by Karen Anders
Marceline watched everything with glittering eyes and a smirk on her face.
“Look, she’s been against Zorro from day one and she’s not too fond of your methods. Thinks you’re a fake.”
“She’s already told me that to my face.”
“I have no doubt she did. Alanna pulls no punches. But that horse has excellent bloodlines.” He looked at Alanna with a raised brow. “Alanna agrees.”
She sighed. “It’s true. I agree. His bloodlines are excellent, but don’t get your hopes up.”
Jake’s expression fell at her words as if he was hurt she didn’t believe in him. “Jake—”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Colton. I’ll fix him for you so you can breed him. I am confident about that.” He gave her a glance as if to say he didn’t care whether she believed it or not.
Marceline turned with a bored look on her face now that everything had died down and Alanna wasn’t in the hot seat.
“Wait just one second,” Alanna said, grabbing her arm and dragging her out of earshot.
Marceline jerked out of her grasp. “Let go of me. What do you want?”
“Did you pay someone to lie for you about me threatening Dad?” she hissed.
She burst out laughing and folded her arms over her chest. “No, you ninny. I didn’t. You do have an imagination, Alanna. I had nothing to do with that. What could I possibly gain by hiring someone?”
“The fact that you could be guilty and you’re trying to deflect attention onto me. That’s enough motive for me!”
Marceline sniffed, dismissing Alanna with a toss of her head. Flouncing off, her parting shot to Alanna came out cold and nasty. “Maybe, sister, you didn’t like Dad meddling in your stable business. Maybe you were the one to bump him off.”
She turned to find Jake staring at her. Fowler gave his sister a glaring look and walked away.
She hadn’t killed her father! Everything hinged on Mr. Bellows backing her up. She was back to square one. Who could she trust?
Chapter 9
She stood there looking so very alone and he couldn’t stand it. He grabbed the reins of his horse and hers. “Come on,” he said and headed toward the arena. Looking over his shoulder to ensure she was following, he led the horses inside, making for Somerset’s stall.
He hadn’t fully gained Alanna’s trust. She was still skeptical about what he did for a living. If she was a kidnapper/murderer, he wanted her to be all in so he could get every bit of information out of her.
“I can handle this on my own.”
Apparently she could handle everything on her own. She shut him down and he had bubkes. He tied Valentine and pulled the big horse inside, then removed the saddlebags, draped them over his shoulder and snagged the picnic basket. His shoulders protested, anger churning in his gut.
He set everything just outside the stall and removed Valentine’s bridle, hooking it over his shoulder, then stripped the saddle off his back along with the blanket.
“Why don’t you brush him down?” Jake said, and she snapped out of her thoughts, but she sidled past him and went into the stall.
In the tack room, he swore low. He was a seasoned Ranger and had heard plenty of perps confess they were innocent. He never took them at their word, so why did he believe Alanna was innocent of any foul play in the disappearance of her father?
He set the saddle on the peg and draped the horse blanket on the appropriate rack. He had come close to losing it in that meadow down by the river. He’d never been so caught up in the kind of teasing banter that came so easily between them.
He cleaned the bit and tidied up the bridle before hanging that up, as well.
She almost made him forget why he was there and that wasn’t an easy feat. But he had a job to do and he couldn’t forget Alanna didn’t know he was a Texas Ranger undercover to spy on her. With a knot in his gut the size of Texas, the tension that had been building from the moment he met her settled between his sore shoulder blades. Resting his hands on his hips, he wearily tipped his head back, a sleepless night and manual labor all piling up on him. When she found out who he really was, she would feel so betrayed. Getting in any deeper with her was only going to make it worse on her and definitely on him.
Distance would be the best thing here and now. No matter how hard it was to do that, he had to keep his perspective. He wasn’t worth a plug nickel if he couldn’t do his job. The job he was sent there to do. Walking that fine line with her was making everything blur for him.
Every time he got near her, he found it even more difficult to let her go. He had no choice. He was tasked with getting close to her. It was up to him to keep from crossing over that line.
He rubbed his hand over his face, his shoulders tight with an achy throbbing.
He straightened and left the tack room and when he reached the stall he looked into the gloom. He saw her brush at her cheeks. Then with her arms folded tightly in front of her, she leaned against the stall wall. He wanted to walk out of there, call his boss and tell him he was compromised. But that would leave her vulnerable to Henry and her family. He had to stick it out and find out what was going on. He had to get her to open up to him. A sudden ache jamming up his throat, he said, “Hey, slacker.”
When she jumped away from the wall and faced him, she tried to smile, the worry in her eyes evident in the dim light. “You’re a slave driver, McCord.”
“I might be.” He looked away, trying to handle the sudden thickness in his chest. This woman was getting good at turning him inside out. Finally managing to get a shaky breath past the lump in his throat, he looked at her, aware of how she had drawn her self-protective armor around herself, aware of the shadow of loneliness in her eyes.
That stripped him to the quick, and he went into the stall and hauled her out, “Come here,” he whispered gruffly.
With a choked sound she came into his arms, and he gathered her up in a tight embrace, pressing her face into the curve of his neck. She took a deep breath, and then she pressed her face tighter against him as she slid her arm around his waist. Feeling her tremble against him, he pressed a kiss to her temple, then slid his fingers along her scalp, cradling her head in a firm grip. The heavy silk weight of her hair tangled around his fingers, the loose fall like satin down her back, and Jake closed his eyes and hugged her hard, a swell of emotion making his chest tight.
She took another shaky breath, and he smoothed one hand across her hips and up her back, molding her tightly against him. Easing in a tight breath of his own, he brushed his fingers over her face, his voice gruff and uneven. “I’m sorry you have to go through this.”
He shifted, bracing them against the wall.
“Can’t you sweet-talk Somerset into brushing himself?”
This was the opening he needed. “Why is it you don’t respect what I do?”
Her expression startled, she stared at him, wariness filling her eyes. He hated that he had to do this, but he had to gain her trust fully. This may backfire, but he had to take the risk.
“I don’t think you’re exactly a fake. Just that you can’t work miracles. There’s no magic in the world, Jake. It’s all hard work—”
“And protecting your back. Right? It’s hard for you to trust anyone or anything. That would make you much too vulnerable. Well, you want to know why I’m so good with horses? You want to know why people hire me? Want to understand what it is I do?”
She stepped away, and his stomach dropped like a rock when he saw the distressed expression in her eyes.
“I build a bridge of trust, Alanna. I build, reinforce it and follow through. That’s the magic.”
“I trust in myself and my family.”
He held her gaze for a moment longer, then looked down and toed the side of the stall, his voice quiet and very subdued when he continued. “Is that so? You’re like Zorro. Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to get through to him, either.”
She looked away and swallowed. “I know what I’m doing.” She stared at hi
m, her eyes dark and fixed, and then she abruptly turned her head, her expression starkly contained. Jake watched her for a moment; then looked down as he exhaled.
“Okay, Alanna. I get it. None of my business.” She tucked her hands into her pockets, her face averted, but Jake saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. He looked away, experiencing a feeling that was a mix of guilt and anger. Pulling into herself wasn’t going to get the job done. It was clear she was closing down. His anger only grew. “I better get back to work,” he said grimly. He untied Valentine and started walking toward the big double doors. He waited for her to call out his name, get him to stop, but she didn’t.
Two steps forward, one step back.
He tried to get close to Zorro all afternoon, but the horse was too spooked. Frustrated on both fronts, he headed back to the apartments, the pain from his shoulders now driving a spike into his neck.
He ate without comment, the conversation flowed around him. Ellen, her eyes concerned, leaned down and said softly, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just beat,” he responded, forcing a smile.
“Feeling the effects of those bales now, huh?” Clay said with a smirk.
Henry laughed, but Jake ignored him and went upstairs, Ellen’s anxious eyes following him. Feeling like a complete failure, he entered the apartment and headed for the bathroom. He turned on the water and got it as hot as he could stand it, then stepped in. He quickly soaped himself, groaning at the pain of his sore muscles, and then he let the water beat down on him, using the heat and the pounding of the water to ease the tension. With the pain across his shoulders, he couldn’t help thinking of Clay and with Clay came memories flooding him. Memories of Matt and how he’d so thoroughly failed his brother. His dad had been wrong. Matt wasn’t ever going to come around, because he didn’t want to be part of the family legacy of protecting and serving. He’d just gotten that this afternoon as he’d challenged Alanna to go out on her own. It was a stark realization.
Matt wanted his independence. Wanted to be his own man, but his dad had drilled it into Matt’s head that anything short of becoming a cop or going into the military was unacceptable. Even as Matt wanted to break away, the guilt had consumed him. To combat that, he’d turned to ways to cope with the mental anguish.
Bracing both hands on the wall of the shower stall, Jake bent his head and violently pushed away his brother’s ghost, focusing on the hammering spray and the heat. Only to have Preston’s ghost manifest. Another terrible failure at the cost of a young life, one that had affected him deeply. Preston’s wife and his child were living with his failure, as well. He fisted his hands, even the flexing of his fingers causing more pain, but it was nothing compared with the guilt and pain churning like a volatile mix in his gut.
With Henry walking around, his freedom only added to Jake’s turmoil. Damn, he was tired. So bone-weary exhausted. He craved a simpler existence, one where he didn’t have such a heavy responsibility on his shoulders, one where life and death didn’t come with the territory. But even now he battled against his old man’s influence. If he wasn’t a cop, he wasn’t anything. How would his dad handle it if he quit the Rangers? The elite of law enforcement in the state of Texas, hell, around the world. It was out of the question.
This job was going to kill him one way or the other.
He knew all about honor and duty, but Alanna was in a different position here.
She could make a new life for herself.
Unless she went away for murder.
The water turning tepid, he got out, the room full of steam. He made a cursory effort to dry himself, then pulled on a clean pair of jeans, not bothering to do up the snap. Avoiding his reflection in the fogged mirror, he reached for the can of shaving foam, his mood somber. He sometimes wondered if he would ever get out of his own way.
A knocked sounded loudly in the room and he wanted nothing more than to get some sleep. He opened the front door and Alanna stood there.
“Ellen said you were in pain, something about too much hay stacking. I don’t think Fowler hired you to stack hay.”
She walked into his living room without an invitation, but not before she galvanized him with the heated look she gave his bare chest. He absently rubbed at a droplet of water. He flipped the door closed.
“Why don’t you come in.”
“I brought something that will help.”
“Alanna, you don’t have to—”
“I want to. Take these,” she ordered, walking into the kitchen and pouring water into a glass.
He threw the pills back and took the glass out of her hand, not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Now let me rub some of this ointment into your back.”
“It’s not necessary.”
“Are you going to do it yourself?”
He huffed out a breath, too weary to fight with her. She sat down in the armchair and patted the ottoman.
“Come on, Jake. Stop being stubborn.”
“Me? Stubborn. The guy with all the cowboy charm.” He sat down. Closing his eyes, he braced himself for her touch. It was certainly not impersonal when she set her slick, warm palms against his shoulders. When she kneaded, he let out a soft groan it felt so good. She worked his lats, then curved her arm under his and really dug deep.
He was gasping with the exquisite release of tension when she said, “The sheriff brought me in for questioning. There’s a witness in Dallas who is accusing me of threatening my father.”
He was so shocked that she was opening up to him, finally, he tried not to show it. “Did you?” he asked softly without any inflection in his voice.
“It’s true that I’ve wanted control of the stables for some time and it’s true I have voiced that wish many times to him, but not once did I threaten him. My pride isn’t more important than my father’s life. I guarantee you that.” Her voice wobbled with a heavy rush of emotion. “I never would...”
Her kneading changed to something softer, more of a caress. “You believe me. Don’t you, Jake?”
He was torn about committing himself here. Trying to stay neutral was his only hope in getting out of this with his sanity intact. “Just tell me everything,” he said, and she did. Everything that had happened in the sheriff’s office, and then how she’d gone to their family lawyer, Hugh Barrington, and got a referral for a good defense attorney.
“The attorney is smart, but if you’re innocent, this should be easily cleared up with Mr. Bellows’s support of your account of the story. Did you call him?”
“No, to be honest. I thought it would make me look guilty or like I was trying to get him to change his story. I thought it best to let the sheriff make the inquiry.”
Was she telling him to throw him off her scent or was it the truth? She was absolutely right. It would have been suspect and made Bellows’s statement suspect. “That’s the way an innocent woman would think. Anything else come to mind?”
“No. It was horrible. The blood on the floor and windowsill. The room was trashed like he’d had to fight someone off. Whitney blamed Josie right away. She’s my cousin who had come here to search for something of her father’s.”
“Matthew Colton.”
“Yes, the serial killer,” she said bitterly. “The police dragged the Lone Star Lake for Eldridge’s body and we waited for a ransom demand, but nothing ever came. Everyone was accusing everyone else. Some of them even thought Whitney had Eldridge killed. Planning to wait for the body to surface and then claim his fortune.
We can’t read his will until we have a body, so we really don’t know his wishes or who would stand to gain the most from his death. Blame fell on Fowler and he was cleared. Josie was also cleared and during the time she was here, she fell in love with our foreman Tanner. He left with her. Then Zane was cleared. The only one of us who doesn’t have an alibi is Marceline. She wasn’t in the house when Eldridge disappeared and she hates him. She’s made no bones about it.”
Then it occurred
to him. The information the witness had was pretty personal and not something that was outside the family’s knowledge. “If you weren’t having lunch with your father that day and the waitress is lying, how did she know about the private information? About you wanting control of the stables?” The heat from her body was almost drugging. Alanna drew a deep breath. “It would have to come from someone who knows you well. Fowler?”
“No, he was cleared.” He could feel the tenseness through her hands, her whole body was on edge. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s Whitney or Marceline. Could one of them be trying to frame me?”
“Sounds like without an alibi Marceline is the prime suspect and maybe she’s trying to deflect attention.”
He leaned into her magic hands, wanting those hands all over him. “That’s possible. She won’t budge about where she was that night.”
“You confronted her when we got back. That’s what you two were arguing about.”
“Yes,” she whispered, placing a soft kiss against the back of his neck.
He stilled, his body going on red-hot alert as he grew hard against the zipper of his jeans. “Alanna...” he murmured.
“Jake. I’m trying to trust you. But this is new to me.”
She stood and went to the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. Unable to stand the way she looked, that aching look in her eyes, he closed the space between them. She looked up at him and met his gaze, her voice husky when she whispered, “I feel so close to you.”
Jake drew an unsteady breath and angled her head back, making a low, indistinguishable sound as he covered her mouth in a kiss that was raw with regret, governed by the need to comfort and reassure. Alanna went still. Then, with a soft exhalation, she clutched at him and yielded to his deep, comforting kiss. Jake slid his hand along her jaw, his callused fingers snagging in the long silky strands of her hair as he altered the angle of her head. She moved against him, and Jake shuddered and tightened his hold, a fever of want slashing at him. Torn, concerned this was the best and worst thing that could happen between them.
Dragging his mouth away, he trailed a string of kisses down her neck, then caught her head again and gave her another hot, wet kiss. His breathing ragged, he tightened his hold on her face and drew back, holding her against his chest. He held her like that, his hand cupping the back of her neck, until his breathing evened out, and then he started backing toward the bedroom.
