by Gail, Stacy
A blouse he recognized from a decade ago went flying to the floor, and he listened to her mutterings with half an ear. This was a side of Payton Pruitt the rest of the world never saw. Outwardly she showed cool competence and sedate dignity. That was the face Payton—his Payton—had learned to hide behind. He doubted it would ever occur to her to scramble around in a nightgown two sizes too small in front of anyone else. If he looked at it that way, that made him pretty damn special.
Was he special to her?
His smile faded as his brain stubbed its mental toe on the question. He doubted Payton would admit to any such thing, if only because she wouldn’t see it that way. He was Wiley to her, the Coyote. Someone she shouldn’t trust. And while logically she didn’t trust him, everything she did proved otherwise. She let her guard down with him in ways he’d never seen her do with anyone else. She respected him enough to give him the privilege of seeing the woman hidden inside, and she trusted him enough to take care of that woman.
So, yeah. He was special to her.
She just didn’t know it.
“I think I’ve found something.” Holding up a pair of cutoffs for critical inspection, Payton bent and slipped her feet into them. “Cross your fingers and hold your breath. These just...might...fit.”
Wiley’s mouth went desert dry as the shorts slid up a mile-long stretch of leg, only to disappear beneath the thin veil of white gown. For one clear moment he pondered how easy it would be to rip that offending gown to shreds before the supposedly enlightened side of him tut-tutted that knuckle-dragging impulse. Ripping clothes off women wasn’t supposed to be the modern man’s way of doing things.
But damn, he could all but feel the fabric tearing apart beneath his fingers.
It was amazing, how he’d gotten to his age without discovering the body-hardening allure of watching a sexy woman dress. He sure as hell was getting an education now. She was a perfect melding of challenging intellect and hot seduction, and if he didn’t get her in his bed soon, he was going to go stark raving mad.
“There.” She sent the zipper home with a grunt of satisfaction. “I think I’ll go raid my mom’s closet for a top. Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked with sudden suspicion, a protective hand creeping up to her collar. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t think of a thing.”
“You look like you want to take a bite out of something.”
Funny she should mention that. “Everything’s fine, Payton.”
“You sure? You’re feeling all right?”
“I haven’t felt this good in years.” His body was on fire, his muscles vibrated with a sweet, ready-to-burst tension and his skin felt so tight he could barely manage to sit still. God, he felt great. “Do you think I need a doctor?”
“I’m not sure what you need.”
“I do.” Wiley smiled to show her how harmless he was. “Come here.”
He adored the wariness that bloomed in her eyes. “Why?”
“I have a proposition for you.”
“I can hear your proposition from here.”
“But it would be so much more fun to offer it to you with you curled up in my lap.”
The look she gave him could have withered plant life. “In your dreams, Coyote.”
“Payton, you have no sense of romance.”
“You mean sense of adventure. Or maybe a sense of the ridiculous,” she added with a frown before shrugging. “In any event, I’m not going near you when you’re lying on a bed.”
“Why?” The heat pooling in his lower regions was becoming impossible to ignore. “Do I tempt you?”
All traces of humor left her face. “You know you do.”
His chest constricted at the admission, and the hard throb of desire turned piercingly sweet. “Damn, woman. You do know how to get to a guy, you know that?”
“And here I was, thinking you were trying to get to me.” Her expression softened, and she sidled a little closer to the bed. “What’s your proposal?”
“I give you a lift into San Antonio.”
“Thanks, but I already have a car.”
“I can work with that.” He nodded, happy to be accommodating. “You can give me a lift into San Antonio.”
She sighed. “I’m always amazed at how impossible you can be.”
“I’m a firm believer in leading with my strengths.”
“I take it you need to go into San Antonio?”
“Exactly. So I figure we kill two birds with one stone. Once your laser surgery thing is over—if it isn’t over already,” he added with a dubious glance at his watch, “you can accompany me to Autumn House Rest Home.”
Her brows inched up. “What’s at Autumn House Rest Home?”
“Mrs. Clarissa Bimmel. She and her husband owned the property next to Carlos Xavier until Farmer’s Bank foreclosed on it two years ago. The same bank,” he added, “that foreclosed on the Xavier property.”
“Banks foreclose on properties all the time, Wiley. It’s sad but true.”
“I know. But this is Bitterthorn, a tiny town with less than a thousand people. By necessity, its staples have to be stable in order to survive. On average, Farmer’s Bank has nearly twice as many foreclosures as the other bank in town, Thorne Bank and Trust. I want to know why.”
“Maybe Farmer’s has a more relaxed policy when it comes to loans?”
“No bank is relaxed when it comes to giving money away. That holds especially true in rural communities like ours.”
“Yours,” she corrected, but her tone was absent as she considered him. “I remember years ago the Giddings family tried to get a loan when we had that terrible drought. They were turned down as a bad risk.”
“And the Giddings family is full of big strapping young men. I should know,” he added with a quick grin. “Gabriel Giddings knocked me into next Tuesday when I stole a kiss from his sister Greer.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“What you should find surprising is that men in their prime could be turned down for a loan, while people like Carlos and Clarissa, well into their golden years, are accepted.”
“And in the end, they lose their property.” Her brows drew together in a look of concentration he knew so well. “Even I can see they’d both be bad risks, something any bank would want to avoid.”
“Any normal bank, yes.”
“So what do you think is going on?”
“Why don’t you come along and help me figure it out?”
He watched her bite her lip, at war with herself, but in the end he knew which way she’d go. For all their differences, neither of them could resist a puzzle.
“All right.” With a decisive nod, she spun on her heel to flounce out of the room. “But I get to drive your car.”
* * *
“There was no need for you to wait for me.” Payton buttoned the pale yellow linen blazer she’d changed into during a brief stop at her hotel as they crossed the rest home’s parking lot. “You don’t need me along to question Mr. Xavier’s old neighbor, do you?”
“I don’t need you for the actual questioning,” he corrected, reaching for her hand as naturally as if he’d done it a thousand times before. “The truth is, I don’t know what to expect from this Clarissa Bimmel. She’s in her eighties, she lost her home and husband in quick succession a couple years ago and wound up here. I want your professional opinion on her faculties.”
She stared at their entwined hands while her stomach did an odd little somersault. “And if she is altered?”
“Then I can’t rely on anything she says, and I’ve gone down yet another dead end.”
“Hey, Wiley.” They stopped just outside the glass double doors of the rest home, her fingers tightening on his. “You’re a good man to go through all of this.
”
He grimaced and his golden-hued skin turned ruddy. “It’s no big deal.”
“Yes, it is.”
“All I’m doing is looking out for my neighbors. Just like you did for Mary Lou Rodriguez yesterday.”
“I was just doing my job.”
“And getting her a private room at the hospital here in San Antonio and dropping in to see them today was also just part of your job?”
“In a way, yes.” The memory of Mary Lou and Arturo beaming over their baby daughter made her smile. “Haven’t you ever heard of follow-up visits?”
“Wow. You’re such a bad liar.” He brushed her lips with a kiss so tender it made her throat tighten with longing, before he pulled the door open for her. “You haven’t forgotten small-town ways. You’re as much a part of the community as you always were.”
“I was never a part of that community.” But even she had to admit she hadn’t thought twice when she’d been asked to help out last night. It had been as natural as...as holding Wiley’s hand, she thought, stopping beside him at the administration desk. For all her protestations, she did care about Bitterthorn.
She was just certain it didn’t care back.
After watching Wiley work his charm on the nurse at the desk, they were led to a well-maintained garden area complete with shade trees and concrete pathways wide enough for wheelchairs and walkers. The woman to whom they were shown was seated in one of these chairs, and so tiny she appeared almost childlike.
“Mrs. Bimmel?” Wiley approached with a smile, and the elderly woman’s wrinkled face turned to him in apparent surprise. “My name is Wiley Sharpe. This is my associate, Dr. Payton Pruitt. We’re from Bitterthorn, and we would like to—”
“Don’t you dare mention that putrid hellhole in my presence,” the slight bird of a woman erupted with a remarkable roar. Her myopic eyes shot fire at them, and Wiley straightened away in shock. “As far as I’m concerned, that pissant little speck on the map never produced anything good, except maybe some tasty praline ice cream at Pauline’s. It can go to hell in a hand basket for all I care, you hear?”
“Some people might consider that a tragedy,” Wiley remarked after a moment, recovering from his shock enough to shoot a wink at Payton.
Payton caught it, but she also caught Mrs. Bimmel’s pursing mouth. “Uh, Wiley—”
“Laugh at me, you snot-nosed brat, and you just might live to regret it.” Mrs. Bimmel spanked the armrest, no doubt because she couldn’t reach Wiley’s backside. “Well? Are you just going to stand there like a couple of lobotomy patients, or are you going to push me around this stupid garden? I don’t have all day and you’re both starting to bore me.”
With decidedly less humor than before, Wiley again shot Payton a glance before taking up a position behind the wheelchair. “Any particular place you’d like to go?”
“Fiji. But I’ll settle for over by the camellias. I love camellias.” Clarissa Bimmel looked to Payton, her washed-out eyes turning crafty. “Don’t you young people have anything better to do than visit strange old ladies? If I were a pretty thing like you, I know how I’d spend my time with a fella like this one, and I’ll give you a hint—I sure wouldn’t be standing upright. What the hell’s the matter with you, you got a bad case of frosty britches?”
Dear God, make her stop. “There are more pressing matters that have to be dealt with, Mrs. Bimmel.”
“Hah! There’s nothing more important than a little slap and tickle each and every day.” With a cackle, she clapped her gnarled hands. “You two sweethearts?”
“No,” Payton said briefly. “We’re not.”
“We’re working on it,” Wiley said just as briefly, and met her gaze with a heat that made the Texas sun seem cool in comparison. “She’s being stubborn.”
“Hmph. I’d say a stubborn woman is exactly what you need. He’s a fresh one, honey,” she confided to Payton, her wrinkled face almost—but not quite—creasing into a smile. “Just the kind to keep your temper simmering and your bloomers steaming. Give him a spin around the bed, you’ll see what I mean.”
“Mrs. Bimmel,” Payton tried again in desperation while behind her, Wiley choked on stifled laughter. “Mr. Sharpe is representing a former neighbor of yours, a man by the name of Carlos Xavier. Do you remember him?”
“Of course I do. Old doesn’t mean senile, idiot. You’re a lawyer?” She turned to shoot Wiley a look of magnificent disgust.
He sighed. “I’m afraid so.”
“A doctor and a lawyer. Hell’s bells. Do you two fools realize you are exactly what this world doesn’t need?”
“Mrs. Bimmel, it’s very important I ask you a few questions.” Wiley’s tone was more forceful this time around. “I’m looking into the foreclosure of Carlos Xavier’s property, and I was hoping you could tell me what happened to your place two years ago.”
“Foreclosed? The Xavier place?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, no. Not another one.” Her breath caught, and once again she appeared as fragile as a bird.
Wiley brought the chair to a stop in front of the paper-white camellias. “Carlos put his place up as collateral to purchase some investment property, which didn’t pan out. According to public records, you and your husband went through very much the same thing.”
“Damned bank people talk you into loans you can’t pay, then take away everything, including your dignity.”
“The bank talked you into getting a loan?” Payton asked, eyes narrowing dubiously.
Clarissa Bimmel’s lined cheeks quivered with fury. “Don’t you look at me like I’m loony tunes, missy. That’s exactly what happened. They came to us, knocked right on our door with some horse crap about our great credit and our need to expand. I should’ve known it was nothing but a load of hooey when my husband was promised we’d be taken care of if we bought that awful land. We even had it in writing, but the blasted thing wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on.”
“You had what in writing?” Wiley stooped down until they were eye to eye. “Like a contract?”
“An agreement, or some such thing.” She waved a gnarled hand. “It was the deal my Jerome worked out with some fancy-pants. The deal was if the graze on the new property didn’t yield as much as expected, we could sell it back to the bank and pay the balance of the loan in low-interest installments. But it wasn’t officially witnessed, or some such hogwash,” she added with a sneer. “We lost everything because of that grazing land.”
“Grazing land.” Payton shot Wiley a look. That story sounded ominously familiar.
“Who is this fancy-pants?” Wiley demanded. “I need a name.”
“I don’t know about names, I can’t remember mine half the time.”
“What about this contract he had with your husband? Surely he must have signed it?”
“Of course, but it won’t do you any good. Jerome, rest his soul, threw it away a few days before he had his stroke. It wasn’t any good,” she repeated when Wiley remained silent, and her hands fluttered to her chest. “That’s what the man said, and it killed Jerome. It wasn’t any good...”
“I need a name, Mrs. Bimmel. Try and remember—”
“Wiley.” Payton curled her fingers around the woman’s bony wrist to monitor her pulse. “That’s enough.”
“Oh. Right.” But his impatience was palpable as he reached into a pocket and drew out a card. “If you think of anything more, don’t hesitate to call.”
“Can’t imagine I will.” She tucked the card away with a hand that trembled like an aspen leaf. “I hope you can help old Carlos. No one bothered to help Jerome and me.”
“What do you think?” Payton asked as they headed for the car, with Payton having to skip to keep up with his stalking stride. “I’ve never heard of a bank contract like that.”
“She’s mean as hell, not demented.”
“Or she simply may not have all the facts straight. Or,” he added, tossing her the keys before sliding into the passenger side, “someone may have been playing fast and loose with the rules two years ago.”
She started the car with a roar. “That was two years ago. What about now?”
For a long moment he didn’t answer, and when she glanced over at him, his face seemed carved out of stone.
“She didn’t give me much to go on.”
“So does that mean she can’t help Carlos’s case?”
“I didn’t say that.” He smiled, and it was a feral baring of teeth. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter Eleven
Overnight something had happened to the residents of Bitterthorn. People raised a hand in greeting as Payton and Wiley drove by, a bold few even calling out her name as she headed back to where she’d left her car at Wiley’s office. A few of them she knew but most she didn’t, and as they neared Thorne Mansion she tried to sink lower behind the wheel.
“Now I know what it feels like to ride with royalty.” Clearly enjoying himself, Wiley waved back at a young couple on the corner.
“What’s with everybody?” Baffled and embarrassed, she swung the car into the office parking lot and killed the engine. “I think I saw this on an episode of The Twilight Zone, where everyone went psycho all at once.”
“They’re not psycho, they just want to be nice to the town’s new doctor.”
She shot him a look designed to kill. “Keep talking like that and I’ll sue.”
“That’s okay, I’m trained to handle that sort of thing. You coming in?”
“What for?”
“I could show you my office.” That irresistible smile of his appeared, beautiful enough to make her toes curl. “The couch in there is great for catching a few winks.”
