Rumors: The McCaffertys

by Lisa Jackson

  “For the most part, you were pretty quiet in there,” he observed, hitching his chin toward the ranch house, his breath making a fine cloud in the night air.

  “I suppose.” She glanced over her shoulder to the two-

  storied building where the windows glowed in bright patches against the chill of the winter night. “I wanted to hear what Striker had to say.”

  “So what did you think?”

  She met his gaze in the darkness. “It’s all well and good, but I’m going to double-check everything when I get to Seattle.”

  “You’re leaving?” He was surprised.

  “For a day or two. Compliments of the department.” At the SUV, she paused, sent him a mischievous glance. “I know, you’re gonna miss me,” she teased, but she’d struck closer to home than he wanted to admit.

  “I’ll try to survive.”

  “Do that, cowboy.”

  She smiled and that was all it took. Before he had a chance to think, he grabbed her, hauled her into his arms and slanted his mouth over hers. She gasped and he took advantage of her open mouth, his tongue sliding into her mouth to find hers. There was a second’s resistance, her muscles tensing, and then he felt her melt, her body leaning into his for just a second. Matt closed his eyes, drew her closer still, his hands splaying upon her back, his heart pounding, blood thundering through his ears.

  Somewhere he heard a door open and voices. Kelly froze in his arms, then pushed away. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” she said, and glanced to the porch. Slade and Kurt stood under the porch light, Slade lighting a cigarette, Kurt standing with his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. Both men were staring at them.

  “Great,” Matt said, knowing he was going to catch hell from his younger brother.

  “I think we should keep this professional,” she said as if reading his thoughts. She opened the door of her SUV and slid inside.

  “And I think you’re a liar.” He leaned closer to her. “Face it, Detective,” he said, his voice low. “You want me.”

  “You’re insufferable.”

  “So I’ve heard.” His grin was cocksure and irreverent.

  “Good night, cowboy.” She hauled the door shut and gritted her teeth. What was it about that man that got under her skin? Why had she let him kiss her again? He was right.

  Jabbing her key into the ignition, she twisted her wrist and the engine sparked on the first try.

  Face it, Detective, you want me.

  Oh, if he only knew. The taste of him was still on her lips and her blood was thundering through her veins. Oh, yes, she wanted him, but she couldn’t have him. The whole idea was ludicrous and completely out of character for her. She switched on the headlights and wipers, then pushed the heater’s control lever to high.

  Nimbly, she swung her car into reverse, her headlights slashed across the lot to land on Matt, standing feet spread apart, arms crossed over his wide chest, eyes trained on her vehicle. She threw the car into drive and stepped on the throttle. Yes, damn it, I want you, but that’s as far as it’s gonna go. You, Mr. McCafferty, are strictly taboo!

  * * *

  Matt braced himself as he walked back to the house. He saw the censure in Slade’s dark gaze. “What the hell was that all about?” Slade demanded. He flicked his cigarette butt into the air and the red ember arced in the darkness to sizzle in a snowbank.

  “What?”

  “You and the policewoman, and don’t try to deny it. I thought you were keeping your eye on the police department to see that they were doing their job.”

  “I am.”

  “By kissing the detective investigating the case?” Slade snorted. “You’re trying to get her into bed, for God’s sake.”

  “Back off, Slade. I’m handling things.”

  “You’re stepping over the line. She needs to be thinking about the attacks on Randi and nothing else. And you—” he poked a thick finger at his brother’s chest “—keep your head on straight.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Matt said sharply, his back muscles tightening.

  “You have a job to do!”

  Matt grabbed his younger brother by the shirtfront. “I said back off and I meant it.” He pushed his face so close to Slade’s that in the porch light he could see the color throb in the scar running along the side of his brother’s face.

  “Hold on. Both of you.” Kurt’s eyes were narrowed and he was gazing down the lane where the taillights of Kelly’s rig had so recently disappeared. “I think this could work out.”

  “How?” Matt demanded, turning his attention onto the detective, though he still wanted to throw a punch.

  Kurt’s eyes narrowed and he rubbed the stubble of his jaw. “Pillow talk.” His gaze took in both brothers.

  Slade’s lips thinned. “I don’t like it.”

  “Neither do I.” Matt’s fist uncurled and he stepped away from his brother, only to level a killing glare at Striker.

  Kurt didn’t back down. “Before you do something we’ll both regret,” he said, “hear me out. We all know that sometimes women say things in bed that they wouldn’t otherwise. This could definitely work to our advantage, as Detective Dillinger is so involved with the case.”

  “That’s not the point,” Matt argued.

  “It’s precisely the point. We’re all working together, right? Toward a common goal. To find out who the hell’s trying to kill your sister, and I figure we can do it by any means possible. So you kiss the woman, so you bed her. Big deal. It’s not as if you have to fall in love with her. She’s here, you live far away, but for the meantime, you could enjoy yourself for a while. At least you’ll find out whatever it is the police might be holding back.”

  “If she talks,” Slade interjected.

  “She will if given the right motivation. They all do.” With that Kurt took off and jogged across the snowy parking lot to his four-wheel drive vehicle, leaving Matt with a bad taste in his mouth.

  “I don’t like him,” he said to Slade.

  “You don’t have to. Just do what he says.” His lips were compressed, his blue eyes harsh. “You want to bed Ms. Dillinger, anyway. Now you’ve got an excuse.”

  Chapter 8

  Kelly stomped on the accelerator and told herself she’d just won the medal for moron of the century. What had come over her? What was she thinking, flirting so outrageously, kissing Matt, for crying out loud? It was just plain nuts! She couldn’t, wouldn’t, let herself fall for Matt McCafferty. To let him kiss her was bad enough, but had she let it go at that? Oh, no, she had to challenge him, and even now, ten minutes later, she felt the heat, tingle and impression of his lips against hers.

  “Idiot,” she growled, clenching the steering wheel hard. She drove to Grand Hope as if possessed, parked and stormed up the flight of stairs to her living area. This damned case was making her crazy, that was it. She was losing her perspective.

  She spent the rest of the night going over the computer printout of Randi’s novel, making notes, drumming her fingers, reading passages over and over again, trying to gain some insight into the mind of Matt’s half sister. The McCaffertys’ housekeeper seemed to think this book was important; Kelly didn’t see how. As far as she could tell it was fiction. She found no clues as to the identity of Randi’s attacker, nor did she discover a hint about little J.R.’s father.

  But the rodeo scenario bothered her. Not only had Randi’s father followed the rodeo circuit, but two of her brothers, Matt and Slade, as well. And then there was Randi herself, into barrel racing and crowned a rodeo princess.

  Kelly tapped her pencil against her teeth. So Randi found the whole cowboy thing fascinating, to the point that she’d been involved recently, however briefly, with Sam Donahue, a man who had grown up around these parts and joined the rodeo circuit soon after he
’d graduated from high school.

  So how did it all tie into Randi’s book? Or did it? Was it significant? Or another false lead? One of far too many.

  “It’s a waste of time,” she told herself, stretching in her chair at the kitchen table and eyeing the clock. It was well after midnight. She couldn’t keep her eyes open and tumbled into bed where she spent a restless night, tossing and turning and dreaming of a rangy cowboy whose kisses stole the breath from her lungs.

  By the time she’d walked into the office the next morning and dropped the rough draft of Randi’s manuscript on the corner of Espinoza’s desk, she’d tried and failed to push Matt McCafferty out of her mind.

  “This is about all Striker found,” she said as Espinoza picked up the rough draft of the manuscript and riffled through the pages. She placed the disk on top of the printout.

  “Does it mean anything?”

  “Just that she has a vivid imagination.” Kelly leaned against the file cabinet and gave him the blow-by-blow of the night before.

  He skimmed the pages and shook his head. “It bothers me that the Seattle police didn’t find this.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I think you’d better check with them, ask them about Striker when you’re there.” He reached into the top drawer of his desk and withdrew a thick envelope, then slapped it into Kelly’s hand. “Airline tickets,” he explained. “You leave tomorrow.”

  * * *

  “Son of a bitch!” Matt slammed down the receiver and caught a warning glare from Thorne, who was seated at the kitchen table with Nicole, J.R. and the twins as they all were trying and failing to play Go Fish. Nicole was balancing the baby on her lap while the twins slapped cards willy-nilly. Thorne was attempting to teach the four-year-olds the basics of the game while half-drunk cups of cocoa steamed and the bowl of popcorn had been reduced to a few unpopped kernels sitting in a pool of melted butter.

  The scene was way too domestic for Matt. Who would have thought Thorne could become such a family man? But there he was discussing the upcoming wedding with his fiancée, laughing with the twins and taking the time to relax.

  “Trouble?” Thorne asked.

  “Yeah, there was a major storm in the mountains and it took out a lot of the power and phone lines. I can’t get through to Kavanaugh.” He glanced out the window to the dark night beyond and silently swore. He’d worked damned hard for that scrap of land near the Idaho border; it had been his pride and joy, his proof that he could make it on his own, without John Randall’s help. Without anyone’s. He always figured he’d eventually find a good woman to settle down there, raise his family and die on the land he’d claimed as his own. When the time came, he figured his ashes would be scattered in the wind, near the pond by the barn.

  But lately he’d been thinking of giving it all up, relinquishing his dream.

  For what?

  For Kelly Dillinger.

  Hell, what had happened to him in the past couple of weeks?

  “You’ll just have to be patient.” Thorne picked up a card from the discard pile and tossed off another. “Mike will call when he can.”

  Matt didn’t like it. He poured himself a cup of day-old coffee he didn’t want and glared out the window. He needed to get back to his own place, to check on his stock, to reconnect with what was his. Day by day he was feeling less a part of his own spread and more entrenched in life back here in Grand Hope. His brothers, the kids, Randi…and, though he hated to admit it, Kelly Dillinger, all played a big part in his newfound roots at the Flying M.

  “Go fish!” one little voice yelled proudly.

  Matt took a swig from his cup, scowled at the bitter taste, tossed the remainder down the sink and tried to fight the restlessness that seemed to be his constant companion these days. “I think I’ll go into town,” he said, striding to the back door and grabbing his jacket. “I’ll check on Randi.”

  “You don’t wants to play?” one of the twins—Mindy, he thought—asked.

  “Not right now, darlin’,” he said, smiling and tousling her dark curls. “I’ll take a rain check.” Her face pulled into a little knot of confusion. “I mean I’ll play with you another time, okay?”

  “’Kay,” she replied, and he felt a tug on his heart. Yep, he was getting way too tied up here. He grabbed his jacket off a hook near the back porch.

  A chorus of “byes” followed after him until the door slammed shut. On one level he was glad his older brother was getting married. It was about time, and Nicole, even with her ready-made family, was a helluva catch, a beautiful woman who could handle Thorne like none other. That they loved each other was obvious to everyone. They planned to stay here at the house, rent Nicole’s cottage in town and, eventually, once Randi woke up, build nearby.

  If Randi ever woke up. Matt scowled into the night as his boots crunched through the crusted snow. Clouds covered the moon and stars, but so far the snow had held off. He slid into his truck and tore out of the lot. First he’d drive to the hospital, check on Randi, then he’d cruise by the station and see if Detective Dillinger was working and if not…

  What then?

  He pulled onto the two-lane highway and headed south toward Grand Hope without coming up with an answer.

  * * *

  “So I was gonna invite you over for a glass of wine, but since you’re out, it’ll have to wait until I get back from Seattle,” Kelly said, leaving a message on her sister’s answering machine. “I’ll be back the night before Thanksgiving. See ya then.”

  Kelly hung up and stretched. She’d poured herself a glass of wine and had hoped that her sister would join her, but since she couldn’t reach Karla, she’d have to alter her plans slightly. Instead of girl talk around the fire, or playing a board game with Karla’s boys, Kelly decided on a bath and a good book. She hadn’t soaked in the tub in ages, rarely had enough time. Instead she showered in the morning and, if she needed it, again at night. Fast, easy, done in five minutes. But tonight, after being chilled to her bones from working all day outside investigating accident scenes and vandalism to property, she decided she deserved the luxury of soft music.

  She stripped off her uniform, twisted her hair into a loose knot, lit two white tapers and filled the tub with hot water. She left her glass of wine and book on the rim of the tub, then settled into the warm, scented water.

  It felt like heaven.

  She sank lower, half closing her eyes as the candles flickered and the heat seeped into her bloodstream, loosening the tension from her muscles. Her mind ran in slower and slower circles, winding down to eventually stop dead center at Matt McCafferty. Despite her warnings to the contrary, she thought about kissing him and her response. Deep. Heart-stopping. Breathless. He’d left her with her knees weak and an ache beginning to throb deep inside her.

  Oh, she was playing with fire with that man. Kissing him was a luxury she couldn’t allow herself again. At least not until the mystery surrounding his half sister was solved, and God knew when that would be. Soon…it had to be soon. She sipped her wine and tried to get into the mystery, but as she read one paragraph over and over again, she thought of Randi McCafferty’s unfinished novel and she wondered at its significance. Rodeos. Barrel racing. Bareback broncos. Matt McCafferty. She could nearly picture him, lean body tense and rigid, one hand raised, the other tight around the strap surrounding a muscular, headstrong rodeo horse. With a sigh she gave up on her book and set it on the ledge. “Forget him,” she chided. Closing her eyes, she nearly drifted off when she heard the doorbell chime softly over the music playing on the radio.

  Her eyes snapped open.

  Who in the devil would be dropping by?

  Karla.

  Her sister had gotten home, heard the phone message and hurried over.

  “Coming!” she yelled as she stepped out of the tub, threw on her b
athrobe and cinched the belt tightly around her waist. She slipped into scuffs and hurried down the stairs to the door, where she peeked through the peephole. Karla wasn’t anywhere around, but Matt McCafferty, larger than life through the fish-eye lens, was staring back at her.

  Her silly heart skipped a beat. She threw the bolt and swung open the door before she realized she was wearing nothing—not one solitary stitch—beneath the yellow terry robe.

  His eyes widened just a fraction and for a second he actually seemed tongue-tied as he looked down at her. “I didn’t realize it was so late,” he said, and she swallowed a smile. Obviously he was expecting Detective Kelly Dillinger to answer the door, that he would be face-to-face with a no-nonsense officer of the law, dressed in full uniform and probably packing heat.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” she asked.

  He nodded, his eyebrows knitting into one dark line. “I was in town and I thought I’d…well, I guess I should have called.” His lips compressed together and his glance shifted to one side. “I thought maybe you’d like to go out for a drink or a cup of coffee or something.”

  “Or something?” she prodded, amused and flattered.

  “I should have called.”

  “That’s usually the way it’s done, yes,” she said, not giving him an inch. Her pulse fluttered ridiculously and her heartbeat cranked up a notch as she stood in the doorway.

  God, she was gorgeous, Matt thought, wondering what had compelled him to her doorstep. He’d told himself it was because he was keeping an eye on the sheriff department’s investigation, that it was all business, but deep inside, he knew there was more to it, more than he cared to admit. He’d argued with himself as he’d driven to her row house, tried to convince himself to turn back to the ranch, but here he was, the victim of his own sexual drive, for that’s what it was; he wanted to see her because she was an intriguing, sassy, beautiful woman. He’d expected to find a slim, all-business policewoman dressed in her uniform…but this…this fascinating lady was even more irresistible. Kelly appeared smaller, more vulnerable, incredibly feminine and damned sexy in that thick yellow duster. Her hair was piled onto her head, some strands escaping to curl in damp ringlets around a flushed face with incredible cheekbones, dark-fringed, mocking eyes and a saucy mouth curved into an amused smile.