by Mari Manning
He frowned. “What do you want?”
“I have some good news.”
“What?”
“Can I come in?”
He turned from the door and strode away. “Suit yourself.”
“Seth. Wait. Listen to me.”
He disappeared into the bedroom. She followed.
Empty drawers hung open. Hangers littered the floor. A canvas bag stuffed with clothes lay on the bed. Kirby’s gaze drifted to the wastepaper basket. Inside The Rancher’s Handbook, ripped in half, sprawled across the bottom like a wounded soldier.
Seth crammed a stack of T-shirts in his bag. “So what’s the good news?”
“You don’t have to pack your stuff.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because you’re not fired.”
His head fell forward. “Fuck.” The shirts dropped from his hands.
“Are you okay?”
“Why did you do it?”
She wanted to tell him it was nothing. She’d have done it for anyone, but it wasn’t true. She bent, pulled the two halves of The Rancher’s Handbook from the trash. The photo of the girl was gone. She pressed the remnants of the book together and set them on the bedside table.
“It wasn’t fair. Miss Bea was worked up. The ranch needs you.” And you need the ranch.
“I see.”
“I-I-I’ve watched how you tend the ranch and how much you care about everything and everyone, even Manny. But no one has your back.”
His mouth tightened. “Maybe I don’t need anyone.”
So much for gratitude. Underneath his skin and muscle and midnight hair, behind the intelligent eyes, was a man who relied on himself. An independent, unpredictable man who’d been backed into a corner today. But a good man just the same. A sturdy spirit beneath sinew.
“Maybe you do.”
His back muscles tensed, released…tensed. He wasn’t pleased with this new status quo. The one where she helped him. “I don’t.”
…
Seth had always gotten along just fine. Alone. That’s the way he liked it. No one to screw with his head, no one to demand shit he didn’t want to give, no one to worry about, no one. It was his way, and it worked…until today. One woman—Miss Bea—pulled his life out from under him. And another—Kirby—stretched out her arms and caught him before he fell.
Talk about humiliation.
But what choice did he have? Ranching was the only thing he wanted to do. He hated city crowds and noise, desks, the nine-to-five rut, neckties. The hearty handshake of commerce. The stealthy subjugation of spirit. Ranching, open spaces, cattle, horses, hill country, bluebonnets in the spring, honest labor, honest sweat. Those were the things he loved.
Eating crow in front of Kirby? He hated that, too. Almost as much as a desk job. But not quite.
He turned to her.
She watched him from the doorway, eyes clouded, forehead creased, lips pursed. The planes of her face were softer, her body curvier than Frankie’s. She was definitely taller, although the top of her head barely reached his nose. Her golden skin glowed in the light. He itched to pull her close. He’d wipe the sympathy off her face with a kiss she’d never forget. Because she’d feel the strength of him and know he’d have survived without her.
He moved in on her. “Is fairness the only reason you helped me?” he whispered.
She jumped back. Motherly compassion melted from her face. Her cheeks reddened. “What else?” She dropped her eyes. “I better get back.”
He was coming on too strong. She’d hightail it back to the house if he didn’t take things slower. “Thank you for coming to my rescue. I owe you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
He shot her his lopsided, lady-killer grin. “Will you stay and celebrate my reinstatement?”
“It’s not necessary.” She backed out of the bedroom.
Not so fast. One long stride landed him in her personal space. “You’ll hurt my feelings.” He spoke softly, tilting his chin so his breath would wash against her face.
Behind the green contacts, her pupils dilated, but his lady cop stood her ground. “I really need to go. I want to make some notes on what we found today and call Frankie. There must be a clue or a pattern or—or something I’m not seeing.”
“Our squirrel killer can wait another day, can’t she?”
“What about Charleen? What if she’s in danger?”
He leaned into her. “Will you stay for one beer?”
Her long, golden neck arched. She gulped. “Make it a Coke, and I’ll stay for a bit.”
She eyed the sofa and sat at the table and watched him pull two Cokes from the fridge. He rummaged for a bowl, flexing his muscles when he shook pretzels into the dish, giving her a chance to view the goods, so to speak. Her cheeks grew rosy.
A satisfied smile tugged at his mouth. He hadn’t lost his touch.
She watched him carry everything to the table but wouldn’t meet his eyes. Under the harsh kitchen light, strands of coppery red shimmered in her dark hair. He wanted to comb his fingers through it. Let the copper heat his skin.
He sat across from her—better view of his abs—and pushed a can across the table. “Care for a glass?”
She shook her head.
He lifted his Coke. “What shall we toast to?” He waited for a giggle or a tiny smile.
“I’m sorry Frankie got Angie fired, but I am not going to be your next playmate.”
Ouch. “Am I that obvious?”
“My stepmother has disappeared, and a few hours ago an unknown assailant broke the neck of a household pet. Someone on this ranch is responsible. Someone who is also a threat to Mr. Shaw and others. Sex is not going resolve any of those issues.”
He almost burst out laughing but held onto his cool. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you want me as much as I want you, but you’re afraid to admit it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And why would that be?”
“Because you don’t know how to let go and enjoy yourself.”
“And I suppose you are just the man to help me with that.”
Why play games? They were both consenting adults. “I might be.”
“Your ego is unbelievable. Do you always talk to women this way when you get horny?”
“Don’t usually have to.”
She jumped up from the table, and her chair clattered against the floor. “Maybe Angie and—and Frankie and Brittany find your obnoxious behavior attractive, but I don’t. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Shit. He’d pushed too hard. “Wait. I’m sorry. Please stay.”
“Why? Your mind is clearly in your pants, where it is of no use to me, and I need time to study the information I uncovered today.”
“I’ll help you. We can go over things together. I was there, too.”
She considered him.
“Look, I’m sorry, Kirby. I misread the situation.” Like hell.
She nodded. “Okay. But no more funny stuff.”
Funny stuff. His arousal was nearly instantaneous. He dropped into his chair before she could see. “Fine.”
She picked her chair off the floor and sat.
Seth gulped his Coke and poked around in his head for a deflating thought. “Where should we start?”
“Let’s start with why. Who stands to benefit if Charleen disappears forever?”
“Frankie.”
She frowned. “Frankie?”
“I don’t know the details, but I thought Frankie would be next in line if Charleen dies.”
“But Frankie’s the one who sent me here to find Charleen. Why would she do that if she wanted her momma dead?”
“What about Miss Bea? You said Frankie was attacked. Charleen’s disappeared. If there are no family heirs, everything will go to Miss Bea.”
“Are you sure?”
He shrugged. “Miss Bea told me the Shaw family lawyers found an heir. That was about fifteen months ago. Nex
t thing I know, Charleen and Frankie show up. But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Shaw would have to rewrite the will if there were no living blood heirs. Miss Bea seems like the likely recipient.”
“What about Bobby?”
When had cops gotten so freaking hot? He grinned. “Bobby isn’t a family member.”
Her brows knitted together with displeasure. “I mean, why would Miss Bea make waves by killing him when she is one step closer to getting what she wants with Charleen out of the way? Assuming Shaw Valley Ranch is what she wants.”
“To paint Frankie as a nutcase?” He dropped in a little more humor. “Bad pun. Sorry.” This time she smiled, and he hardened again. Damn.
“Still, if Miss Bea somehow got her hands on Charleen, what did she do with her?”
As far as he was concerned, Charleen was off doing what she did best—and what he wished he was doing right now with Kirby. And Miss Bea? She was a nasty old bat who reveled in making life difficult for him and everyone else on the ranch.
“Well?” Kirby asked.
He liked her serious. He liked how she got all caught up in her big investigation. It turned him on faster than a bar full of flirty cowgirls. But how was he going to get her mind off Charleen, Frankie, and Miss fucking Bea and focused on his burgeoning need for her? “For my money, Charleen is off having a great time with some lucky bastard, and if you asked her, I’ll bet you find out Frankie is, too.”
Her jaw dropped.
He jumped in before she could scold him. “And don’t bother telling me to get my head out of my pants. I am being realistic here. Those two women have one thing and one thing only on their minds.”
She stood and looked down her nose at him. “Yes, Frankie has a problem. Charleen, too. But your lack of respect is hurtful. Obviously you don’t have a sister, or you’d understand that.”
Whack. Pain, hot and sharp, split him open. He’d forgotten how much the wrong words could hurt. Because he did have a sister. Or he’d had a sister. He didn’t even know for sure which it was.
Alarm, a flash of surprise, then realization crossed Kirby’s face. The anger drained from her. She sank to her chair.
“That was rude of me. I’m sorry.”
Him, too. Eight years since he’d seen Hannah. Damn her. But the wound still bled. Just not as often these days. Weeks and months passed by, then something would happen—like tonight.
“Just get out,” he said.
“No.”
He felt exposed and vulnerable. “I mean it.”
“What’s your sister’s name?”
He met her eyes and saw concern and hated her for that. “I said, get the fuck out of my house. Now. Or I’ll carry you out.”
“I’m your friend.”
Desperation exploded inside him. “What good does talking do? It doesn’t get the horses fed or the fruit picked, does it?” He was shouting at her, trying to put a scare in her so she’d run away and leave him the hell alone so he could pull himself together. “It doesn’t bring people back. It doesn’t change anything.”
“What’s your sister’s name?” A slender hand slid across the table and covered his, wicking away some of the hurt inside him.
“Hannah.” He flipped his wrist so he could grip her hand.
“Something happened to her.”
He nodded but couldn’t find the words to explain.
“You can tell me.”
“It’s a long story. And not very interesting.” He released her hand. “You better go.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Are you always like this?”
All he wanted was one night of fucking…well, maybe a few nights of it. Instead, his guts were lying all over the floor, and he was sitting there bleeding like a motherfucker. “Like what?”
“Every time the conversation turns personal, you get all huffy. Or sexy. What are you hiding?”
He was a shoot-from-the-hip guy with a few things he didn’t want to talk about. So what? “You got some balls accusing me of being secretive.” He poked his finger at her. “When it comes to sneaking, you’re the expert. How do you think Shaw and the rest of the ranch would feel if they knew who you really were?”
Her eyes widened. “I think they’d thank me for taking an interest in Charleen’s welfare. Even if she isn’t the most popular person on the ranch. So go ahead and rant and rave all you want. Go tell Mr. Shaw. It won’t change the truth sitting right here between us.”
“Which is?”
“The only kind of intimacy you’re capable of is the kind where you turn off the lights, take off your clothes, and screw someone you barely know.”
He struggled to hold on to his insolent grin while she shredded his insides. “I was hoping you and me might do exactly that tonight.”
“Really, Seth? That’s your defense?” She sniffed. “This is a waste of time.” Her hair swung like a glossy veil as she flung out of her chair and stomped to the door.
The pain inside him deepened. He winced. “Fine. I’ll tell you. But I don’t see what difference it will make.”
Unless the evening ends with a little sympathy sex.
Chapter Fifteen
“This might take a while. The sofa’s more comfortable,” Seth said.
She bought it. “Okay.”
He pulled her down beside him and slid his arm around her. Her soft hair brushed against his chest like a promise.
“Stop coming on to me. We’re supposed to be talking. Remember? You were about to tell me about your sister.”
“Will you stay if I do?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll be forced to make love to myself if you leave.” He rasped the words against the top of her head.
Her breath caught, but she elbowed his ribs. “Sounds like a match made in heaven.”
He laughed. Contentment filled him like helium. Was he really going to poke around in his past just to get laid?
She shifted in his arms, and the scent of her shampoo assaulted his nose. Yeah. He’d poke around in a nest of vipers for a shot at this. Her.
“Are you sure you want to hear a bunch of shit about me? It’s not a big deal.”
“Quit stalling.”
“Do the details really matter? My family wasn’t the Brady Bunch. It’s not a secret around here. What else is there to say?”
“Cards on the table or I leave now.” She sounded like a cop.
His penis stiffened, and he shifted his leg so she wouldn’t see. He studied the blank wall in front of him, the empty picture hook left behind by a former tenant, the chipped bowl filled with stale pretzels. This was his life. A little shabby, a little secondhand, a lot predictable. He’d shrunk it down to what he could control. But so what? He got by just fine.
He’d been this way for so long he could barely remember the boy he’d once been—optimistic and sure. Sure of his future and sure of his eventual escape from the dead-end, vagabond life of his parents. Instead his sister had been eaten alive by a mindless, sightless, soulless system, and he, he was stuck on a cattleless, nearly horseless ranch defending California fruit trees from the local insects.
“Come on, Seth. If you talk about it, you can deal with it.”
And sleep with her.
“My sister disappeared eight years ago.” He tried a shrug, but his muscles refused to budge. “Nothing more to say.”
“What happened? Do you know where she is?”
“No. She was already a lost soul. No one was surprised when the rest of her disappeared.” No one had cared, either. Except him.
“What about your folks?”
“Dead.”
“You’ve had it rough.”
“So have lots of people. So what?”
“What happened to your momma and daddy?” Of course she’d ask.
The anger he was sure he’d outlived—or outrun—rose in him strong as ever. He pulled his arm away from her and stood. He didn’t want an
yone touching him.
“My folks were naive, stupid people who had no business having children. They called themselves free spirits. What a joke. Free to live in a run-down trailer and do drugs all day. That’s the only freedom they cared about. They wasted their whole lives dreaming about how wonderful things would be when the rest of world renounced the daily grind and smelled the pot smoke. But the world never got around to their way of thinking, and after they died no one missed them except the local drug dealer.” He stared out the window so he wouldn’t have to read the polite sympathy in her face.
“Overdose?”
“Dumber than that. We were living outside El Royo in a leaky trailer. They’d managed to buy a patch of crappy land no one else wanted. But it was something. Home. They didn’t care. On a hot summer day, they climbed into our old beater and took off for New Mexico. Left me to tend Hannah.”
“New Mexico?”
He forced himself to meet her eyes. They were alert. Ticking and tacking. Well, she was a cop. And cops were trained to smell trouble, weren’t they?
“Fifty, maybe a hundred of them would meet in the middle of bumfuck Egypt every summer. A tent-city nudist colony. They’d sell tie-dye shit to one another, listen to music, drop acid, smoke weed”—he shrugged—“I figure they were screwing one another’s brains out, being as everyone was walking around with their junk hanging out. But maybe not.”
“So what happened at the gathering?”
Beyond the window, night swallowed the last streak of sunlight, and then the ranch. All the good things, all the bad. It didn’t matter.
“Never made it. Got lost in the desert and died. Hundred degrees in the shade, and they remembered the weed but forgot the water.”
“Oh, Seth. I’m so sorry.” She came to him.
“It was a stupid, senseless end to two stupid, senseless lives.”
“That’s awfully harsh.”
He squeezed her shoulders. Hard. Pushed her away. She staggered back before catching herself.
“Is it? How’s this for harsh? My eleven-year-old sister got sent down to Austin to foster care because our Bible Belt relatives refused to take in bastards. That’s what they called us, Hannah and me. Some of the foster homes she stayed in…” His voice broke. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to reel in his emotions.
