Sage Creek

by Jill Gregory

  “You . . . taste so good.” Rafe’s voice was rough as he came up for air, staring into her eyes with a dark intensity that might have scared her if she didn’t feel so safe lying here with him.

  “Don’t stop now, cowboy. Don’t you dare stop.”

  She pulled his head down as he grinned. She needed to kiss him again, but even as her mouth clung to his, she knew she should be the one to stop. She should be careful, stay in control, but she couldn’t. Not yet. It felt too good. Too right. Completely right.

  “Not a chance of that,” he whispered, his hot mouth against hers. “Not unless you tell me to.”

  The way he kissed her next left her no breath or will to tell him anything.

  She was dizzy, breathless as his hands explored her body. She stroked her fingers across the muscles of his back, down to his taut butt as their tongues circled and danced, and a crazy warmth spun through her.

  They were both breathing hard as his hands roamed over her, slid beneath her sweatshirt and lace bra, and found her breast, even as he tasted her mouth again, his tongue and teeth rougher this time.

  Sophie moaned, drowning in a haze of pleasure. Then she was clutching at his shirt, her fingers flying at the buttons. The next thing she knew, they were locked together on the cool thick grass and her sweatshirt was somewhere, tossed aside. So was his shirt. What was she doing?

  He flung off her bra and stroked her breasts, caressing her as raw heat tore like wildfire through her.

  “Rafe, this is . . . crazy,” she gasped, then gave a quick, intake of breath as he thumbed her nipple. “Completely . . . crazy,” she breathed. Her hands had stilled upon his broad, strong back.

  “But good crazy,” he whispered with a grin, drawing back to look into her eyes. “God, Sophie, you’re so beautiful.”

  Her hair spilled like wild honey across the grass, and her face was flushed the most delicate seashell pink he’d ever seen. He was hard and wanted her so much. He’d been wanting her since that night at the Double Cross, not admitting it to himself. But every time he saw her, he thought about her more. He hadn’t felt this way about any woman ever. He didn’t just want to have sex with her, he wanted to spend time with her, look at her, listen to her. And yeah, have sex with her.

  She was gorgeous and kind and sweet in a way that drew him in no matter how much he tried not to get attached. There was a quiet strength about her that was every bit as alluring as those green eyes and the way she smiled and the faint huskiness of her voice.

  He noticed a faint sheen at her hairline and her lips were red and moist from his kisses. He wanted to take in, breathe in, all of her. Now.

  He pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat and felt her tremble.

  His mouth trailed lower, until his tongue flicked at one lovely nipple, licking and swirling and teasing its nail-hard peak with his teeth until she gasped and her hands fisted in his hair.

  Sophie was losing all control. She opened her eyes as Rafe’s hand slid to the button on her jeans, flicked it open. He started working the zipper down, and she realized suddenly that if they didn’t stop now, there’d be no stopping....

  An oh-so-tempting thought, but . . .

  Sanity was flooding back like a waterfall unleashed. She shifted suddenly, panicking, and put a hand on his arm. “No. W-wait . . . stop.”

  His finger paused on the zipper. He drew in his breath.

  “I don’t think . . . We shouldn’t. . . .”

  “Yeah, we should, baby. We really should. But . . . it’s okay.” He shifted away from her, managing to smile though the tension searing him was almost unbearable. She looked stunned, panicked. Too much, too soon, he thought. He should have known better.

  But man, he’d lost track of everything for a while there. How recent her divorce was . . . how much she’d been hurt. Even how careful he always was about who he slept with and why, and how it was just sex and laughs and maybe friendship, but nothing more....

  This was nothing like he’d ever done before. He’d never had these intense feelings or this sense of loss as she quickly fastened her bra and pulled on her sweatshirt.

  Damn, his blood was still pounding. She was killing him here. But he took a deep breath and fought down the need and the tension so close to exploding inside him as he pulled on his shirt.

  Her cheeks were bright pink as she fastened her jeans and scrambled to her feet.

  “This was . . . It was great, don’t get me wrong, but I . . . I’m not ready for this . . . for more . . . for anything, really . . . not yet, and I don’t know when . . .” She drew in her breath, hoping she sounded calm and logical and in control, even though she was struggling for composure.

  The truth was she liked him too much. Much too much. She had to find her equilibrium again, the careful self-possession that got her through the days and nights since the divorce. Rafe Tanner had all but destroyed it with his kissing and touching and tasting, with the way he grinned at her and looked at her. And with the way he made her feel.

  To her surprise, he reached out and smoothed her tangled hair back from her face.

  “Don’t think I don’t want you right here, right now, Sophie, because I do. More than you know. I want to do things to you—with you—but you need to do what you have to do and”—his voice was quiet—“I’ll wait until you’ve figured out exactly what you want.”

  “You’ll . . . but . . . who knows how long that will be?” She was muttering half to herself. She sounded like a lunatic.

  “I’m counting on it not being too long.” Smiling, he traced a finger over her lips. “In the meantime, I’ll wait.”

  “Why?” Sophie stared at him. Her heart skipped a few beats under that piercing midnight blue gaze.

  “A few things are worth waiting for in this world,” he said quietly. “And something tells me you’re one of them.” The flash of his smile felt like dynamite under her skin. She couldn’t think what to say.

  “Come on.” He took her hand, pulling her toward the horses. “It’s getting late. It’ll be dark soon and I promised you a barbecue.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The sun was melting in a lilac and rose sky when they reached Sage Ranch, and from inside the house, Starbucks was barking furiously. Hoarse, frantic barks, Rafe realized. Not his usual welcoming ones.

  Just as the first trace of uneasiness hit his gut, he spotted the smashed corral fence.

  “What the hell.” He was out of the saddle and running in a flash. Fury tore through him.

  A good chunk of the north side of the fence was down. It looked like someone had taken an axe to it. Weathered white rails lay in splintered heaps in the dirt, and the horses were running restlessly back and forth in a cluster at the far end of the corral.

  Thoroughly spooked. And who could blame them.

  Sliding off Belle, Sophie raced after him, a chill wiggling down her spine as she reached his side and stared at the savaged remnants of his fence.

  “Who would do this?” Dismayed, she watched Rafe crouch down to more closely examine the damage.

  “Damned if I know. But then, I wondered the same thing about whoever let the air out of your tires.”

  As his words sank in, her gaze flew to his face. “You can’t believe the same person is responsible?”

  “I have to think it’s a possibility, Sophie. There’s not a lot of vandalism in Lonesome Way. Don’t you think it’s strange that first you were targeted and now me? My ranch?”

  Frowning, he stood, his tall frame tense. Narrowing his eyes against the setting sun, he scanned his property, his careful gaze scoping out the barns and sheds and outbuildings, then settling on the ranch house itself, where Starbucks was stationed at the window, his barking nearly hysterical now.

  “I need to check everything out. And I need you to come with me.”

  “You think whoever did this could still be around.” She was unable to stop a shiver at the thought of someone even now watching them, waiting....

 
“Probably not. I doubt the coward who did this has the guts to hang around, but I’m not taking any chances.” Not with you, he thought.

  “Rafe, you need to call Sheriff Hodge.”

  “That’s the first order of business once we get Starbucks calmed down. Then we’ll take a look around. Unless you’d rather wait in the house—after I’ve checked it out.”

  “No way. I’m coming with you.”

  Dusk was tiptoeing in from the mountains, and with it came cooler air. Sophie found herself shivering in her sweatshirt and jeans as she helped Rafe tend to the horses and as they made a quick but thorough search of the ranch buildings while waiting for the sheriff to arrive.

  It wasn’t the encroaching cold of night that made her shiver though—it was the knowledge that someone had been here at Sage Ranch, hacking away at Rafe’s corral, while they were down at the creek coming this close to making love.

  But they found nothing further amiss. Until they circled around to check out the front of the house and the long paved drive.

  Starbucks had raced nervously ahead, on full alert, barking suspiciously at every rustle of the leaves as a chill wind whined through the pines. But it was Sophie who first spotted her Blazer and gasped.

  Following her gaze, Rafe swore under his breath.

  “Shit. Wait here. You don’t need to look at this.”

  But she did. She had to see. Had to know.

  Her stomach churned as they approached the Blazer and saw in sickening detail the dead squirrel crumpled on the hood. The animal’s body had been split in two, its blood smeared across the windshield. Both side windows had been smashed in—there was shattered glass everywhere, and the shards glinted like crystals in the fading light.

  Rafe’s brows were drawn together in concern as he surveyed the vandal’s handiwork. Starbucks whined, scenting blood and death.

  Those flat tires weren’t a prank, Sophie thought, feeling queasy. Deep down, she’d wondered, but hadn’t wanted to acknowledge, the possibility that someone had done it out of malice. Now there was no way to deny it. This was the second time her car had been damaged. And the same person had wrecked Rafe’s corral.

  “We don’t have enemies, Rafe, neither one of us. Who’d do this? Any of this?”

  He met her eyes in the fading daylight. “I’m not sure, but believe me, Sophie, we’re damn well going to find out.”

  “You say you two were out riding when this happened. How long would you guess you were gone?”

  Sheriff Teddy Hodge leaned back on one of the sofas in the Sage Ranch living room and stretched his legs out in front of him. His small shrewd gray eyes flitted back and forth between Sophie and Rafe, both seated on the opposite sofa. He was a big man with a wide girth, the shoulders of a football player, and a methodical mind. His big fingers dwarfed the pen in his hand, which he kept flicking reflexively.

  Hodge had taken note that Sophie McPhee and Rafe Tanner had been out together—and that young Ivy was nowhere around. Interesting. Not relevant to the case, of course, but from a personal standpoint . . . interesting.

  These two were sitting a few feet apart, hardly looking at each other, but they’d spent the past few hours together—riding, they said—and hanging out at the creek.

  It didn’t take a cop to figure out something was going on.

  If he were the gossiping sort, his wife would have an earful to tell her friends tomorrow. But Hodge wasn’t.

  If Joanie was to hear about this, it wouldn’t be from him.

  But oh, wouldn’t she just love to know.

  Of course, Rafe Tanner and Sophie McPhee could just be friends, but Tanner would have to be dead not to notice a woman as pretty as Sophie. And Tanner was anything but dead. Especially where women were concerned.

  Right now, he looked tough and calm and ready for a fight. Hodge sensed his determination. The man was ready to take on the devil himself if it meant protecting his family and property. And Hodge couldn’t blame him.

  But this was a matter for the law.

  “We weren’t gone more than two hours,” Rafe replied as the dog next to him gave a low, uneasy growl. “We got back shortly before dark.”

  “And you didn’t hear or see anything unusual before you left?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.” Sophie managed to speak with a calm she didn’t feel.

  “But someone could have parked up on one of the side roads off Eagle’s Bluff, then come through the woods to the ranch once we were gone,” Rafe pointed out.

  Even saying the words, he felt his stomach clench.

  Nothing like this had ever happened on the ranch before. The idea that someone had been hiding out there, possibly in the woods that flanked the drive, just waiting for a chance to slither out and do damage, slid along his skin like a long rusty nail.

  Ivy was at the age where she could almost be left home alone for a short time, if need be—but not now. Not after today.

  Someone out there was sending a clear message. Someone meant harm to Sage Ranch. And possibly to the people who lived here. And that same someone had already targeted Sophie twice.

  Rafe wished like hell he’d caught the bastard redhanded. The very thought of Ivy and Sophie being upset by this was worse than a kick in the gut. He didn’t want any of this to touch them again. Hodge had to get to the bottom of this before it came to that.

  As Starbucks let out another low growl, Rafe set his hand lightly upon the old dog’s head. The mutt had been so wound up when they came into the house, Rafe had been worried, wondering if dogs could have heart attacks. Starbucks must have seen whoever had wrecked the corral fence and he hadn’t been able to do a thing about it.

  He was slightly more settled down now, but every once in a while, his head jerked up, his ears pricked as if hearing some remote sound, and another growl rumbled in his throat.

  Almost as if he was expecting whoever had smashed the fence and the Blazer’s windows—and left that dead squirrel on the hood of Sophie’s rig—to come back.

  Which makes two of us. Rafe’s instincts all told him that whoever was behind this wasn’t done yet.

  “Well, I didn’t see much out there before it got dark, but I did manage to get some photos,” Hodge rumbled. “’Fraid you’ll have to leave your car here overnight though, Sophie, until the state police boys get a chance to come take their crime scene photos. I’ll be back first thing in the morning too, for another look around.

  “You know,” the sheriff mused, “it’s possible kids were behind this. Teenagers, looking for mischief. The Fletcher twins got themselves drunk again last month and shot up Marv Peterson’s barn. Fools didn’t even remember doing it once they slept it off. Marv didn’t press charges, because those boys agreed to patch up his barn. And that’s about all they’re doing these days,” Hodge added.

  “Mary and Jack grounded those kids for three months—they can’t go anywhere but school and to Marv’s to make up for what they did.”

  “You think they might have done this too?” Sophie wasn’t buying it.

  “Nope. Not really.” The sheriff sighed. “But I’ll drop by and have a word with them, just in case. Could be some other fool teenagers might have had a hand in this though.”

  Rafe thought the Fletcher twins sounded like a pretty big long shot to him. He was silent as Hodge fixed those penetrating gray eyes of his on Sophie.

  “You don’t have any guesses who’d have let the air out of your tires that other night? Anyone mad at you since you came back to town?”

  “No one. Up until a few hours ago, I’d convinced myself it was a prank.” She hesitated. “I’m sure this has nothing to do with it, but you’ve probably heard that I’m opening a new bakery where Roy’s Diner used to be. A few people are bothered by that, so I’ve been told. I guess just because I took over so soon after Roy’s closed.”

  “Seems to me I’ve heard a little grumbling along those lines. Some folks get petty now and then.” Hodge pursed his lips, scribbled something on
his notepad. “Downright silly thing to grouse about, it seems to me.”

  “And it’s hard to imagine anyone would let the air out of my tires because of that—or kill a squirrel,” Sophie added quickly. “I just can’t see it. But it’s the only thing I can think of.”

  “Sure seems like a stretch, doesn’t it?” Hodge shifted on the sofa, his face thoughtful. “The thing is, you never can tell. Strange things go on in people’s heads sometimes. You learn that on this job pretty damn quick.”

  His bushy brows drew together as he eyed Rafe. “Any problems with neighbors, ranch hands? Anyone in town? Did some horse sale go wrong, or did you fire anyone recently? Any kind of dustup come to mind?”

  “There’s been nothing like that, Teddy.” Rafe thrust a hand through his hair. “All my wranglers have been with me for years. I haven’t fired anyone since—”

  He broke off, frowning. “Last winter, damn it. Crenshaw.”

  “Buck Crenshaw? He’s working for the Hanging W now, isn’t he? You telling me you fired him?”

  “He was only hired to fill in while Rowdy was down with pneumonia and I was short-handed. I had to let him go, though, even before Rowdy came back. The man was careless and didn’t know spit about barn safety. Or couldn’t be bothered. But there’s something else, Teddy.” Rafe met the sheriff’s keen eyes.

  “He and I had a little run-in at the Double Cross recently.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  As Rafe explained what had happened, Hodge scratched notes on his pad.

  “No punches were thrown, but Crenshaw was pissed. And pretty damned drunk.”

  “In that case, reckon I’ll need to talk to him.” The older man turned to Sophie, who was trying and failing to think of any way that Crenshaw could possibly blame her for the incident at the Double Cross. It made no sense.

  “Crenshaw nearly shoved Wade Holden into you, is that right? But it was an accident. He didn’t single you out?”

  “It was definitely an accident. I’d only just arrived—was barely in the door.”