"The lady said she wasn't interested." A dark suede arm swung, its fist smashing into Donovan Skidmore's face. He slumped to the ground.
Bren didn't have to look directly into his eyes to know who the voice belonged to. She hadn't known Rafe Langston for very long, but she was prepared for his fury at her stupidity.
"You okay, ma'am?"
Ma'am?
Bren straightened. "I can ex—"
He dipped his head. "I'm Rafe Langston. Can I take you home? Or call someone to get you?"
Too funny. He didn't recognize her. Bren raised her chin and looked him in the eyes. She didn't want to wait around for Jo to get there. "What time is it?"
He glanced at his gold watch. "Eleven thirty."
"I'll take that ride. But I need to call my friend and let her know she doesn't need to pick me up."
He nodded. "There's better reception outside." He stepped over Donovan's limp body and directed her around it.
Bren glanced back. "You didn't—"
"Kill the son of a bitch? No. Drunks fall harder. He'll sleep it off and wonder what Mack truck hit him in the morning."
He guided her through the bar and out the door, the air an instant relief to her overheated body. "I'll just be a minute," Bren said.
"Take your time."
Bren moved away from Rafe and dialed Jo's number. "Jo."
"I'm on my way."
"No. You don't need to come. Rafe's here. I'll have him drop me off at your house."
"What happened? You all right?"
"I'll tell you when I see you."
Bren snapped the phone shut. Mindful of her blasted heels, she walked toward Rafe carefully.
"Your friend okay with me taking you home?"
Bren smiled. "Actually, that's where you're dropping me off. But to be safe, I gave her your name and your full description."
"Smart move. I'm the black pickup." Rafe pointed several spaces down from where they stood.
Bren nodded and began to move in that direction. She took a cautious step down from the curb, her ankle rolled, and she stumbled. A silent curse left her lips.
Rafe's strong hand grabbed her arm, holding her in place. "Easy." He glanced down at her shoes, his eyes lingering on her legs before he fastened them on her face. "You walk like a newborn filly."
Bren grimaced. "Breaking them in."
"Or your ankle. Belinda? It's okay if I call you that?"
Tell him the truth.
She wanted to. But she enjoyed listening to his Texas drawl, and the possessive way he held her hand was the exact opposite of Donovan's—and that was a good thing.
"Sure." Oops that came out too Northern. "Sure, honey. I'm Belinda Harrington. I really appreciate you helping me out and all."
"I'm glad I could oblige." He frowned at her. "You think you can make it?"
"With your guiding hand, I'll be just fine."
Rafe nodded, kept his hand in place, and began to walk slowly with her by his side. He unlocked her door and assisted her onto the running board. After shutting her door, he came around to the driver's side and got in. He started the truck and sat back. "Where to, Ms. Belinda Harrington?"
"Just take Route 68 and I'll tell you how to get there."
"Sounds like a plan." He put the truck in Drive and turned on Route 68.
Bren chewed on her lip and stared out the window. The truth will set you free. The only problem was she had so many lies stored up inside her, if she opened her mouth the truth might not be the first thing that popped out. If she was going to tell him, she needed to do it soon. She had maybe seven minutes before they got to Jo's.
"Not all men take advantage of a beautiful woman."
"What?" She glanced over at him.
"What I mean is, it's still early." He nodded toward the clock in the dash. "Midnight."
So he liked blondes. And that made her mad. When she was a redhead, he didn't give her a second glance. "What do you have in mind?"
"I have a real nice house in Clear Spring. Been looking to do some entertaining." He glanced over and smiled. "I noticed you like Seven and Sevens."
Ah, he'd been watching her. "Sure, sweetie. You have a liquor cabinet at your place, I'm there."
He reached over and squeezed her knee, and she tingled inside, and then he took his hand away. Whoa. Back up. I did not experience a flutter of arousal for Rafe Langston. Then she sagged. He, on the other hand, was squeezing the knee of the blonde tart, Belinda Harrington, which made her angry the more she thought about it.
Bren grabbed her phone from her bag and texted Jo: Change of plans. He's taking me home. I'll fill you in tomorrow. She dropped her phone in her bag and settled back into the seat.
The truck turned left down Grace's driveway, her house disappearing in the distance when Rafe passed it, heading toward her childhood home. That irked her, too. He lived in her house. She glanced over at him, and her stomach fluttered. Damn it. She liked looking at him, strong jaw, rough with a couple days' growth of beard. Her gaze dropped to his lean legs in jeans, and she bit down on her lip.
Focus. Focus on what? On Rafe? Not good. She pulled her eyes away from his rugged profile. What exactly was the plan here? He liked blonde Belinda. He said not all men took advantage of a beautiful woman. So she'd test it out.
Chapter Nine
Rafe helped her from the truck. She steadied herself on the running board and took a tentative step down and wobbled. He grabbed her arm. "Darlin', it'd be a lot faster if I carried you."
She wrapped her arms around his neck, her wondrous blue eyes staring up at him. He took that as a yes and scooped her up against his chest. The tight black skirt rode even higher, and he gritted his teeth at her shapely, smooth legs dangling from his arm.
Rafe smiled to himself and carried her the rest of the way. He sat her down gingerly, unlocked the door, and stepped back. "Ladies first."
She crossed the threshold and swayed. He curved his arm around her and leaned back to shut the door. "Maybe you should take off those shoes."
She gazed up and didn't take those eyes off him. She stepped out of one shoe, then the other, and sank to just below his chin. "You're tall."
He didn't answer. Instead, he frowned at her. "You really shouldn't be traveling alone." He brushed back a long, gold curl, amazed how soft it felt against his fingers. "What kind of business did you have at the Bear Claw?"
She pursed her shimmering pink lips, and his dick swelled. "None. Just checking out the sights."
He caressed her neck and let his hand brush lazily against the soft swell of her breasts. His balls tightened when she rolled those pouty, kissable lips in and a small whimper escaped through her mouth. What did his mama always say? Play with fire... His eyes lit on her red lacy top, his fingers tingling as he traced the design of the lace that exposed her pale skin, and he forgot about his mama's warning. "You were turning that guy on in there, Belinda."
"Not intentionally," she drawled innocently.
"No?" He cocked his head.
She shook hers.
Rafe reached up and ran his fingers through her golden hair. And marveled again at how soft it felt through his fingers. Gripping it tighter, he yanked real hard and didn't flinch when it came free.
"Ouch!" Her hands flew to her head, tentatively feeling around for the mass of blonde hair that was no longer there.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" he yelled, and his dick that had stretched to massive proportions began to recede with his anger. Hell, he knew what she was doing, same as he—searching for answers into Tom's death. That made him pause. He and Bren Ryan thought alike, and that was scary as hell.
"You're an asshole." Bren tried to pull away from him.
"Not so fast, doll face."
Her face flushed. "Shut up."
"Isn't that what he called you?"
She closed her eyes, as if not seeing him would make him disappear, and then those bright blue, unnatural eyes opened and blazed back. "You let
that pig slobber all over me. You watched and enjoyed yourself."
"Darlin', it looked like you had it all under control." He reached up. "You have something in your eye."
She pulled back, the anger fading to concern. "I do?"
"Yeah. Hold still." Damn, but he was enjoying himself at her expense. He only had one stab at it, and she'd really be pissed if he poked her in the eye by mistake. There was a teaching lesson in there somewhere. But if he was wrong, she'd probably kick him in the balls. He latched onto a fluttering lash and yanked.
"Ouch!" She covered her eye with her hand.
The one brow he could see furrowed, and Rafe quickly pushed her back against the wall, averting a direct hit with her knee into his groin.
"That bastard could have raped you. What's wrong with you, Bren? You have two boys to look after. You had no business in a bar like that." He made a point of eyeing her breast and tried like hell to ignore the tightness inside him returning. "Looking like a hooker. I thought you had more smarts."
"He wasn't even close. You overreacted." Her chin rose, and she shot him a defiant look. "Did you just call me stupid?"
"Take it any way you like, darlin'."
"I can handle myself. Now get off me." She gave one solid push that amounted to a big nothing.
"Settle down, Bren. You could no more handle that jackass then you could me if I wanted to take advantage of you."
"You're wrong. Now get off."
Rafe reached up and pulled at a bobby pin. A long, deep red strand of hair slipped down to rest against her bare shoulder.
Her eyes darted toward it and then back to him. "What—"
He reached up again and carefully pulled at several more bobby pins until her hair spilled down to caress her soft, pale skin. If she didn't say uncle soon, his plan was going to backfire.
Her mouth opened slightly.
Damn. As much as he wanted to touch her, to kiss her, he knew he couldn't let that happen.
Not this redhead. Not this town. Not this lifetime.
He pressed up against her thighs, his chest bumping up against her sweet, pert breasts. Come on, darlin', say uncle. She straightened, but didn't push him away. If she shoved back, and he prayed she did, he'd let her go.
But he should have known better than to test Bren Ryan's resolve. She'd been through hell, and she was still fighting. He admired her for that. Tom was a lucky man, the poor bastard.
Rafe cupped the back of her neck and tilted her head up so he could look into those eyes of hers and cursed under his breath when he was met with that ridiculous shade of blue staring back. "Your brown eyes are a lot prettier."
She bit down on her lip and didn't say a word, only stared back at him.
Damn it, Bren! She was tougher than a one-legged Indian in an ass-kicking contest. Rafe brushed her lips with his thumb and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. Nothing. He reached back and slid his arm down her back and pulled her to him and squeezed a firm, rounded cheek and damned if she didn't move closer. His hand traveled up her rib cage and stroked the side of her breast. He angled his head and pondered the sensual curve of her kissable lips. He groaned and let go. She fell back against the wall.
"You win," Rafe said, stripping out of his jacket and hanging it on the hall tree.
Her eyes widened when he unbuttoned his shirt. He wanted to smile at her avid curiosity. She wouldn't get a full view; he was wearing a T-shirt. He took off his shirt and pressed it against her chest. "Put it on, and meet me in the kitchen. We need to talk."
"I have a coat."
"If you did, it's still in the bar."
"It wasn't even mine." She took the shirt and let her head fall against the wall. "My life truly sucks."
"If you want to use the bathroom, it's around the—"
"I know where it is." She bore into him.
"When you're done, I'll be in the kitchen." Rafe turned down the hall and tried like hell not to laugh.
Bren stepped into the powder room and hit the light switch. Her body still tingled where Rafe had touched her. The thought of his strong, rough fingers against her cheek made her close her eyes. But Tom's face surfaced, and her eyes sprang open along with the wound that she was alive, and Tom wasn't.
She shivered, slipped into Rafe's shirt, and buttoned it up. Feeling around her hair, she grabbed the last bobby pin and pulled it free. She plucked off the remaining fluttering lash and dropped it in the trash can. Taking one last look at what remained of Belinda Harrington, she popped her blue eyes out and let them wash down the sink.
Bren grabbed her black bag off the floor where she'd dumped it when they came in and moved toward the kitchen.
Rafe sat at a small table in a white T-shirt that hugged his muscular chest. He sipped from a steaming mug; another matching mug, also steaming, sat across from him. "Tea?"
"You drink tea?"
"Since I was a baby."
Still chilled, Bren sat down and added sugar, then wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic mug.
Rafe's expression softened. He popped open a tin and pushed it toward her. "Cookie?"
Bren's mouth watered at the aroma of homemade snickerdoodles. "Cowboys bake?"
"You against men in the kitchen?"
"Nope." She dipped one in her tea. Taking a bite, she savored the taste as it blended with the sweet tea. "Delicious."
Rafe sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Promise me you won't go off on any more wild-hair adventures until you consult with me first."
"It wasn't—"
He put up a hand. "No arguing. Just promise me."
The concerned expression in his striking green eyes unnerved her. She wasn't Rafe Langston's charity case, but she wasn't a fool either. Tonight might have turned out differently without his interference.
"Promise."
His shoulders relaxed, and he leaned forward. "Do you want to tell me what you were doing tonight?"
"Gathering intelligence."
"I'm assuming this has something to do with your husband's death."
Bren took another sip of her tea. "I told you Wes killed Tom. I need proof."
"Did that include using your body to get it?" His voice rose, and he gripped his mug with both hands.
His insinuation prickled. What did he know, anyway? She pushed her mug away and stood. "I don't need this. Believe what you want. I'm going home."
His hand reached out and grabbed hers. "Don't. I'm sorry." His dark brows furrowed together. "I wanted to kill him."
Bren's stomach rolled with the harshness in his voice for Donovan Skidmore's behavior toward her. "He didn't hurt me."
His lips thinned. "I should have acted sooner."
Bren sat down. "How'd you know it was me?"
"Your hands." He turned her hand in his. "They're not prissy and painted." His thumb rubbed across her clear, blunt nails.
That's what I forgot—my nails.
He brushed the same thumb against her fingers. "They're small, yet strong."
Damn it! Just his touch and the smooth drawl in his voice made her stomach flutter. Bren pulled her hand away. "It was dark."
"You were busy. And I was close enough."
Bren blushed, remembering what she'd done with Donovan to get information about the drop-off. She reached for her black bag. "It paid off." She pulled out the tape recorder. "He didn't have anything to offer about Tom's death. But he knows Lyle Jameson."
"The sale barn owner?"
Bren nodded. "That's why he was there." She picked up the tape recorder. "It's all right here." She hit the Play button and set the recorder in the middle of the table.
Rafe settled back in his seat to listen.
Bren's faux Southern accent and Donovan's heavy breathing made her cheeks warm with renewed embarrassment. Donovan's raspy voice filled the kitchen, "Lick my ear, doll baby."
Rafe stiffened in his chair and shot an angry hand out to silence the tape recorder. "How about you give me the short version?"
> Relieved she didn't have to listen to Donovan's creepy voice, she told Rafe about the horses. He listened intently, polishing off three cookies as he finished his tea.
"I did it for the horses," she said.
He frowned. "I figured." He stood up and stretched. "What's your plan?"
She smiled. "Nail Wes. I know him. There's fifteen that Donovan has. That number could rise. Plus, whatever Wes has on hand. He'll only spring for one trailer. He's cheap."
"Which means he'll go against regulation."
"Then I'll have him."
"It won't prove he killed Tom."
"No. But when Kevin cuffs him and hauls him off to jail, I'll have the satisfaction of him knowing it was because of me."
"They'll only keep him overnight. Then what?"
Bren sat back in her chair. She had a feeling he wasn't going to like her answer.
"If losing six horses was enough to make him kill Tom, then losing fifteen would make me an even bigger target."
Chapter Ten
Rafe pulled up the driveway, shaking his head. He'd finally drilled some sense into Bren's brain last night before dropping her off. She wasn't to make a move on Wes without him. The woman had guts; he'd give her that. But guts could get you—
"What the hell?"
Smoke billowed against a darkening night sky above his house, and he hit the accelerator hard. The orange glow flickering in the distance was most assuredly on his property. Rafe pulled up to the house, jumped out of the truck, and left it running. He'd bought a fire extinguisher when he moved in. Didn't plan on using it, but the insurance of having it was one less thing to worry about when owning a home. Not that he planned on owning a home long—at least not in Maryland.
Rummaging through the hall closet, he scratched his head. Where did he put the damn thing? Broom closet. He headed in the kitchen, and, sure enough, he found what he was looking for.
Once back in his truck, he laid the fire extinguisher on the floor, and reached into the back seat. Fires don't just set themselves. He grabbed the rifle and box of shells he'd picked up in town, and placed them on the seat next to him. Rafe drove onto the grass and across the field. Once he got close, he reduced his speed and turned off his lights.
Relentless (Fallon Sisters Trilogy: Book #1) Page 11
