by CP Smith
“Sonofabitch,” Reed mumbled. “What the hell does he mean by that?”
“Hell if I know, but we’ll figure it out,” Dallas vowed before he turned to the officer and ordered, “Tell Jenkins with the crime lab about this. He needs to dust the mirror for prints and to pull the drain for hair and blood. If that bastard washed his hands to get rid of evidence, I want it.”
When Rodriguez nodded and turned to leave, Dallas halted him. “Rodriguez, nice catch. If you ever wanna make a move from patrol to homicide, let me know. I’ll put in a good word for you after you’ve taken your exam.” Rodriguez gave Vaughn a nod in acknowledgment before he turned to find Jenkins.
Dallas felt a headache forming as he turned back to Reed. All he had wanted was one day off from the ugliness of his job, a day to enjoy being with his family. He’d gotten neither.
“We need to canvas the neighborhood and contact her family,” Dallas reminded Reed as he rubbed his neck with the flat of his hand, exhausted at the thought. “Christ, the family. Whose turn is it to break someone’s heart?”
“It’s mine,” Reed answered. “Go home, Vaughn, I’ll handle this one. This shit’ll be waiting for us on Monday either way.”
“Home? To do what, exactly, pace the floor while I work the case in my mind?”
“Have a drink, hell, have a bottle. But get some fuckin’ sleep for once. Dream about blonde hair and green eyes, for Christ’s sake. It’s not that hard: you lay down on a bed and close your eyes.”
Dallas sighed at his partner’s dramatics then grabbed him by the shoulder, giving him a shove. “Jesus, enough hen-pecking already. You’re like an old woman when you get like this.”
Reed shrugged at his outburst and then answered with a grin. “I learned from the best.”
Seven
Best friends are the people you turn to when your life is going down the toilet, when you need a shoulder to cry on, and who support you unconditionally. They don’t judge you, they hold your hair up when you’ve had too much to drink, and they always make a pitcher of margaritas when they show up at your house to listen to you bitch about men on a Saturday afternoon. One call was all it took and the girls came running. I’d called them first thing when I woke up after Dallas Vaughn had rocked my world the night before with his arrogant belief he could snap his fingers, and I’d come running.
Sure, I was attracted to him, and I’d imagined several love scenes with him for “Property Of,” starring me in the leading role. However, imagining it is one thing, being told I couldn’t resist him if he were so inclined to grace my world with his tight ass and firm muscles, was a completely different story. So mind-bogglingly different, it took ten minutes after he kissed me to come up with a retort; such was my astonishment that he was that arrogant. Though, I’m quite certain if I’d uttered, “When pigs fly,” he’d have laughed at me.
The whole thing reminded me of high school when the star quarterback deigned to talk to a girl who wasn’t in the “in” crowd. Then he’d ask her out like, “Friday, you and me, babe. I’ll pick you up at seven.” As if the notion she would say no never occurred to him even though he knew she had twin brothers that would beat the shit out of him for some much as looking at her. Only this time, her twin brothers had high-fived themselves after the quarterback insulted their sister.
I’d come home and told Snape and Simi all about it, and they’d agreed wholeheartedly with me that Mr. Dallas Vaughn had some nerve thinking he could woo me so easily. I’m not some naive girl who can’t say no for Christ’s sake. I can control my hormones long enough to keep him at arm’s length if I was so inclined. And after his arrogant belief he was so irresistible I couldn’t stop him, I was so inclined.
Now I was sitting in my living room surrounded by my best friends explaining the whole sordid night.
“Let me get this straight . . . Bo and Finn tested him all night to see if he’d what? Back down?” Kasey asked.
“Apparently it was some kind of bro code. You know, see if they could intimidate him and if they couldn’t, then he was worthy of wooing me. Can you believe that shit? As if I’m some prize and the spoils would go to the victor,” I explained. ”It was ridiculous and embarrassing.”
“And he knew what they were doing and he played their game?” Kristina inquired as she filled my margarita to the brim.
Sucking down a healthy dose of frozen delight, I nodded, then explained with a sigh, “He got right in their faces and all but pounded his chest and said, ‘This shit you pulled all evening, I get it. But, just so you know, if I wanted her, you wouldn’t have stopped me.’”
“And then he told you the same thing?”
“Yep, right after he grabbed my neck and kissed me.”
“Was it a hard kiss or a soft kiss?” Janeane asked.
“I don’t know. What does it matter?”
“Oh, it matters. Was it soft and sweet, meant to make you tremble, or was it hard and fast like a branding?” Janeane continued.
I thought about it, but all I could remember was that I’d tingled all over. “Um, hard and fast, like he was trying to shut me up,” I explained.
“Branding,” the girls replied in unison.
“What difference does it make?” I asked the room full of smiling women.
“Well,” Angela, started, “if he had given you a soft peck with a touch of tongue, it would have meant he was testing the waters to see if there was a spark, a connection. If he devoured your mouth, then he would have been telling you “hey baby, lets fuck.” However, a hard and fast kiss is more of a branding. Sorta like a dog lifting his leg around his yard to mark his territory. He was branding you, saying this belongs to me.”
“You made that up,” I chuckled, yet something I couldn’t put a name to shot fast and hard through me at the idea that he had claimed me.
“How is it that you write romance novels and know nothing about men?” Kristina laughed.
“I write about Highlanders. They don’t court their women; they marry because of alliances with other clans. Most of them don’t fall in love with their wives until they’ve been married a few months.”
“Well, let me explain how it works in modern-day America. When a man is interested, a real man that is, you can’t stop them, nor should you try. Because sister, they have the determination of a dog with a bone, a bird after a worm, a hooker after a John,” Kristina, in all her infinite married wisdom explained.
“Are you saying my only choices in today’s single scene are men like my brothers who love you then leave you? Or men like Dallas who are so full of their own appeal that they think women will fall at their feet?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying, what I’m saying is that when a real man sees something he wants, he goes after it and doesn't stop until he’s obtained it.”
My heartbeat picked up its pace thinking about being pursued by a man like Dallas Vaughn. Then I remembered he said if he wanted me, as if he didn’t, but was letting me know if he did, I couldn’t stop him. Sorry, but that just seemed arrogant and insulting to me. In fact, the more I thought about the man I decided his eyes were too golden and his body entirely too muscled. Moreover, his hair was too thick and dark and his lips way too full, all of which told me, he was used to getting his way. Probably just by crooking his finger at any woman who looked his way.
The girls kept going on and on about real men and how they act while wooing a woman while I continued to think about Dallas and his actions last night. I was so engrossed in all of Dallas’ shortcomings (I was lying to myself, obviously) that I didn’t hear my front door open. When Finn boomed, “Real men like us,” as he and Bo walked into the living room, followed by one of their crew, I jumped out of my skin. Eye rolls commenced (except for Kasey) as my brothers set down their tool belts and grinned at the room. I hadn’t met the man who’d accompanied them, so I gave him a cursory look. He was very tall, very big, and very hot with black hair and blue eyes that seemed a little too focused on Janeane’s br
easts.
Typical man!
Once he was done inspecting Janeane’s double D’s, he scanned the room and smiled. There was a collective sigh from all five of us as his perfect white teeth, surrounded by a sexy goatee, flashed across his face.
“Excellent! We came just in time, bro,” Finn joked as he grabbed my glass and took a drink, breaking me from my hot guy induced spell.
“Did you bring a new lock?” I asked with a hint of anger to remind them I was still pissed about last night.
“Funny, Nic. We’re here as a peace offering, okay. We know we pissed you off last night, so to make it up to you we’re gonna fix the shit on your to-do list and take measurements for the bookshelf.”
I couldn’t help but grin when I heard that, Bo and Finn had to be sweating bullets, if they were spending their Sunday afternoon fixing my broken tile and leaking faucet. I hated letting them off the hook because they had gone too far last night, but I couldn’t hold a grudge where they were concerned. Standing up, I grabbed my drink back from Finn and glared one last time at my most beloved idiot brothers. Then I kissed them both on the cheek to let them know all was forgiven. When it was all said and done, what they’d done last night was more about how they felt toward me, than embarrassing me, so how could I stay mad.
“Why don’t we take this out back since it’s a nice day and let these idiots work in peace,” I prompted the girls then turned back to Bo and Finn. “I was planning on grilling burgers. Since you’re here, you might as well eat.”
“Make mine a double,” Finn shouted, as I made my way to the deck.
The previous owners had built a huge covered deck off the kitchen that was perfect for entertaining, and this would be my first official barbecue with my friends since buying the house last year. Angela and Kristina’s husbands were off golfing together, and Kasey’s ex-husband had her boys for the weekend since he was being deployed next week. Therefore, we had the whole day to kick back and relax.
The house came with a sound system that fed into the back yard, so I plugged in my iPod and found my country favorites list. Blake Shelton started singing, “Just South of Heaven” as I pulled off the cover to my gas grill and the girls brought out our drinks. As the girls were making their way outside, one of my living room windows was suddenly shoved open, and I heard Bo shout, “Turn it up.” So, I cranked it up.
After lighting my grill, I grabbed the grill brush and began scraping off the remnants of my last cookout as the girls grabbed a chair around my square, tile covered patio table. My backyard wasn’t huge, but it was landscaped as if a master gardener lived there. Billowing gardens of wildflowers of every color were bursting through, now that spring had arrived, and soon much of the yard would be an English garden paradise. I loved the haphazardly placed beds of fragrant flowers, both short and tall, mixed with the large oak trees and wispy grasses. It reminded me of a cottage garden you’d find in England, where hundreds of feet of a yard were dedicated to a variety of flowers and shrubs, that at times seemed to have no rules of organization. I knew when I spied the backyard I had to have the house.
“Hey, Nicola,” Kasey shouted from my kitchen. “You know how you said when you took this break you were gonna get drunk and maybe get laid?” I turned around and watched as Kasey came out of my kitchen holding up a bottle of Tequila. “I can help you with the drunk part, but you’re on your own with the getting laid part.”
“I heard that,” Bo laughed from inside.
Rolling my eyes because I had said that, I eyed the bottle then thought about my schedule for the next day and knew I could indulge in a few rounds of shots. Smiling, I grabbed the bottle and unscrewed the lid as the girls started chanting, “Drink, drink, drink,” in unison. Heat burned my throat as warmth ran through my veins, and that’s pretty much the last sober thing I remembered, the rest of the day was an alcohol induced blur.
***
Sundays for Dallas meant forgetting about work for a few short hours while being fed by Bill’s wife, June. He had a standing invitation to eat dinner with his family on Sunday afternoon and he didn’t miss many. Dallas was an honorary member of their family. When he divorced Brynne two years ago, June had insisted he join them for dinner at least once a week so she knew he was eating.
June was an opinionated woman who ran Bill’s home like a well-oiled machine. She kept their kids on schedule, their house a home you could kick back and relax in, and she adored her husband even though she only pretended to put up with him.
Their home was in midtown Tulsa in one of the older neighborhoods, not far from Dallas. A two-story colonial, painted white with black shutters, it sat on a large corner lot with plenty of room for their four daughters. Their house was never quiet, always hormonal, and entertaining as hell as only four girls between the ages of twelve and nineteen could be.
Today was no different.
“Not in a million years are you leavin’ this house in that getup. Upstairs and change or you can forget about goin’ out with your friends.”
“Mom! Daddy’s being a stick in the mud,” Trisha Reed whined as Dallas entered the Reed residence.
“Daddy’s just trying to save some poor boy's life, angel. If you walk out of this house wearin’ that short skirt and tight top, I’ll have to shoot someone.”
Stomping her foot, Trish turned to Dallas and attempted, per usual, to get him on her side. “Uncle Dallas, is this skirt too short?” Trish cried out as Dallas stood there enjoying the banter.
Trisha Reed was a precocious fifteen-year-old with long legs, long brown hair, and a body that should belong to a twenty-year-old not a kid. So yeah, it was too damn short, too damn everything for a girl he loved like a younger sister.
“Not only yeah, but, hell yeah. I’ll ground you myself if you walk out of this house in that getup,” Dallas bit out then braced for the fallout.
About now was when the bottom lip usually started trembling. Right before the tears streamed and the wailing started as she sprinted up the stairs to her room.
Three, two, one, Dallas thought.
She didn’t disappoint.
“I’m never speaking to you again,” she screamed as she ran up the stairs and slammed the door to her room, no doubt throwing herself on her bed at the injustice of the world.
Grinning, per usual, when he’d won an argument with his daughters, Bill turned to Dallas and clapped him on the shoulder, his fifteen-year-old all but forgotten. Both men headed toward the kitchen where June was cooking a pot roast for dinner. Upon entering, she turned around and smiled at Dallas, but frowned at her husband.
“What did you do this time?” June accused.
“Jesus, woman, I didn’t do anything. She was tryin’ to sneak out of the house in a strippers outfit.”
“The black skirt and red top with the skulls?” she asked.
“That’s the one. Why in the hell does she own that shit in the first place?”
“Do you wanna go to the mall with her when she has birthday money from your mother and supervise?”
“I catch murderers for a livin’, ain’t that punishment enough?”
“Oh, please. I’d take your murderers any day over four daughters with PMS,” June argued. “You couldn’t just give me sons who would take care of their mama when she is old and gray. No, you gave me four daughters, all built like supermodels, and then leave me to fend for myself while you have all the fun shooting people,” she groused in outrage, then narrowed her eyes and announced, “I want to shoot people.”
Bill was smiling by the time she finished so he grabbed June around the waist and hauled her to him, nuzzling her neck as he whispered, “Do you wanna go to the gun range tomorrow, and shoot somethin’?”
“Only if it’s with bottles of pop and large caliber ammo. You know I prefer it when the targets explode,” June told him as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Deal,” Bill chuckled before kissing June’s neck.
Once Bill let his wife go, she r
ounded on Dallas and pointed her finger at him, which made him smile. He knew this would be good because the woman wasn’t happy unless she was lecturing or ordering someone around. Dallas figured it was a conditioned response from having raised four girls.
“Ask the woman out.”
“Sorry?” Dallas chuckled, at a loss for what she meant.
“The coffee girl, the writer, Bill told me all about her. He said she was as cute as a button and sweet as apple pie.” Dallas’ eyes shot to Bill, narrowing them on his partner. The last thing he needed was June on his case about dating. The woman locked her jaws on a topic like a Rottweiler when she smelled blood. And Dallas finding a woman was about as big of a bone of contention with June as there was. “And don’t give me any of that ‘you don’t have time for a relationship’ crap, either, Dallas. A man can’t live by bread alone. You need someone waiting at home for you at the end of the day.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” Dallas replied with a smile, not about to tell her he’d already made that decision. He’d never get any peace if she knew he was headed to Nicola’s house after dinner.
“The hell you will! You’ll bury yourself in your work like you’ve done the past two years, is what you’ll do.”
“June,” Dallas tried to interrupt, but she stopped him and demanded, “Jesus, Dallas, make time for love before you're old and gray. If you don’t, you’ll have no kids to look after you while you relive your glory days.”
Dallas knew better than to argue with the woman so he walked over, put his hand to her head, leaned in, and kissed her forehead. “I’ll see what I can do about not bein’ alone in my golden years.”
June shoved Dallas back and pointed at him one last time before turning to the stove to finish making dinner. All while grumbling that he was more stubborn than her Bill.
“Make yourself useful boys and set the table. You’ll only get in my way in here.”
Dallas turned to the cupboard that held the dishes, and asked, “How many for dinner,” as he started pulling down plates. June’s answer was interrupted by Bill’s cell going off, so she waited for him to answer, and then told Dallas, “Only five,” would be adding to the noise level of their home.
