But she’d never wanted her brothers to keep arguing with her. Not the way she did right now. If this green-eyed hunk wanted to go another round with her, she’d relish it—welcome it. There was something about him…
Petulance replaced the shock, and darned if he didn’t have the sexiest pout she’d ever seen.
“Damn straight, I’m right,” Clay said gruffly. “A cemetery is never a safe place for anyone, and an isolated, deserted bone yard is the least safe place for a woman alone. Remember that next time you want to visit. And for fuck’s sake, if you insist on coming alone, you’ll need a better weapon than your keys. Even the worst excuse for a man could disarm you if that’s your only defense.”
Pippa scoffed. “I can protect myself, thank you very much. I’ve had self-defense classes.”
“You really think so?” Clay shifted his weight forward, leaning her direction.
“Yes.”
One moment, he stood in front of her and the next she found herself squeezed in a vise-like grip, Clay’s solid chest against her breasts, the iron band of his arm trapping her in place. A strong fist clamped around the hand that held her keys. His grip was firm, but not painful, letting her know what he thought of her ability to defend herself. Pippa struggled in a panic against the rock-hard body that held her, which just made him tighten his arm, forcing the breath from her lungs.
Had she traded one bad situation for another? She’d thought the guy currently manhandling her had been a savior. Please God, don’t let me have made the biggest mistake of my life.
“Are you still so sure you can defend yourself? Seems like you’re having a bit of a hard time.” His mouth was so close his minty breath teased her senses. Some of her tension eased when he chuckled, his chest rumbling against hers.
She drew a relieved breath, difficult with his left arm wrapped tightly around her back, squeezing her close. Forcing herself to relax the hand clutching her keys without dropping them, she schooled her face into a blank mask. Without warning, she softened her knees, counting on Clay’s reaction to taking the bulk of her weight. When he shifted his arms to keep her from falling, she forced her left hand up to the sensitive underside of his bicep and pinched, digging her short nails deeply.
“Shit!” Clay shouted in complaint as he released his grip on her wrist and abruptly loosened his arm from around her back.
Seizing her opportunity, she shoved up, tipping her head toward the underside of his chin, connecting hard against it. Her pained wince became a smile, as she found herself free of his powerful embrace. One quick step backward cleared enough space between them that she was able to take aim and lift her booted foot to drive it with fury at Clay’s knee.
It would have been a thing of beauty if he hadn’t anticipated the maneuver and shifted a scant half-foot to the side. The back end of her heel caught the inside of his leg just below the knee. Not the crushing blow Pippa had hoped for, but he still bent to massage it with one hand.
Taking enough of his attention to allow her to step forward.
She knew she shouldn’t—she’d been trained to move away from danger. But she didn’t feel threatened by him. And her inner prankster made her long to see him as defenseless as she had been moments ago. She shoved her keys against the soft flesh under his chin and dug in, forcing Clay upright. He was unable to move without fear of the short, sharp metal pieces piercing his skin.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Pippa responded to his question, pushing right up against him, unable to resist the urge to dig the keys just a little deeper into his chin.
Clay held her gaze, lips curled into a smirk that edged toward a smile, his green eyes boring into hers. He wrapped a large hand around her wrist once again and tugged, moving the keys away from his exposed neck. Her breath hitched, a frisson of awareness tingling at the base of her skull. For the first time, she saw him as an attractive, well-built man.
She pulled her hand away from his throat and stepped back, immediately noticing the absence of the teasing heat that had radiated from his body.
“Okay, spitfire. I guess you can take care of yourself.” Clay chuckled, laugh lines crinkling attractively around his eyes.
His short burst of laughter distracted her from the sudden loss of his body heat and sparked her anger. She scowled at him. “That was a knuckleheaded thing to do. You scared me, you idiot.” Even mad as she was, Pippa couldn’t bring herself to use harsher language. Years of guarding her tongue around her young children kept her from using the words she truly wanted to.
“Yeah, that was the idea.” The rain came down harder now and Clay brushed the back of his hand across his eyes. “Listen, lady, the sooner you realize this isn’t a place to be alone, the safer you’ll be.”
“Point taken. You’ll never catch me alone in a cemetery at dusk again.” Pip turned away from Clay and laid her hand on Mark’s gravestone, caressing it in a gentle goodbye.
“I can’t stay away, and I can’t make someone come with me every time I need to be here.” She used the sleeve of her coat to wipe the rain from her face as she addressed her rescuer again. “Thanks for stopping Dewey. It might not seem like it, but I do appreciate it.”
She extended her hand toward Clay, who eyed it suspiciously. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips and she almost laughed aloud. “Do you think I’ll try to flip you?”
His face remained wary as he capitulated and accepted the hand she offered. The shock of the attraction she’d felt earlier bloomed into a powerful jolt up her arm as their palms slid together. His eyes widened in response.
“Call the Sleepy T Tree Farm.” Clay held on to her hand.
“Huh?”
“Any time you need to get here, and can’t find someone to come with you. Call me at Sleepy T Farms. I’ll come with you.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
Clay gestured toward the stone bench he’d been sitting on earlier. “Got some visiting of my own to do.”
Pippa started as he released her hand. She curled it into a fist against her coat, her eyes holding his with shocked awareness. Holy cow! It had been ages since she’d been interested in a man. Now this foul-mouthed stranger had held her hand briefly, and left her tingling all over.
“I, uh…I better get going,” she stammered. “Thanks again.” Standing there for a moment longer, she realized she was staring at him, and gave herself a shake. She turned and walked toward her car. Once there, she glanced back to see Clay watching her, rubbing the palms of his hands together while rain fell and gusting wind lifted the hair gathered at the nape of his neck.
Who was this guy?
Her next thought when she slid behind the wheel was and when will I run into him again?
2
“For crying out loud, Clay. You’re scalping that tree.” Scott, the hired hand, gestured to the tidy new hole Clay had clipped into the small fir tree. Considering he was supposed to be trimming weeds, not trees, the mistake was huge. “Pay attention, man. Ya gotta focus. You’re a million miles away.”
“No shit!” Clay propped his lopping shears against the fence and heaved an exasperated sigh. He hadn’t been this distracted, this twisted up, in…well, in forever.
Over a woman.
In his forty years, including a career in the military and continued association with the super-secret three-letter government agencies he consulted for, he’d met many interesting people, both men and women. But he’d never spent the darkest hours between dusk and dawn picturing any of them without their clothes. And he never thought of how he’d like to drive them crazy with his mouth, tongue, fingers and body.
But last night, thinking of the woman from the cemetery, he’d let his imagination run wild. Leaving him…hungry
He’d never been distracted when he stood guard at a funeral, either. He’d always stayed alert to keep the protesting scum from disrupting the solemn occasion. But when the willowy, dark haired woman sang, he’d turned his head, drawn like a ship to the Sirens of ancient
Greece. When she’d lifted her face to the sun as it peeked out from behind the angry gray clouds, he’d been beguiled by the entrancing dimples surrounding her lush smiling lips.
Tension had grabbed his shoulders the moment he saw Dewey Dipshit Evans among the protesters, knowing his contacts at Homeland Security were right. Something big was brewing. Dewey’s name was on the Department’s Bubba Watch list. A home-grown terrorist—an asshole of the freakiest kind. Clay made it his business to know who was on that list. His heart had jumped into his throat when Dewey approached the singer after the funeral. Knowing the kind of trouble Dewey would cause if given a chance, Clay had interrupted his mental conversation with his stepdad and paid attention to his surroundings. Dewey had been dishonorably discharged after being found guilty of sexual misconduct, so that knowledge had compelled Clay to intervene.
He doubted he could have been any more surprised when he ended up with the nameless woman in his arms.
She was gorgeous, sexy, and felt so unbelievably fine pressed tight against his chest and thighs. A true spitfire, her temper as intriguing as her smile. He’d reacted to her handshake like an untried schoolboy. Rubbing his fingertips together again, he recalled the tender skin of her wrist and hand. He truly couldn’t remember the last time his cock had tensed from just a handshake.
“You’ve been pre-occupied since we started,” Scott said, drawing Clay’s attention back to the present and the Christmas tree farm he temporarily ran.
Clay scowled at the mess he’d made of the tree, pulled off his hat and slapped it against his thigh. “I was thinking about something that happened at Corporal Wright’s funeral yesterday. Someone I met. Well, didn’t actually meet, but ran into.” He looked at Scott speculatively. “Do you know a woman in town, last name Sanders? At least I think that’s her name.” It was the name on the tombstone his mystery woman had lovingly caressed before she left.
“Can’t say as I do. But I don’t get to Granite Pointe much, except to Big Red’s occasionally. I favor the night life in Salem.” Scott leaned on the fence behind him and wiped his brow with a large, crumpled bandana. “You’re the big-time researcher and novelist…just work your search magic.”
“Might just do that. Can you finish here? Looks like I’m not helping much anyway.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
“Thanks. I have to make some calls and I want to go see Mom.”
“I’ll need the truck later this afternoon to get some sheep feed, and we have a school group after lunch. Will you be back in time to help with the tour?”
Clay didn’t mind driving his Harley on a sunny, Indian summer day like today. He wasn’t as excited about giving a bunch of little hooligans the run of the place. “How many more of these tours are scheduled? This is like the fortieth one this month.”
“Hey, it’s only the seventh. This is the last one for the season. But I’m not doing it on my own. There’re thirty of the little curtain climbers. I’ll need help.”
“I’ll be back in time. I’ll pick up lunch on the way back in.”
Clay handed the shears to Scott with a little salute and jammed his hat back on. He hiked toward the house on the hill, eager to unearth some information on a woman he hoped to run into again.
His boots rang loudly as he crossed the timbered porch and stepped through the door. Heading straight to the old farmhouse kitchen, he snagged a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Twisting the cap, he took a slug and strode toward the office at the front of the house. The view from the bay window where the desk was positioned drew his attention, as it always did. He stood calmly, his gaze roving across the yard to the old barn he’d help convert into a gift shop and sales room when his mother first married her second husband, the owner of the farm.
Surrounded by evergreen-covered rolling hills, the farm resembled a Grant Wood painting. It had always been a great place to recharge his creative batteries. He had gotten into the routine of arriving each fall in time to help his mom get ready for the hectic holiday rush that accompanied the responsibility of owning a Christmas tree farm. He’d work all day outdoors and spend his nights catching up on his writing and publisher demands.
Setting his water on top of a Coca-Cola Santa coaster, he pulled up a chair and wiggled the computer mouse to wake the system up. Once the internet browser opened, a flashing icon alerted him that he had mail. After two swift clicks, he tapped out his password and opened the first email from his editor. He groaned as he read the long list of changes suggested for his current manuscript, and closed the message with a mental promise to look at later. The next communication came from his contact at Homeland Security. His mouth went dry when the meaning behind the brief became clear.
The Department had reliable information that the Liberty Battalion was gearing up to explode on America’s landscape within the next three months. Literally. They’d been tracking the group’s activities closely and things were getting out of hand. He reached for his cell phone and punched in the number to reach his departmental liaison.
The call was answered after only two rings. “Burke.”
“Doug, it’s Clay.”
“Hey man. I guess you’ve read the email. The big dogs here are going apeshit. It’s like Timothy fucking McVeigh all over again.”
“I’ll bet.” Clay snorted derisively. “I rode with the Honor Guard for a funeral those idiots protested at in Granite Pointe yesterday. They had a fairly large showing, more than usual, I’d say. I sure wasn’t expecting to see so many of them.”
Doug whistled shrilly over the phone. “No shit? We’d heard they were massing the troops somewhere in the Northeast. I guess we can tick the location box off the checklist.”
“Do you really think they’ll go large? Can they? I haven’t gotten the impression that they’re highly organized or have enough manpower to turn a tiny burg like this into a global stage for making a point.”
“You don’t have to be organized when you have the makings of a dirty bomb.”
Clay gritted his teeth. “Damn. They’re going dirty?”
“The intel is mixed. Some reports say absolutely. Others indicate they don’t have the resources or connections to procure the necessary ingredients. Which one do you trust?”
“The smart money would be on the worst case scenario. It’s better to be prepared.”
“Agreed. A briefing has been called for oh-nine-hundred tomorrow. You’re expected to attend. I’ll set up the encrypted conference link for you and email it later today.” Keys clacked in the background as Doug’s attention was diverted. “Hey, gotta run. Check your email in an hour, okay?”
“Sure thing,” Clay responded. Dealing with homegrown terrorists and a shithead like Dewey Evans was not what he wanted topping his list of entertainment while he helped his mother out on the farm. Getting to know the owner of blue eyes, black hair, sexy dimples and a smoking hot body was.
Sighing, he pushed thoughts of finding the spitfire aside and booted up his government search engine. He wouldn’t give up on locating her, but it would have to wait. The work he did for his country was more important than finding a woman to warm his bed during his temporary stay in Granite Pointe.
Dammit!
3
“We’ve all told you not to go there alone. I don’t know why you didn’t call one of us.”
Pippa rolled her eyes while Jem scolded her, wishing she hadn’t mentioned what happened at the cemetery yesterday. “I didn’t go alone. I was there for a funeral.” She shoved unruly hair back from her forehead. She’d beaten herself up about the episode all night long. “I just stayed longer than I should have. Longer than was smart. There, I said it. But I can’t keep asking Jack or Dad or Sam to carve time out of their schedules to take me.”
Pippa had stopped for coffee at the café her future sister-in-law owned on her way to work. They sat at a table near the swinging kitchen doors and she pushed her cup away in agitation.
Jem reached across the table and patted he
r hand. “I know you hate asking anyone for a favor. Maybe more than staying away makes you unhappy. But the situation with the Liberty Battalion dopes scares me. Until it’s resolved, you’re going to have to give in. I’m serious, Pip. Either stay away, or get an escort.”
“I know.” She changed subjects, eager to end the lecture before it really started. “Hey, have you met anyone named Clay Mathers?”
“Doesn’t ring any bells, but I’m still considered a visitor in Granite Pointe. Maybe you should ask Jack or Sam.”
“Ask Sam what?”
The man in question dropped into the chair across from Pip, startling her. Sam helped himself to the last half of her cinnamon roll and picked up her coffee cup for a deep swallow. She released an annoyed sigh.
“Jeez, I can’t believe you’re still finishing my meals for me. We’re not kids any more.” She grabbed the cup back before he drained it.
“I know, but the look on your face never gets old,” said Sam. “Besides, it looked like you were done with it.”
“Don’t you have class today?”
“No students until eleven today. Ask me what?” he repeated.
Jem grabbed a mug from the nearby coffee stand and poured fresh coffee for each of them from the carafe on the table, sliding a cup in front of Sam. “Pippa wanted to know if you knew anyone named Clay.”
“Former military, maybe,” Pip offered helpfully.
“Name isn’t familiar. Should I know him?”
The last thing she needed was to give Sam a reason to hound her too. Pippa hurried to speak before Jem revealed yesterday’s confrontation to her brother. “No, I just heard the name, and didn’t recognize it. I thought I knew all the military families in the area.”
“Granite Pointe isn’t that large of a community. But people move in every day,” Sam said as he slid his rangy body lower in the chair, stretching long legs under the table. “I see most of the new families at school, but if they don’t have kids…”
Hearts in Harmony Page 2
