“Case! I’m not going downstairs naked. Wait a second while I get—” She stopped, and he realized she didn’t exactly have an extensive wardrobe to choose from.
“How about one of my shirts?”
“Thank you.” She followed him back into his room, looking around curiously as they entered.
He wondered what she saw. It was a smaller room, the one he’d had as a boy, and spare in its décor, the king-sized bed dominating the space. It wasn’t a place in which he spent much time. When he’d come back, he’d cleared out the remnants of his boyhood but had done little else to it beyond buying a new bed.
“Don’t you want the master bedroom?”
“No.” He saw her flinch from his sharp tone. “Sorry. It feels too much like my father’s room, even though Linnie Mae redecorated it a few years ago.”
He pulled a crisp white shirt from the hanger and held it open for her. Once her arms were in the sleeves, he moved in front of her and worked the buttons himself.
It was impossible, however—not that he tried—to resist pausing between each one to trace his hands under the fabric, stroking her curves and stealing caresses.
She was so responsive. As he bent and cruised his mouth down her throat, she squirmed. Sighed. Her nipples rose to tight points against his palms.
She was killing him. “This shirt has never looked so good.” Even he could hear his voice rough with need.
Sammie swayed against him, and he wrapped one arm around her waist. Bent his head to her.
“Oh, Case…” she sighed, going pliant in his arms.
They would be right back in bed in no time flat.
But she’d said she was hungry. She was too damn thin already.
He made himself step back. “I promised I’d feed you.” Somehow he found the resolve to turn away and pick up his jeans.
“Oh, you are so gorgeous,” she sighed.
He closed his eyes. “If you want food, you’d better move that pretty ass right now.” He turned to see her face a tangle of longing and growing mischief.
“I’m going,” she said with a smile. Outside the doorway, she glanced back. “Race you!”
And charged down the stairs.
He couldn’t help grinning. He pounded down the steps behind her.
And let his heart float as he heard her breathless giggle.
There was a reckoning to come, he knew that. But right this minute, he wanted this peace, this fun, for however long it could last.
The light over the kitchen table caught them within its warm glow, creating a magic circle, a world in which they seemed the only inhabitants. Spread before them were the makings for giant sandwiches which Case demonstrated his skill in creating.
“I know I said I was hungry, but I’m not a lumberjack.” She wondered how she would even take a bite out of the one he’d just placed in front of her, much less eat the whole thing.
Case’s eyes gleamed. “Babe, I’m very aware that you’re not a lumberjack. Never met one, but I doubt they have such soft skin or those sweet curves.”
She couldn’t help smiling but kept her eyes on the monster sandwich falling out of her hands. She took her first bite, hoping it wasn’t too terrible, since he was so proud of himself. “Wow. That’s actually good.”
He grinned broadly. “Told ya.”
At last he settled beside her and dug into his own. Sammie marveled that Case could eat such huge portions and stay so fit but chalked it up to the physical demands of his life. For herself, she knew she’d better watch the size of her portions or figure out some way to work them off. She smiled as she thought of all the calories they’d expended earlier in his bed, but the smile turned quickly to a frown as she remembered that her eating habits were the least of her problems.
Case saw the change in her expression. “You’re worrying about him again. Don’t fret—you don’t have to leave anytime soon.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. The tangle of her life wouldn’t be held at bay forever. “I still have to figure out where to go from here.”
“But not tonight.”
Was that true? Was it fair?
His gaze compelled her, and at last she shook her head. “Not tonight.” Relief suffused her, however temporary. She yearned to forget that there was anything in the world but the two of them. She couldn’t hold off reality forever, but she very badly wanted the gift of this one night with Case before the world intruded.
Selfish? Absolutely. But he clearly wanted the same.
By tacit agreement, they rose to clear away their mess without speaking. When they finished, they strolled back to the hallway, arm in arm. Case surprised her by sweeping her off her feet and climbing the stairs with her cradled against his chest. She wanted to protest—he still limped slightly. But touched to her soul by his gesture, Sammie decided that Scarlett O’Hara was a fool. How could she have let go of a man who would do something this romantic?
When his mouth descended to hers, it was her last coherent thought for the night.
Chapter Eleven
Case walked into the bank the next day in response to Joe Bachman’s call. He was eager to hear what Joe had to say about Roland Bracewell.
Sammie had still been asleep when he left. She’d barely stirred when he’d risen from the bed. Knowing she must be exhausted from a night with almost no sleep, Case had let her be, though he’d wanted badly to touch her again.
But touching, he knew, would lead to more.
She’d been everything he’d ever dreamed of in a lover. Ravenous, tender, willful…giving and demanding as though she couldn’t bear not to share every moment to its fullest. Just thinking of the heat and the softness of her, the way she came apart in his arms, made him want to turn his pickup around and head straight back to her.
If only…
But there were serious matters to tend to for them both. Like hunting down Roland Bracewell.
Once in the bank, Joe greeted him immediately. “Come on into my office, buddy. I think you’ll be pleased with what I’ve found.”
Case didn’t want to waste time sitting, but he forced himself to do so, leaning forward, focusing on Joe and his news.
“Well, it appears that our boy’s been traveling around, but he stopped in Nashville and opened an account with Builders Bank. I can’t get the exact figure, but there’s somewhere around fifty thousand in that account.”
Fifty thousand dollars. Not much compensation for the trucks and income he’d lost, but it represented the better part of what Roland had taken from the till.
“Where is he now?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have that yet. I haven’t run across any sign that he’s living there. The address he gave on his account was one in New Orleans, and I heard an interesting tidbit from my buddy at Builders. Roland told him he used to be a banker in New Orleans—he ever say anything about that to you?”
Case shook his head. Their loan had come from Restoration Bank in New Orleans—the loan they’d had to default on when Roland took a hike. Strange that the same city kept coming up in his life.
“Want me to call a pal of mine at Restoration Bank and see what I can find out?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” As he waited for Joe’s call, Case glanced idly around the room, his mind skimming over conversations he’d had with Roland.
Case had a good friend of his own in New Orleans, one who moved in a world no banker would.
Joe hung up. “Huh.”
“What?”
“Didn’t you tell me your truck loan was from Restoration?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Well, it appears that our boy Roland was indeed a banker at Restoration, though many moons ago. He’s got quite a colorful reputation in the Crescent City, it seems, and he’s got some interesting relatives. His sister is married to the president of Whitney National Bank. Old-line establishment—old money folks.”
Case didn’t care about Roland’s relatives unless they could tell him where to find the bastar
d, but he forced himself to be patient and listen.
“Seems there’s a lot of talk going on in those circles right now because Roland’s niece has disappeared—just dropped out of sight a few days ago. My contact was concerned because he knows her. She’s a banker, too—worked with him at Restoration. He said that it’s being handled very hush-hush because it smells to high heaven. Her father is afraid it’s a ransom attempt. High profile family. Garden District home, beautiful daughters, the works—go figure. The only trace of her they’ve found so far was that her Porsche was sold to a used car dealer in Houston who says the woman seemed nervous. And get this—she traded that Porsche in for an old sedan that turned up abandoned near Abilene. Somebody at a truck stop recognized her picture.”
Abilene?
Abandoned car?
Recognized her picture at a truck stop, the beautiful daughter of a wealthy New Orleans family…
Only my sisters and we’re not close.
Case’s stomach churned.
No. No way.
Roland’s niece?
Hadn’t he’d known she’d been holding back on him? He thought about how jumpy she’d been, how evasive. He heard again the false notes in her voice last night.
Abruptly he remembered her face turning white when she broke the glass at the supper table.
After they’d mentioned Roland.
And Sammie was afraid of the police.
Every memory was a punch to the gut. He barely listened to anything else Joe had to say. His mind was in turmoil, trying to make sense of it all. Out of all the people in the world he should rescue…
If she didn’t have anything to hide, why hadn’t she spoken up? Was she a part of Roland’s scam? She had a family looking for her, so why would she tell him that cock-and-bull story? Why would she say she had no one to help unless she, too, was on the run like Roland?
Good God, what had he done?
He’d brought the serpent into Paradise.
Rage simmered. What did he really know about this woman besides her sweet, soft skin, her inviting curves? Had he been so blinded by her beauty that he didn’t see through to the rotten core? How many times had she dodged his questions?
There’s this man…
Not only dodged. Lied to him.
Bad enough to be taken in by Roland, but to let his goddamn niece sucker him, too? Were those attackers a setup, as well?
But they’d hurt her. And how could she have known where he’d be, to cross his path? Yet she was a banker at the same bank…
Questions whirled in his brain. He got up while Joe was still talking.
“Case?”
“Thanks, Joe,” he managed.
“You all right, man?”
“I’ll talk to you later.” He walked out of Joe’s office, disgust and confusion warring with a violent urge to wrap his fingers around her lying throat.
She’d carried her charade off nicely, hadn’t she? A blueblood like her would never have wanted a two-bit cowboy like him. How hard had it been to pretend to an attraction? He’d have sworn her response to him was real last night. He drew some small comfort from knowing that maybe she hadn’t started out wanting him, but he’d made her crave him, anyhow.
Cold comfort for a charade of monumental proportions. She’d wipe her lily-white hands clean of him soon enough, and gladly so.
He had news for her. He’d wipe his hands first.
White-hot rage flashed through him again, incinerating every memory of a sweetness he now knew had been just a poor sucker’s dream. He didn’t understand why she’d done it or what she wanted, and he desperately needed time to think—
But he understood one thing: she’d lied to him. Even if she hadn’t known about Roland cheating them earlier, she’d damn sure known before she’d fallen into bed last night and made him feel—
He didn’t feel anything. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. He’d get her the hell out of there and he’d pick up the pieces of—
He slammed his fist against the wheel, then shut down everything but the fury and drove back to the ranch to evict the serpent out of what could never be Paradise now.
But it was all he had.
“Case!” Sammie’s delight at his return evaporated the second she got a look at his face.
Case loomed in the doorway. “Wanted to stay around and see if you could finish us off, Ms. St. Claire?”
“What?” Sammie froze.
“Uncle Roland didn’t take a big enough piece of us, so you came to finish the job?”
Linnie Mae gasped and turned from the sink.
“Was it you who helped him get the loan for us, Ms. Banker from Restoration, so he could take the money and run? Why did you lie to me last night? Poor little Sammie, all alone, no family or friends.” Venom dripped from every word. “We took you in. You ate meals at our table, and you—” He halted. Visibly ground his teeth.
She didn’t know this man. Didn’t understand what had happened.
She saw no trace of the man who’d made love to her last night. Who’d laughed with her in this kitchen.
“Did you have a good time, playing games with the dumb cowboy? Was it all a setup? What’s your endgame? We don’t have any money left to take.”
Her throat was sandpaper. She tried to move her lips, but words wouldn’t come out. She swallowed and tried it again. “Case, it’s not what you think—”
“Don’t say a word—I don’t want to hear one lying word from your mouth. I need to figure out what the hell to do now, so I’m leaving before—” He stabbed a finger at her. “You just get the hell out of here. I don’t care how you do it or where you go. Count yourself lucky that I don’t toss you out bodily—or call the cops. If I could prove that you had anything to do with it, I would. You’d better run, and you’d better run fast, Sammie. I’ll be watching for you both, you and that slime you call an uncle, and when I find him, you tell him there will be hell to pay.”
“But, Case—”
He turned his back on her, spoke over her. “Linnie Mae, I’m headed to the deer lease to pick up my truck and see if I can scrounge up a load so I can make a run. She’d better be gone before I get back.” With that, he slammed the screen door. Seconds later, his pickup roared down the drive.
The silence left behind thrummed with suppressed violence. Linnie Mae looked shell-shocked. Sammie wanted to crawl in a hole, humiliated that she could have played a part in hurting him, hurting any of them. She wanted to beg forgiveness, though she’d done nothing wrong except lie to protect them. She longed to turn back the clock and erase what Roland had done. Linnie Mae’s look held such conflict, a deep sympathy and a terrible hurt. Sammie wanted so badly to be one of them again.
But she knew her respite was over.
She was alone once more.
With no idea how to fix any of this.
Chapter Twelve
Sammie couldn’t leave.
Not yet. Case’s anger was overpowering—but it wasn’t unjustified. She had lied to him. That her silence had been out of fear and not ill intent would mean nothing to him at the moment.
But maybe it would, if she dared risk his fury and wait for him to return.
If only she had been able to think fast enough to figure out how to explain as he loomed in that doorway—though accepting that their meeting was pure coincidence wouldn’t have been easy, no matter how horribly true it was.
Fate had a cruel, careless hand. Of all the people to come to her rescue…
Needing time and space to think, she saddled the bay mare she’d ridden before. Maybe she’d better consider returning to New Orleans.
A shudder ripped through her at the thought of putting herself back within reach of Gascoigne.
She headed toward the tabletop bluff in the distance, wishing with everything in her to change the past. Her hands shook on the reins as she remembered the look of betrayal on Case’s face.
She rode slowly to the top, tears blurring her vision. Why, o
h, why, did it have to be Uncle Roland who had cheated Case? How could he do it to these wonderful, kind people? She thought of Wiley’s dear, smiling face. The face of a man so honest he’d never conceive of anyone failing to live up to his expectations of their goodness.
And Linnie Mae, sweet, fierce little woman. She’d taken Sammie to her heart and cared for her as she did everyone else. Sammie couldn’t stand to remember her expression as she heard Case’s terrible accusations.
Case. Strong, honorable Case, who’d starved for his father’s love. What would this do to him? He made himself out to be bad to the bone, but she’d experienced his tenderness. Even when he’d been furious with her, she hadn’t been afraid of him. This, though—how would he ever forgive? Would he understand why she’d had to lie? Could he ever separate her from Roland?
Could she?
How could she have been so wrong about her uncle? Had she ever really known him? He’d spoiled her outrageously, probably as much to aggravate Papa as for any other reason. He’d delighted in making her his favorite.
How could she begin to explain this behavior? The Uncle Roland she knew was not an embezzler. He had been a rake, no question about it. He’d taken a perverse pleasure in living below the expectations of society, that too was true. But she’d never known him to be a man to steal from good, kind people like these.
Oh, if only she’d told Case before about Gascoigne and Mr. Whitehead. From the words he’d hurled in anger, she realized that he thought that Uncle Roland was all that she’d been hiding. When he had time to think, she hoped he’d understand that Uncle Roland was not the whole story, once he recalled the abduction attempt. Right now, though, he wasn’t being rational about anything, and she couldn’t blame him.
He’d suffered a lot in his life, losing his mother at a young age and having a father who abused him. Case had struck off on his own at an age when most boys’ biggest worry was who to ask out on a date that weekend. He’d spent years wandering, a rolling stone cut off from all that was dear and familiar, and not once had his father reached out to him. It was difficult for Sammie to understand a family so fragmented. Her own father could be overbearing and difficult, but she’d never had a moment’s doubt that he loved her, that her welfare was important to him. She couldn’t imagine being Case, having to worry that he and his father would actually harm each other because their relationship was so explosive.
The Marshalls Boxed Set (Texas Heroes: The Marshalls Books 1-3) Page 61
