by Katie Lane
“I ain’t runnin’ from that weaselly sheriff,” Lucas snapped.
“We will if our boys think it’s for the best, you old coot,” Chester said. “Now let’s go saddle up.”
Once they were gone, Holden heaved a sigh of relief. “We need to keep those two ornery cowboys away from the sheriff. I’d hate to have to bail Chester out of jail for threatening him with a shotgun.”
“We can’t keep them and the sheriff separated forever,” Cru said.
“Then let’s hope it doesn’t take us forever to find Sam.”
Everyone dispersed. Logan and Cru hopped in their ranch truck and headed back to the Gardener Ranch, Holden headed inside to call his private investigator friend, and Val headed to his rental car. But before he could start the Lexus, Chester tapped on the window.
Val rolled it down. “I thought you were riding over to the Gardener Ranch. Do you and Lucas need help saddling the horses?”
“Hell, no. We might be old, but we can still saddle up. You headed back to the boardinghouse to write?”
“That was my plan. But if you need me to do something here, just let me know.”
“Nope. Everything’s good here.”
Val waited a few seconds, and when Chester didn’t seem to be in any hurry to continue, he asked, “Is there something else?”
Chester stared out at the pasture behind the house. “When the sheriff stopped by the other night, did you mention the last time Sam was here?”
“You mean the day the horse threw me?”
“No. I mean the day in the barn.”
Val stared at him. “You knew Sam came back? But how? I didn’t even tell Holden about it.”
“Very little happens on my ranch that I don’t know about.” Chester spit a stream of tobacco before he pinned his gaze on Val. “I came back to check on you and saw him coming out of the barn.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Chester quirked a gray eyebrow. “Why didn’t you?”
Because he’d been too embarrassed about letting Sam bully him. Too embarrassed about being so scared that he’d blacked out. “I didn’t think it was important,” he lied.
Chester studied him with his aged blue eyes. “What are you runnin’ from, boy?”
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
“When you first got here, you were runnin’ from something. I thought you’d grow out of your fears, but you show up here and still appear to be runnin’ from something. So what is it?”
Val was taken aback. “I’m not running from anything.”
Chester studied him for a moment longer before he shook his head. “And here I thought you were the smart one.” He thumped the roof of the rental car. “Tell Reba I said ‘hi.’ Miss Gertie might be as ornery as the day is long, but her niece is as sweet as cherry pie.” He turned and sauntered to the barn while Val tried to process the old cowboy’s words.
He wasn’t running. Maybe as a teenager. But who wouldn’t run from bullies? He wasn’t running now. He was a bestselling author who had fame and fortune and a lifestyle most people envied. He had the perfect life. Or he would once he wrote his next bestseller. And he would write it. All he needed to do was stay focused.
Which was hard to do when distractions kept getting in the way.
On the way back to the boardinghouse, he tried to get ahold of Lincoln again. This time, Linc answered.
“Hey, Val. I was just going to call you. Sorry I haven’t gotten back sooner. Things have been a little crazy here. So what’s up? Do you need more information on the glamorous life of law enforcement for one of your books?”
Val laughed. “No, I think I’ve figured out that law enforcement is anything but glamorous. Although you can’t tell me that being a Texas Ranger isn’t badass cool.”
Lincoln laughed. “Yeah, at times, it’s pretty badass cool. But your life doesn’t exactly suck. I’m scrolling through your Instagram as we speak. Few people get to go on a book-signing tour to Europe. And who’s the hot redhead? Did you find a sweet Scottish girl who likes to feed bunnies?”
The image of Reba in the garden with Roo flashed into his mind. How could the woman not know that she was stunningly beautiful? He mentally cussed out all the idiots who had made her feel that way before he answered Lincoln. “Actually, I took that this morning at the Dixon Boardinghouse.”
“The Dixon Boardinghouse? Why does that sound familiar?”
“It’s the only hotel in Simple, Texas.”
“You’re in Simple? No kiddin’? Whatever you do, don’t drink the water. It appears to be spiked with some kind of love potion. That’s the only theory I can come up with for how Holden, Cru, and Logan all ended up hitched.”
Val smiled. Maybe Granny Dovey had put something in the water before she died. “I’ll try to steer clear of the water,” he said before he got to the point of the phone call. “The reason I called, Lincoln, is I need your help finding someone.”
“A real someone? Or is this one of your fictional scenarios?”
“A real someone. Sam Sweeney.”
There was a long pause before Lincoln spoke. “Why would you want to find that asshole?”
Val quickly gave Lincoln the entire run down. When he was finished, Lincoln didn’t say anything. “Linc? You still there, man?”
“I’m here. Did Willaby act like he had any real information?”
“No, I think he was just fishing.”
“Fishing is still not good. I’ve had to deal with him on more than one occasion. When he was a scared deputy with an inferiority complex, I didn’t worry too much about him. But once he got the sheriff’s badge and the power behind it, he became dangerous to innocent people. If it were anyone else, I’d tell you to blow it off. But since it’s Willaby, you’re right to be concerned. He’s still holding the past against us. I hear it in his voice every time I call him about a suspect or criminal I’m searching for. He’ll do everything he can to cause problems for the Double Diamond. So the sooner we locate Sam, the better. Do you have any clues on where he went after he left the Double Diamond?”
“Not one lead.”
“There has to be someone who talked to him after he left the ranch, but before he left Simple. Maybe someone at the boardinghouse or that big warehouse of a bar that’s there.”
“Cotton-Eyed Joe’s?”
“That’s it. You need to go there and talk to the bartender. Sam was definitely the type to drown his sorrow—or anger—in a bottle. I’d come to Simple myself, but I think that would only add fuel to the fire. Since you’re a writer, you can ask questions without Willaby getting suspicious. Just say you’re researching a book. How is your book coming, by the way?”
“Not well. I’ve been a little distracted lately.”
Lincoln laughed. “So you have fallen under this redhead’s spell.”
Val wasn’t under Reba’s spell, but he certainly liked her. He liked her honesty. Her strong work ethic. Her generous spirit . . . and her generous body. He definitely liked that. Unfortunately, he could never sample that generous body without being just another sex-crazed male who used her and left her.
And he would leave.
Valentine Sterling didn’t belong in a small town called Simple.
Chapter Eleven
Reba’s day had been crazy.
Three new guests had shown up all at the same time and she’d had to hustle to get them checked in and settled in their rooms. Then a water valve under the kitchen sink had burst, spewing water everywhere. After she fixed it, got the water mopped up, and was finally able to start working on supper, Rhett Butler jumped up and helped himself to one of the roasted chickens resting on the counter. When Reba screamed at the cat, he escaped with the chicken, dragging it across her just mopped floor and out the cat door into the garden.
Reba would’ve left the cat to his feast if she hadn’t been worried about Aunt Gertie’s beloved pet choking to death on a chicken bone. It seemed to take forever to locate the cat be
neath a pyracantha bush. By the time she got the chicken carcass away from him, her arms were covered in scratches not only from the bush but also from the devilish cat. After taking the cat back to Aunt Gertie, she headed to the cottage to clean up the worst scratches and change her still damp clothes, which were streaked with dirt from crawling under the bush.
By the time she hurried back to the kitchen, it was too late to roast another chicken and she had to strip the meat off the other one and pray it was enough to make her chicken and rice casserole. She put the casserole in the oven so the grated cheese she’d sprinkled on top would melt, and then she whipped up a salad and carried it into the dining room before the guests started to arrive.
One guest had already arrived.
She stopped short when she saw Valentine sitting at the table. He was looking out the window and so lost in thought he didn’t notice her. He had changed out of the western shirt and jeans he had worn earlier into his black dress pants and designer shirt. He looked like the suave, arrogant author who had first come to the boardinghouse. The one she had despised. But back then she hadn’t known Valentine. She hadn’t known the insecure writer who worried about people liking his work. Or the bullied Double Diamond boy who just wanted to belong. Or the kind man in glasses who washed her dishes, mowed her lawn, and took a picture that made her feel beautiful.
Now she did.
With the way her heart was thumping at just the sight of him, she didn’t know if discovering what lay beneath his sophisticated author persona was a good thing. Get a grip, Reba Dixon, she mentally scolded herself. Valentine Sterling was a heartbreak just waiting to happen, and she needed to remember that. She also needed to remember her plan to save the boardinghouse. Shifting the salad to one hand, she took her cellphone out of her pocket and snapped a picture.
At the soft click, Valentine turned and lifted an eyebrow.
“Hey, if you can take pictures of me, I can take pictures of you.” She put her cellphone back and carried the salad over to the table. “I think I’ll entitle it ‘Pensive bestselling author plotting.’”
He gracefully rolled to his feet. “I should’ve been plotting.”
“If not plotting, then what were you daydreaming about?”
“I was thinking about your Granny Dovey’s story and waiting for supper. Your Aunt Gertie made it clear she doesn’t put up with late guests.”
“You didn’t have to come down. We made a deal.”
“One that you shouldn’t have made. You do enough without bringing me food.” His gaze dropped and he frowned. “What happened to your arms?”
“I got in a fight with a pyracantha bush and Butler over a roasted chicken.”
“I’d say the bush and cat won. Are you okay?” The concern in his eyes made her heart start thumping again. She quickly turned and walked to the china cabinet to get her great-grandmother’s china that they’d used for boardinghouse meals since Reba could remember.
“Actually, I’ve had better days,” she said as she pulled out a stack of plates. “Besides Butler stealing a chicken, the water valve under the sink busted and sprayed water everywhere until I could get the main valve shut off. But on the bright side, your posts seem to be working and we’ve gotten three new guests.”
He moved up behind her and the oxygen in the room seemed to disappear. “You shouldn’t be excited about getting new guests when you already have your hands full. Here, let me help.” He took the plates from her.
“I like my hands full,” she said, and then cringed when she realized how sexual that sounded. “I mean, I like keeping busy.”
“There’s such a thing as being too busy, Reba.” He carried the plates to the table. Once he wasn’t so close, she could breathe again. She got the silverware and napkins out of a drawer and followed behind him.
“So did the sheriff show up out at the Double Diamond?” she asked.
“Not while I was there, but I’m sure he’ll show up eventually.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Thank you, but I’ll handle the sheriff.” He set down the last plate and then took the napkins from her. She followed behind him, placing the silverware.
She didn’t know why the simple act of a setting a table together suddenly felt so intimate, but it did. As she watched his long, graceful fingers fold each napkin, then smooth it out before carefully placing it next to each plate, she felt like she was watching him perform some kind of sensual foreplay.
As they worked together as a team, a fantasy played out in her head. A fantasy that included Valentine using his napkin-folding skills on her. She wanted him to roll up her shirt and carefully fold down the cups of her bra, then she wanted him slide his hands over her breasts and stroke his thumbs over each aching nip—
“Now who’s woolgathering?”
She snapped out of her fantasy to find that Valentine had finished with the napkins and was looking at her with a smile on his face.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“Nothing!” She kept her head lowered so he wouldn’t see her blush as she quickly finished placing the silverware. “I probably better check on the casserole.” She started for the kitchen, but he stepped in front of her and stopped her.
“Reba,” he said in a low, sexy voice that bought up images of their naked bodies entangled in sexual delight on the dining room table. “There’s something you need to know.”
When she lifted her gaze, she discovered him staring at her breasts. Had he been thinking about the same thing she had? “What?” she croaked.
“Your shirt’s on backwards.”
It took her a moment to realize what he’d said. When it finally sank in, she closed her eyes in total humiliation and whispered, “Excuse me” before she fled to the kitchen. Once there, she fixed her t-shirt then stood in the open doorway of the freezer for a few minutes to let her humiliation cool . . . along with her desire.
What was the matter with her? The answer was obvious. She was sexually attracted to Valentine Sterling. It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just physical attraction. But it wasn’t just his good looks she liked. She liked him.
“What in tarnation are you doin’, girl?”
She turned to see Aunt Gertie standing there—minus Rhett Butler. Mealtimes were the only times the cat wasn’t with her aunt. She closed the freezer. “I was just seeing if we had any ice cream for dessert.”
“Well, you better stop worrying about dessert and start worrying about dinner. I smell something burning.”
“Oh, no!” Reba grabbed two oven mitts and hurried to the oven. Luckily, the cheese had only burned along the edges of the casserole dish so she was able to scrape off the burned spots before she carried it into the dining room.
Two of the three new guests had arrived and were sitting talking to Valentine. Mr. Daniels was a round-faced, friendly looking man around Reba’s age who worked as a hotel manager in Dallas. Mr. Peterman was also in the hotel business, but wasn’t nearly as friendly. In fact, he had been rather rude when Reba had checked him in that morning. He resembled a stork with his long neck and beaky nose. When she and Aunt Gertie entered, he was the only man who didn’t get to his feet.
That had Aunt Gertie snorting in disgust. “Strike number one.”
Not wanting her aunt to get rid of another guest, Reba quickly spoke. “Good evening, Mr. Peterman and Mr. Daniels. I’m so glad you both could join us.” She set the casserole on the lazy Susan in the middle of the table. “And you as well, Mr. Sterling.”
Valentine winked at her. “My pleasure, Ms. Dixon.” He pulled out a chair for her.
As she sat down, she remembered the drinks. “I almost forgot to ask if anyone would like something else besides water. Would any of you gentlemen prefer tea or a beer?”
“As I stated in the questionnaire,” Mr. Peterman said in his nasally voice. “I don’t drink.”
Reba looked at him in confusion. “Questionnaire? What question—”
Aunt Gerti
e cut her off. “Water is fine with everybody. Now sit down, Reba, so the only gentlemen in the room can sit down too.” She shot a mean glare over at Mr. Peterman and held up two fingers. Thankfully, Mr. Peterman was preoccupied with cleaning his fork with his napkin and didn’t notice.
At mealtime, it was Reba’s job to keep the conversation flowing and steer people away from topics like religion, politics, or anything that might cause the guests to be offended or get into an argument. This was much more difficult to do with new guests than it was with guests who had been there awhile. She usually had a few conversation starters ready, but tonight, with Valentine sitting right next to her, her brain seemed to be on the fritz. Once she dished up the casserole, she just sat there like a bump on a log.
Fortunately, Valentine stepped in and carried the conversation with interesting stories about his travels. When Reba was young, she had dreamed about traveling to foreign countries. But once she’d taken over the boardinghouse, there had been no time for dreaming. Valentine’s stories of all the amazing places he’d been brought back her youthful yearning to experience exotic places and foods. It also made her very aware of how different she and Valentine were. He was a cultured man of the world and she was a simple country girl who had never been out of the state of Texas. The gulf between them couldn’t have been bigger.
Something she needed to remember.
They were halfway through dinner when the third guest finally showed up. Mr. Cooper was in his early twenties, a software programmer who acted like a frat boy on spring break. The first thing he’d asked when she had checked him in was what kind of nightlife Simple had. He seemed thoroughly disappointed when he found out the town had only one bar.
Although by the way he stumbled into the dining room, it looked like one bar had been more than enough.
“Greetings, Miss Reba!” He swept off his cowboy hat and flashed a lopsided grin that made Reba smile. “I apologize for being late, but I got into a conver-sassion with a very nice man at the bar you recommended whose sow had just delivered thirteen piglets. Thirteen.” He held up two fingers. “And I felt like it was only right that I s-s-stay and celebrate with him.”
