by Susan Fox
Jake guessed he could see there were different kinds of love, and some were better than others. Some were generous, not selfish. “So she gave Dave a divorce, and then Evan came back to town and they got back together?”
Brooke nodded.
“A happy ending.” It was clear how much Evan and Jessica loved each other.
“For everyone but poor Dave. He was shattered when Anita died of brain cancer.”
“That’s what Karen said. But he seemed okay to me.”
“He’s a very controlled man. He doesn’t want to inflict his pain on the rest of us, but it’s there. If you knew him before, you’d see the difference. He . . . aged. How old did you take him for?”
“My age, I guess.”
“He’s not even thirty.”
They’d reached the car, and stopped walking. “Poor guy. Guess it’s a whole lot safer never to fall in love.”
She turned to him, flashing a quick smile. “That’s the truth. If I hadn’t fallen for Mo—” Then she broke off and looked thoughtful. “Well, who can say? I wouldn’t have Evan. And he and his family are the joy in my life.”
As Jake held the passenger door and watched her slide in, he thought about that comment. The joy in her life. Did he have joy in his? His work, he supposed. It was great, always challenging and exciting. But you could hardly call it joyful.
He thought of Corporal Karen MacLean talking about how much she loved her job, yet the wistful way she’d watched Evan and Jessica told him she yearned for more.
But that was her. Not him.
He went around and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Let’s blow this pop stand, babe. I want to take you to bed and screw your brains out.”
Brooke laughed. “Well, you’re definitely Jake again.”
“It drove me crazy being Arnold. I wanted to give you a squeeze.” He reached over to shove her dress up and put his hand on her bare thigh, and suit action to words. “I kept noticing who you were talking to, what you were doing.”
“You sound almost—” She broke off and fussed with her seat belt, trying to get it done up without dislodging his hand.
His mind supplied the word she’d avoided. Jealous.
Huh? That couldn’t be it. He didn’t get jealous. That was something women did. He tried to explain. “For the time I’m here, you’re my woman. I want to be able to touch you.”
“Your woman?”
Crap. Now he sounded possessive. Quickly, he corrected himself. “Sorry, I don’t mean, like, ownership. I mean that we’re together, and I wish we could act that way in public.”
“I’m a little surprised,” she said slowly. “I mean, I’m hardly some gorgeous young thing you’d want to show off on your arm.”
He gaped at her. “You were the most attractive woman there tonight.”
She batted his hand off her leg. “Oh, garbage. Flattery is very nice, but make it believable. Jessica was there, not to mention Karen, whose company you seemed to be quite enjoying, and Silvia Campinelli, and—”
“I stand by what I said.” He gripped the wheel tightly. She thought he was a guy who’d use cheap flattery? He gave her the straight goods. “Karen MacLean is striking, Silvia could be pretty if she didn’t wear so much make-up, and Jessica will be lovely when she’s your age and has a few character lines. But you were the one, Brooke. Hands down.” He paused. “I never flatter women. If a guy lies to a woman, it’ll only cause him trouble in the end.”
She was quiet for a bit. He’d been utterly sincere and he hoped she realized it. Yeah, he knew she was older. He wasn’t denying that. It just didn’t matter. She had a pretty face, a sexy body, and most of all, she had the kind of beauty that came from inside. The better he got to know Brooke, the more beautiful he found her. “Can we go home now?” he asked.
“Yes, please.”
As he pulled away from the curb, she said, “Jessica passed along a message from her daughter. Robin wants us to come over tomorrow afternoon. She has her heart set on teaching you to ride.”
“I don’t think that’s high on Arnold’s priority list. Nor mine. I’m trying to catch a killer.”
“What’s your next step?”
“The only suspect we’ve identified whom I haven’t met yet is Sergeant Miller, but he’s away this weekend. In the meantime, there’s a lot of research to do on the people I’ve met.”
“Can Jamal help?”
Actually, Jamal could do it more easily from Vancouver, given all the resources they had there, compared to Brooke’s old computer and slow Internet connection. “Yeah, I guess,” he admitted.
“Horses are part of the way of life here. It’ll give the Arnold story more credibility if you say you’ve gone riding. Have you ever been on a horse?”
He shook his head. “After you’ve ridden a Harley, who’d want to ride a horse?”
“It’s surprisingly fun. Kate already told me I could get off early tomorrow. We’re slow on Saturday afternoons.” Her tone was more neutral than wheedling, but he’d come to realize that Brooke rarely put her own wishes first. It was almost as if she didn’t believe she deserved to get what she wanted—or even as if she was scared to want things too much.
“You’d like to go riding,” he said.
She shrugged. “I enjoy it. And of course I love being with Robin. Besides, it would give you the perfect excuse to buy a pair of jeans.”
“Oh well, in that case, sure, let’s go.”
“Oh yes! Thanks, Jake. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”
“Maybe.” He reached for her thigh again. “But I do know something that will definitely be fun. I’m taking you home, babe.”
Saturday morning flew by for Brooke, as she and Kate prepared a bride and three bridesmaids for an afternoon wedding and looked after a handful of other customers. They barely had enough of a break to devour Greek salads from the deli. Usually, Brooke packed her own lunch, but Jake had thrown off her routine. That would be a troubling thought if she let herself dwell on it, but she felt happy and healthy. She reminded herself of what Dr. Allenby had said: It was normal to feel excited when good things were happening in her life.
When it was time to leave the salon, Brooke said, “Are you sure you don’t mind, Kate? You’ve been on your feet all day. I feel bad about leaving you alone.”
“There are only a couple more clients. I’ll be fine. ’Sides, how many times have you filled in for me when I took personal time? Just go, enjoy. And take pictures. Your cousin seems like a sweet guy, but I can’t quite picture him on top of a horse in a Stetson.”
“If anyone can loosen him up, it’s Robin.”
Humming, Brooke drove home.
When Jake came onto the porch to greet her, she smiled to see his long legs encased in denim. Fortunately, the neatly trimmed hair, golf shirt, and glasses made him look far different from the leather-jacketed biker.
They went into the house together, where he gave her a long, toe-curling kiss.
Reluctantly, she pushed herself out of his arms. “Robin will be waiting. I’ll just run up and change.”
“Can I watch?”
“No way. You don’t have enough willpower.” She loved it that this gorgeous, sexy, experienced guy found her so attractive.
Laughing at his exaggerated groan, she hurried up the stairs. Quickly, she changed into well-worn jeans, a Western shirt with blue trim, and the tooled cowboy boots she always cleaned and polished after each ride. She clapped a tan Resistol—the brand of cowboy hat favored by Jessica and Robin—on her head, took her camera from a drawer, and clattered down the stairs again.
Jake, who’d been sitting at the computer on her desk, turned at the sound, and gaped. “Man, look at you. You make one hell of a sexy cowgirl.”
She flushed at the compliment while he shut down the computer.
As they climbed into Jake’s car, she had a sudden concern. “How are you feeling? Are you healed enough to be doing this?”
“I’m fine. It’s just sitt
ing on a horse, right? How strenuous can it be?”
“Seriously? You’ve never seen a rodeo?”
“Not really.”
“Don’t underestimate cowboys. And cowgirls. You ought to see Jessica and Robin. But I’m sure Rob will take it easy on you. She helps her mom with the boot camp students, and she’s used to soft city slickers.”
“Hey, watch it, lady,” he returned, and they both laughed.
“Did you connect with Jamal this morning?” she asked, curious whether there was anything new with the investigation. Last night, she and Jake had been caught up in lovemaking, then fallen asleep. She’d even slept through the alarm and had to rush to get to work on time.
“Yeah, we talked for an hour or so.”
“Any leads at his end?”
“He tracked down the location of the grow op, did a title search. The land is owned by an old guy with Alzheimer’s who lives at a care facility in Williams Lake. Name of Bob Baxter?” He glanced over at Brooke.
She shook her head. “Doesn’t ring any bells. But if he has Alzheimer’s, he’s sure not your mastermind. Does he have any relatives around here?”
“No, his only relative—and likely the person who’ll inherit the land—is a nephew who lives in Toronto. He’s a doctor. Visits Williams Lake once a year to see his uncle. Gideon Baxter?”
“A distinctive name. I don’t know him.”
“He checks out clean,” Jake went on. “We figure the grow op is squatting on the land without the Baxters knowing. There’s a large stream running through the property, so they’ll be getting their water from it. No power bills are going to that address; they’ve circumvented the power meter or have one of their people working at BC Hydro. Jamal has employee names and will start checking them out.”
“You said they’re using trailers?”
“Yeah. So in theory—if they look after them—they could move the whole op to some other remote spot if they wanted. Like if the uncle dies and the nephew sells the land, or if they suspect someone’s on to them.”
“If the nephew’s an upstanding guy, he’d hate to hear how the land is being used.”
“I know. But once we’ve nailed Anika’s killer, we’ll bust the grow op and everyone associated with it.”
“The sooner the better,” she said firmly. Although that would mean Jake leaving town....
“Agreed. By the way, I told Corporal MacLean what Robin said about drugs in the schools. She seemed genuinely surprised. Said Miller’s got zero tolerance, but she also said he handles the drug cases himself. Could be he’s covering for his own operation.”
Much as she disliked the sergeant, the idea that he’d do something like that still shocked her. “How would you find out?”
“Not sure. At least not how to do it legally and find evidence that’s admissible in court. Got to hate it when the criminals have more rights than the victims,” he grumbled.
“I guess it does make it hard for you to stop the bad guys.”
“Sure as hell does. I’d like to just break into the guy’s house, and maybe the RCMP detachment.”
“But the rules are there for a good reason,” she protested, even though a part of her agreed with him. If someone was selling drugs to innocent children like Robin, they had to be stopped.
“Here’s another question for you,” he said. “Any of these names mean anything to you?” He listed off three names from memory.
“Mr. Yarrow is a retired lawyer and I think Julia Reddick is a flight instructor. What was the other one again?”
“Richard Snyder.”
She shook her head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. What’s the significance of these names?”
“They took small planes up on Tuesday morning.” He turned onto the Bly Ranch road. “Jamal’s checking them out and looking for any connections with Miller, Cray, or anyone else we’ve identified as a possible suspect.”
They passed the spot where they’d gone parking, and her body heated at the memory. “We’re meeting Robin at Boots. That’s where they keep their own horses as well as the ones for students.”
He drove past Jessica’s parents’ house and their ranch headquarters, then turned into the driveway for the boot camp and parked in the lot. Three saddled horses were tied to a hitching rail, but not a soul was in sight.
“On Saturday,” Brooke said, “Jess usually takes the guests for a long ride with a picnic lunch in the middle.”
Robin burst out of the barn door, dressed in jeans, T-shirt, and boots. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her hat hung down her back, secured by a cord around her neck.
As she ran to meet them, Brooke swung out of the car. She greeted Robin with a warm hug. “Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hi, Gramma,” the girl responded excitedly. She turned to Jake, who had come to join them. “Hi, Cousin Arnold. This is going to be so cool. Trust me, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Brooke saw the glint of humor in his eyes as he responded in Arnold’s voice, “I hope you’re right.”
The girl glanced down at his feet, clad in polished loafers. “Come into the barn. We’ve got some spare boots.”
Brooke hooked her arm through his as they all started for the barn. “If you get addicted, like I did, you’ll have to buy your own.”
“And a Stetson, I suppose,” he said dryly.
“Resistol,” Brooke and Robin said in a duet, then both laughed.
“Uh-huh,” he said in a tone that indicated it was never going to happen.
“Mom says Evan was the same in the beginning,” Robin said to Brooke.
“I bet he was,” she agreed, still mildly astonished that her city slicker son who’d been hooked on Manhattan had settled down so happily in Caribou Crossing. He’d undergone an amazing transformation, mostly thanks to Jessica and their love for each other.
Brooke and her companions stepped from the sunny yard into the dark barn, pausing for their eyes to adjust. She inhaled happily, savoring the sweet, fresh scent of hay and apples. It dawned on her that her own transformation had been even more dramatic than Evan’s. She’d gone from being the town drunk and a dreadful mother to a wholesome woman who got her highs from things like blooming flowers, the scent of hay, and mostly the company of her family.
“Take off your shoes,” Robin told Jake.
When he obeyed, she sized up his sock-clad feet, then selected a pair of Western boots from the half dozen on a rack. “Try these.”
He slid his feet into them. “Huh. They’re not bad.”
She nodded. “I’m good at judging. Now you just need a hat.” She picked up a black Resistol. “Are you a black kind of guy?”
Chapter Sixteen
“Dark and dangerous?” Jake said. “Not hardly.”
Brooke smothered a giggle. “Give Cousin Arnold the black one, Rob. It’ll help him find his spirit of adventure.”
Behind the wire-framed glasses, Jake rolled his eyes at both of them. He took the hat and perched it at a silly angle on his head.
Robin, who grew taller every day, went up on her tiptoes and adjusted it.
“You’ll never win with her,” Brooke warned him. “You might as well surrender now.”
“Why do I have the feeling that’s how it is with all the women in the family?” he asked.
He’d been teasing, but Robin took the question seriously. “Because we’re strong. Mom says we’re all strong. Her and me, Gramma Brooke, and Gran Miriam.”
“I can see that,” he said in a serious tone. “And that’s a very good thing to be.”
They headed out to the yard again, where Brooke stroked the pinto mare she normally rode. “Hi there, Beanie.” The horse’s name was Full o’ Beans, but everyone abbreviated it. Enjoying the smell of horse and the feel of rough, warm skin under her palm, Brooke watched Robin introduce Jake to a buckskin gelding called Sage. As Jake tentatively let the horse smell his hand, then patted the animal, Brooke wondered how much of his caution was an act. Was it possible th
at Jake, the man who hunted the toughest criminals, was nervous around horses?
With Robin instructing him on how to mount, he put his left foot in the stirrup, reached up to grasp the saddle, then paused, as if the task was beyond him.
Robin touched his upper arm, just below the sleeve of his golf shirt. “You have muscles,” she said firmly. “Use them.”
With a surprised laugh, Jake tugged himself up, swung his leg over, and landed in the saddle.
Brooke mounted easily and Robin vaulted onto the back of her bay mare, Concha. They started off across the barnyard at a walk, Robin riding beside Jake, issuing instructions. Brooke trailed behind, smiling. Last summer, she’d been the one learning from this talented girl.
Robin took them along a dirt service road first, then moved ahead of Jake to lead the way onto a well-used trail.
Brooke watched Jake’s back. When he played Arnold, he slumped a little, which disguised his size, muscularity, and strength. Now, on the back of a horse, his body fell naturally into Western riding posture, which, she’d learned, was more relaxed than the straight-backed style of English riders. She could see him getting the feel of his mount, starting to move as if they were one being.
When the path widened, she moved up beside him and asked softly, so Robin couldn’t overhear, “How does it compare to being on a motorcycle?”
“Slow,” he responded with a grin. “But there are some similarities. Have to say, I like the hat better than a helmet.”
“Wait until you race across a field with the wind in your hair.”
His eyes brightened. “You do that? Brooke, the cautious one?”
“Well, I don’t race as fast as Robin, but yes. It’s such a free feeling.”
