Deadly Texas Summer

by Colleen Thompson

  “Not here, no. And it’s not an outrageous amount of money, considering that it’s such a rural county and Wallace didn’t have much in the way of competition...which is why it’s so surprising that someone’s gone to that much trouble to try to blur the trail.”

  “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it,” asked Emma, “if they already knew they might have reason to keep their connection with local law enforcement on the down low?”

  Beau nodded. “Just like it makes me wonder where my cousin, who I happen to know has been really struggling with two daughters in college and a string of business ventures that didn’t pan out, all of a sudden got the money to start siccing lawyers on me.”

  “No wonder Wallace wasn’t eager to climb up himself to see Russell’s body...” she mused before turning a dark look on Beau. “Unless he’d already made the trip up earlier that morning.”

  Beau shook his head. “You know how I feel about my cousin. He’s a schemer and a bully and as prejudiced as hell—”

  “And don’t forget sexist,” she added with the barest hint of a smile.

  Beau nodded. “Among his other charms, but I don’t see him as a killer. Maybe look the other way or drag his heels on an investigation that he thought might cause trouble for his corporate buddies, but there’s no way he’d willingly scale a height like that or risk being overpowered by a younger, stronger climber, when he could just shoot someone on the ground.”

  She frowned and then made a broad gesture that took in the room, the window and, presumably, what lay beyond it. “Not even to get his hands on all this? Because it seems to me a lot of people end up getting killed for less.”

  “And Wallace’ll damned well have it over my dead body.” A rush of emotion had him grinding out the words through clenched jaws. “Because I can’t let him win. I won’t, and not just for myself and my boys, either. I’ve provided for us before just fine—more than fine—on my own, and I’m more than ready to get back to doing it again. But I’ll be damned if I watch him put out the men and women who’ve worked this land for generations like last week’s garbage so he can try to scrape by with cheaper labor. And I won’t watch the sweat and blood and know-how that’ve bound this soil and grass into an empire blown away like dust with his idiotic schemes.”

  “Don’t say that,” Emma whispered, her green eyes shining as she reached out and laid her free hand on his forearm. “Please don’t say ‘over my dead body.’ Because the way I understand it, that’s exactly what the sheriff’s hoping to achieve.”

  “What?” he said, wondering if he’d missed something in that moment because the shock of her touch, combined with the intensity of her gaze, had him all too aware of the den’s heavy, closed door, of the fact that neither his aunt nor his sons knew yet that he’d come home.

  He tried to push back the thought, along with the power of his attraction. And the shock that he could be drawn to a woman so fiercely committed to her own priorities, so willing to risk everything for what she thought was right. He was lonely, that was all, worn down by years of struggle without a woman to confide in—and the guilt that still weighed on him for his role in Melissa’s death. His body, too, had an agenda, needs whose ever-present background thrum had slowly grown, since the day he’d first met Emma, into an insistent drumbeat.

  The thump of it diminished, allowing him to think again, when she shifted her hand back to her lap and told him, hesitantly at first and then with an increasing tone of outrage, about her conversation with Jim Kendall. “I guess your cousin figured that, fancy lawyer aside, encouraging your shooting was an even surer method to getting you out of his way.”

  “But in the end, Kendall didn’t give you the gun?” Beau asked.

  “After I lit into him, I think he was afraid to. Afraid how it was going to look when the Rangers finally come calling.”

  “I guess this means,” he finally managed, feeling the tug of a smile at one side of his mouth, “that you’re finally done taking potshots at me?”

  She snorted, nearly choking on a sip of her iced tea. After coughing to clear her throat, she said, “I’d say we both have bigger problems. And only some of them wear a badge.”

  He set his drink down and wiped off the condensation on his pant leg before placing his hand on her shoulder. “Well, whoever it is we’re up against, I’m glad as hell to be on the same side as a woman as brave and beautiful as you.”

  * * *

  The sheer relief of knowing he was with her washed over her, rippling over her nerve endings like a warm breeze riffling a field of golden wheat. The sensation shifted direction, turning into a frisson of pleasure as the pad of his thumb glided along her shoulder.

  Her gaze snapped up to meet his, but the rest of her went still as a rabbit flattening itself among the grasses as the coyote passed close by. Her heart thudding, she didn’t realize she’d stopped breathing until he murmured, “You aren’t afraid here, are you? You aren’t afraid of me?”

  “I’m not afraid of you, of course,” she told him, angry with herself for the way her voice was shaking. “I’m a little scared, though, of myself now. Of what I—what we’re—”

  Without conscious thought, she reached up to brush back that thick sweep of jet hair that had drooped across his forehead in the heat. He caught her hand up in his and laced his fingers through hers, sliding their hands together.

  “—of what we’re doing here, I think,” she forced herself to finish, pulled headlong into his eyes and the light friction of his work-roughened skin against the pulsing heat that threatened to erupt from hers. Fumbling to find the side table beside the sofa, she put down her drink as well. Then, carefully and deliberately, she raised a palm to caress the firm angle of his jawline, where her body thrilled to feel the masculine solidity of bone and muscle, the roughness of the faint suggestion of beard stubble. The intoxicating scents of man, wood oil and saddle leather in the room, too, crowded into her awareness. “I think that maybe...”

  “Maybe what?” he asked, partly withdrawing and then meshing his fingers with hers in a rhythm that quieted the clamor of reasons she should beware.

  “Maybe you should quit playing with my hand,” she suggested, faltering through a smile to hide her nervousness, the flutter in her stomach, “and just go ahead and kiss me.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” With that, he pulled her close, his mouth slanting over hers with a heat and intensity that had her wondering how she’d ever imagined she could live in a locked closet of denial for the rest of her days. How she could survive the stresses of this week, this month—this life—without periodically shutting down her teeming thoughts and burning off her tension. Like this...

  The kiss caught flame in an instant, as if both of them sensed the need to grasp this opportunity before they came to their senses. Or as if Beau were as starved for human contact as she herself had been. Lips parting and tongues swirling, she fitted her hands to skim the hard muscles of his pectorals, his biceps, her eyes closed against the onslaught of forbidden pleasure. His hands, too, were busy, stroking her jaw, her neck and arms, and then skimming her side from ribs to waist to the flare of her hip. Murmuring with pleasure, she let him push her backward. Then she drew him closer, ever closer, needing to feel more of him, by her, over her. Inside her...please, yes. Hurry.

  A cold chill fell over her instead, a ghost of shame and fear. A memory of the terrible names Jeremy had called her, the accusations, her denials that she’d done the things that she was doing, was inviting now, with her students and her colleagues. Cheating bitch. You little whore! She heard the crack of a hand on flesh, felt the sting against her cheekbone, the shame of a morning after when she’d covered it all up with makeup and excuses, the lies she’d told herself. He’s under stress, about the business and with the baby coming, too. He’s promised that he’ll stop.

  Struggling to push past self-loathing, she willed herself to focu
s on Beau’s kisses, on the knowledge that she was safe here in this fortress. Rebelling against the idea that her body and her choice in what to do with it belonged to anyone but herself, she grasped him by the wrist and dragged his hand to her breast. Arching her neck backward, she moaned as he squeezed, setting off a tingling that reached her curling toes.

  “Emma,” Beau murmured, his mouth transforming her name into a carnal promise. “Emma, I want this... I want you, like I’ve never wanted... It’s been so damned long and you feel so very right.”

  His other hand pulled up the hem of her shirt, and he dropped to one knee between her parted legs to land an openmouthed kiss midway on the prickling pale flesh of her stomach. She felt herself melting with the heat of his mouth, writhing beneath the teasing of his tongue against her skin. He trailed more kisses upward, raising her shirt farther and deftly unhooking her bra from behind. He cupped both breasts then, thumbs flicking over hardened nipples.

  She arched her back and groaned, wriggling to move closer. Aching to feel his lips, his tongue, the sweet pull of his mouth on her heated flesh. Instead, with a barely audible intake of breath, he hesitated, even though her thigh, where it slid against his, grazed the length of his erection, a discovery that had her hot and wet and anxious. Could that really all be him?

  Opening her eyes, she looked up into his face, saw a look of hunger combined with reverence give way. The first crack appeared at his forehead, a horizon line soon joined by others. What followed was his sigh as he pulled down her shirt and pushed himself up off her, his face full of regret.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head and reaching to help her sit up. “I do want to—you can’t imagine how I want you, but this isn’t—This wasn’t what I meant to happen.”

  “It wasn’t on my radar, either,” she said, her body weeping with his absence, her mind reeling even more as the full intensity of her aloneness crashed down like a wave, reclaiming its patch of briefly dry shore. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s—it’s such a terrible idea.” Please.

  “Taking advantage of you while you’re recovering here, with nowhere else to go? And with my family outside—hell. What kind of man—”

  “Taking advantage? What kind of old-fashioned, paternalistic bunk is that? Wasn’t I the one who suggested that you kiss me? The one who placed your hand on my—”

  “You’ve been through a lot,” he said.

  Stinging with his rejection, she said drily, “Thank goodness I have you and your cousin to keep reminding me of that.”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t ever compare us, especially not when I’m trying to—”

  “I’m not one of those local gold diggers gunning for your fortune,” she said, wanting—no, needing to see this through, to break the hold that her ex-husband had on her. To finally evict Jeremy and all his horrible names for her from her head. “But I’m single. You’re single. There don’t have to be strings attached.”

  Beau shook his head. “Is that ever a bunch of bull.” His voice softened. “You aren’t a no-strings person, Emma, any more than I am. You can try fooling yourself, can talk any kind of game you want, but I’ve seen how you are with your work and your students. I’ve heard it in the way you’ve interacted with my aunt and kids. You’re all about commitment, Emma, a forever kind of woman. And I’m not the man to give you that, not now and not ever.”

  She stared off into the middle distance, trying to figure out whether to be more hurt, furious or flattered by what he was saying. It was nearly impossible, with so many emotions competing with the craving to feel more of what she’d been feeling when his mouth, his hands, his skin had come into contact with her own. A firestorm had ignited inside her, but as powerful a force as her need was, his words still somehow cut through. His reminder of who she was and the things that truly mattered right now. Things far more important than the clamor of her hormones or her need to prove that Jeremy no longer controlled her.

  Closing her eyes, she swallowed hard, fighting to pull herself together. The threat of tears stung but she forced them back, willing herself to be stronger.

  “What are you thinking?” Beau asked. “Because if I’ve hurt you, that wasn’t my intention.”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s—you’re right. This—this was a terrible idea. I should pack my things and find another place to stay.”

  “You don’t have to do that. In fact, I wish you wouldn’t.”

  “This thing, my being here—” Her gaze lingered on his eyes, his lips, her body tingling with memories that refused to fade. “It’s not just us who could be hurt. We’re adults, and I’m sure we can figure out a way to make sure that what happened here this afternoon isn’t repeated.”

  Rising from the cushions, he paced a few steps into the room, his muscles flexing as his crossed his arms. “I swear to you, it won’t be.”

  “You’re sure? Because those boys of yours—I can already see the wheels spinning in their little brains, and they’re far too precious to hurt.”

  “You have my word.” His words had the ring of an oath, serious and solemn. “I’ll be your host, your protector, your friend if you need one. But as for any more than that—”

  She frowned at him. “What if I need a partner instead?”

  Chapter 12

  I had a partner once. I killed her. Beau swallowed hard—the sounds of breaking glass and crunching sheet metal a distant echo. He saw on Emma’s face that she hadn’t meant “life partner” and couldn’t understand why his mind would go there, leaping miles ahead of the lust his body was still working to extinguish.

  “I found something I copied from the memory card,” Emma said. “A photo I need to show you, to see if you might recognize him.”

  “Recognize who?” Beau asked. “From when?”

  “It’s a terrible picture, and just a partial image,” she admitted with a shrug, “taken after three in the morning of the day Russell died. But you could definitely make out that this person’s armed.”

  “Did you show the deputy?”

  She waved off the idea. “I didn’t trust him enough, and after what you just told me about those secret campaign contributions, I’m doubly glad I didn’t.”

  “You don’t suppose it could be Wallace in that picture, do you?” Beau asked.

  “I—I can’t begin to say. The angle’s poor and the lighting’s worse yet, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves with wishful thinking.”

  Straightening his spine, Beau shook his head. “When it comes to defending this ranch and my father’s wishes, I’ll fight Wallace ’til the last lawyer’s come down with laryngitis. But if you think for one minute I’m hoping he’s the one that murdered Russell, you seriously misunderstand me. That jackass is still family, after all.”

  The look Emma gave him paired well with her snort of disbelief.

  “I know. Surprises me, too,” Beau admitted. “I guess some of my aunt’s lectures on family loyalty must’ve sunk in somewhere along the way.” More to the point, he hated thinking of Wallace’s most-likely-blameless wife and daughters destroyed by such a discovery. “That doesn’t mean I’ll give him a pass, though, just because he has Kingston connections.”

  “I hope you’re not imagining that I’d l leave that choice in your hands,” she said, eyes narrowing a fraction.

  “I wouldn’t expect it of you.”

  “Good.” She nodded crisply. “Then you won’t be surprised to hear I’ve already left another message with my Ranger contact. I only hope Lieutenant Williams is busy investigating the matter and not just ignoring me.”

  “He’s probably still reviewing his own copy of those photos.”

  She sighed. “That could take forever. There were hundreds of image files in that folder. And for all I know, there may still be more out there on other cameras no one’s found yet. If we’re really lucky, maybe we’ll find one aimed di
rectly at the turbine’s base. Then we can turn it over, too, when we let the Rangers know what your PI friend’s found out about the sheriff’s campaign contributions.”

  Beau hesitated, the thought of his own signed lease deal with Green Horizon flickering like a prairie fire just over the horizon. A wildfire threatening to burn through any hope he had of saving the ranch’s finances. There were other considerations as well. “It might be better to hold off on that, Emma, and let the Rangers collect that evidence themselves so it’ll be admissible in a court of law, in case it happens to contain important evidence.”

  “Wait, and let someone else—whether it’s the sheriff or whoever Russell was threatening—discover and destroy it first?”

  “If they haven’t already,” he said.

  “You’re absolutely right. The cameras may be long gone, or at least their memory cards. But maybe they missed another one and we’ll get lucky, especially if we can go by daylight,” she said, her eyes alight with excitement. “We could find the proof we need to finally prove exactly who it was who—”

  “All right, all right,” he relented, worried that if he didn’t help her, she might try to sneak off again, hobbling around on crutches to search on her own. “We’ll go this afternoon, as soon as I touch base with my family. But first, let’s head down to your room and see what you’ve got.”

  Their gazes connected, lingering long enough that her color deepened.

  “I—I meant the photo, not—” he stammered. “Hell’s bells. That did not come out the way I meant it.”

  She laughed awkwardly. “I know. It’s just—it’s—This feels a little...”

  “It does,” he admitted, praying that talking with her would get easier in time. Because for all the reasons that touching her had been a terrible idea, the back of his brain—and a good portion of his body—burned for the excuse to do it again.

  Maybe she’d been right about needing to find another place to stay. But thinking of the evidence she might have found of murder, along with the threat posed by her ex-husband, had him immediately backing off the thought. Or was he worried more about himself, about never seeing her again?