by Lisa Jackson
His jaw clenched painfully at the thought of putting distance between himself and Casey. Though he’d known her less than a week, he’d grown attached to her, looked forward to being with her, enjoyed her quick wit and sharp tongue. And then there was the matter of sleeping with her. He couldn’t quite forget the feel of her body pressed willingly against him, her soft, feminine curves molding to the harder male angles of his body.
He’d kept his distance, sleeping restlessly in the room next to hers, never giving in to the urge to go to her. He couldn’t. Making love to her had been a mistake—a huge error in judgment. He’d let his body rule his mind and he wouldn’t let it happen again.
He squared his hat on his head and growled a curse at himself as he clucked to his horse and headed back to the house. Overhead, the sky was the color of gunmetal. More snow had been predicted though the intense storms seemed to have passed through.
Within minutes, the buildings of the Rocking M were in sight. His horse trotted toward the barn and pulled up short near a water trough where a thin stream of water was visible in the ice. Sloan climbed out of the saddle. A. young hand by the name of Hank Something-or-other, who’d been chipping ice off the trough, offered to take his horse. Sloan didn’t argue, just handed the kid his reins. Turning, he spied her and the air froze in his lungs and seemed to stay there indefinitely.
Casey was standing on a ladder, stringing Christmas lights along the eaves of the house. She glanced up at the sound of his boots breaking through the snow, and the smile she threw him was enough to melt the ice surrounding his heart. Her head was uncovered and snowflakes caught in her dark hair and melted against the flush of her cheeks.
“Need help?” he asked.
“Maybe a little. Hillary was working with me, but she bailed out when Kiki offered her some hot cocoa.” Casey plugged one strand of lights into another. “Ever done this before?”
“Nope.” Not even in L.A. while Jane was alive. Funny, he hadn’t thought much about Jane in the past twenty-four hours.
“Okay, novice, you untangle the cords and hand them up to me and I’ll do the rest.”
His gloves felt awkward as he straightened the strings of colored bulbs, plugged them into each other when instructed to do so and watched as she diligently wove the wires around icicles and up the few gables of the old ranch house. At one point he thought they were done, but she only laughed at him and insisted that he loop strings of smaller lights through the shrubbery and into a solitary dwarf apple tree in the corner of the front yard. By the time they were finished, the afternoon sky had darkened.
“Okay, stand here,” she ordered as she dashed back to the front door and flipped a switch. Hundreds of lights blazed in a rainbow of colors, flashing scarlet, gold, green and blue against the snow. The lights in the leafless apple tree were clear and winked slowly. “What do you think?” Casey was at his side again, surveying her work with a critical eye.
“That the electric company might run out of juice.”
“No, seriously.”
“Seriously?” he repeated, and she turned to find him staring at her, his black eyes somber, his face ruddy with the cold. He reached up a gloved hand and brushed a snowflake from her hair. “I think you might be the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.”
Stunned by the compliment, she couldn’t speak, and when his hands slid to her shoulders, she felt a jolt of anticipation, a rush of adrenaline that caused her heart to pump just a little faster. As their gazes touched and held fast, she knew he was going to kiss her. Her mouth turned dry and she tilted her head just as his cold lips brushed across her mouth.
Her eyelids fluttered down and his fingers tightened over her shoulders. “Casey,” he breathed into her mouth before his lips caught fire and the cool kiss heated in the snow-dusted night. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and through thick layers of clothing, she felt his heat, the urgency of his body. His tongue pressed against her teeth and her mouth opened easily, inviting him in, wanting to taste and touch him.
With a groan, he yanked her against him, and his breathing came hot and shallow against her ear. Her blood thundered through her veins, pulsing at her temples, pounding in her throat. His smell—horses, leather and musk—invaded her nostrils and brought images of making love to him into the forefront of her mind.
Her legs were suddenly weak, and when he lifted his head to stare into her eyes, she saw the hot intensity, the fires of desire flaming bright in their coal black depths.
She’d told Skye that there was nothing between Sloan and her and that Skye’s suddenly romantic imagination was running wild. Sloan had helped her, true, saved her life, but she wasn’t involved with him. No way, no how.
But now, clinging to him beneath the thin veil of clouds blotting the moon, she doubted her own convictions. Yes, she was involved with Sloan. Yes, they were in the middle of a relationship, even an affair. But no, she didn’t love him. She couldn’t. He wasn’t the loving kind. Whatever he’d once shared with his deceased wife, he wasn’t about to share it again with any woman.
“This will never work,” he said, voicing her own doubts. The words hung in the air like tiny cold shards of ice and pierced deep into her heart. Though she was thinking the very same thoughts, to hear them spoken hurt to the quick.
“I know.”
“We can’t—”
“I know!” She pulled out of his embrace and cleared her throat. Pretending that she felt nothing, she tossed her hair off her face and checked her watch. “Come on. It’s cold and late. Kiki will be fit to be tied if we hold up dinner.” She started back to the house.
“Casey...” The sound of her name caught her off guard, but she steeled her heart.
“What is it you want from me, Redhawk?” she demanded, whirling to face him again. Planting her fists on her hips, she glared at him and felt the heat of her temper rise in her cheeks.
His jaw tightened. “I wish I knew.”
“The way I see it, you’re here because you have a job to do. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“That’s the way you see it?” He lifted a skeptical brow.
“Can’t be any other.”
Frowning, he squared his hat on his head. “You’re more to me than a job, Casey.”
She felt a jolt in her heart and ignored it. “Then you’re a fool.”
His sudden smile caught her by surprise. “No doubt about it.” Grabbing her elbow, he spun her to face him, held her close enough that she felt the warm fog of his breath and hesitated. She expected him to kiss her, felt that special little thrill whenever he was so close as he slowly tipped up her chin with one gloved finger and stared straight into her eyes. “And you’re a liar, Casey McKee. A damned sweet liar, but a liar nonetheless.”
“I don’t lie.”
“Right.” His lips settled over hers and she wanted to pull back, to shove him away and prove that he meant nothing to her, but she didn’t. Instead, a small moan escaped from her lips, and as he pressed closer, her spine bowed so that her head was angled upward to him. Heat swirled in her blood, her senses dimmed and snow fell around them in soft white flakes that seemed to curtain them from the rest of the world. When he lifted his head, he stared at her with an intensity that caused her heart to pound. “You’re the last person I should be involved with.”
“We’re not involved,” she said, angry with herself for lying just as he’d accused her.
“Yeah, that’s what I try to tell myself, too. It doesn’t work.” He kissed her again, lightly this time, then slowly released her. “Don’t want to keep Kiki waiting now, do we?” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he headed toward the house and the magic of the moment before was broken.
Casey trudged after him and wondered what in the world she was going to do.
Sloan’s cover was blown. Everyone in Rimrock knew that Casey had been rescued by the ex-rodeo rider turned investigator. He could no longer expect any loose tongues to confide in him at the Black Anvil. The culpri
ts, whoever they were, would be more tight-lipped than ever when he was around.
But there was nothing he could do about it.
After four days at the ranch, with the snow deep enough to keep him close to the house—close to Casey—he was going stir-crazy, thinking that someone out there was plotting against them. The nights were worse. Just knowing that she was only one room away burned through his mind and kept him tossing and turning and spending more time than he wanted beneath the stinging spray of a cold shower.
Still, he wanted her. Plain and simple. He wanted her as he’d never wanted another woman.
He’d taken to staring out the window and watching the snowy terrain, while his mind spun with erotic thoughts of making love to her. Though he’d only slept with her that one night on the road back to Rimrock, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
He rubbed the kinks from his neck and watched as a night owl swooped beneath the blue glow of a security light near the barn, its shadow passing over the silver ground. He couldn’t sleep, his nerves jangled, and he decided that he could use a cup of coffee. He was familiar with the house and could walk barefoot across the cool plank floors without making a sound.
The ranch house itself wasn’t all that assuming, not for the richest man in the county. But Jonah had seemed to have a sense of loyalty to his family’s original homestead, and over the years the old home had been updated and added to so that it was a single sweeping story with an incredible view of the acreage that was now part of the Rocking M. But it wasn’t a grand mansion—it was a livable house.
In the kitchen, he snapped on the lights, heated water in the microwave and waited. Two spoons of bitter-tasting, freeze-dried coffee later, he was on his way back to Jenner’s room, wondering what his next step would be. He couldn’t just sit and wait for someone else to make a move.
He’d planned on seeing Barry White, who was being extradited to Oregon, the minute the bastard landed in the county jail. So far, the FBI hadn’t been able to bully a story from him. Even though they’d offered him a good deal with a shortened prison sentence if he cooperated and named his partner or partners, he’d kept his silence. He’d hired an attorney, a slick guy from Dawson City by the name of Reggie Camp.
Camp seemed to be working for free because White didn’t have a dime to his name. Either Reggie thought the notoriety of this case would bring him bigger cases in the future and make the value of his services go up, or someone was paying Barry’s bills for him. Sloan smiled in the darkness. That was an interesting angle. Who? Steve Jansen had a little money and maybe Ned did, as well. But Randy Calhoun was supposed to be broke—almost destitute. The Purcell family had a few bucks between them. Otis had quite a bit of land, some of it timber rich. Fred Donner wasn’t supposed to have much cash, not since Jonah had laid claim to his water rights and eventually his ranch.
Max was trying to right some wrongs from the past, including working a deal with Fred to give him back what was rightfully his. But Fred wasn’t interested, had nearly spit on Max when he’d made the offer. Yep, there were a lot of people who hated the McKees. None of them rich men, yet someone was able to finance Reggie Camp.
Not for the first time, Sloan wondered about a conspiracy. Maybe all the citizens of the town who’d been ripped off by Jonah McKee had banded together and formed an evil coalition determined to ruin everyone and everything associated with the McKee name.
So who the hell was it?
He rounded the corner and trod silently down the hallway, his mind working.
Max was a lawyer. Maybe he could make a few inquiries, find out about Reggie Camp—who his clients were, if he could be bought, just how far he’d bend the law. Or did Camp, too, have a personal ax to grind against the McKees?
He opened the door to Jenner’s room and slipped inside.
“Sloan?” Casey’s voice caught him unawares and he nearly dropped his cup.
“What’re you doing here?” he demanded, spying her on the window ledge, one leg tucked up beneath her as she leaned against the casing.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
She didn’t argue, just stared up at him with those round hazel eyes. Even with only the pale light from the white snow filtering into the room, he could see her clearly. A soft white robe had been cinched around her waist and her hair was dark against the thick terry-cloth fabric.
Sloan closed the door quietly behind him. “Is there something you want?”
“Just to know where I stand.” When he didn’t answer, she added, “With you.”
“I thought I made that clear.” His heart was pounding and he kept his distance, certain that if he walked any closer to her, he wouldn’t be able to resist the fragrance of her hair, the feel of her skin, the throaty sound of her voice as she whispered. “You knew I was staying here long enough to put whoever is behind Jonah’s murder and your kidnapping behind bars.”
“What if you don’t find him?”
“I will.”
“You’ve never failed?”
“I said I’ll find the bastard.” He leaned a shoulder against the wall and sipped from his cup. The coffee was beginning to cool and tasted flat. He didn’t care. “You want coffee? I made a cup—”
“I want to know what your plans are.”
Fair enough. He’d give it to her with both barrels. No matter what else, he had to scare her off. Though his body screamed to touch her, to hold her, to tell her no woman fired his blood the way she did, he couldn’t let his emotions and his damned lust interfere with their lives—hers or his. He hadn’t kissed her since that day they’d strung the Christmas lights and he’d managed to keep his distance by sheer force of will. But she was tempting, damned tempting. He couldn’t afford to give her any false signals. It wouldn’t be fair—to either of them. “Okay. I plan to find the son of a bitch, just like I told you. I don’t know how, when or where, but somehow I’ll flush him out, and after I do, I’ll collect my money, take off and buy a ranch northwest of here.”
“In Warm Springs.”
She remembered that? Hell, she was beginning to know a little too much about him. “Maybe.”
“Your grandfather’s ranch.”
He stiffened. “Don’t know if it’s for sale.”
“But you’ll find out,” she countered, turning her gaze from his face to stare out the window again. There was a sadness about her that he’d never seen before, a loneliness he’d rather not witness. It was easier to think of Casey as a hothead—a passionate woman who was always on the verge of losing her temper. He knew differently, of course, had seen her frightened and courageous, worried and relaxed. He’d laughed with her and held her when she’d been scared out of her mind. Hell, he’d made love to her and, at least for a few hours, forgotten all his own pain and suffering, had seen a sunnier side of life that he’d thought had disappeared, just because she was near.
“Tell me about Jane,” she said, turning again to face him, her hair tumbling to rest on her collarbone. The front of her robe gaped a bit and he caught a glimpse of her skin and some kind of lace from a nightgown.
“I don’t talk about her.”
“Why not?”
“No point.”
Tucking her feet closer to her body, she clasped her arms around her legs. “You loved her very much.”
“Too much.” He cleared his throat and stared at her, hoping that in so doing she would get the message and leave—not that he really wanted her to go. It would just be better. Safer. For both of them.
“How did you meet her?”
“I really don’t think you should be here—”
“Do you have any children? I don’t recall Jenner mentioning it.”
The question seemed to bounce off the walls and ricochet through his heart. Oh, my son. My little Tony. “Tony. I don’t think I told you about him,” he admitted, his voice wooden because he couldn’t allow any emotion to color his words. “He died.”
“Wi
th Jane?”
“Yes.” His throat worked and he took another long swallow from his cup. His hands were unsteady as the painful memories began to spin through his mind.
“Tell me about her.”
“If I do, will you leave?”
She hitched her chin up a notch and waited. Why she’d decided that she had to know about the wife he adored, she didn’t really understand. She’d come to this room, not to discuss Jane, but because she couldn’t sleep, and knowing Sloan was so close had made it impossible not to want to be with him. She wasn’t planning to try to seduce him, of course, but...if he’d just hold her again....
He set his cup on the top of the television and closed his eyes for a minute, as if gathering thoughts that ran in a painful jumble through his brain. “Jane was a student at UCLA when I met her. I was new on the police force and we met through a common friend. Jane was... different from anyone I’d ever met before—she seemed more vital somehow. Anyway, we hit it off right away, began seeing each other and one thing led to another and we got married. A simple ceremony.” His voice lowered. “At a justice of the peace. Her parents didn’t approve. Thought she should finish school and find someone... different.” An edge of anger flavored his words.
“Different?”
“Different from a half-breed Indian boy who’d managed to get himself through school and become a cop.”
“Oh,” she said as if she understood. She didn’t. Any parents should have been pleased to have Sloan for a son-in-law, but then parents rarely were satisfied with their children’s choices—she only had to look at her two brothers and her father to prove that point.
“Jane’s folks were from San Francisco. Old money. Had big plans for their only daughter. Thought she should marry a doctor or a lawyer or at least someone with money and background. But Jane was a stubborn thing, told her parents she was going to live her own life. Once she married me, they cut her off, never called or wrote, not even when our son was born.” His voice had lowered to a grim whisper. “I only saw them at the funeral. Even then they didn’t speak to me—stood apart with their own circle of friends.” His gaze became dull and he couldn’t manage to hide the pain in his voice.
