But it wasn’t food she wanted at that particular moment.
He moved past her, his arm brushing hers. Heat radiated from the point of contact and she sucked in a breath.
He felt the electricity as well because every muscle in his body went taut and a frown pulled his lips tight.
“Eat the Twinkies,” he finally murmured, his voice gruff. “Just eat the damn Twinkies.” And then he disappeared through the opening, the boulder moving into place behind him.
She drew a deep, shaky breath and tried to deny the all-important fact that there weren’t enough snack cakes in the state of Texas to sate the hunger that he created.
Not nearly enough.
Chapter Twelve
BOONE TOSSED the picnic basket into the passenger’s seat of the black Ford F-250 pickup parked at the far end of the ravine and closed the door. Stuffing the keys into his pocket, he started on foot, moving silently across the rugged terrain.
While driving had been the practical choice to search the nearby truck stops and motels, he stood a better chance of combing the surrounding ranchland on foot.
He ignored the urge to head back to the cave and satisfy the incredible need for Riley that gripped his entire body. Just one more taste.
Then he could think again.
Focus.
But he knew it wouldn’t stop there. He wanted her too much. Meanwhile she didn’t want him enough. And while he’d always been the aggressor, he’d never forced himself on any woman. He’d never had to and he wouldn’t start now.
No matter how fierce his desire.
He picked up speed, moving quickly across the terrain for the next several hours. He checked every cave, every run-down hunting cabin, every nook and cranny, until he finally reached the shabby structure that had once been the biggest ranch house this side of Austin.
At the height of its cattle glory, the Double T had been one of the most impressive spreads around. The house itself was a sprawling one-story with a wraparound porch and hand-carved double doors. Full grown oak trees dotted the lush lawn and a garden filled the space in the back.
Once upon a time, that was.
Now, the lawn was overgrown and the garden was a tangle of weeds and untended vegetables. The porch sagged and the paint had peeled away. Several windows had been knocked out and a piece of plywood covered the entryway.
The place had been in Maddie’s family for years, until the last Reed had passed away. George Reed had been sick for several years with a terrible heart condition prior to his death, and so the place had fallen to ruins even before that final heart attack. Maddie had wanted to step in to help him, but she hadn’t wanted to reveal herself and risk the shock for fear of what it might do to his fragile ticker.
Not that she’d been in a financial position to help him anyway. She’d been a show girl in Vegas, singing in the casinos, and helping to choreograph several of the shows.
She’d been in charge of a Wild West Revue that had packed the house night after night at the Palace, which is how she’d come up with the brainstorm for Tombstone.
If folks were so eager to pay through the nose to step back in time for a few hours, surely they would pay an even bigger sum for an entire vacation experience?
She’d convinced Boone and the others to go in with her on the investment and they’d hit pay dirt. They’d proven their concept the first month that Tombstone had opened up shop.
And now it was just a matter of raking in enough cash so that they could not only preserve the town itself, but the Double T as well.
The place held a soft spot for all of them, because they’d been turned nearby. Born into their new vampire existence right here. And none of them wanted to see it go up for auction. Especially since they were forced to return every year for the Turning.
Most of the Ten intended to settle right here. All except for Boone. Sure, he’d fought for his father’s land all those years ago, but not because he’d hoped to someday take over and have a place for himself. Not because he’d wanted to plant roots and nurture his crops and stay put for the rest of his life.
He’d done it out of principle.
Boone himself had wanted more. Truth, justice, and the chance to do something more exciting than plow a field, day after day. That’s what he’d really loved about law enforcement. The excitement.
Hell, that’s what he’d loved about being one of the Tombstone Ten. Seeking revenge against those who deserved it had been only part of it. He’d lusted after the heart-pounding fervor, the rush of adrenalin, the thrill of doing something.
His gaze shifted to the left, to the small, broken-down house that sat in the far distance, and to the five hundred or so acres that stretched behind it. That was his piece of the pie.
If he wanted to take a bite.
But he wasn’t ready to settle down and start wasting away like his father and his grandfather before him. And while he was a vampire and he knew that wasn’t physically possible, it was more than plausible emotionally. He’d watched his father go from being a strong, capable man to a weak, scared individual who’d watched his son die rather than step up and take action.
Silas Jarrett had been too complacent, and that’s what Boone feared the most.
Complacency.
To the point that nothing mattered. Not pride. Or principle. Or family.
Especially family.
Boone would never turn his back on his own family.
As long as he kept moving, kept striving for more, he wouldn’t fall into the same trap. He wouldn’t slow down and settle in to the point that he lost his passion and stopped caring about everyone and everything. He might be tied to Tombstone, but he wasn’t stuck here.
Trapped.
The notion struck and he thought of Riley, of her determination to stay one week ahead on her posting schedule for fear that her past would catch up to her.
It was a feeling he knew all too well.
Which made his attraction to her that much stronger.
She knew what he felt because she felt the same thing—the same regret regarding the mistakes she’d made, the same worry she might repeat them. And damned if that didn’t strengthen the fragile bond that already existed between them.
Not that it changed anything.
Bond or no bond, he intended to move on when this mess was resolved and the profits were on the upswing. In the meantime, it was just a matter of keeping his distance from her. Then he would forget about her, and she would forget about him, and everything would go back to normal.
To the same old, same old.
As soon as the thought struck, he pushed it aside. He wasn’t stuck in a rut. How could he be? He was a detective, for Christ’s sake, with one of the country’s finest police departments. Even more, he had offers from other departments. He could go anywhere he wanted and still keep living his dream. His afterlife was all about righting wrongs and feeling the rush when justice was served.
Day after day after day.
He ditched the notion and focused on the task at hand. He walked the perimeter of the house, opening his senses to every sight, every sound. His boots crunched grass and the crickets buzzed in the background and all seemed to be right.
But it didn’t feel right.
His muscles bunched and his palms itched and the hair on the back of his neck stood straight up.
Because someone was there?
No. Rather, someone had been there. Not very long ago. He could smell it in the sharp, pungent scent that wafted in the air. A familiar odor that prickled at his past and fed the suspicion deep inside.
It wasn’t nearly enough to reinforce his theory. He needed real proof to take to the others, and so Boone quickened his steps and went to work, combing the area again, drawing on every bit of law enforcement experie
nce he’d picked up to find something tangible.
Something to prove beyond a doubt that he was right and Ike McCoy had finally come back.
“TAKE A LOOK at this,” Boone told Riley when he walked into the cave the next night and found her pacing the perimeter. He handed her the copy of the ancient “wanted” poster depicting a hand-drawn likeness of Ike.
After his search of the surrounding property had left him empty-handed as far as real clues went, he’d headed back to the jail and his computer system. He’d spent an entire night searching everything from historical sites to the kitschy “Western Folklore You Never Knew,” and the crude drawing had been the best he had come up with. However amateurish, it did resemble the gang leader.
Sort of.
Riley took the computer print-out and stared at the image. He waited for the “aha” moment that would surely confirm his suspicions and at least give him some sort of lead as to who was terrorizing his town.
Instead, she stared long and hard before shaking her head. “It’s hard to tell. It might be him.” She handed the paper back and he noted the tremble in her hands and the slight quiver to her lips.
Reality sank in and he swept a gaze around the interior of the cave, from the empty Twinkie box sitting nearby to the scatter of magazines, as if she gone through each one not once, but several times in an attempt to kill the time and distract herself from the walls surrounding her.
Closing in.
His attention shifted back to her face, to the shadows beneath her eyes, her pale cheeks, the worry carving her features tight.
“I’m sorry,” she added. “I wish I could be of more help.”
Boy, did she ever. He saw the sentiment gleaming in her gaze. She wanted out of here, she needed out. And anything she could do to facilitate the process, she’d happily do. But the likeness wasn’t detailed enough and she simply couldn’t be sure.
“Don’t you have an actual picture?”
“There are a few, but they’re blurry.” Thanks to Ike’s vampiric charm. “This is the closest thing I’ve been able to come up with.”
She closed her eyes as if racking her brain for more information. In the end, she shook her head and glanced around. “I can’t think of anything.” Not here. Not with the walls closing in. She didn’t have to say as much. He knew. He felt every emotion even before he stared deep into her eyes.
He held her gaze a moment more, fighting the guilt that ebbed through him. Finally, he held out his hand. “Come on.”
“What are you doing?”
Yeah, what the hell are you doing?
“Getting you out of here for a little while.” It wasn’t the smartest idea he’d ever had. He had a killer on the loose and a ton of work to do if he was going to catch this rogue vamp. And then, there was the fact that the last thing he needed was to spend even a moment longer than necessary with her. He’d vowed to keep his distance during his brief visits. It had been easy enough to do inside such a massive cave.
Or so he’d thought.
But suddenly, the space seemed so small and she was too close, and just like that, he needed out every bit as much as she did. Even the extra bag of blood he’d tossed back wasn’t helping. The hunger raged inside him. Yep, he needed out, all right.
He certainly wasn’t doing this for her.
Even though he liked the way she smiled up at him, hope softening her delicate features at the prospect of a quick trip outside. “Really?”
A strange warmth whispered through him, heating even the deepest recesses of his undead soul, and he couldn’t help himself. He grinned. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Thirteen
“I FIGURED YOU for a pickup truck kind of guy.” Riley sat behind him, her arms around his waist as he walked the horse out of the deep ravine. “Maybe a Chevy or a Dodge.”
“I’m a Ford man all the way, but a horse is better for this terrain. Besides, I like to ride. I always have.”
The blue jean skirt Riley had pulled on earlier that day slid higher up her thighs and her crotch nestled firmly against Boone’s hard-as-nails butt. The only thing between them was the thin cotton of her thong and his jeans, and it wasn’t nearly enough when he kicked the horse to a full gallop and sent them flying across an open stretch of pastureland.
Not with the ruts and lurches and yowza . . .
His denim-clad ass rubbed deliciously between her legs and the sudden friction caused an avalanche of heat that buried her and cut off her oxygen supply for several long seconds. Pleasure speared her and she barely caught a moan before it sailed past her lips.
“What did you say, sugar?”
“Nothing,” she mumbled into the soft cotton covering his shoulder.
She shouldn’t be getting turned on this fast and with so little effort on his part. He was busy holding the reins, for heaven’s sake. Not paying her the least bit of attention, not offering any flirty comments or smoldering looks or purposeful touches to drive her insane.
Rather, he was being a perfect gentleman and she was acting as if she hadn’t had sex in ages.
Three days, she reminded herself.
She’d done the deed on Monday and it was barely Thursday. She should be more than content right now. She’d lasted three years the last time. A few days should be a piece of cake.
She let out a deep breath and scooted as far back as she could in the saddle. Concentrating on keeping a scant slice of air between them, she braced her thighs and tried to maintain her composure. There. That was better.
Except when the horse veered to the right. She swayed from one side to the other. The leather rubbed against the backs of her thighs and she couldn’t help but remember Boone’s hands gliding along her bare skin, cupping her bottom and pulling her closer—
Give it a rest, would ya?
She stiffened and let the stinging wind whip some sense into her for all of five heartbeats before the horse lurched again and she jerked.
She caught her bottom lip against a fierce burst of pleasure. She tangled her fingers in the soft cotton of his T-shirt, eager to keep her hands anchored in place at his waist. The last thing she needed was for him to know exactly how turned on she was.
As if he didn’t.
But he was in front and, therefore, not staring at her, so it was possible that he didn’t.
Another bump and her body jumped. Her hands slipped. Her fingers grazed his crotch—accidentally, of course—and his spine went ramrod straight.
She knew then that he was every bit as turned on as she was.
The knowledge stirred a burst of satisfaction, followed by a rush of are you freakin’ kidding me? The whole point of getting out of that cave was to escape the lust burning her up. The need had dogged her all day, wearing on her nerves even more than the confines of her temporary prison.
She’d needed to escape. To forget.
Fat chance with Boone right in front of her.
“Are we there yet?”
“Almost. It gets a little rough here. Hold on.”
Her fingers tightened in his shirt and she felt the tautness of his muscled abs through the thin cotton. Her nostrils flared and the scent of him—leather and fresh air and a wildness that stirred something deep and primal inside of her—slid into her head and skimmed across her nerves. Stirring and rousing and ugh.
Another bump and she rubbed deliciously against him. Once. Twice.
By the time the horse slowed, Riley’s entire body buzzed with awareness, and she was this close to ripping off her clothes and throwing herself at him.
Submitting to anything and everything he could possibly do to her, consequences be damned.
Panic bolted through her and she found herself sliding from the horse even before he came to a complete stop. Her legs wobbled as the ground rushed up to mee
t her.
“Easy.” He was at her side in a split second, thanks to his vamp reflexes, his arms holding her up when her knees threatened to give way.
“I’m good. Really.” Not. She shrugged loose anyway, determined to put some distance between them. “I just had a little cramp, but it’s fine now.” She limped a few feet away and found herself looking out over a glassy body of water. She stood on a small ledge that jutted out over the mirrorlike surface, giving her an incredible view.
“This is really beautiful.”
“It’s the deepest river on record in Texas. It’s over twenty feet straight down on all sides. It serves as the primary water source for the town and all the surrounding land.” He ground-tied the horse and came up next to her. “It’s fed by an underground reservoir that runs beneath the nearby canyons.”
He stood there, close, but not too close, and she drew in a deep, relieved breath.
Her relief was short-lived, however. She could still smell him—the delicious scent of hot, aroused male—and her own hormones buzzed in response.
“We thought about modernizing,” he said. He motioned to an old-fashioned windmill near the far bank and the water tank that sat nearby. “But if it’s not broke, as the saying goes . . .”
“How old is the windmill?”
“It was built back in the 1800s. We’ve restored some of it, but the blades are the original pieces. I hammered them into place myself about a hundred and fifty years ago.”
She slid him a sideways glance before sinking to the ground and pulling her knees to her chest. “I thought you were an outlaw.”
“Outlaws need water, too.” He shrugged and sat down next to her, his legs out in front of him, ankles crossed. “We settled the town as a safe place when we were in between jobs. It had everything we needed—several canyons surrounded the flattest area which prevented anyone from sneaking up on us, there were enough trees to use for the buildings and this.” He motioned to the river. “Do you swim?”
The Quick and the Undead: Volume 1 (Tombstone, Texas) Page 14
