Front Range Cowboys (5 Book Box Set)

by Evie Nichole

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Daphne did not know whether to be happy, sad, or just to feel crazy by the time she pulled up in front of The Players Club. This had been her refuge for so many years because she had worked here, and then Zach had remained a friend even after she had gotten her career going at the Abernathy Firm. Now she didn’t know what to think of the place.

  Standing on the curb out in front of the building, Daphne could not convince herself of any reason why Met Hernandez should not buy into the place. He was certainly well versed in bars. He probably had a ton of ideas and experience on what worked to draw a crowd. He held a sort of celebrity status in the community that would bring in people too. And maybe Met would finally be able to convince Ryan that the club needed a facelift.

  So, why was she feeling so unsupportive of this idea? Was it because Met was a borderline alcoholic anyway? Did she have some kind of lingering doubt that he would be able to handle the enticement of alcohol? Like he would stand behind the bar and drink all of the liquor? Or maybe she was afraid he would…

  “Are you going to stand out here all afternoon? Or are you going to come inside and talk?” Met called from the front doors.

  There it was. The little green monster of jealousy making her feel like crap as it whispered horrible things in her ear. Her career was in the toilet at the moment. She wasn’t even sure if she would have a job when this was all over. Just because she got rid of the Justin threat for Mr. Abernathy did not mean that he was going to be willing to say goodbye to his mistress just to save her job.

  In contrast, this cowboy who had washed out of the rodeo circuit had endless personal resources because of his very large, and very successful, family. It didn’t even matter that they were dysfunctional as hell. They were still rich and successful. In Denver, everyone knew the Hernandez Land & Cattle Company. There was even a billboard advertising their real estate company over on the side of the highway. So, now the washed-up cowboy was going to buy a club and turn in another success while Daphne’s life imploded around her. It wasn’t fair!

  “Come inside,” Met coaxed. “I promise I haven’t taken over and redecorated or anything. It’s not like that anyway.”

  Daphne straightened her spine until she thought it might snap. Then she marched up those front steps and entered the club before Met could say anything else to drive the wedge just a little deeper into her heart. She had loved this man. She did love this man. Why was she having such a hard time being happy for his successes?

  “Hello, Ryan,” Daphne said with forced pleasantness in her voice. She wanted everyone to think that she was doing just fine. That was imperative. “Hi, Zach.”

  “Hey, sweetie, are you all right?” Leave it to Zach to cut right to the chase. “Met told us that you’ve been having some pretty serious issues with your ex at work. That’s rough. I’m sorry.”

  “No big deal,” Daphne murmured. Then she looked right at the stranger standing a few feet away. The guy was absolutely nondescript in appearance. The guy wore plain jeans and a T-shirt, and had brown hair, brown eyes, and no memorable facial features. He was a study in neutral. “You must be the investigator. I’m Daphne Evans.”

  “Nick Rich.” He even had two first names. It was like he was trying hard not to exist. “And I do have some information that might interest you.”

  “What’s that?” Daphne asked eagerly. “I’m hoping to tie Weatherby to Justin. I think that’s who bought some of the photographs from Justin.”

  “I can’t say for sure about the photos,” Nick Rich said slowly. “But I can tell you that Weatherby and Justin met together the other night at Angelo’s Italian Restaurant. I can also tell you that your boss’s friend Carolina meets Justin there quite regularly.”

  “Whoa, really?” Daphne was ready to jump for joy. “So, basically, all of this crap is some fabrication of Justin’s imagination that he’s using to manipulate everyone.”

  “It would seem that way,” Nick Rich agreed.

  Met’s face was drawn up into a frown. “How do we get this little bastard to squirm?”

  “I think you could go after Weatherby first.” Nick pulled out a notebook. “I spoke with an Officer Keene at the police department about the latest incidents with the gasoline and the cardboard boxes. He says that their crime lab believes these incidents are related because the method used to put those together was the same one used in all of the previous attacks on Ms. Evans. The photograph on the box left at Ms. Evans’s home is the same angle and quality as the ones sold to the Tattler. And a source at the newspaper confirmed for me that Justin Sorenson was the photographer.”

  “They confirmed that?” Daphne wanted to scream with frustration. “Why would they confirm something like that? No. Why would they buy something like that?”

  Nick Rich tilted his head and stared at her in silence. In fact, all four men were staring at her in silence as though they did not want to point out the obvious.

  “Oh, all right!” she burst out. “I get it. I’m just pissed about it! The damage control we had to do because of that article is why I wound up violating Met’s trust.” She turned to look at him. Why did it feel as though she were beseeching him for forgiveness? She felt silly. “That’s the only reason I gave Carson that info on Widowmaker and your drinking, Met. I swear. I had to fix the damage done by that article in the Tattler. You want to talk about negative press? That would have done in your family’s entire plan to come off looking like the good guys.”

  “I understand,” Met said quietly. “I do. But right now, the important thing is that Justin doesn’t get away with stealing your career. That would most definitely make him a happy man. And I don’t know about you, but I’m inclined to want him to be miserable.”

  “Miserable is good,” she agreed.

  But that wasn’t all. There was something else. This wasn’t just about Justin. She had this horrible feeling that if she and Met didn’t talk about their relationship right now, then they never would. And it would just go on being one of those regrets she would have.

  And she would definitely come to regret it. There was no doubt in her mind about that. Met was a really great guy. A great guy. He was smart and weirdly honorable in that old-school cowboy chivalry kind of fashion. You just didn’t find men like him around very often. Not even in Denver. So, it seemed ridiculous to let this situation and the obvious misunderstanding that they’d had destroy the beauty of what had been growing between them.

  “Met.” She said his name in a whisper, but he heard her anyway.

  He was talking to Nick Rich. Both of them looked over at her when she spoke. Of course, Daphne didn’t need Nick’s attention. She needed Met’s attention. But at the moment, it didn’t look like she was going to get any privacy if she wanted to talk.

  Met was looking a bit skeptical as he spoke with the private investigator. “So, you think we can just waltz in and ask to talk to Captain Weatherby?”

  “I know you can.” Nick made a low noise of irritation. “Why does everyone in this town think the guy is some kind of deity? He’s a public official! Your tax dollars pay his salary.”

  “Met!” The word burst out of Daphne.

  Nick stared strangely at Daphne and then clapped Met on the shoulder. “I think you should probably let the lady have a few moments. I’ll meet you out in the car. I need to call your brother and a contact of mine at the police department. I want a heads-up of what’s going on before we get there.”

  Met nodded and then turned to face Daphne. Great. Now she had his full, undivided attention. Nick left the building. Zach and Ryan were busy arguing about Zach’s proposed changes, and now Met was standing right in front of Daphne.

  “So, were you going out and getting drunk every night?” She knew as soon as the words were out that it was probably one of the rudest and most aggressive ways she could go into the conversation.

  His gaze narrowed, and his blue eyes looked icy. “No, actually. I wasn’t going out every night.
That night at Cody’s was a one-off. It only happened the one time, and I didn’t actually intend to get drunk. I just downed a bottle of bourbon a little too fast.”

  “I’m sorry that happened with the article.” She felt so awkward. This was horrible. “It must have been really embarrassing.”

  “You think?” he shot back sarcastically. “Let me tell you. My mother was thrilled. Although those other two articles made up for it. I’ve had to listen to her gushing and waxing poetic about her very sensitive son ever since.”

  “I’m sorry about that too.” She sighed. They had both made mistakes. He hadn’t told her about the incident at Cody’s. But she hadn’t been upfront with him about the article. She could not think of another client she would have done that to. Most of them understood the concept of damage control. They went for it because that was what won them the sympathy of the masses. She hadn’t given Met any options.

  “I love you,” she whispered. “I really do. And I’m sorry. I didn’t call you. I didn’t return your messages. It was wrong, but I was just so upset when I got to work on Monday morning and was presented with that Tattler article. It was like a slap in the face.”

  “That would have been hard.” He sighed and shoved his fingers through his dark hair. “Look, I realize that I should have told you about the incident at Cody’s. It wasn’t one of my prouder moments. I got so wasted that I wound up lying on the floor in front of the bar. Cody had to call my older brother to come and get me. It was embarrassing. Seeing it immortalized in that gossip rag definitely didn’t make it better, but I didn’t even see that until the other articles came out on Thursday. My mom showed me all of them together.”

  “I’m sorry about Justin and the photographs.” Daphne gave a bitter chuckle and threw up her hands. “I don’t know why I have a right to talk to you about your barhopping or drinking or anything else. I’m the one with a psycho ex-boyfriend who is currently trying to ruin the lives of anyone and everyone I know.”

  “So, can we just agree that we’re going to put this behind us?” He was smiling when he spoke.

  The man was so handsome he could have convinced a nun to hang up her habit. All of that black hair and those brilliant blue eyes mixed together with the chiseled body to make one heck of a rocking hot specimen of a man. And he was asking her if they could just put this behind them and move on?

  “I’m so lucky to have you in my life, Met Hernandez,” Daphne said softly. She held her hand out, and he laced his fingers with hers without a single moment’s hesitation. “I hope you know that I want to be with you. I want to be in a relationship with you. I want to wake up beside you and go to sleep beside you and figure out all of this other crazy crap with you by my side too.”

  “I think that can most definitely be arranged.” Met’s smile held a hint of the devil. “Although you might have noticed that there is a trend in my family recently involving romantic attachments. We all seem to be getting ourselves hitched. So, it’s possible that this whole thing with you wanting to be with me is just because of some weird Hernandez pheromone.”

  “Oh, for shit’s sake!” This came from Zach, who was now watching them from across the club. “I’m going to love working with this guy. I can already tell.”

  Met pointed at Ryan. “You just need to get me a workup on the cost as soon as possible, please? And then we’ll get the rest of those details worked out.”

  “Will do.” Ryan waved to Met and Daphne. “You two should get moving. I think your investigator has already decided to start without you.”

  Met glanced toward the double glass doors that offered a minimal view of the street out front. There were a few more vehicles out there than there had been. Met groaned. “The guy called my brothers. He had to have! Great. Now all I’m going to hear about is how a sensitive man like me can’t handle a little conflict.”

  Daphne tried not to giggle since it was her article that had earned him the sensitivity label. But it was hard not to giggle and laugh at everything right now. Her life suddenly felt as though it were full of promise. She wasn’t alone in this craziness. She had Met. She had the Hernandez bunch, and she absolutely had resources she hadn’t even realized were available. It felt good.

  So, she took his hand in hers and marched toward the front doors. “Let’s go put our heads together and make a plan. Maybe if we’re lucky we can do some damage to Captain Weatherby when we put Justin in his place for good.”

  “That would be a nice switch,” Met agreed. “But I forgot something first.”

  She frowned. What could he have possibly forgotten? “What’s that?”

  Then Met took her in his arms and wrapped her in his embrace. He nudged her chin up so that she was gazing up at him. Then he lowered his lips to hers and took her mouth in a mind-numbing kiss that left her pretty much unable to think about anything else.

  His tongue gently touched her lips before moving inside her mouth to mate with hers. The two of them stood locked together, mouths meshed and hearts beating as one. And when they finally broke apart, Daphne was pretty sure that she would never be the same again. She was no longer just Daphne Evans. She was Daphne Evans—Met’s girl. And that was exactly what she wanted to be.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Met Hernandez had walked into his fair share of police departments. The Denver PD office, where Captain had his office, was a new experience altogether. Of course, it might have been the sheer number of people walking along with Met. Usually he was alone for what might be considered a walk of shame. This time he was accompanied by his brothers Laredo, Darren, and Cisco, and Daphne’s hand was tucked securely into the crook of his arm. Their private investigator, Nick Rich, was standing near the rear of the group trying his best to be unobtrusive. It was a merry band of people who really only had one thing on their minds.

  Justice.

  “Can I help you?”

  Met leaned forward so that he could speak into the little silver disc with the slits that had been placed in a slab of what he could only assume was bulletproof glass. “Yes ma’am, you can. We are here to see Captain Paul Weatherby. We don’t have an appointment”—he glanced down at Daphne—“but if you’ll just tell him that Daphne Evans is here to see him, I’m sure he’d love to chat with her.”

  “All right, sir.” The woman started to get up.

  Met spoke again. He’d forgotten one detail. “And if you could let Officer Keene know that Ms. Evans is here as well, that would be fantastic.”

  “I will certainly do that.” The young clerk behind the counter was hightailing it down the wide gray carpeted hallway that likely led to another area of the police station containing offices for administrative and law enforcement personnel.

  “This place is ridiculous.” Darren leaned back and stared up at the pristine white vaulted ceiling. “It looks like a movie set.”

  It did look a bit like a movie set if you were going for one of those superhero halls of justice or something else equally overwhelming. The floor was white tile, and it echoed because there was nothing decorating the unrelenting walls. There were a few potted trees here and there. They were fake. Met felt compelled to rub his fingers through the leaves to find that out for sure. But other than the plants and a few interview rooms located opposite the bank of clerk counters, the only thing in the room was the collection of black plastic chairs.

  “You would think,” Laredo said irritably, “that with all of the money that they actually spent on this place, they could try to come up with a seating solution that did not feel like you were trying to sit on a slab of granite.”

  “Oh, poor Laredo!” Darren said mockingly. “Does he need a whittle pad for his whittle bottom?”

  There was a round of cackling from the brothers, but it was Cisco who shushed them. “You’re on camera, you morons. How about we make an attempt to pretend that we’re not a bunch of hoodlums.”

  “I happen to like being a hoodlum,” Met drawled. He winked at Cisco. “You’ve always been
so damn serious. I can never believe you’re the one closest to me in age. I think your mental age is older than Cal’s.”

  “And yours is younger than Jaeger,” Cisco retorted. “So, come on, now. How about we all play nice.”

  “Well. Well. Well!”

  A booming voice echoed through the huge airy space as Paul Weatherby strode down the narrow hallway in his cowboy boots and policeman’s uniform. He held his arms out wide. But he was more subdued than Met had seen him on previous occasions. This was probably because not only was he at work, he was also being followed very closely by Officer Keene. Somehow, having a fellow policeman observe him always made Paul put on his best face.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Weatherby’s smile was so sleazy that Met wanted to knock it off his face. He fisted his hands at his sides, but Cisco quickly stepped between Met and Paul.

  “Captain Weatherby,” Cisco said crisply. “We’re sorry to bother you at work, but we wanted to speak with you directly about a case that you seem to have gotten involved in that also involves us in an indirect manner.”

  “How is that?” Weatherby was now showing teeth, but he was most definitely not smiling. Not really.

  Cisco continued to handle the talking. They were trying to keep Nick Rich out of it as much as possible. He didn’t want to tip his hand when there were still too many things going on in Denver that involved both the Hernandez brothers and the Weatherbys of the Flying W.

  “As it happens,” Cisco began. “We’ve become aware that a man named Justin Sorenson has approached you with photographs of Met Hernandez and this young lady, Daphne Evans. Mr. Sorenson has been harassing Ms. Evans for the last year.” Cisco gestured to Officer Keene. “Your officer has been good enough to come and speak with you because he’s been present when most of these reports were taken. And indeed he was present this last time when Mr. Sorenson’s harassment extended to my brother Met. Mr. Sorenson took unflattering photographs”—Cisco held up a hand—“and while we realize that Mr. Sorenson has the right to take whatever photographs he wants to, this does not extend to taking personal photographs of my brother during intercourse or other very private activities.”