Tag took a long pull from the coffee cup then set it on the counter with an echoing thud. “Good. Let’s go.”
He locked up the house while they loaded their truck. Wade waited on the porch. Two calves scampered back and forth along the wooden rail corralling them.
“Those new?” he asked Tag.
“Yep. Just bought them from Jed Radcliffe.”
They walked down to Tag’s truck. “Bo and Pep got too big.”
Olivia laughed. “You named your cows Bo and Pep? That’s so cute.”
Tag glowered. “Short for Rambo and George Peppard, leader of the A-Team.”
“Who?” she asked.
“The A-Team? ‘I love it when a plan comes together’? Oh for Pete’s sake. Jake, take your woman home and educate her.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that.” They all got into the truck and took off.
“Meet you at the Tin Star?” Wade asked Tag.
“You got a tapeworm? We just ate breakfast.”
“Funny. That’s where Kristen and Lewis start their day. Just like every other person in Freedom. You wanted me to talk to them.”
“Well, you don’t need me there. I want to talk to Fischer. You head over there. I’ll come meet you in a bit.”
Wade nodded then clambered into his red pickup. The top-of-the-line truck had been a gift to himself two years earlier when an app he created managed to go viral and net him a ridiculous sum of money. His old car had been a beat-up ’99 Mustang on its last tires. Not to mention that Mustangs and men over five feet tall rarely went together. Being six-three meant he perpetually had a goose egg from banging some part of his head getting into the car.
The truck was tall and wide and afforded him plenty of leg- and headroom.
Wade tossed his cell phone in the cupholder then waved to Tag as he put the truck into reverse and turned around on the rough dirt that passed for Tag’s driveway.
As he bumped down the grooves and ruts, his mind shifted to Jake, Hudson, and Olivia. He was happy for his friends. He was also a bit envious, which he freely admitted to himself but probably wouldn’t to anyone else. His personal life rarely had any sort of excitement and certainly nothing as exotic as a permanent threesome.
His cell chirped and he smiled as he swooped up the phone. “Hey, kiddo, how’s it going?”
“Hi, Dad. Guess what?”
Excitement rang in his son Riley’s voice. “What?”
“I made the team. It’s only JV though.”
Wade picked up on the worry in the fourteen-year-old’s tone. “JV is great, Riley. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Riley’s voice again bloomed with glee. “I’m a forward just like you. And guess what else?”
Wade shifted the phone to his other ear. “What’s that?”
“I asked Coach if I could wear number fifteen and he said yes.”
A swell of emotion choked Wade. “You asked for that?”
“Yeah,” Riley said. “Just like yours, Dad.”
“That’s quite an honor, son. Thank you.”
“You bet. Hey, you think you can come watch me play sometime? I mean, I know it’s like a jillion miles away and school will be starting for you soon. But maybe think about it, ’kay? I’ll e-mail you my schedule.” Riley talked faster and faster. “We’re taking team pictures tomorrow and I gotta get my hair cut. Coach says no hair longer than the collar, which kinda stinks for Johnson Carter ’cause his is like down to his shoulder blades. He’s been growing it since we were in first grade and stuff. But anyway, I’ll send you some pictures, too, ’kay?”
Wade pulled into a spot at the Tin Star just as his son wound down his breath-defying dissertation. He chuckled at Riley’s exuberance. “I can’t wait to see you in your uniform, kiddo. I will definitely make plans to come see you play. I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Oh, but Dad, you can’t.”
Wade shut off the engine as an unexpected pang hit his chest. “You don’t want me to?”
“No, no. ’Course I do. But you’re the coach down there. You can’t leave your team to come all the way to California to watch me.”
A short, barrel-chested man in light khakis and a button-up short-sleeved shirt walked down the sidewalk toward the Tin Star. Sunlight glinted off the man’s blond hair when he doffed his bowler hat to Sadie and Hank. He held the door as they entered the restaurant then followed them in.
“Hey, that’s what assistant coaches are for, Riley,” Wade told his son. “I promise you I’ll come see you in a game. Nothing will keep me away.”
“That will be so cool, Dad. Awesome.”
The excitement had returned. Wade couldn’t help but grin in response. He saw Riley as often as he could and had only just sent him back to his mother after a month.
“I think you left your game charger, Riley.”
“Yeah,” the boy sighed. “I figured that out at the airport.”
“You’ve been home two weeks. Why didn’t you call? I just found it yesterday. Along with the piles of socks and paper plates you stashed under your bed.”
“Oops,” Riley said. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry, I took care of it. I’ll put your charger in the mail.”
“’Kay. Mom wants to talk to you.”
“Wade?” The soft, sweet voice of Grace Jennings filled the air waves.
“Hi, Grace,” he said. “How are you? How’s Rich?”
“Good,” she said. “Thanks for asking. Do you really think you’ll be able to make a game?”
She wasn’t being sarcastic or snarky, just inquisitive. Living on opposite sides of the country made spontaneous get-togethers with Riley difficult. Not impossible, though.
“I will. He’s going to send me the schedule. I’ll put in my vacation request as soon as I get it.”
“He’ll love that.”
She cleared her throat and he tensed.
“What’s wrong, Grace?” He shoved open the truck door and headed for the Tin Star.
“Nothing’s wrong,” she said. Her voice dropped. “We haven’t told Riley yet. I wanted to let you know first.”
Wade stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Anxiety pierced his heart. “Let me know what? Is Riley okay?”
“Yes, yes. Oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.” Another deep breath. “I’m pregnant,” she blurted out.
Of all the things his ex-girlfriend could have said, pregnant would not have been high on his list. She’d had a miserable pregnancy with Riley and vowed no more kids after he’d been born.
“Uh, congratulations?”
She laughed. “Yes, congratulations. Oddly enough this one hasn’t been so bad. I haven’t been sick at all.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Good. That’s really good.”
It occurred to him that she was worried about his reaction. “Hey,” he said softly. “You’re one of my best friends. Of course I’m happy for you and Rich. Now go on, go tell kiddo. He’ll be delighted.”
“You think so?”
Wade smiled. “Yeah. He’s been bugging me for a little brother or sister for years. Thank God you’re taking care of that. Maybe he’ll leave me alone now.”
Grace’s laughter burst from the phone, forcing him to hold the receiver away as he approached the door. He put it back in time to hear her say good-bye.
“Bye,” he replied then clicked off the phone and shoved it in his pocket.
He pulled open the door to the Tin Star and worked to rid himself of his broad grin. While he really was happy for his ex and her new husband, he had a job to do. No kids would take him seriously if he tried to lay down the law while grinning like an idiot.
He squared his shoulders and stepped into the Tin Star.
* * * *
“I’m sorry, Mr. Gaughan.” Rebecca Lyons folded her hands on the desktop and looked at the well-dressed man in front of her. “I can’t take your case.”
One of his well-manicured black brows lifted. He ap
peared to wrinkle his forehead but the tight skin failed to move significantly.
“I beg your pardon?” He spoke in an even, well-modulated tone.
Pasquale Gaughan had the full package. He had money, dressed smartly, and was groomed to within an inch of his buffed nails and neatly trimmed hair. His strong profile would surely melt the heart of many a juror. In essence, the man was the perfect client to defend.
Except he is guilty.
She shuffled the private investigator’s report on her desk before stacking the papers neatly and sliding them into a manila folder marked with his name. The report was an unnecessary confirmation of what her sixth sense already told her. The man was definitely guilty.
“I said I cannot defend you. I’m sorry. I can give you the names of several other very reputable attorneys who will do a good job for you though.” She pressed a button on her phone.
“Yes, Miss Lyons?” Deidre Gillette’s voice echoed crisply over the line.
“Would you please print out the list you prepared for Mr. Gaughan? He will pick it up on his way out.”
“Certainly.”
Rebecca looked at Pasquale. His tanned face seemed to have lost a great deal of color and his dark-black eyes burned with a combination of rage and disbelief. She fought the instinctive roll of apprehension in her stomach and cocked her head. She met his stare head-on.
The rage disappeared and a self-deprecating smile replaced the anger. “You should reconsider, Miss Lyons,” he said in his lightly accented voice. She’d never been able to place it beyond European.
Gaughan crossed one leg over the other then toyed with the sharp crease in his gray slacks. “I promise I can make this a very profitable partnership. You are the best criminal defense attorney in Boston. I would very much like to work with you. I have always admired you.”
Rebecca inclined her head. “Thank you, but I’m afraid you’re exaggerating. There are many more proficient lawyers than myself. In fact, they are on the list Ms. Gillette has waiting for you.”
Rebecca stood and held out her hand.
Pasquale remained seated. She saw the gathering anger return.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he said softly. “My influence is very great.”
She gave him a cool smile. “I know exactly what I’m doing, Mr. Gaughan. Good luck.” You’ll need it.
His lips flattened and a hard, ugly look crossed his face. “I can make your life very difficult.”
Another quick wave of fear hit her but Rebecca shoved it down. She hated being bullied. Especially by a man who had a cold reputation for picking on those weaker and less successful than himself. Fortunately she’d been through this type of veiled threat a time or thirty.
She gave him a tight smile. “Mr. Gaughan, I appreciate your verve but we both know I’m not the right person to defend you. You have a good case. Any of the attorneys on the list will do a much better job.”
He rose quickly and she forced herself to remain still and implacable.
“If I insist?”
She shrugged. “I cannot defend you. Good day, Mr. Gaughan. Good luck.”
She skirted her desk and strode across the soft, cream-colored Berber carpet to the door of her office. She grasped the brass handle and tugged inward.
He let out a slow breath before walking forward. He brushed her breast with his elbow as he passed then smirked.
Rebecca gave him an outward cool smile but inside she shuddered and recoiled. She wanted to toss him out into the street like the trash he was.
Annoyance flickered through his gaze once more.
“You’ll regret this,” he snarled. He snatched the paper from Deidre’s hand and stalked from the outer office. The door slammed and windows trembled in the wake of his furious departure.
“What a charmer,” Deidre said.
“Tell me about it,” Rebecca replied. She rubbed her arms to ward off the lingering effects of his presence.
“Boss, I don’t know how you manage to look so serene when dealing with those idiots. I would have popped him for brushing up against me.”
Rebecca ran a hand through the sleek length of her ponytail. “I wanted to poke his damn eyeballs out.”
“What stopped you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Training. My father would have a conniption if he saw me being outright rude. He always said a lady behaves in public and rages in private.”
Deidre’s mouth twisted. “Sounds like a boring way to grow up.”
Rebecca thought of being seven and at the mercy of an addict bent on scoring cash or drugs. The old memory brought another shiver. She couldn’t say she’d had a boring upbringing. “Eh, you learn to adapt.”
Her secretary nodded then looked at her watch. “It’s almost one. I’m going to head to the deli for a sandwich. Want anything?”
As if on cue, Rebecca’s stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten anything since half a bagel at seven that morning. “Turkey and Swiss on white bread. Toasted. Extra black olives.”
Deidre smiled. “Why did I even ask?”
“Because you’re a good employee who never takes anything for granted?”
“And don’t you forget it.”
After she left, Rebecca wandered back into her office. She picked up the file her investigator had compiled on Gaughan. On the surface the man shone like a beatific angel. Beneath the sophisticated veneer, however, was a con man of the highest order. All the digging in the world hadn’t produced a shred of evidence against him but she knew he was guilty.
Her father called it a gut feeling and cautioned her against listening to it. Rebecca called it sixth sense preservation.
The outer office phone rang. Rebecca hurried around her desk and picked up the receiver.
“Rebecca Lyons.”
“Hello, gorgeous.”
She smiled at the smooth baritone. “Boone! How are you?”
“Doing well. Pretty good actually. Lots of action around here.”
She rolled her eyes. “Surely you didn’t call me to tell me about your sexual exploits?”
“I would but you’d like that too much.”
Heat blossomed in her cheeks and she looked through the door to the empty outer office. She lowered her voice. “Hush, you big mouth.” Boone knew more of her secrets than anyone else in her life. And he loved to use the more titillating ones to tease her mercilessly.
His warm chuckle washed over her and she couldn’t help but smile again.
“Where are you now, or is that hush-hush government information?”
“I’m in Texas, actually. A tiny little town called Freedom.”
Rebecca pulled the phone away and stared at it in surprise before bringing the receiver back to her ear. “What are you doing there?”
“That, I can’t tell you. I think you’d like it down here, though. Beautiful lush hills, lots of cattle and exotic animals, and even more interesting people.”
“Sounds quaint and picturesque.”
“I know you like that,” he murmured. “For all your big-city ways, you pine for the country.”
“As long as I can get my nails done, my hair cut well, and there’s decent shopping, I’m comfortable anywhere.”
Boone laughed. She heard the rumble of a low voice in the background followed by a higher feminine voice.
“Who’s that?” she asked.
“I’m at the sheriff’s office. That’s Sheriff Taggart Cain and his secretary, Doreen.”
“The sheriff’s office, huh? You in trouble with the law?”
“Honey, I am the law.”
She rolled her eyes even as she chuckled.
“What’s new on your end, Rebecca? Started seeing anyone yet?”
“You know better than that.”
“Yeah,” he acknowledged. “But I was hoping.” His voice gentled. “You’re going to have to open up sometime, kiddo. I know you had a bad spell but there are men out there who would do anything for you.”
“Hush, Boo
ne,” she said again. Embarrassment rushed over her. “I’m content. I have my practice and I socialize. What more do I need?”
The phone muffled and she frowned.
“Rebecca, I’ll tell you what you need.” His voice was even lower and she strained to hear him. “You need a man with a firm hand.”
She choked. “Are you applying for the job?”
His baritone laughter reverberated in her ear. “You know better than that. You’re like my kid sister. You’re beautiful and infinitely sensual, but you’re just not my type.”
She grinned. “Thank God.”
The background voice yelled loudly. She thought the sheriff was cursing but couldn’t quite pick out the words.
“Damn. I have to go, Rebecca. I’ll call you next week.”
The phone clicked and she sighed as she re-cradled it. Boone Shepherd was one of her oldest and best friends. The man knew too many secrets about her, but she didn’t mind. He was also one of the people she trusted most in the world.
Their weekly phone calls were always a bright spot in her day.
She leaned back and looked out the window of her Boston office. Even though the calendar read May 26 the sky outside was dark and dreary with heavy clouds. She hoped they didn’t hold snow. She was ready for something warmer.
“I wonder just how hot it is in Freedom, Texas, right now.”
Chapter Two
“How’s the prisoner?” Tag asked as he walked into the small office.
“Hasn’t made a peep,” Doreen said. She popped her gum. “Kinda creepy if you ask me. No hollering to be let out or see his lawyer or anything.”
Tag frowned and looked toward the heavy iron door that led to the four small cells in the back of the building. “You check on him?”
Doreen gaped. “And have you bawl me out for going back there without authority? Are you crazy?”
Tag tapped a blunt fingertip against her desk and tried to hold on to his patience and temper. Both slipped perilously. “Doreen?”
She huffed then patted her hair. “Fine,” she grumbled. “He was doing okay. Just lying on his cot. Didn’t even look at me or nothing.”
“Anything,” Tag corrected absently. “What about his phone call? Has he made that yet?”
Her Heart-Stealing Cowboys [Hellfire Ranch 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 2
