COWBOY WITH A BADGE

by Margaret Watson

  His eyes darkened as he watched her. "I have a feeling that I'm going to be fond of him, too," he murmured.

  Kneeling in front of her again, he dropped the soft folds of the shirt over her head. "I think this will work." The shirt drifted over her chest and pooled around her waist as he slipped his hands beneath it and began to unbutton her shirt.

  When the last button gave way, he eased the shirt off her shoulders. In the process, the backs of his hands brushed her bare breasts, and fire shuddered through her. His hands stilled and his eyes turned to molten silver. A muscle quivered in his jaw, then he carefully drew her shirt down her arms and tossed it onto the floor.

  "Can you get your arms through the sleeves by yourself?" His voice was a low, husky growl.

  Her ribs protested, but she managed to slide her arms through the sleeves. Devlin knelt in front of her, watching, and her hands began to tremble as she unbuttoned her shorts.

  "What about this?" He fingered the velvet cord around her neck.

  "I don't take that off," she said.

  It looked like he wanted to ask her more, but instead he drew her gently to her feet. "Let me help you with the rest of your clothes." He held her against him as he reached down to pull her shorts off. When the shorts had been pulled away and tossed into a pile with the shirt, he held her for a moment before he let her go.

  The moment was only as long as a heartbeat, but the soft material of her night shirt was no barrier against the heat and hardness of his body. Desire curled inside her, shocking her with its intensity. Devlin stepped quickly away from her, pulling back the quilt and blanket from her bed.

  "Here you go."

  He eased her between the sheets, then pulled the blanket back over her. The air-conditioned room suddenly felt far too hot and Devlin was far too close. Mortified that she would respond to his touch when he was only being kind, she closed her eyes.

  "Thank you for all your help," she whispered.

  "You're welcome."

  She could feel him studying her, but she refused to open her eyes. With any luck, he'd assume she was simply tired.

  "Is there anything else you need?"

  "Nothing, thanks."

  The silence in the room was far too loud. Finally she forced herself to look at him. He stood over her, watching, a brooding look in his eyes. "I'll be by to see how you're doing later," he said.

  "All right."

  He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something else, then turned and walked out of the room.

  Carly listened to his footsteps descend the stairs, listened to him talking in a low voice to Melba. Then the front door opened and closed. Devlin was gone.

  She should have agreed to go back to his ranch with him, her traitorous heart murmured. Trying to banish the thought, she rolled onto her uninjured side and closed her eyes again. The daylight outside her window was fading to darkness before she finally fell asleep. And when she dreamed, it wasn't of a car skidding off the road and rolling onto its side. She dreamed of a man with strong hands and a gentle touch who cradled her against his chest.

  * * *

  Devlin eased into Carly's room and looked down at her, sleeping in the moonlight. Faint bruises were beginning to show on the left side of her face, and the bandage over the cut on her scalp was a stark white in the darkness. He pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down.

  Melba walked up the stairs and stopped at the door. Sticking her head into the room, she whispered, "How is she?"

  Devlin stepped out into the hall. "Still sleeping. I'll keep an eye on her."

  The older woman studied him, then finally gave a small smile. "You do that, Sheriff. I'm an old woman. I need my sleep."

  He nodded gravely. "She's part of an accident investigation. I need to make sure she's all right."

  Melba's sharp eyes softened for a moment, then she nodded once. "I'll see you in the morning." She turned and rounded the corner. A moment later he heard the sound of her door clicking firmly shut.

  He settled back into the chair, content to watch Carly's slow, even breathing. As the night quieted and the old house creaked its way into slumber, Devlin shifted on the hard chair. Carly hadn't moved. Finally, his eyes burning with fatigue and his muscles cramping, he stood up and opened the closet door. Pulling out a blanket and pillow from the shelf, he stretched out on the floor, next to the bed. His last thought before drifting off to sleep was that he'd better wake up before Carly did in the morning.

  The sound of blankets shifting next to him dragged Devlin out of the depths of sleep. He sat up quickly, relieved to find that Carly wasn't awake yet. But she was stirring. Hastily folding the blanket, he replaced it and the pillow in the closet, then moved to stand next to her bed. The sunrise outside her window painted the sky over the mountains with spectacular pinks and reds, and the rosy light that seeped into the room kissed her face with color.

  Curls of her dark red hair hid her bruises, and he brushed the hair away from her face and stared down at the ugly marks. They were a little darker this morning, but no additional bruises had appeared. He watched her sleep for a while longer, then slipped out of the room.

  Melba was moving around in the kitchen, and he poked his head in the door. "I'll be back in a while," he told her. "Carly is still sleeping, and I have some things to take care of. Call the office if she wakes up and have Marge radio me."

  Melba turned around to face him. "I'll do that, Sheriff." She watched him carefully. "I hope that what happened to her isn't connected to that message someone left in her room."

  "I hope so, too. That's one of the things I'm going to check on."

  Melba turned back to the stove. "If she wakes up, I'll tell her you'll be back."

  With one last glance up the stairs, he strode out of the house and climbed into his truck, already thinking about what he needed to do. It might be early, but everyone he needed to talk to would already be up and busy. And the first stop would be the service station where they'd towed Carly's Jeep.

  A few hours later he knocked at Melba's door again. The older woman opened the door, and nodded toward the dining room. "She's up and having breakfast."

  Carly turned to face him as he walked into the dining room, her movements slow and deliberate. "Good morning, Devlin," she said.

  He pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. "How are you feeling?"

  She shrugged, and he saw a flicker of pain in her eyes at the movement. "About how you'd expect. Like I got the worst of an encounter with a truck. But I took some aspirin, and I'm sure it'll kick in soon."

  "Didn't Doc Ellis give you some pain pills?"

  "He did, but I have no intention of taking them. They make me too groggy. Aspirin will work just fine."

  "Just not as well."

  "Well enough. I have a lot to do today. I have to arrange to get the car towed, and call the rental company and have them deliver another one, for starters."

  "I took care of that. Jam Peters has already taken a look at your car. The rental company said they probably wouldn't be able to get another Jeep here until the day after tomorrow."

  "Well. Thank you." She set the piece of toast carefully on her plate. "You've been busy. You didn't have to do any of that, you know."

  "I know." He watched the struggle in her face between being glad for the help and being mortified that she'd needed it. "It was an easy thing to do, Carly," he said gently. "It wasn't a problem at all."

  "Thanks," she muttered again. "So I'm stuck in town for the next two days?"

  "What were you planning? A hike into the mountains? Maybe an overnight camp-out?" He felt his temper rise and struggled to control himself. "You're staying in bed, at least today."

  "I'm afraid not. I don't have the time to stay in bed. And I'm a lot better." She gave him a bright smile. "Really."

  "Carly, you were injured in a car accident yesterday. You've got to hurt like hell today. There's nothing so important that you have to run out and get back to work today."

&n
bsp; "It's important to me." She turned back to her toast. "Well, think about this. That accident of yours wasn't any accident. Someone meant for you to get hurt." He watched the shock fill her face with grim satisfaction. "How important is your precious story now?"

  He hadn't meant to tell her so baldly, but she'd made him angry and he'd blurted out the truth. And maybe it was better that she was shocked. She needed to think about what she was doing.

  "What?" she whispered. "What are you talking about?"

  "There were bolts driven into the sides of all four of your tires. Jam Peters told me that someone could have done it in a few seconds. And once you started driving, it was only a matter of time before one of them blew out. With the curving roads and mountains around Cameron, your accident could have been a hell of a lot worse than it was." His voice was grim. "It's gone beyond the message-on-the-mirror stage. Thank God you weren't hurt too badly, but what's going to happen next time?"

  She'd dropped her toast onto her plate and was staring at him. Her face was pale but her eyes were filled with determination. "I think it must mean that I'm touching a nerve somewhere. Someone obviously doesn't like what I'm doing."

  "There's an insight," he said with disgust. "Carly, you need to forget about this story and leave Cameron. I don't know if it's because of what you're doing, or if someone just has a grudge against reporters, but you're obviously in danger here." His heart ached at the idea, but he told himself firmly that it would be best for everyone. Including his heart.

  She stared at him, disbelief in her eyes. "You're not serious, are you?"

  "Of course I'm serious. Someone tried to kill you." His voice was stiff.

  "And you think I should leave, just forget about it?" Her voice rose. "What kind of law enforcement officer are you? Instead of sweeping it under the covers, you should be investigating what happened."

  "What do you think I've been doing all morning? I'm not trying to ignore what happened to you. I'll get to the bottom of it, and the person responsible will be arrested. But in the meantime, it would be safer for you to be out of harm's way."

  "I don't want to be out of harm's way. I want to do my job." She lifted her chin, a mulish look in her eyes. "And that's what I'm going to do."

  "You're going to pursue this story, even though it could get you killed?" He heard the anger in his voice and struggled to control it.

  Carly looked back down at the plate on the table. "Yes. And it's not going to get me killed. I'll be more careful."

  "How can you be more careful when you have no idea who's behind your accident?" he demanded. "It could be anyone in Cameron."

  When she looked back up at him, her eyes were filled with determination. And something more. Something painfully, achingly vulnerable. "I can't stop, Dev."

  He could resist the reporter, the bright, self-confident professional who knew exactly what she wanted. He wouldn't concede her an inch. But he had no defense against the vulnerable woman.

  "What are you going to do next?" he asked, his voice filled with resignation.

  "I was on my way out to Phil Hilbert's ranch when I had the accident. I'd like to talk to him. But until my car is delivered, I'll do more research at the newspaper office."

  "I'll drive you out to Hilbert's place. Tomorrow," he said firmly. "You need to take it easy today."

  "Thank you." Her gaze searched his face for a moment. "Why are you doing this, Dev? I thought you wanted me to stop."

  "I do want you to stop. But it's pretty obvious that you're not going to listen to reason. It's my job to make sure you're safe while you're in Cameron, and the best way to keep an eye on you is to take you where you want to go."

  "So this is business for you." Her green eyes dared him to deny it.

  "Do you want to make it personal?" He leaned closer, watching her. "If so, let's get real personal. Why are you pursuing this story? You've got all the details you need for your article. So why do you want to talk to Phil Hilbert? And I'll bet you're planning on talking to my family too, aren't you?"

  He smiled in grim satisfaction at the look of shocked surprise in her eyes. "Believe me, Carly, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out. So yeah, this is business. It's going to stay that way until you make it personal."

  Her green gaze held his for a moment, then dropped down to the plate of crumbs in front of her again. "Thank you for the offer," she said, her voice low. "I would appreciate a ride out to the Hilbert's ranch."

  A sharp stab of disappointment surged through him, and he struggled to suppress it. This was what he wanted, he told himself. A business relationship. He didn't need to get involved with a woman who kept secrets, a woman who didn't tell the truth.

  "I'll come by later to see how you're doing," he muttered.

  She gave him a bright smile. "Thanks, but I'm sure I'll be fine. I feel much better already. I'll see you tomorrow."

  "I'll see you later this afternoon."

  "Fine. I'll be around." She angled her chin higher. "I wouldn't want you to neglect your business obligations."

  "I wouldn't dream of it."

  He stood up and headed for the door. Once outside, he hurried down the walk. And if he was running away, so be it.

  Because he wanted to make it personal. Very personal.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  «^»

  Carly stared down at the toast on her plate as she listened to the click of the front door closing. This was exactly what she wanted, she told herself. An impersonal, professional relationship with Devlin was the only kind she was interested in.

  Right. Her body still burned with memories of the passion they'd shared in the cave. And every time he was near, her whole body quivered with awareness.

  Straightening her shoulders, she took another gulp of coffee and pushed away from the table. It didn't matter. Her body might betray her, but it wasn't going to stop her from finding the truth about her brother. Even if she had to alienate Devlin in the process.

  She walked up the stairs slowly, her ribs aching. She wanted nothing more than to crawl beneath the covers of her bed and let the oblivion of sleep wash over her. But she couldn't allow herself to do that. Someone clearly didn't want her to pursue the story of Edmund Whitmore. And that meant she was getting close to the truth.

  When she opened her closet to retrieve her backpack, the blanket and pillow stored on the top shelf came tumbling to the floor. The blanket had been folded together carelessly, and she automatically refolded it before she replaced it.

  As she lifted the pillow to the shelf, a whiff of a subtle, masculine fragrance made her freeze. The pillow smelled like Devlin. Holding it closer, she inhaled deeply, only to find herself engulfed in his scent.

  She held the pillow a moment longer than necessary as she resisted the impulse to bury her face in it, then she carefully set it on top of the blanket. Had Devlin spent the night in her room, then left before she woke up?

  Her chest swelled as she stared at the pillow and blanket. For just a moment, her treacherous heart wanted to think he had, wanted to think he'd stayed and watched her, even though she'd told him she would be fine alone.

  Then she stepped back and gently closed the closet door. It was foolish to think that way, dangerous to want what she couldn't have. Lifting her backpack onto her uninjured side, she walked out of her bedroom without looking back.

  * * *

  The next morning, Carly slipped out of the house to sit on the porch swing and wait for Devlin. He'd stopped by the night before, just as he'd promised, but they hadn't had much to say to one another. His questions about her reasons for pursuing Edmund's story hung in the air, unspoken but potent. She couldn't bring herself to tell him the truth. Her heart told her she could trust Devlin, but her brain insisted he was a McAllister. And the McAllisters had been involved, somehow, in Edmund's death.

  He'd told her, stiffly, that he would pick her up early in the morning, then left. Now she waited for him, wandering what they woul
d say to each other on the drive out to the Hilbert ranch.

  A few minutes later his white police Blazer stopped at the curb. She stood up to walk out to the truck, but Devlin climbed out and came up the walk to escort her to the car.

  Because her heart had begun to pound at the sight of him, Carly scrambled for some way to deflect her feelings. "You didn't have to walk me to the car. I could have made it on my own."

  "I was taught that a gentleman doesn't sit in his car and wait for a lady to hop in." He slanted her a look that was impossible to read. "I guess that's another difference between Cameron and New York."

  She flushed. "That's not what I meant. I meant you didn't have to walk with me because you think I'm an invalid. I'm fine."

  "I'm glad to hear that." His hand on her back didn't budge. "Melba said you managed just fine this morning."

  Carly stopped and looked over at him. "Were you checking up on me?" she demanded.

  "I called to see if you were ready. She said you were sitting on the porch, so I told her not to disturb you." His voice was as smooth and emotionless as his eyes.

  "Sorry," she muttered. "I don't like anyone fussing over me."

  They'd reached the truck, but before he opened the door he turned her to face him. "You're here in our town by yourself, and you've had an accident. Someone is going to check on you. This isn't New York. People in Cameron care about their neighbors, and when someone needs help, everyone pitches it. So get used to it." His face hardened. "Unless it bothers you so much that you decide to leave."

  "I'm not going anywhere." She hesitated, then put her hand on his arm. It was as tense as a coiled spring. "I'm sorry, Devlin," she said again. "I'm not ungrateful, and it's very sweet of you to bother. Really it is." Swallowing hard, she forced herself to add, "I've never relied on anyone. If I seem ungrateful, it's because I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do."

  A thaw crept into his eyes. "I know. I'd already figured that out." His voice was low and husky.

  They stood inches apart. Her hand was still on his arm, and she could feel the heat and strength of him through the khaki shirt he wore. His breath fanned her face, and as she watched, his eyes darkened.