoing? That was a joke. She was doing her job, for Christ’s sake. That meant she was treated little better than a criminal herself, and, worse, had her gun confiscated. Her captain had visited her in hospital and persuaded her to take some time at home to recover. It was either that or stay in her small, dingy apartment in Billings and see the police shrink.
If she wanted to keep her job she had to have counseling, talk about how it felt to shoot a kid, and all the stuff she saw no point in rehashing. Well, if she had to, she might as well do it here in Sanctuary. Old Doc Miller was past his sell-by date, and she could probably wing it with him. She’d never seen him or any shrink before, but she figured it would be easy enough to convince him she wasn’t traumatized.
Because she wasn’t.
A couple of visits, he’d sign the necessary forms, and that would be the end of this fiasco. She’d be back at work before she knew it.
Arriving in town, Farah found a parking spot on Sanctuary Boulevard. She hit Darlas’s Clothing where she bought a pretty top for a friend in Billings. She found a birthday card for the same friend in another shop and then went to the post office to mail her package. Pleased to have managed to walk between the various shops without her leg protesting, Farah still had time to spare before her appointment with the head doctor. She pushed open the door to the Tempting Tea shop, a gathering place for locals to exchange gossip and enjoy decent refreshments.
Farah placed her order, grabbed her coffee when it was ready, and looked around for somewhere to sit. As she made her way to a free table, someone called out her name. She glanced up and saw Mason and Alex’s houseguest, Sophie, beckoning to her. She was with another woman whom Farah didn’t recognize.
“Hi, Sophie,” Farah said. “How are you?”
“I’m good, thanks. Why don’t you join us?”
“Thanks, I’d like that.”
“This is Hailey Hunter, the new vet in town. Hailey, this is Farah McLean.”
The two shook hands.
“Nice to meet you, Farah. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Don’t freak out, but I’m sure Hailey won’t mind you knowing that she lives with Jackson Baldwin and Tanner Cranshaw.”
Surely not another ménage? What’s going on here? “You’re so busted, Sophie,” Farah said with a smile. “I’ve caught you consorting with the enemy.”
They all laughed.
“It sometimes feels that way,” Sophie admitted. “My excuse is that Tanner has a thirteen-year-old son in the same grade as Alice, so Hailey and I need to connect. Obviously, I don’t really like her.”
“I can see that.” Farah frowned. “I didn’t know Tanner had a son.”
“Nor did he until recently,” Hailey replied. “It’s a long story.”
“Anyway,” Sophie continued. “The kids like to hang out, and we don’t see why a feud that has nothing to do with us should prevent them.”
“Quite right,” Farah agreed.
“How are you feeling?” Hailey asked. “I hear you were injured in the line of duty.”
“All in a day’s work,” Farah said. “I’m on the mend, thanks.”
“You should hear her brothers on the subject,” Sophie said, rolling her eyes.
Farah shook her head. “Don’t get me started down that track.”
She spent ten minutes chatting with the ladies, wishing she could ask Sophie more about her relationship with her brothers. Perhaps Sophie assumed she already knew. Yeah, like my brothers would tell me something like that!
Farah glanced at her watch. “Hell, I’m gonna be late.” She grabbed her purse and stood up. “You’ll have to excuse me, but I need to be somewhere. Nice seeing you both.”
“And you,” they said in unison.
Farah retrieved her car and drove back out of town in the direction of the hospital. She parked up and walked to the adjoining building that housed Doc Miller’s office. When she pushed opened the street door she found herself in a short corridor. The door to the right appeared to be a podologist’s office. The one on the left was a sports injury clinic.
“Okay,” Farah said aloud. “I’m a highly trained detective. I ought to be able to figure this out.”
She hated that she was talking to herself, a sure sign she was nervous. Farah reminded herself that she could do this, and that she had nothing to be nervous about. A combination of sheer genius and the process of elimination led her to the only other door at the end of the corridor. She opened it, wondering why it didn’t have a sign saying what was behind it, and was surprised to find herself in a tastefully decorated waiting room. It smelled of fresh paint, and there were soothing watercolors on the walls. Healthy potted plants spilled from the window ledge, the wooden floor was covered with bright rugs, and mercifully, no television blared out the local news.
Farah was grateful for that at least, and for the fact there were no other patients waiting to be seen. This was a small town. She’d be recognized in a heartbeat if she was seen here, and then rumors would abound. Farah McLean had lost the plot, she was a few dimes short of a dollar, blah de blah. Wouldn’t the Baldwins just love that!
“Stop it,” she muttered to herself.
Shit, now she was talking to herself in a shrink’s office. Great, just great! She had absolutely nothing against the Baldwins per se, but the moment she set foot in Sanctuary she seemed to regress to the child who’d been brainwashed into hating them.
An attractive w
oman asked if she could help her.
“The name’s McLean,” Farah said less than graciously. “I have a three-thirty appointment.”
“Oh yes. Please fill these forms out.”
Farah took a clipboard from the receptionist, filled out the forms without really reading them, signed on the dotted line, and sat down to wait. She recognized the latest edition of Cosmo on the table. Flipping through the selection of magazines available, she noticed they were all the most recent issues, too. Strange. Weren’t magazines in doctors’ offices supposed to be three months out of date? She thought there was an unwritten law about that sort of thing.
At precisely three thirty the receptionist said the doctor would see her now. Farah stood up, squared her shoulders, and went through to the consulting room, wanting it all to be over with. She hadn’t seen Doc Miller for years, but figured he’d look much the same as he always had when he attended McLean family barbeques—a great big teddy bear with an abstracted air and kindly smile.
She glanced up as she closed the door behind her and gasped. Since when did Doc Miller wear faded denim, a shirt that struggled to contain his broad shoulders, and cowboy boots? Even if he did, she was positive he didn’t have a physique to rival that of a Greek god, a sweep of dark hair that kept falling across melting chocolate-brown eyes, and a powerful aura that left her breathless with regret for what might have been.
“You!” she said accusingly. “What the hell are you doing here?”
* * * *
Drew removed his feet from his desk and slowly stood up, giving Farah a thorough and very unprofessional once-over. She looked sensational! The desire to call her after their dinner had driven him crazy. Unaware if she’d actually take his call, and knowing he’d see her here today, he’d managed to resist.
Somehow.
“Afternoon, Farah,” he said easily. “Take a seat.”
“Absolutely not! Where’s Doc Miller?”
Drew consulted his watch. “About now, if I had to guess, I’d say he’s gone fishing.”
