Three Cowboys

by Julie Miller

  “Nobody at ICE or the FBI gives a damn where Rivas is. They don’t think he’s anything more than a peripheral witness at best.” Wyatt was already tiring of his brother’s third degree. So he’d formed a soft spot for their sister’s troublesome boyfriend. And maybe Tracy Cobb was right about the kid having potential. But Wyatt had his own fugitive to guard. Los Jaguares might want to eliminate Julio Rivas from their list of potential prosecution witnesses, but that was business.

  Elena Vargas had shot and killed Javier Calderón’s younger brother. His vendetta against her was very, very personal. But he couldn’t tell his brothers that part of the story. Not without Elena’s permission. So they were understandably skeptical of Wyatt’s certainty that she was a target.

  “What makes you think Calderón’s put a price on her head, anyway?” Morgan asked.

  “Besides having her house blown up with her in it?”

  “That could have been a random attack on any law-enforcement agent.”

  “Trust me. It wasn’t. She was the target, and she will be again if we don’t stop Calderón.” Wyatt shot a pointed look at Bull, who was blocking the path to the study door. “I need to make sure she’s comfortable in the guest room and not having any symptoms of a closed-head injury, if that’s okay with y’all.”

  Bull moved aside. “How long’s she staying here?”

  “As long as necessary. So grit your teeth and bear it.”

  Dakota Dayton, his father’s finance manager, was still in the guest bedroom with Elena when Wyatt knocked on the door. She smiled at him, reminding him why his brother Morgan found her so irresistible. Dakota was good people. A tough, hardworking, softhearted Texas woman. A man couldn’t go wrong with one of those.

  “I’ll be around if you need anything,” Dakota told Elena as she started out the door. “Like a break from all the testosterone floating around this place.” She winked at Wyatt as she left the room, closing the door behind her.

  “I work in law enforcement. I’m probably leaking a little testosterone myself,” Elena said with a dry laugh.

  She looked about as far from masculine as a woman could get, Wyatt thought, especially freshly showered and dressed in some soft blue froth of a nightgown Dakota had lent her. She was sitting up against the pillows at the head of the bed, the comforter up to her chest, allowing Wyatt only a tantalizing peek at the shadows of her breasts beneath the gown’s silk bodice.

  She must have caught him looking, for she sank a little farther under the covers, pulling the comforter up toward her chin. “I never figured Dakota Dayton for the frilly type.”

  “It’s a good look for you,” he said, waiting for her caustic comeback.

  But she just smiled at the compliment. “Thank you.”

  “Not that other looks are bad looks for you,” he added.

  Her smile grew wry. “You just prefer the soft, girly look?”

  He eased closer to the bed. “I didn’t say that.”

  She lifted her chin to keep her gaze locked with his. “Most men do.”

  There it was again. That minor chord in her voice that made him think she’d been hurt, and badly. He hadn’t heard any stories about her love life in the years he’d known her, and law-enforcement circles were just as bad as any about spreading gossip.

  Maybe that was something he and Elena Vargas had in common. He didn’t go around sharing his secrets, either.

  “How long do you expect me to stay here?” Elena asked. “I’m not an invalid and I’m damned sure not going to hide out here like a coward while you menfolk look for Calderón. So if that’s your plan—”

  Unfortunately, that was exactly his plan. “If you’re already in their crosshairs, the last thing you need to do is go out there with a big bull’s-eye painted on your back.”

  “Even if I can help you get your sister back?”

  “You don’t have to martyr yourself to do it.”

  “I don’t intend to.” Her voice darkened with determination.

  He felt his blood pressure rising at her stubborn bravado. “How are you going to avoid it?”

  “The same way I’ve avoided it for the past two years.”

  “Because that worked so well this afternoon.”

  Her dark eyes flashed with annoyance. “I started to get complacent. I won’t let that happen again. But I’m the best person to help you find Brittany. I know more about Calderón than anyone around here—I’ve been studying him for years now.”

  Damn, but she was gorgeous when she was stubborn. It was well after midnight, and she’d had her house blown up around her and a knock to the head that had sent her to the hospital for treatment. She’d just had a harrowing near miss with the ruthless cartel that had put a price on her head and spent the last hour in a car driving lickety-split across ranch country to escape an ambush. But Wyatt had never seen her look more appealing.

  Anger pinked her cheeks, and gritty determination sparked in her eyes. Her hair was a wavy, tumbled mess and somehow, in the middle of their argument, she’d forgotten she was in bed and let the comforter slip, revealing just how damned good her breasts looked in that silky nightgown.

  He’d been lusting after her for almost as long as he’d known her, though he’d kept his urges to himself since Elena had made it clear in her behavior, not just to him but to every man on the task force, that she was off-limits sexually. As far as he knew, he was the only one who’d had any trouble following her unspoken rules about sex in the workplace.

  Most of them thought her too prickly and reserved. But Wyatt found the emotional barriers she erected around herself to be intriguing, a mystery to be solved. And this might be his best chance to breach her defenses, he realized. While she was here, on his turf.

  He crossed slowly to the side of the bed, careful not to move too quickly, knowing how easily she spooked. “Mind if I sit? It’s been a long day for me, too.”

  Her eyes narrowed but she nodded.

  He sat beside her, close enough that he felt her hip warm against his, only the comforter and their clothes between them. “What is it that you think you can give me that nobody else can?” Although he hadn’t intended for his voice to come out in a low, sensuous growl, he couldn’t really regret it, not when he saw a deep flush spread across Elena’s throat and chest. Her eyes darkened, and an answering heat flooded into his lower belly and slid south.

  Her long black eyelashes dropped to hide her eyes. A curl of black hair slid into her face, falling over her brow and across her eyes. He reached out and pushed it behind her ear without thinking. But at his touch, her gaze snapped up to meet his, and the heat in his gut ignited, spreading fire through him, out of control.

  He saw an answering blaze reflected in her eyes. “Elena—”

  She touched his jaw, her finger tracing across a tiny scar on his chin he’d earned years ago at his first youth rodeo. “You have the worst timing, cowboy.” She dropped her hand to her lap.

  He tipped her chin up, making her look at him again. “It doesn’t have to be bad timing. Maybe this is the chance we never gave ourselves. I can’t be the only one who feels the sparks we strike off each other.”

  “You’re not.” Her voice softened. “But all that means is we know how to push each other’s buttons.”

  “You don’t find me at all attractive?” His question came out sounding cocky, which he hadn’t planned. But at least it made her laugh.

  “Nobody with eyes and a libido would find you unattractive, McCabe.”

  “Wyatt,” he murmured, leaning closer, pressing his advantage.

  She flattened her hand against his chest. “You’re trying to find your sister. I’m trying to take out Calderón. We don’t have time for this.”

  “We never have time for this.” He stood up, starting for the door.

  “Wait,” she blurted.

  He turned to face her again. “What?”

  “I have an idea about getting your sister back.”

  He came back to the e
dge of the bed. “What’s that?”

  “We make contact with Los Jaguares in Los Soldados. And we offer them a trade.”

  Wyatt narrowed his eyes. “What kind of trade?”

  Elena’s spine straightened, and despite the filmy nightgown and her tousled hair, there was no mistaking the return of tough, composed Agent Vargas of Immigration and Customs Enforcement.

  “Your sister for me,” she answered.

  * * *

  WYATT MCCABE COULD BE the most hardheaded creature this side of a mule pen, Elena reflected the next morning when she dragged her bleary-eyed self out of the too-soft bed, driven to speed by the late hour. She’d told Wyatt to make sure someone woke her at six, but apparently he’d taken it upon himself to control her sleep time as well as the rest of her life.

  It was seven-twenty and the sun was already up outside her bedroom window, pouring in through the brown muslin curtains to cast a bar graph of shadows on the hardwood floor. On the floor by the bed, someone had put a blue gym bag that hadn’t been there when she went to bed. She checked inside cautiously and discovered a couple pairs of jeans, a cotton sweater, a denim jacket and two pairs of shoes—tennis shoes and hiking boots. They were a half size too large, but the thick socks she found in the bottom of the bag made them fit better. The jeans, on the other hand, fit fine. She put on the blue sweater and checked her reflection in the mirror.

  Not quite the composed and competent ICE agent she was used to seeing, she thought. But she’d looked worse.

  Hearing voices coming from somewhere in the house, she followed the noise until she reached the great room to find Justice talking in quiet tones to Dakota Dayton, while Dakota’s three-year-old darted around the Christmas tree nearby, gazing with toddler wonder at the wrapped presents nestled under the branches of the massive fir.

  Justice turned at the sound of her steps. He looked at her a moment without smiling, as if trying to assess her motives for being here.

  “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. McCabe.”

  He nodded formally. “You’re welcome, Agent Vargas. How are you feeling this morning?”

  Sore, she thought. But clearheaded. “Fine,” she said. “Is Wyatt around?”

  She expected the answer to be no, to discover that he’d left for Los Soldados without her. But the door from the veranda opened and Wyatt entered, followed by a Mexican teenager who went stone-still at the sight of her standing in the middle of the great room.

  With a sharp profanity that sent Dakota diving to cover her son’s ears, Julio Rivas backpedaled toward the door. Wyatt grabbed him by the back of his jacket and hauled him around to face Elena.

  She stared at Julio’s terrified expression for a second before shifting her glare to Wyatt. “So. I see he didn’t run off to Mexico after all. Let me guess, you just ran into him outside?”

  Wyatt’s lips pressed to a thin line. “He’s been here for about a week.”

  “You know that could be seen as harboring a fugitive?”

  “We like to think of it as protecting an endangered witness.” Wyatt’s older brother, Virgil, entered from the veranda, his broad shoulders nearly brushing the door frame. Instantly the room seemed about two sizes smaller than before.

  Elena wanted to chew out the whole family for keeping Julio’s location from the rest of the task-force agencies who were looking for the kid as a material witness, but she had to admit, if she’d found him first, she’d have done the same thing and kept his whereabouts to herself. “Any other witnesses against Calderón stashed around here I should know about?”

  “Just you,” Wyatt answered. “Have you had breakfast?”

  She shook her head.

  “Come on.” He handed Julio off to his brother and walked to where Elena stood, her arms crossed with annoyance. If he noticed the speculative look his father was giving him, he showed no sign of it.

  “Miguel made biscuits this morning.” Wyatt led her out of the great room and into the kitchen—a large, warm room down the hall. “They should still be warm. We have honey or strawberry jam, or Miguel could probably whip up a batch of milk gravy—”

  She caught his arm and pulled him around to face her. “Did you think about what I said last night?”

  His expression hardened. “I couldn’t think of much else.”

  “You understand this has to be how we handle it. It’s the best way to get a foot in the door with the cartel.”

  “What makes you think he’d be willing to trade the leverage Brittany gives him for a chance to get his revenge on you?”

  “He can find other leverage against your father,” she answered. “You or your brothers. Dakota and her kid, even. But he’s never going to get a better chance to get his hands on me.”

  Wyatt’s gray eyes locked with hers, his conflicted thoughts almost readable in their gunmetal depths. Suddenly, he curled his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her to him until she was pressed flat against the solid wall of his lean, muscular body.

  He was going to kiss her, she realized, her heart stuttering into a frantic sprint. He was going to kiss her, and God help her, she was going to let him.

  She tasted coffee on his tongue as he skipped the preliminaries and went straight for seduction. She didn’t resist when he walked her back against the kitchen counter and lifted her onto the granite top. When he stepped between her knees, she opened her thighs and wrapped her legs around his waist, tugging him closer.

  Anyone could come in here any minute, argued the sliver of sanity left in her spinning head. But she didn’t care. Wyatt’s hands were like pure magic against her body, burning past the thin layer of cotton sweater to scorch the skin beneath with fiery pleasure.

  A couple of quick footsteps were all the warning they got.

  It wasn’t enough.

  “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry.”

  Wyatt pressed his head against the side of Elena’s neck. She forced her eyes open to see Dakota Dayton’s flushed face staring back at them.

  “I’ll just go.”

  Wyatt stepped back and lifted Elena down to the floor. “It’s okay,” he said to Dakota, managing a smile, which was more than Elena could come up with. She just wanted to run the woman out of the kitchen and finish what Wyatt had started.

  “Cody wanted another biscuit,” Dakota murmured.

  “Go ahead. We’re done here.” Wyatt slanted a look at Elena, a silent invitation to follow him. He headed out the back door without another word.

  Elena averted her gaze from Dakota’s curious look and followed Wyatt outside. The north wind that had chilled the previous day was back with a vengeance. Elena wished she’d grabbed a jacket from the duffel bag.

  “I’ll do it,” Wyatt said.

  Elena arched an eyebrow. “You mean—?”

  “I’ll set up the trade. On one condition.”

  “What condition?”

  “You give me access to those notes you’re hiding. Because I know they didn’t get lost in the fire.”

  Chapter Five

  “They’re not keeping her on the alpaca ranch.” Elena set a cup of coffee in front of Wyatt and pulled out a notepad. “Are you ready to order?”

  If he hadn’t helped her transform herself into the cantina waitress himself, he might not have recognized her. Long, black hair extensions gave her a thick, wavy mane, and dramatic makeup and a low-cut peasant blouse erased almost all resemblance to the ICE agent who spent most of her time in conservative business suits. Inside the purse she wore bandolier style over her neck and shoulders, her Smith & Wesson M&P40 lay nestled in a built-in holster. He’d bought the purse the day before from a gun shop in Serpentine.

  He hadn’t liked her suggestion that she get a job in Los Soldados, fearing she’d put herself too obviously in the line of fire. She had chosen this particular undercover setup, and after reading through her copious notes, kept in a password-protected web archive Elena had set up to protect her notes from exactly the kind of destruction that had happe
ned to her house earlier that week, Wyatt couldn’t really argue.

  Los Jaguares were known for their womanizing. Who better than a sexy woman to get the goods on them? So far, members of Los Jaguares who’d come through the cantina hadn’t looked any higher than her cleavage. He supposed there was something to the idea of hiding in plain sight.

  He was doing a bit of that himself, playing tourist from somewhere up North. The Western shirt he’d bought at one of the shops in Serpentine that catered to tourists was too ornate and obvious to ever pass as authentic Texas gear. His jeans were too new and too tight, and he wore his most expensive pair of running shoes instead of boots.

  He’d even gelled up his hair, at his brother Morgan’s suggestion, and borrowed his father’s horn-rimmed reading glasses, though he spent most of his time looking over the tops of the rims because the view through the lenses was a blur.

  “I’ll have a Buffalo Burger and Texas fries,” he ordered, mimicking his brother Morgan’s neutral accent and hoping his Texas twang wasn’t bleeding through. Lowering his voice, he added, “Then where are they keeping her?”

  “My shift ends at one. Stick around and I’ll pretend I’m taking a tourist home for a little Texas hospitality.” She winked at him and went to turn his order in.

  He waited patiently, enduring the badly spiced abomination Avalina’s Cantina called a Buffalo Burger and, more annoying, at least three attempts by customers to grope Elena as she took their orders.

  She came back near the end of her shift, bending close enough that he could see right down her shirt. Wicked woman wasn’t wearing a bra, he realized, heat flushing through his body. He looked up and saw laughter in her eyes. “Tip me big, fella, and you might get lucky.” She flashed him a flirtatious smile.

  He added a twenty to the bill and caught her hand as she started toward the back of the bar. “You get off any time soon, gorgeous?”

  She pretended to consider her answer. “Five minutes. You have something in mind?”

  He rose and whispered in her ear. “I’m seeing a whole new side of you, Vargas.”

  She laughed softly. “My side isn’t what you were looking at a minute ago.” She patted his cheek. “Stick around till my shift is over and I’ll show you around town, gringo.”