by Unknown
He slowed his breathing and his racing thoughts and concentrated on the road. It didn’t do any good to relive that day. He had to remain focused and do his job.
His five younger sisters—Marcie, Julia, Roxanne, Stacy, and Laura, still lived in Big Sky. Stacy and Laura were the youngest and lived at home with Mom and Dad on the dude ranch. Marcie had married a good guy a year ago, Julia had a serious boyfriend, and Roxanne studied at Montana State College, working on a marketing degree. Kelly had been born twelve years, and Brooks eleven years, before their younger sisters.
By the time Brooks reached his property, he’d managed to get control of his temper. He had to keep a clear head and that meant not getting emotionally involved. Regardless of the impact it might have on his friends, he had a job to do.
He brought his truck to a hard stop in front of his house, kicking up a cloud of dust that was barely visible in the fading light. He parked and killed the engine, grabbed the iPad, and climbed out of the truck. For a moment he rested his palm on the chilly metal door before slamming it shut and heading for the house.
It seemed that he couldn’t take a step without his mind going to Natasha. He gritted his teeth as he made his way into his home, slamming that door shut, too, and tossing his keys onto the flat surface of a small, elevated plant stand nearby. He hung his Stetson on the rack next to the stand.
His stomach rumbled, but instead of going into the kitchen for dinner, he threw himself onto the overstuffed brown leather sofa in front of the wide-screen wall-mounted TV. He put his booted feet on the barn wood coffee table that matched the end tables. When he’d moved into the home, he’d paid a woman in Bisbee to decorate the place, and she’d made it rustic and livable with handmade furniture. It suited him.
Instead of turning on the TV, he set the iPad in his lap and flipped open the case’s flap and folded it over so that it was behind the tablet. When he touched the Home button, the tablet recognized his fingerprint, and immediately a surveillance photo of Natasha and Mark Okle came up. In the picture, Natasha appeared to be focused on what Okle had to say.
Brooks scowled and swiped his finger across the tablet’s screen to bring up another picture. This one showed her at a trade show, handing a suspected drug supplier one of the statuettes allegedly containing cocaine. If it was indeed stuffed with the same product found in the two resin statuettes ICE agents had gotten their hands on, Natasha Simpson was in deep shit.
When he flipped to the next photo, he paused for a long moment, his heart giving a hard thump. The image was a brilliant color close-up of her alone. The surveillance agent had caught Natasha in a clearly vulnerable moment. Her expression was one of deep concentration, a touch of insecurity, and perhaps sadness, too.
He traced the outline of her face with his fingertip before he even fully realized what he was doing. In that moment, he imagined trailing the pad of his finger along her jawline, down to the hollow of her throat. He almost felt the warmth of her body pressed close to his as he drew her into his arms to comfort her and take away the sadness that didn’t belong in those beautiful eyes.
A low growl rose in his throat and he nearly flung the tablet across the room. Instead, he gripped it with both hands so tightly he thought he might crack the screen. What the hell was he thinking? Just one look at this beautiful woman was enough to make him forget his duty and his responsibilities?
Christ. His duty was to get to the bottom of things and nail her.
He snapped the flap up and over the iPad so the screen would go dark and hide her image. He tossed the tablet onto the coffee table, swung his boots onto the floor and surged to his feet.
This was bullshit. He didn’t get close to suspects and he certainly didn’t have the urge to comfort them. He was tired and overworked—that had to be the explanation as to why he had these unwanted urges.
His muscles ached with tension and his head throbbed. He strode into the kitchen to fix dinner, determined to get his mind off the assignment and the beautiful Natasha Simpson.
CHAPTER 2
Natasha hummed as she carefully wiped away dust that had settled on one of the cowboy sculptures in her Main Street shop. That was one thing about living in such dry country, even the high desert—dust. And lots of it.
She didn’t mind, though. She liked to touch and caress the lovely pieces she had in her eclectic store. She’d moved to Bisbee seven months ago and had owned the store for almost six months. With the friends she’d made, and the life she’d created, it felt like she’d been here for years. She had bought the store with funds she received when she sold her craft shop in the small town in Indiana where she’d grown up.
As she turned to look at the street running down the center of Old Bisbee, her multicolor long skirt swirled. She loved and almost always wore flowy outfits, as well as color and lots of it. She didn’t get on social media often, but she enjoyed Pinterest. She liked pinning ideas for decorating, works of art, and easy to make recipes.
Her favorite board she had named, “Color makes me happy.” She pinned everything and anything that had to do with color in every shade imaginable. Paintings, photographs, clothes, furniture, stained glass, quilts, cloth, and other normal everyday items in a variety of shades and patterns. When she wanted a pick me up or to feel inspired, she went online and scanned the pictures she’d saved, and that did the trick.
She touched the burnished copper butterfly clip that held back her dark hair, making sure it hadn’t slipped. She had lots and lots of colorful butterflies everywhere—they were a symbol of rebirth and transformation. Without question, the butterfly embraced change in its environment and life. Natasha considered herself to be similar in how well she adapted to changes.
The big picture window in front of her art display gleamed. The gold frames around the original artwork glowed in the late afternoon sunlight.
The warm light that spilled into the shop caused the old-fashioned gold lettering to glitter on the glass. Precious Treasures arced across the window, and in the lower right hand corner, also in gold, was the store’s website address, natashasprecioustreasures.com.
Her cousin, Christie, made sure Natasha was always up to date on anything to do with the Internet, websites, mobile sites, and social media. All of that tech stuff pretty much sailed over Natasha’s head and she happily left it up to her cousin, who served as the store’s social media manager. Christie had several paying clients, but had insisted on doing it for free for Natasha.
However, Natasha had won the argument—no social media managing unless she could pay her cousin for it. Christie had relented but insisted on a compromise of a reduced rate. Natasha was happy to pay her cousin for doing something that she had neither the time nor the inclination to take care of.
Christie’s efforts had brought in mail orders from all over the country, and some even outside of the U.S. Many of Old Bisbee’s tourists, before they even arrived in town, were already familiar with Precious Treasures, due to Christie’s hard work.
Natasha looked around her store, pleased, an air of happiness floating upward from her toes to her scalp, like a swarm of velvety butterflies. Yet, she couldn’t help but feel like something was missing from her life. What, she didn’t know. But something.
Bells tinkled as the front door opened, cool air rolling into the store from outside. Natasha looked over her shoulder and smiled at her cousin, Christie. “Speaking of the devilette. I was just thinking of you.”
Christie laughed as the bells tinkled again when the door settled shut behind her. “Hopefully it was nothing tame. It had better be about one of the hellacious things we did when we were kids.”
The fact that her cousin was so full of life and happiness, now that her ex was gone for good, thrilled Natasha to no end. Christie’s joy had a lot to do with her marriage to Trace Davidson and because of their baby. Especially their baby, Jessica.
Natasha stopped dusting the sculpture. “I remember every one of our exploits.”
Christ
ie plopped herself on one of the two gold and maroon-flowered brocade antique chairs that Natasha used for customers. Christie dropped her purse beside the chair, leaned against the cushioned back, and took a deep breath.
She appeared as though she was melting into the chair. “I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever regain my energy.”
“You look wonderful.” With a laugh, Natasha started polishing a carved wooden horse. “My darling niece still not sleeping through the night?”
Christie shook her head, her gorgeous red hair sliding across her cheeks. “Thank God for her daddy. Even though Trace has to work the following day, he takes turns getting up with the baby and walking her until she falls asleep. I swear she goes to dreamland a whole lot faster for him than she does for me.”
“And she’s got him wrapped around one of her tiny little fingers.” Natasha flipped the dust rag over her shoulder. “Chocolate?”
“Oh, dear Lord, yes. I swear I feel as though Dementors have sucked the life out of me.” Christie straightened in her chair. “You are the Lupin to my Harry.”
“You’ve been reading Harry Potter out loud to Jessica again.” Natasha snorted back laughter. “Someday Mommy is going to teach our baby not only about Hogwarts, but the Tardis, the One Ring, the Death Star, and the Enterprise.”
“Mommy has already started.” Christie reached for the small packaged saddle-shaped piece of dark chocolate that Natasha handed her, then started to unwrap the plastic. “Jessica will grow up loving all the good stuff. Of course we’re starting out with the tamer stories. I think we’ll be on The Sorcerer’s Stone until she’s eight, toning down the slightly scary parts.”
“Auntie Natasha will be more than happy to help in her training.” Even though Natasha was Christie’s cousin and not her sister, they were as close as sisters and had decided that Trace and Christie’s children should call Natasha “Auntie”.
“This is so good.” Christie sighed and closed her eyes as she let a bite of the chocolate saddle melt in her mouth. She opened her eyes. “You don’t get the cheap stuff.”
“Never do.” Natasha frowned a little as she looked at a bronze-colored resin statuette of a cowboy that was eighteen inches high. “Except these things. I really hate them. They are so damned ugly.” Resin looked like stone but didn’t chip as easily as plaster.
Christie waved the partially wrapped remainder of the chocolate saddle, gesturing to the statuette. “Why do you sell the things if you don’t like them?”
Natasha shrugged and unwrapped a green lollipop shaped like a saguaro cactus and sucked on it. Lime-flavored pure sugar. Yum. She set the wrapper on the desk in front of the chairs.
She pulled the sucker out of her mouth and turned her gaze on a resin statuette of a Native American in full headdress. She shrugged. “My supplier told me they would sell like crazy at my trade shows. He pressured me and because I wanted his business, I made the concession.”
Christie licked chocolate off of one finger. “How well do they sell?”
“Like crazy.” Natasha waved her cactus lollipop in the air. “I’ve had different buyers come to all three trade shows I’ve worked and each buyer has purchased the entire lot of what I have on hand. Who’d have thought?”
Christie cocked her head and studied the cowboy and Native American statuettes. “You’re right. They are kind of ugly.”
“Your taste has always been good, like mine.” Natasha smirked. “These resin statuettes don’t sell well in Bisbee. Tourists buy them sometimes because they’re not too expensive compared to real art.”
Christie nodded “I’ll take quality any day.”
Natasha gestured to limited edition bronze sculptures by Ella McBride from Prescott. Ella’s work was similar to Remington’s. Natasha then pointed to fine hand carved wooden figurines, followed by original paintings. “All of this is real art.” Natasha nodded to framed, numbered prints. “Generally, these are purchased by private collectors.”
“What about those?” Christie gestured to the framed prints.
“Mark does give me some good prints along with the resin statuettes,” Natasha said. “He chooses great frames.”
Christie balled up the plastic that had once held the chocolate saddle. “How do those sell at the trade shows?”
“The prints sell very well, mostly to small gallery owners who snap them up.” Natasha took the plastic from Christie and also grabbed the cactus wrapper on the desk. She covered the remainder of her sucker before throwing it all away in a wastebasket next to the desk. “With the exception of the numbered prints, I don’t sell the good pieces nearly as often as I do the resin statuettes. The cost for the quality art is prohibitive for some, of course.”
“When do you leave for the next trade show?” Christie asked. “Denver, right? Something called WESA.”
“Yes, the Western/English Sales Association.” Natasha nodded. “I leave in three days, on Tuesday night. I need to set up my showroom on Wednesday and be ready for the show to start on Thursday.”
“You’re such the social butterfly.” Christie smiled. “You enjoy the trade shows.”
Natasha laughed. “I have to admit I have a lot of fun. The shows in Las Vegas, Nashville, and Phoenix were a blast.”
Christie grinned in response to Natasha’s laughter. “When you’re socializing, you are in your element.”
Natasha brushed her hands down her skirt. “You could say that.”
Christie stretched her arms and sighed. “I feel decidedly better.” She straightened in her chair, looking a little more refreshed. “Chocolate is a cure-all, you know.”
“Of course.” Natasha grinned as her cousin got to her feet. “Missing little Jess?”
Christie smiled like the proud mama she was. “Since she was born, I haven’t been away from her for more than a couple of hours on two occasions.” She put her hand on her abdomen. “Now I need to work on getting rid of baby-belly.”
Natasha hugged her cousin. “You’ll get back in shape in no time.”
“If I ever get the energy to start working out, that is.” Christie shook her head. “I think that women who have flat bellies and can fit into their normal pre-pregnancy clothes after giving birth should be shot.”
“But you have something they don’t have.” Natasha grinned. “You have one of the hottest lawmen ever, and he loves you exactly the way you are.”
“I’m a pretty lucky girl to get an amazing man like Trace.” Christie looked like a schoolgirl whenever she talked about her husband.
“And he’s darn lucky to have you.” Natasha took a step back, her flowing skirts brushing her ankles. “I told you lawmen are hot.”
“I am going to have to figure out how to get you together with Brooks Allen.” A mischievous look crossed Christie’s face. “He’s almost as sexy as Trace.”
“He’s not bad looking.” Natasha cocked her head to the side. “At least from what I remember of him. I wish I could have made it to your and Trace’s reception.”
“I’m just glad all you did was break your leg in that accident.” Christie’s features always looked a little more serious when she talked about Natasha’s accident. Or rather, any of her accidents.
Both bones in her lower leg had been broken in the crash—she was lucky it hadn’t been worse. Her leg ached just thinking about the accident.
“I’m just sorry I missed all the fun.” She shook her finger at Christie. “You did not need to cut the reception short and come to the hospital when you heard what happened. I only broke my leg, for goodness sake.”
Christie shook her head. “As if I wouldn’t want to see for myself you were okay. You would have done the same thing.”
Natasha couldn’t argue with that.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Christie picked up her purse, dug in it, and pulled out a colorful butterfly pendant. “I saw this at a boutique in Sierra Vista, and it reminded me of you. It will go well with all of your other butterflies.”
Natasha smil
ed as she took the pendant, feeling its contours and ridges in her palm. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
Christie got to her feet. “I’d better get home to Jessica.”
“Thanks for stopping by, Chrissy.” Natasha hugged her cousin.
Normally, she didn’t like being called Chrissy because it made her feel like a child again, but she let Natasha and Trace get away with it. She returned Natasha’s hug. “Have a good time in Denver. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Natasha laughed as they parted. “Considering that you wouldn’t participate in half the crazy things I often do, that wouldn’t be any fun.”
“Well, behave.” Christie slipped her purse strap onto her shoulder. “And don’t get into any trouble.”
“Ha.” Natasha made a shooing motion. “Get back to the baby and your hunk of a man.”
“I will do just that.” Christie gave a little wave before heading out the door.
The moment the door shut with another jangle of bells, Natasha’s phone rang. Her ring tone was Imagine Dragon’s On Top of the World, a song that never ceased to put additional pep in her already bubbly personality.
She pulled the phone out of her skirt pocket. She wasn’t much of a seamstress, but she had managed to put pockets into every one of her flowy skirts. When she checked the screen, she saw that it was Mark Okle, her biggest supplier. She pressed the answer icon and raised the phone to her ear. “Hi, Mark.”
“How’s my favorite distributor?” Mark’s voice was booming and on the jovial side.
She’d met him a few times in person and he wasn’t remarkable looking—slightly balding and always wearing a suit, no matter what the weather.
Natasha shifted the phone to her other ear. “Everything is going well, and I’m ready for Denver.”
“Good, good.” Mark sneezed then coughed before he spoke again, and she wondered if he was getting a cold. “Your shipment of numbered prints and resin statuettes will arrive in Denver on Tuesday.” Mark supplied her with the items in her store that were not originals, including the numbered prints.
