Homicide at Whiskey Gulch

by Elle James

  Trace moved up her body, climbing up between her legs to claim her lips with his. He tasted of her.

  Lily moaned against his mouth as Trace touched her entrance with the tip of his shaft.

  She gripped his buttocks in an attempt to bring him home.

  “Not yet.” He leaned up on one arm, grabbed the foil packet, tore it with his teeth.

  Lily took it from him, pulled out the protection and rolled it over his engorged staff.

  Then Trace kissed her and pressed into her damp channel.

  Impatient, Lily grabbed his hips and pulled him all the way into her.

  Trace inhaled deeply and let out the air slowly as he gave her time to adjust to his girth. “Lily, you feel so good.”

  “Mmm,” she murmured.

  Trace settled into a steady rhythm, pumping in and out of her.

  With her hands gripping his hips, she encouraged him to go faster, pump harder.

  He moved through her slick center with ease, his thick member stretching her deliciously. His pace increased until finally he slammed into her and he held steady, his shaft pulsing with his release.

  Lily’s fingers dug into his backside, holding him close.

  When at last he relaxed, he fell down on top of her, rolled them both onto their sides and held her there.

  Lily pressed her cheek against his chest. Tears slipped from her eyes. She swallowed hard to keep from sobbing aloud. This was what she’d been waiting for. He was who she’d waited for. But making love didn’t solve anything. It only complicated matters.

  Chapter Twelve

  Trace felt the dampness of her tears against his skin. His heart squeezed hard inside his ribs. “Lily.”

  She shook her head and raised a hand, touching a finger to his lips. “Don’t.” The one word came out thick with emotion.

  “But, Lily, we have to talk,” he insisted.

  “Not tonight,” she said.

  “Then tomorrow.”

  She didn’t answer. Lily lay in his arms, her body pressed against his.

  He didn’t want the night to end. He was afraid that when it did, she would slip from his arms forever. Trace couldn’t let that happen. Not again.

  Lily draped a leg over his and an arm across his chest. Soon her body relaxed against his, and her breathing deepened. She’d fallen asleep.

  Trace lay for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, wanting to wake her and force her to talk to him. He wanted her to tell him why she’d said she was going to marry Matt, when in fact she’d had no intention of doing so. Had she been afraid of leaving her home? Had she not wanted to be a military wife? Had she been afraid of marrying a man who put himself in harm’s way?

  She lay so peacefully that Trace couldn’t bring himself to wake her.

  Eventually, he fell into a troubled sleep. He woke in the cool, gray light of predawn and stared around at the walls, trying to get his bearings. He wasn’t in his room.

  The previous night came back to him in a flood of memories. He rolled over in the full-size bed, already knowing but needing to verify that Lily was already gone.

  He threw back the sheets and swung his legs out of the bed.

  Damn. How had she left the room without waking him? He was in her room, for Pete’s sake. How had she dressed and then opened and closed the door without him hearing a thing?

  He gathered his clothes, dressed quickly and pulled on his boots. When he stepped outside the door of her bedroom, he paused and listened. Sounds of people moving about came from downstairs. His mother would already be up, cooking breakfast for everyone. Had Lily gone down to help her?

  Trace ducked into his room and changed his shirt for one with long sleeves. Hauling hay was a dirty, itchy task if one didn’t cover as much bare skin as possible. The more he covered, the less he’d be poked and stabbed by the strands of hay. He crossed the hallway to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, combed his hair and brushed his teeth. When he was finished, he hurried downstairs to the kitchen.

  Irish stood at the counter, buttering toast. Matt was at the coffee maker, pouring fresh brew. Roy hobbled through the back door on his damaged foot and called out, “Good morning.”

  Trace’s mother manned the stove, scrambling eggs.

  There was no sign of Lily.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” his mother sang. “Grab a cup of coffee. Breakfast is about ready. If you’re looking for Lily, she just stepped out to go to the barn to check on the cat.”

  “I offered to go with her,” Irish said. “But she insisted she would only be a minute.”

  “She was stepping into the barn when I drove up,” Roy said.

  His gut clenched. Did she not understand the danger of going out by herself? “I’ll go check on her.” Trace exited through the back door. He’d made it to the top of the porch steps when he saw her striding toward him from the barn.

  She didn’t appear to be harmed in any way.

  Trace breathed a sigh of relief.

  She met his gaze only briefly. “Patches was confined to the tack room all night and will be there all day until we get the hay put up. I fashioned a litter box out of an old, shallow box and filled it with dirt and gravel so that she can relieve herself. Otherwise, there was no telling what she’d do to that tack room.”

  “Good thinking,” Trace said.

  When she went to pass him, he snagged her arm. “Lily.”

  She paused but still didn’t look up at him.

  “Oh, there you two are,” his mother called out from the porch. She turned and reentered the house.

  Trace looked down at Lily. “We will talk.”

  She nodded.

  Trace released her arm and Lily ran up into the house.

  For a long moment, Trace stared up at the house. What had changed from last night to this morning? Or had nothing changed, and he hadn’t recognized a problem remained between the two of them?

  Who was he kidding? Sex didn’t solve anything. It just made the situation more complicated. By the time Trace entered the house and kitchen, everyone else was seated and talking about the day ahead.

  Already they were making assignments of who would do what.

  Lily would drive the tractor with the rake, piling the dried straw into neat rows. His mother would follow on the baler. Roy would drive the truck that would pull the trailer. Trace and Matt would load the rectangular bales onto the trailer while Irish rode around the hayfield protecting them from potential attacks.

  “We’ll have to move quickly,” Roy said.

  Lily nodded. “The storm headed our way has picked up some speed and will get here sooner than previously anticipated. It’s expected to hit late this afternoon.” She picked up her plate of half-eaten food and carried it to the sink. “I’ll be out at the barn when you are ready.”

  “I’m done,” Irish said. “I’ll go with you.”

  Lily waited by the back door for Irish to stow his plate and glass in the sink and grab his hat.

  They were gone by the time Trace finished his breakfast and cleared his place setting from the table. When he reached the barn, he found Irish and Lily loading fuel into the tractors from the large tank positioned several yards from the outbuildings.

  When Lily finished pumping fuel into the large tractor, she climbed aboard and moved it to where implements were lined up against a fence.

  Trace followed.

  Lily backed the tractor up to the baler, and Trace attached the baler to the three-point hitch. When all the mechanics were working correctly, Lily drove the tractor to the gate and parked. On the other tractor, Roy drove to where Trace stood among the implements. He backed the tractor up to the acreage rake, and Trace attached the tool to the second tractor. Roy parked the tractor behind the baler.

  Trace’s mother came out of the house dressed in jeans,
with her hair pulled back in a braid, a hat shading her face, and carrying a large basket. She looked years younger. Trace could imagine the pretty girl his father met and fell for decades ago, and his heart hurt for the love lost. Rosalynn deposited the basket on the back seat of the pickup and climbed aboard the baling tractor.

  Irish and Matt stood by the damaged ATV from the day before.

  Matt shook his head. “I don’t think this thing is going anywhere. Even if we could get it started, the frame’s bent. It’ll take a lot of work to get it straight again.”

  Irish’s brow crinkled. “Well, what am I supposed to use to provide protection? Needs to be something that’s not fully enclosed. A truck won’t do.”

  Trace’s lips twitched. “I don’t suppose you ride horses, do you?”

  Irish grimaced. “I have ridden, but it’s been a long time.”

  “It’s like riding a bicycle. Once you learn how, you never forget.” Trace grinned.

  Irish frowned. “Tell that to the horses. They seem to have a sixth sense about their riders’ experience.”

  Lily came out of the barn leading a mare, saddled, bridled and ready to go. She approached Irish and patted the horse’s neck. “This is Lady, one of our gentlest horses. She won’t give you a bit of trouble.”

  Irish eyed the animal with suspicion and then glanced around at the others. His gaze landed on Roy. “I don’t suppose—”

  Roy raised his hands. “Don’t ask me. I’ve got a bum foot. Can’t keep it in the stirrup.”

  Irish shrugged and took the reins and handed his rifle to Trace. “Guess it’s you and me, Lady.” He placed his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over the animal, landing hard in the saddle. Once he was settled, Trace handed him the rifle. Irish rested it across his thighs and gathered the reins in his hands.

  Lady stood patiently without dancing around, like some horses had a habit of doing.

  While Trace opened the gate, Lily climbed onto the tractor with the rake. Matt hopped into the bed of the pickup.

  Trace’s mother drove through first, followed by Lily, then Roy in the truck and Trace on foot. Once through the gate, Trace closed it and climbed up into the passenger seat of the pickup.

  When they reached the mown field, Lily led the way, raking the hay into neat rows. Trace’s mother followed behind the rake with the baler, making neat, rectangular bales and dropping them in the row.

  Roy dragged the trailer behind the baler.

  Matt and Trace tossed the bales onto the trailer, forming rows and then stacks as they went.

  The day warmed into a sweltering heat. Sweat dripped off the men as they stacked bales.

  Irish rode the perimeter of the field, rifle in hand, keeping a close eye on the shadows in the tree line. Knowing him, he wouldn’t let the surprise attack of the day before happen again.

  At noon, Rosalynn stopped her tractor and waved to Lily, indicating she should stop as well. The group gathered in the shade of the trees with the basket Trace’s mother had stowed in the back seat of the pickup. It was full to the brim with fried chicken, sandwiches and potato chips.

  Irish remained on guard until Trace finished his food.

  When Trace was finished, he relieved Irish of his rifle and stood guard while Irish rested and ate.

  Clouds built in the distance, an ominous dark wall moving their direction.

  His mother moved to stand beside him, a frown puckering her smooth brow. “We need to get moving if we want to finish this field before that rain hits.”

  Trace nodded and turned to the others. “Saddle up. We have more work to do before we can call it a day.”

  “I’ll be done raking soon,” Lily said. “Then I can help stack bales.”

  Trace nodded. “We can use all the help we can get to load all those bales.”

  As soon as Lily finished raking the hay, she drove the tractor up to Trace. “I’m taking the tractor back to the barn.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Trace said. He called out to Matt, “I’m going with Lily to the barn. You got this for a few?”

  Matt tossed a bale onto the trailer. “Got it.”

  “I can get to the barn and back by myself,” Lily argued.

  “I’d rather not risk it,” Trace said and crawled up on the back of the tractor, hanging on to the back of her seat.

  “Seriously, I’ll be fine on my own,” she muttered.

  “The more you argue, the longer it will take.” He waved a hand toward the barn. “Drive.”

  She shot a glance over her shoulder, her lips twisting. “Bossy much?”

  He chuckled. “Only when I need to be.” He winked.

  “Better hold on, then.” Lily’s lips twitched into a brief smile before she popped the clutch and the tractor lurched forward.

  Thankfully, Trace was holding on tightly, or he’d have been thrown off. “Hey, don’t forget I’m back here.”

  She snorted. “Believe me, I didn’t.”

  He liked when she was sassy. It reminded him of when they’d been teens and racing horses across the fields. Trace wished it could be like this all the time. He suspected they had some rough patches yet to overcome. He hoped they overcame them without ending their relationship. If he had his way, they’d skip over the trials and get right back to making love and teasing each other.

  Yeah, and pigs could fly.

  * * *

  LILY HAD GOTTEN up early that morning and slipped out of the bed she’d shared with Trace. No matter how much she wanted to be with him, she realized physical attraction was not enough. She loved Trace more than she needed to breathe. But the fact was, he hadn’t come back to fight for her.

  After all the years of pining for him, Lily wanted more. She wanted a man who would move heaven and earth to be with her. A man who wasn’t afraid to tell her how he felt and who wanted what she wanted, a lasting relationship that would weather any storm.

  She stopped at the gate and waited until Trace dismounted from the tractor and opened it. Then she drove through, backed the hay rake into position next to the other tractor implements and waited while Trace unhooked the three-point hitch. Once he had it loose, she parked the tractor in the shed, where Trace’s father had stored it.

  Trace reached up, fitting his hands around her waist, and lifted her from the tractor seat, letting her slide down his torso until her feet brushed the ground. His hands remained around her waist.

  Lily didn’t want him to let go. She inhaled the scent of the outdoors, dried sweat and male. She’d missed him so much. Her body swayed toward him, ready to pick up where they’d left off the night before. For a moment she really considered it.

  A rumble of distant thunder brought her back to reality. She straightened and stepped out of his grasp. “We’d better get back to the others.” Did her voice sound disappointed? She hoped not, even if she felt it.

  “Walking back?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “You can walk. I’ll ride.” She entered the barn and strode to the first stall on the right. Dusty, the buckskin gelding, pawed at the stall door and whinnied when she drew near. “Hey, boy. Wanna stretch your legs?” She clipped a lead onto his halter and opened the stall door. The horse pushed through, nudging her shoulder to hurry. “All in due time,” she assured him as she tied him to a hook on the wall.

  Trace tossed a saddle blanket and her saddle over the animal’s back.

  “How did you know which one I use?” she asked.

  “I remembered,” he said, tightening the girth around Dusty’s belly. “Things haven’t changed much around here.”

  Other than his father’s passing, Trace was right. The saddles they’d used as teens were still functional. What had changed was the people. Lily had grown up and Trace had moved on with his life in the army.

  Lily left Trace to complete tightening the girth and eased in
to the tack room for a bridle.

  Patches ducked her head around the corner of the filing cabinet. When she spotted Lily, she walked out, leaving her kittens mewing in protest. The cat weaved her body around Lily’s legs and paused long enough for Lily to scratch her beneath the chin.

  “How are your babies?” Lily asked.

  Patches meowed and walked toward the door.

  “I know you want out, but you’ll have to wait a little longer.” Lily checked the water and food dishes. They were still full and the litter box she’d fashioned out of a cardboard box was still unused. “Sorry, girl. We’ll let you out as soon as we have the hay put up.”

  Grabbing a bridle from a nail on the wall, she squeezed through the door, shutting the cat inside.

  “How’s Patches and the kittens?” Trace took the bridle from Lily’s hands.

  “Patches is impatient, but the kittens are fine.”

  Trace slipped the bit between Dusty’s teeth, looping the leather straps over his ears. Unhooking the lead from the animal’s halter, he led the horse out of the barn and handed the reins to Lily. Then he bent and cupped his hands.

  She could have gone straight for the stirrup. It was a stretch, but she’d done it many times before. Instead, Lily put her foot in his hands like she had all those years ago and swung her leg over the saddle.

  Before she could slip her foot into the stirrup, Trace grabbed the saddle horn, stuck his boot into the stirrup and swung up behind her, landing lightly on the horse’s rump, just behind the saddle’s seat.

  “You could have saddled your own horse,” she said.

  “Why?” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. “This is much cozier.”

  Lily frowned and looked over her shoulder at him. “Back when we were young, you always made me ride in the back.”