One tawny brow quirked, and his tall, lean body seemed to tense. “You’re so far away in New Mexico. But now that you’re finally a success, I’m sure you don’t have time for a small place like Macon too often.”
Dana wanted to spit, but said nothing.
Amazing how the man could take a compliment and still make it sound like an insult. Dana wanted to make a rude noise. “Undoubtedly.”
“Is Neal here?” Aunt Lucille asked, patting Gregory’s arm in that eternal mother gesture.
Gregory gestured behind her and Neal strode across the room as if he’d heard his stepmother’s call.
Smiling, Dana watched Neal approach with more pleasure. At thirty he was nine years younger than Gregory, yet his outlook seemed more mature. At five feet, eight inches tall and with a wiry runner’s build, Neal didn’t stand out. His tan slacks and light blue sweater went well with his silver blond coloring. He walked up to the small group with an engaging grin in place.
“Hey.” Neal waved. “I was almost late.”
He gave Gregory a smack on the shoulder that made his older brother grunt, and then he wrapped Aunt Lucille in a huge hug.
Neal gave Dana a genuinely affectionate kiss on the cheek. “Hey, Dana. I heard from some people in town, you had an adventure your first day here.”
“Adventures. Plural.”
“Multiple barrels of fun,” Neal said.
“You could say that.”
“Not eager to tell us about it?” Gregory asked.
Not you. Jerk. She wanted to smack him with the tiny, beaded black purse she’d left in the trunk of the car. No, that wouldn’t do. For a head as thick as his she’d need her trusty fanny pack.
Dana had learned from experience that if she told him about her encounter with the tornado, he’d find some way of ridiculing her. “I think there’s probably enough gossip flying about what happened that day.”
“Did you hear some?” Aunt Lucille asked.
“Not yet, but give it time. I’m sure I’ll be hearing the fish was this big.” Dana held her hands out so that fourteen inches filled the space between her hands.
Gregory shifted and crossed his arms. “I don’t know how Mom stands it here.”
His booming voice carried well, and several people heard him. Dana saw their expressions of consternation and didn’t blame them. Annoyed with his boorish behavior, she couldn’t resist asking, “Why are you in town, Gregory? Other than a nice little, boring vacation.”
“I was ready for a little time off. Plus, I’m helping a business in town update their computer system. Place is about a decade behind.”
Dana put her hands on her hips, and Gregory’s gaze shifted to the velour encasing her body. She wanted to tell him to keep his squinty gaze away. “That must be a chore. I’m surprised you subjected yourself to it.”
She knew her voice sounded sarcastic, yet she didn’t care. Gregory’s expression said he couldn’t tell if she teased him or meant each word.
Before he could retort, several townspeople strode forward to meet Dana. Sheriff Pizer, skinny as dental floss and dressed in Western wear, tipped his Stetson in an old-fashioned gesture. In a deep voice he introduced his equally thin wife.
“Mrs. Pizer is the chair for the committee that put together this gala,” Aunt Lucille said, grinning as wide and strong as if she’d won the prize at an auction. “She’s also heading up the end-of-summer picnic this week.”
“Will you be staying in town long?” Mrs. Pizer asked Dana, voice starchy. “We still need volunteers for several of the booths at the picnic.”
Dana wanted to grimace, but managed to hold back. She didn’t volunteer when working on a book, but since she was here investigating her aunt’s house…what the hell?
“Are you chairing that committee as well?” Dana asked, injecting sweetness into her tone to eliminate her apprehension.
Mrs. Pizer sniffed. “No. Kerrie Di Mecio is coordinating that project.”
Dana nodded in relief and satisfaction. “I’ll be seeing her sometime tonight.”
A young woman of about twenty-two strode up to the group. Her attire included a western- style shirt, bolo tie, broomstick skirt, crap-kicker boots and a beautiful smile.
Dana didn’t trust the smile, for it came with a gaze that passed over her, stopped, and assessed. Analyzed, Dana decided, as if she saw an enemy. The young woman had thick curls that cascaded down her back in a porno-queen style. Her pale, clear skin and dark brows made a striking contrast with her hair.
“Jenny,” Aunt Lucille said. “How are you? Dana, this is Jenny Pizer.”
Jenny’s fingers felt hot against Dana’s and her grip verged on painful. Dana slipped her hand from the other woman’s with urgency. Dana almost looked down at the gold ring on her right hand to see if she had permanent indentations in her fingers.
Sheriff Pizer slipped his arm around the woman. “My daughter.”
“I hear you’re going back to college this fall to complete your degree,” Aunt Lucille said.
Jenny’s gaze zipped around the room and settled on Lucille. “Stanford. University of Wyoming just wasn’t the place for me.”
Mrs. Pizer’s smile took on self-assured proportions. “We were delighted when Jenny learned she’d been accepted. Of course, we’d love it if she stayed in Macon, found a nice man and settled down.”
Jenny leveled a somewhat aggravated gaze on her mother, then hid it under a smile.
“Good God, no,” Gregory said. “There aren’t any eligible men in Macon for a woman with the brains to attend Stanford.”
Pig. Dana imagined braining him with the nearest chair.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Jenny said, drawling her answer.
Curious, Dana watched Gregory and Jenny’s gazes catch and hold. A prickling warning stirred through Dana. She didn’t understand where the feeling came from and shoved it aside as an aberration.
“Want to dance, Jenny?” Neal asked.
Jenny seemed to hesitate, her gaze skimming Gregory’s form once before nodding. “Sure.”
Mrs. Pizer’s nose seemed to wiggle like a rabbit’s for a second before settling back into its thin, hawk like demeanor.
Soon the little gathering broke up, and Gregory traveled the room in search of conversation and no doubt female company.
Dr. Eric Dawes came by and appeared almost edible in a blue flannel shirt tucked into slender-fitting jeans.
“You look great,” Eric said to Dana after kissing Aunt Lucille on the cheek and then shaking Dana’s hand.
“Thank you, but I feel overdressed.” She scanned the room and saw an abundance of women dressed in denim, suede; you name it. Anything but velour.
Eric looked bemused, and she knew she’d hit a topic women understood all too well and most men tried to ignore.
Aunt Lucille rescued him. “She stands out in the crowd. I think it’s a lovely dress.”
Dana wanted to say conspicuous wasn’t always a good thing. She directed the conversation another way. “Better watch that flannel, Dr. Dawes. Everyone will think you’re in competition with Marshall.”
Eric laughed and his eyes held inner warmth. “I don’t even see him here tonight.”
Dana tried not to feel disappointment at the news, but it arrowed through her anyway. She kept a tight hold on her expression.
“Come to think of it, he does wear a shocking amount of flannel, doesn’t he?” Aunt Lucille asked, tapping her chin with her index finger. “Let’s see, Christmas is in a few months. We’re going to have to do something about that boy’s wardrobe, Dana.”
“We?” Dana almost squeaked.
Aunt Lucille winked, then took Eric’s forearm. “Come on, dear, let’s have a dance. The music seems to have slowed to my pace.”
Standing against the rough, log wall, Dana stared at the vast room. Wallflower for the evening. Dana didn’t care; she’d rather hang near the door and hope for an easy escape. She sighed. Despite everything she’d hear
d about welcoming small towns, she felt the stranger through and through. Nothing fatal, of course. Just boring and—
“May I have this dance?” The deep voice rolled over her like silk and honey.
She hadn’t noticed the stranger’s approach from the side, and when she gazed at him her mouth almost dropped open. Holy Toledo. Incredible broad shoulders filled his navy and red flannel shirt. The rest of him had been poured into new blue jeans and cowboy boots.
The devil on her shoulder asked, “What is it with the men of Macon? Did they own stock in the flannel industry?” The angel on her other shoulder asked, “Who cares? At least they know how to wear their jeans.”
His wild black hair, shiny and wavy, tossed about his shoulders like he’d arrived in a windstorm. His angular face defined rugged, utter masculinity. Dark chocolate eyes sparkled with a fire that made her breath hitch for a moment.
“Um…yes,” Dana managed to croak. “I’d love to dance.”
As he led her onto the dance floor, she liked the way he kept a respectful distance. Like he’d wait to know a woman before trying any funny business. His warm, big hand cradled her fingers and his other hand cupped her waist.
“I’m Logan Reece. I’m a good friend of Brennan Marshall’s. He’s told me all about you.”
Alarm bells pealed in Dana’s head. “Hmm. That’s interesting considering he doesn’t know all about me.”
Logan’s mouth moved into a small smile that disappeared in a flash. “Let me rephrase that. He said you’re in town for awhile, living at your aunt’s house.”
“Ah, I see. How long have you known him?”
“Since high school.”
Yeah. When you were both gawky, pimply, awkward sorts? As if! She doubted either man had experienced an awkward childhood. Dana’s curiosity flamed. As they turned about the crowded floor, she glanced around. No sign of Marshall.
“He’s not here.” Logan grinned, a sinful concoction that no doubt drove women within inches of lunacy. To her surprise, his handsome face didn’t fire either her imagination or her libido the way—
Oh, no, Dana. Don’t go there. You will not think of Marshall that way now or in the future if you know what’s good for you. Nada. Nein. Nope.
“Is he on duty?” she asked before she could stop herself.
Logan’s big shoulders lifted, then fell. “I’m not sure. For all I know he might have a hot date.”
His grin teased, but her stomach did an elevator drop into the basement. “Oh.” Several moments went by before she spoke again. “So Marshall mentioned me to you?”
“Yeah. Once. Then Aunt Lucille said you’d be at this party. I ran into her in the grocery store the other day.”
Oh, man! Aunt Lucille had already planned for her to attend this dance days ago. “Oh, oh. She’s not trying to set you and me up, is she?”
His thick brows went up. “Maybe. She did say she hoped you wouldn’t be lonely while you were here. You looked pretty unhappy standing against the wall.”
Nothing like being direct. “I was bored.”
The dance ended, but another slow tune started and he kept a grip on her hand. She went along, deciding his good humor and pleasant personality far outweighed her stepcousin, Gregory. She glanced at the sidelines and saw Gregory eyeballing her and Logan with a strange glare in his eyes.
“Do you live in Macon?” she asked.
“I grew up on a ranch outside of Macon. Now I’m parked in Atlanta for the time being. Marshall asked me to help him with a case.”
Dana’s suspicion-o-meter rose several degrees. “Don’t tell me you’re a cop too?”
For the first time he appeared uncertain, and the doubt flickered in his eyes for a second before vanishing. “Not exactly. Not anymore.”
“That case wouldn’t happen to involve Aunt Lucille and a haunted bed, would it?”
He nodded, surprising her that he’d admit it so fast. Niggling alarm went through her. “Wait a minute. He must think something is drastically wrong if he’s asking for outside help.”
Logan’s face went as stiff and immobile as a log. “You’ll have to ask him.”
“But he’s not here, and I’m not that patient. Now you tell me what’s up or I might have to hurt you.”
He laughed, a rich sound that rippled and flowed. “He said you might tell me that. And you know, I think you probably could hurt me.”
“I will if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
“I can’t do that. Not unless Marshall gives me the go ahead or tells you himself. It’s confidential.” He leaned in closer, and his warm breath touched her ear. “I’m not going to say anything in a room full of people.”
“He’s right, Dana.”
Dana jumped, startled by Marshall’s sudden appearance behind her.
Logan released her, and they stood in the middle of the dance floor while other people boogied around them to a faster tune.
Marshall turned his attention to his friend. “Thanks for keeping her out of trouble.”
Logan gave Marshall an irreverent grin and salute. “My pleasure.”
Dana planted her hands on her hips. “Keeping me out of trouble? You make me sound like a toddler in need of corralling.”
Marshall shrugged as if to say, ‘if the shoe fits’. Dana stood, open mouthed, as the dancing, noise, and partying went on around her. Logan, like a dark phantom, faded into the crowd.
Marshall stepped forward and without preliminaries tugged her close. Dana’s hands found purchase at his powerful shoulders. His arms slid around her waist, and before she knew it he had her plastered closer to him than peel on a banana. Taking a chance, she gazed into his eyes. Warm, sinful flutters entered her stomach and made her want to shift closer to him.
She licked her lips. “I thought you had to work.”
“Just got off.”
“Did you really send Logan to keep an eye on me?” She wanted to feel indignation, but couldn’t.
“Not exactly. He said he’d be here, and because of your case, he’s keeping a close watch for strange activity. You qualify as strange activity.”
“Thanks, Marshall. Remind me to write you out of my will.”
He nodded toward Aunt Lucille, who did a slow waltz with an older man. “I really want him to keep tabs on Lucille, but he’ll also keep a watch on you.”
He tugged her against him, and it forced her arms to slip around his neck. Moments ago she’d appreciated Logan keeping his distance. Now she allowed Marshall to press tight against her from chest, to groin, to thighs, to knees. Dana shivered, but not with cold or distaste. She stifled a groan of pleasure. Maybe she could give in, for a while, to the overwhelming physical attraction churning in her gut. Perhaps one night of—
No!
Her excruciating relationship with Frank Bevans all those years ago had served to spoil her on men for the last several years. Besides, a one-time bed session wouldn’t solve the intermittent craving she had for male companionship. She hadn’t known a man’s lovemaking in almost ten years, but her body hadn’t forgotten what it felt like. Something deep inside always reminded her of her sexuality and that she hadn’t lost her human needs along with her broken heart. Dana eased away from old memories. Her broken heart mixed with the shame and guilt she experienced when she thought of Frank.
Not a good time to reminisce.
Marshall’s gaze slid down to her low neckline and warmth filled her face. He swept a heated glance over her that almost melted her knees. Her feelings jumped from amazed to excited. Inhaling deeply, she caught his warm, spicy scent. How can I think about a man’s crazy-making sensuality at a time like this? But she did. His eyes held a thousand mysteries and made her want his protective embrace. Brennan Marshall inspired fantasies of satin and velvet pillows piled high by a roaring fireplace, popcorn and hot cider. She didn’t dare go further than that. Venturing deeper into fantasy meant visions of him naked in bed. With her.
No. That went way over the top.
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He nodded toward her neckline. “That’s an interesting piece of jewelry. I haven’t seen too many women wear a ring on a necklace.”
She almost touched her Dad’s ring. “Thanks.”
“Old boyfriend’s college ring?”
Dana let out a tiny laugh. “No. Not hardly.”
She half expected him to probe for answers like a good cop would. Instead, he kept his mouth clamped shut.
When Clint Black and Lisa Hartman sang about love forever more, Marshall moved her a little faster, drawing her into a sinuous, sensual tempo. The man danced with a sexual rhythm that sent her libido into trip-hammer overdrive. Continual heat washed through her as his body slid against her in ways that made her want him.
Stop, Dana. Don’t give in to some odd hormone rush. It doesn’t make any sense.
“Are you going to stare at me like that all night?” she asked in defense. “Or do I have to drag that information out of you too?”
“Don’t try driving a hard bargain with me, Dana. Logan’s here as a consultant. That’s all you need to know.”
“What is he? A psychic?”
Marshall closed his eyes for a moment as if he might lose patience. When he opened his eyes, he slipped his right hand a little lower on the material covering her hips. Any lower and he’d cup her butt.
She doubted he’d do that in public, but the hint of the forbidden made her want to squirm. She made a tiny, uncontrollable shimmy with her hips.
His hand moved back to her waist. Damn! Damn!
“I don’t think he’s got a psychic bone in his body,” Marshall said.
“A sex therapist?”
He jerked his head back almost as if she’d slapped him. “What?”
Dana’s hands slid down to his shoulders. “A sex therapist. You know, they—”
“I know what a sex therapist is.” His eyes narrowed, his brows lowered. “Why would you think Logan is a sex therapist, for God’s sake?”
She shrugged. “Well, maybe we need someone to decipher the noises coming from the heart-shaped bed.” She dragged her gaze back to his and observed his heightened color. “Are you embarrassed, Marshall?”
“Why would I be embarrassed?”
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