by Joanne Rock
“I mean I’m not convinced about your motives.” He turned to study her, and she wondered how he could flip the switch from passion to interrogation so fast. “You could be using the attraction as a smoke screen. A very hot, very effective smoke screen, from whatever it is you’re up to.”
Her throat dried up.
She was on the verge of blurting the truth—that she didn’t trust him, either, and she wanted to know what his father had done with all the profits from her misery. But then, Devon took a step closer to her again, his head tilting to one side as if he was considering a new idea.
“Maybe the best solution is for me to keep you close so I can have my eyes on you all the time.” His wolfish smile shouldn’t have been a turn-on, but she’d be lying if she denied a flare of heat inside her.
“I don’t understand,” she told him flatly, folding her arms across her chest to quiet all the ridiculous reactions of her body.
“We’ll act on the attraction, Regina,” he announced, like it was already decided. “Explore this chemistry for as long as we have together.” He lowered his voice, the silky tone stroking over her senses like a caress. “Starting now.”
* * *
Checkmate.
He’d effectively cornered her, and he wondered if she’d give up the game. No more pretense.
Because while there was attraction at work here—without question—he felt like she’d been searching his jacket with a purpose. His every instinct screamed at him that she was looking for something specific. Was she with the press? Had someone in the media gotten wind of his father’s secret identity?
Or had she been tasked by her employer to find out more about him before the launch party? Devon suspected the Mesa Falls Ranch owners would have preferred to work with Marcus on the launch since Devon had arrived late and had asked a private investigator to look into his father’s doings before he’d arrived. Weston Rivera hadn’t been pleased to be contacted by the PI.
Devon had hoped that was water under the bridge after the welcome reception the owners had thrown last week. But now he wasn’t so sure.
“You’re suggesting we...date?” When she raised one eyebrow and pursed her lips, there was something familiar about her features.
For a moment, he could almost swear he’d seen her before. But that made no sense. He shoved aside the thought to lock things down with her.
“Date. And wherever that might lead.” He wandered closer to her again, taking pleasure in the way her gaze dipped to his lips for a moment.
“I have to admit, now I’m the one confused about your motives.” She turned to release her horse from the crossties so she could lead the bay back to a stall.
It forced Devon to back up a step. The scent of hay and horses stirred while the mustang swished her tail, settling into the space before dipping her muzzle into the feed bucket.
“I thought I made myself very clear. I’m attracted to you. The feeling is reciprocated.” He shrugged as he moved toward Evangeline so he could put her in for the night, too. “What’s confusing about that?”
“You don’t seem to trust me.” She eyed him warily, opening another stall door and showing him where to lead Evangeline. “That kiss felt like some kind of test. You walked away from it easily enough. And now you toss around the idea of dating like it’s a dare.”
“In a way, it is.” He led Evangeline to the stall, then passed the bridle to Regina. “Do you dare?”
She slanted a sideways glance at him while she waited for Evangeline to get comfortable. Then she pulled off the bridle and latched the stall door.
“That’s beside the point. I can’t risk my job by dating one of the patrons.” She brushed past him with two bridles in hand.
He followed her into the tack room, where the scent of leather cleaner and polish hung heavily in the air. The walls were lined with saddles, blankets and all kinds of riding accessories. There were a few highly decorative pieces, but most were well-used plain leather.
“I’m not a guest of the ranch, though,” he reminded her as he watched her wipe down the bridles. “I’m a freelance contractor providing a service. That’s something very different. No one will object to you seeing me for the next ten days until the launch party.”
He needed to keep her close to him to find out what she was doing. If she was trying to dig up information about his family, he’d find out soon enough. He watched as she hung the clean bridles on an iron peg over her head. She arched up on her toes, fitting the pieces over the hook.
“How do I know that?” She lifted her hands in exasperation.
“I’ll inform Rivera personally.” He rested his hands on her shoulders, feeling the tension threaded through her muscles under the fabric of her soft chambray shirt. “That way, he’ll know I’m the one who initiated this relationship. So tell me, what would you like to do tomorrow to celebrate our first date?”
He caught a hint of her fragrance, something green and fresh like spring. Jasmine, maybe. He could feel some of the knots sliding away as he worked over the muscles. Not all. She was far from relaxed. Because she was nervous? Or was it more of that attraction at work? The kiss had rocked him, too, even if he’d managed to hide his reaction better than she had.
“You’re serious about going through with this?” Those silver eyes were so wary.
“I want you,” he told her simply. “I’m sure you could tell how much when I kissed you.”
He saw a shiver pass over her and it filled him with satisfaction. No matter what other dynamic was at work between them, he couldn’t wait to touch her again. Taste her thoroughly.
She gave a quick, fast nod.
“Okay.”
It wasn’t the most enthusiastic of receptions, but the shiver—and the kiss—had been enough.
“Okay.” He confirmed it, gesturing her to lead the way out of the tack room.
She sidled past him, careful not to touch.
He retrieved her discarded jacket and helped her on with it. “Would you prefer I make the plans?”
He took his time easing the heavy duster over her shoulders, then lifted her hair out from under the collar. It brushed in a silky waterfall along the top of her back.
“Maybe that would be best.” She turned to face him while he shrugged into his own jacket. “The picnic was nice today,” she admitted, a smile animating her features for the briefest moment.
“I’m glad you had fun.” He looked forward to getting to know Regina Flores much, much better. “I’ll find a way to top it tomorrow.”
She tugged her gloves from her pockets and pulled them on, flexing her fingers into the leather. He wondered what she was thinking. Feeling.
There were mysteries in her eyes he couldn’t wait to unravel.
“I’ll pick you up at six?” He pulled open the barn door so he could walk her back to her cabin or wherever it was she stayed on the ranch.
Snowflakes still fell in slow whorls. She glanced up at the sky and then back at him as she stepped outside.
He couldn’t miss the steely gleam in her eyes when she nodded.
“I’ll be ready.” Bracing her shoulders, she headed into the wind.
Devon followed and escorted her toward the main lodge. He’d have time to do his homework on Regina tonight, even if that meant asking his private investigator to do some digging on her. And when it was time for his date with the mysterious trail guide?
He’d be ready, too.
* * *
She was dating the enemy.
An hour after she’d made the deal with Devon, Regina couldn’t decide if she was grateful for her quick thinking that had made her tell him she was attracted to him. Because she sure had put herself between a rock and a...very hard place. Memories of that kiss still scorched her insides if she let her thoughts linger on it too long.
Back in the comfort
of her own quarters that night, she tried to focus on what she’d learned from her gamble instead of the dicey situation she’d put herself in. With a pillow propped behind her back as she worked in bed, she recorded everything she remembered from her quick glance through Devon’s papers, entering the information on her laptop.
The women’s bunkhouse accommodations were snug but comfortable, especially since half of the beds were still vacant. But then, the guest ranch portion of Mesa Falls was all new, with the service positions still being filled. She’d chosen a top bunk in the corner, and between the location and the curtains she could draw closed across the open side of the bed, her work on the laptop was private enough.
One of the other women she roomed with had come in briefly to shower before heading out for the night, and another had gone to sleep early. In the common room where there were a few couches and a television, a couple of older ladies who worked in the kitchens were reading. Someone had flipped on Christmas country tunes in that room, the occasional twang of a fiddle or a steel guitar filtering back to the bunk area. Regina didn’t think anyone would disturb her for the rest of the evening with her curtain closed. She had her phone charging next to a bottle of water in a canvas cupholder that dangled from the top rail against the wall.
Regina searched online for the name she recalled from Devon’s papers: April Stephens. She was a private investigator. She hadn’t recalled the contact information other than that the woman was based in Denver. Regina found her easily and read her bio on a website for an agency specializing in forensic accounting and tracking down hidden assets.
Why did Devon have her card? And whose assets did he need to trace? Delving further into the website, she found links to articles about tracking missing persons. Apparently the two investigative specialties often went hand in hand since tracing missing money often led to missing people.
For the first time, Regina felt a twinge of guilt about invading Devon’s privacy. She’d been so convinced he was profiting from the story about her family, but what if he wasn’t? What if she was being as careless sifting through his personal business as his father had been with her family’s secrets?
The scent of popcorn from the common room pulled her out of her thoughts, making her remember she hadn’t eaten since the picnic she’d shared with Devon. Her stomach rumbled.
The other papers she’d glimpsed in Devon’s coat were return plane tickets and a printed schedule for an East Coast wedding. A quick scan online confirmed the woman getting married was Devon’s mother, Katherine “Kate” Radcliffe. Regina had read about Kate briefly in her earlier investigation into the Salazar family, but since the woman had never been a Salazar and didn’t stay with Alonzo for long, Regina hadn’t devoted much time to learning about the Radcliffes.
She dug deeper now, clicking through article after article online to discover all she could about Philip Radcliffe, the aging patriarch who oversaw a global pharmaceutical company. It was possible his wealth had helped Devon fund Salazar Media, and not Alonzo Salazar’s ill-gotten gains. But an interview with the billionaire in a business publication suggested otherwise. In it, Philip talked about the need for “the Radcliffe fortune to remain in Radcliffe hands” for future generations.
That sounded like a deliberate slight to his grandson with a different last name, and the author of the article had speculated as much.
Fingers hovering over her keyboard, Regina found herself empathizing—at least a small amount—with Devon. She recalled how it felt to be dismissed based on lack of birthright.
While she mulled over the new twists, the sound of footsteps in the bunkhouse made her click off her screen right before a shadow loomed on the drawn curtain around her bed.
“Hon, you still awake?” It was a woman’s voice, warm and kind.
Regina pushed aside the lined cotton fabric to see Millie, one of the new line cooks, holding a bowl of popcorn. Millie seemed close to retirement age, but she had an energetic vibe and fully embraced ranch life. Her long blond braid rested on the shoulder of a red thermal shirt that read Santa, I Tried.
“Just doing some research before bed,” Regina replied, pointing to the closed laptop.
“We made a second batch of popcorn, so I thought I’d see if you wanted a bowl.” Millie winked as she extended a red plastic dish decorated with green horseshoes and Christmas trees, with a paper napkin underneath. “It’s got extra butter.”
Touched by the gesture, Regina smiled, her mouth watering. “That’s so kind of you to think of me. Thank you.”
“It’s no trouble.” Millie was already backing away, her voice quiet as she passed another bunk where one of the room attendants was sacked out cold.
Millie disappeared into the common room, leaving Regina with the popcorn and a surprise dose of holiday spirit she hadn’t been expecting. It was strange that she felt sort of at home at Mesa Falls Ranch, given that she’d only come here to learn more about the Salazar heirs. But it had been a long time since she’d been able to work with horses; the man she’d thought was her father had confiscated her beloved Arabian when the book scandal broke. She’d missed that equine companionship almost as much as she’d missed her father figure. More, perhaps, since the horse hadn’t discarded her the way her dad had.
Mesa Falls Ranch gave her the gift of horses. And, it seemed, the gift of friendly faces in the form of people like Millie. As Regina munched the popcorn, she reminded herself not to get too attached. Because she was only in Montana for one reason.
To find out where Alonzo Salazar’s profits went on the book that stole Regina’s life out from under her. And to do that, she was going to get closer to Alonzo’s oldest son than she’d ever imagined.
Starting tomorrow, on whatever date Devon dreamed up for them.
She wished she could concentrate on how that would benefit her cause. Yet long after she’d finished the popcorn and tried to fall asleep, Regina’s thoughts returned again and again to the spark of awareness she’d felt when Devon had kissed her. And the knowledge that she was getting in too deep with a man who compelled her like no other.
Four
April Stephens tipped her face into the wind off the Bitterroot Mountains, breathing in the freedom of Big Sky Country just before sunset on her first day in Montana.
Gripping the smooth trunk of a sapling close to the campsite she’d just finished securing, April took in the beauty of Gem Lake, a frozen patch of opalescent blue in the gully between sharp gray peaks. Her work as a private investigator for Devon Salazar may have paid for her plane ticket, but that didn’t mean her new client owned all of her time. As soon as she’d settled her things in her room at the Great Lodge at Mesa Falls Ranch, April had stuffed her camping gear into a backpack and requested a ranch utility vehicle to take her to one of the trailheads for Trapper’s Peak.
She had no need to summit, and there wouldn’t have been enough time if she’d wanted to. She just needed this moment in the outdoors with space and air around her, so different from the crammed suffocation of her mother’s house, full of things from years of hoarding, every precarious pile providing tangible evidence that April could never save her.
Her trip there this morning, before her flight to Montana, had been a typical exercise in futility. She’d wanted to bring her mom some basic groceries, encourage her to get in the shower and alert her that April was going out of town. Instead, Mom had spent the whole time fretting over where to put a recent purchase of fabric remains from a local shop going out of business. By the time April had left for the airport, her mother—once a beloved schoolteacher and warm-hearted homemaker—had been in tears trying to cram bolts of fabric around the refrigerator in a way that would still allow the fridge to open.
Shoving aside the memory, April breathed deep, savoring the clean air before turning back to her camp and the small fire she’d started. She took a seat in front of the blaze to enjoy the war
mth for another hour until she crawled inside her small tent for the night. She needed to be ready to break camp at dawn and get back to the lodge. For now, however, the cold wind tore through her clothes, whipping them against her in a way that felt like Mother Nature shaking out the cobwebs. Snow swirled in white eddies, the damp iciness scrubbing away the detritus of the messy life she kept hidden from everyone.
Was it any wonder she enjoyed tracking down secrets? She spent so much time concealing her own it was a weird sort of therapy to rip away the subterfuge from other people’s. Sometimes it felt cruel. But it was cathartic, too.
Like with her work for Devon Salazar, who now wanted answers about Regina Flores on top of his original request. Tomorrow, she would meet with him about his more difficult project—tracking the proceeds from his father’s book. But tonight, before his date with the mysterious Regina, she’d had to message him a warning that the woman’s identity was an obvious fake.
That facet of the job had been easy—she’d been able to do the search on the flight. Without further information, she couldn’t pinpoint the woman’s real name. But as for the lady she claimed to be?
Regina Flores simply didn’t exist.
* * *
The bunkhouse bustled with activity late the next afternoon while Regina dressed for her date. The second-shift workers had already left, and several of the women who held first-shift jobs were also getting ready to go out to local pubs, enjoying the start of the weekend.
Christmas pop music played over someone’s speaker while women traded news about the workday. Most of the chatter was about the influx of reservations for the launch party week. Apparently, the lodge was already booked to capacity for the four days leading up to the event, and even now they were near 80 percent.
After pulling a heavy fisherman’s sweater over her T-shirt, Regina double-checked an earlier text she’d received from Devon asking her to dress warmly since their date would have them outdoors for an hour. She was curious what he had in mind since the sun went down early this time of year. It was dark outside already.