The Lonesome Lawmen Trilogy

by Pauline Baird Jones

  * * * *

  Dani woke face down in bed facing a long, narrow window that she didn’t recognize. Hovering at the edge of full consciousness, her hand opened and closed, as if it missed something. She rolled onto her back with a groan. Above her was an unfamiliar ceiling.

  “Where am I?” For a moment she felt like she had done this before. She frowned. In her book Putting Love Away, her protagonist, Gemma had awakened in a strange room, so in a way she kind of had done it before. Gemma, she recalled, had been naked when she woke up. Dani lifted the sheet and examined her clothed body with mixed feelings. “Obviously I didn’t do what Gemma did.”

  Dani sat up, pulled her legs to her chest and propped her arms on her knees. She couldn’t believe she had slept past five. It was a breakthrough, even if her brain still felt like mush. Waking up was not something she was good at no matter what time it was. She needed a Diet DP and/or chocolate to smooth the transition. With an instinct that was well honed, she sensed neither was available here. She was in the lonesome lawman’s den. He had been making coffee—then boom, morning to face.

  Imagination filled in the details. He had carried her to his bed. Then, she looked around, sat in that chair pulled close to the bed and guarded her rest.

  How heroic.

  Kelly would be thrilled he was finally playing the part nature had so perfectly fitted him for. Too bad his heart wasn’t in it. No, good thing his heart wasn’t in it. Her heart was no match for a determined assault by someone who looked that good in jeans and didn’t mind taking on the odd killer.

  Dani had sampled the bed and found it good. Now she studied his room. It was surprisingly old fashioned with its high, sloped ceiling and crisp, white walls. It wasn’t a large room, but, like everything else she had seen, it was a masculine one.

  The king sized bed, the dresser and night stand were hewn in blunt, clean lines that solidly filled space without over powering the small area. In the corner, a closet door stood ajar. The chair by the bed was rugged, but comfortable looking.

  She straightened. She did wake at five. They had chatted about his mother—the details came back in bits—then she had fallen back to sleep. A vague memory rose up to tease her, of Matt holding her hand and smoothing back her hair.

  Dani shook it away. Not a good thing for a writer to mix fantasy with her reality. It was almost as dangerous as mixing reality with her fantasy.

  She should go shower, but that open closet door was beckoning. She gnawed her lip as conscience battled curiosity. He had snooped extensively into her life, turnabout was fair play. It wasn’t like she was opening it to snoop. He had left it that way, practically inviting her to peek.

  Inside she found guy clothes sharing space with guy stuff, mostly sports guy stuff like skis and fishing poles and a locked rifle case. Now she remembered him mentioning his vices and shuddered. Far more interesting was the total lack of anything female. It upheld her impression she had wandered into a confirmed bachelor zone. A photo album was shoved onto a shelf overhead, just begging to be removed and opened. So she did.

  Inside she found photos taken outside the cabin he had mentioned. The men must be the brothers. One was an older carbon copy of Matt, the other only like him around the eyes. Other photos followed, some of Matt, some of the brothers, wearing snow skis atop steep slopes or holding up huge fish or lolling animal heads.

  When she called Matt a hunting hound dog it had been an understatement of massive proportions.

  She lingered for a bit over a picture of a younger Matt, his arm looped around a brunette with sad eyes. Bending close she could just make out what looked like wedding rings on both their fingers. There had been a woman in his life, but there wasn’t now. They had a divorce in common.

  The romance writer and the lawman? She was, she told herself, examining the idea for fictional reasons. She turned the page and found a shot of Matt hanging over the side of a cliff, a slight smile edging his firm mouth, a predatory look in his eyes. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he climbed rock. He had just neglected to mention how high the rock was.

  Just looking at the photo made her dizzy. Not even on paper could she work the kinks out of a romance between a rock climbing Marshal and a romance writer with acrophobia.

  Dani looked the steep drop the camera angle revealed again and flinched. Nah. Never happen. He was wedded to rock and job. Didn’t need to be a rocket scientist or a romance writer to know that about him. She only needed to be hunted by him for five days to reach that level of enlightenment. She set the album aside. Time for that shower.

  In the hall there were two doors to choose from. Lucky for her the one to the bathroom was open. She listened at the closed door, but didn’t hear any sounds emitting from it. Either the roommate was out or a very quiet sleeper. In the bathroom, she showered quickly. It wasn’t like she had a lot to do. No toiletries. No clothes.

  There was a towel and a toothbrush in a package on the side of the sink. Did it mean the lawman wasn’t always lonesome or just thoughtful? There was no way to know, but she decided to assume he was thoughtful and helped herself to a dark silk robe hanging on the back of the door. It smelled like him, tough and earthy and good. She tried not to inhale—it had worked for Clinton—as she rolled up the sleeves, then headed for the living room. Time to beard the mighty hunter in his lair. No, that was mixing her metaphors. Time to beard him in his—what? Where did hunters lurk? The gun shop?

  “Hello?” she said, relieved when there was no answer.

  She had taken in the broad outlines of his home last night. Now she walked around, looking for details to fill in the outlines. She started with his books, glad the worn covers indicated they weren’t there for show. A small thing, but something in common. The titles tended toward action adventure fiction, sports, Louis L’Amour, and law tomes.

  Her idea of exercise was to walk to Cafe de Monde for beignets and coffee. She turned her back on the books and discovered it was her lap top on his desk. The nerve of him snooping through her hard drive. Then realized she would have to pretend she wasn’t tempted to snoop through his drawers. That was the problem with righteous indignation. It left you nowhere to go.

  The telephone rang and almost put her through the high ceiling. She stared at it, fighting the peculiar compulsion to answer, that six months cut off from the world obviously hadn’t blunted one bit. It rang again and she gave into temptation. It wasn’t likely to be for her.

  “Hello?”

  A pause, then a female voice said, “Is Matt there?”

  “No. He stepped out.” The phone slammed down. With a slight smile, she replaced it. She had never cared for “other woman” plots anyway. Almost immediately it rang under her hand. With one success under her belt, she didn’t hesitate.

  A pause, then a deep, cheerful man’s voice asked, “Is Matt there?”

  “He stepped out for a minute. Can I take a message?”

  “This is his brother, Luke.”

  “Luke? Oh, the big brother.” Odd to think of Matt as a little brother. He was so not little.

  A moment of surprised silence, then a laugh. “That’s right. Who are you?”

  She hesitated. “Louise. This is Louise.”

  “Oh. Well, Louise, they told me at his office he was home.”

  “Yes. He is, well, he was. He stepped out for sustenance, which seems to be in short supply. But I’m sure he’ll be back shortly. I can tell him you called.”

  “Maybe you can tell me, do you know if he’s still planning on going to the cabin with me tonight?”

  Dani edged aside the curtain. Down on the street Matt was looking at a bin of apples and talking to the grocer. She hoped he was asking the man for chocolate and her soda. She wasn’t into apples. “I don’t know what his plans are for tonight.”

  Luke’s rich chuckle startled her. “If he can’t figure something out, yours truly is available.”

  Dani chuckled back. She was actually flirting. It felt weird, but good.
“I better not. I have a feeling the testosterone level in a cabin would be worse than it is here.”

  Luke laughed out loud. “I like you, Louise. Tell my little brother to bribe you into risking it. And tell him I’ll be home soon. If he stands me up again, I’m gonna kick his ass up over his head.”

  Dani grinned. “I’ll give him your message.”

  She hung up, the grin lingering. Not that it was a good sign that both brothers appeared to be unattached. Of course, Matt’s lack of attachment might be so recent he didn’t even know it. Her grin took on an evil edge as she watched the object of her thoughts go inside the grocery sans apples. She turned back to the quiet room, feeling unease return as bits and pieces of last night’s nightmare filtered back to her mind.

  She didn’t want to know what the dream meant. Didn’t want to think. She needed sound. She pushed the power button on his stereo, heard a whir of parts, then Mary Chapin Carpenter’s distinctive voice flooded out the speakers, singing that song about taking chances.

  Symbolism? Again? She glared at the unit, then shrugged. If it drowned out her thoughts, why not? She’d taken more than her share of chances. Even lived to tell about it. Looked like she had herself a theme song.

  The music soared in the refrain, inviting her to take just one more chance. She wasn’t sure. Something about the Spook/ Dark Lord combo worried at the edges of her mind. She turned up the volume until it drowned out the worry. She started to sway with the music. There was a reason people danced while Rome burned. It was called denial.

  EIGHTEEN

  Matt felt the thump of music vibrating through the old building before he reached the landing on his floor. The music got louder as he approached his door. Either Dani was up, Luke was home, or all of the above. Not sure what to think or expect, he shifted the sack of groceries to his other hand while he unlocked the door and paced down the narrow hall. He stopped short in the doorway.

  Dancing? She was dancing?

  Wearing nothing but his silk bathrobe.

  And wearing it very well.

  The brown silk clung where it should, fell straight where it didn’t matter. His only complaint—it covered her legs almost to the ankles.

  If she had to dance, and it seemed she did, Mary Chapin Carpenter’s in-your-face song was a good choice for her. She had taken her chances and then some the last five days.

  And how long has it been since you took a chance that wasn’t work related, Kirby? With a soundless sigh, he set the sack on the bar. He should have started unloading it, stayed busy until she was through shaking her booty, but he was no saint.

  Dani took two steps to the side, did a half hop, turned to face him and froze, one foot still in the air. Pink flooded her cheeks. She looked good in pink. Her hair was wet and slicked back from her face. She looked good wet. The collar of his robe wasn’t stingy. His robe had never looked better.

  “You’re back.” She lowered her foot, then turned to lower the volume. “I was just practicing my tush push. Fred, the cop who taught me, says you should practice every day or your—tush—won’t push—right.”

  “You know he was just hitting on you, don’t you?”

  A tiny smile curved her mouth. “I’m too old to be hit on.”

  His gaze did a sweep, lingering on the plunging neckline. “You’re never too old to be hit on.”

  The smile expanded. “I don’t know. I feel at least a hundred.” Her pink tongue outlined her upper lip. Her hand crept up to close the vee. “I helped myself to your robe. I hope…”

  “I don’t mind.” The words came out more forceful than he had planned. He quickly added, “It’s almost as good as your biker babe.”

  Dani chuckled. “I kinda liked her, too. How did you figure out it was me?”

  “It’s my job.” He grinned. “But your coconut shampoo didn’t hurt.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Very good.”

  He’d like to show her how good. Color surged in her cheeks as if she had picked up on his want. Matt swallowed dryly. Good thing he’d called Alice.

  There was a tiny silence.

  “You did a sustenance run, I see?” She walked over to the sack he had put on the bar, then slanted a look at him that made him uneasy.

  “What?” he asked, defensively.

  “The grocery sack doesn’t exactly go with the gun.”

  “Not many things do.” He turned and reached into the mouth of the sack, wished he could pull out a case of temporary sexual immunity. Didn’t need his blood supply heading so obviously South.

  “I guess not.” She slid onto a stool next to him, smelling of his soap, his shampoo, and woman. When she craned to peer into the mouth of the sack, his robe slid away from the silken length of her leg.

  It looked even better than he remembered.

  “My soda and chocolate. You’re clearly…”

  She stopped. He didn’t care why until her hand came into view, gathered the errant flaps of robe and pulled them together. He looked up then, found her regarding him, with a slight twitch at the edges of her mouth.

  “A man who notices the little details. Unusual.”

  “Hard not to notice some details,” he said, dryly. “Everywhere you’ve been, I found empty M&M bags and soda cans.”

  The twitch turned into a smile that reached into his chest and gave his heart a painful squeeze. No relief for him when her attention turned to the soda he’d brought her. Her look of anticipation lit the gold in her eyes. She licked her lips, then lifted the can to the moistened, pink circle.

  “It’s warm.” He brushed the back of his hand across his forehead. “There’s ice.”

  He ought to go plunge his head in some. Then apply it lower for as long as it took to get his detachment back so he could step out from behind the counter.

  “I don’t mind. I learned to take it warm in England.” She tipped her head for a long drink, laying bare the smooth sweep of her neck and the plunging vee of his robe. She gave a tiny murmur of pleasure, then sighed. “I think I might live now.”

  “Good.” He was dying, but at least she would live. He walked stiffly around the counter into the kitchen, propped his hands on the counter with his back to her and asked, “French toast?”

  Dani paused in mid-drink. He knew her favorite breakfast? “I wonder if Socrates would’ve been so sure the unexamined life wasn’t worth living if he’d had the Feds hunting him?”

  “What?” He looked at her over his shoulder, a frown drawing down his brows.

  “Did any of my deep, dark secrets escape notation in my file?”

  “As I mentioned last night, some critical items were missing.” He turned back to his preparations, got a pan heating, then pulled a bowl out of a cupboard, the eggs and milk from the refrigerator. He lifted his hand to crack the first egg against the bowl, then stopped. “Why did you call him?”

  “Call who?”

  “Your ex-husband. I would’ve thought…”

  “That he’d be the last person I’d call?”

  “Yeah.” He cracked the egg and dumped the contents in the bowl.

  “You’re right. He is the last person I’d call. That’s why I didn’t call him.” She traced the rim of the soda can with her pinkie. “I called Liz. He answered the phone.”

  “You cried.” His voice had a harsh edge to it as he picked up another egg. He hesitated, then looked her way, his brows drawn into a frown that might have been forbidding if it weren’t for the trace of puzzled in his eyes.

  “I did not.” His brows went up. “Only a little.”

  “Who for?”

  She hesitated. “For all of us, I guess.”

  “I don’t get it.” He cracked the egg too hard and it disintegrated into a mess of shell and liquid. He tossed the mess in the sink and grabbed another one.

  She wasn’t surprised he didn’t get it. Her feelings for and about Richard were complicated. She had spent the last six months trying to reconcile the Richard she’d known with the man who had d
ied yesterday afternoon. Six months sifting through years of association, trying to find a clue, a hint that he wasn’t worthy of her trust and regard. Either she was a lousy detective or he had covered up too well. “He must have hated dying like that.”

  Matt’s face hardened. “Then he shouldn’t have gotten involved with Bates.”

  “He shouldn’t have done a lot of things.” She looked at her soda can. The only downside of her favorite soda was the lack of leaves to read. If she had been a tea drinker, would she have known? “To you he’s just a guy who killed someone and got caught.”

  “Did you love him?”

  She looked at him, her brows rising. He looked back, his face unrelenting, his eyes so cool. Nice of the tinge of red in his cheeks to give him away. He hadn’t meant to ask that question. Knowing that made it easy to answer.

  “Not the way you mean. He was a big brother, long before he was an in-law, stayed one after my marriage crashed.” Dani propped her elbows on the bar looking at Matt, seeing the past. “He taught me how to ride a bike, drive a car, and keep a date in line. I stood up when he married my best friend, he stood up when I married his brother. He bought cigars when Meggie was born. I bought Liz lingerie when their first was born. We cried together when…”

  She drew in a shuddering breath, said with careful calm, “He stood by me when I divorced his brother and bought the champagne when my first book sold. I’d really like to exorcise him from my head, you don’t know how much I want that, but if I do, my past goes with him.”

  Matt cracked the egg against the bowl and added milk, then stared at it, his body tight and controlled. She didn’t, she realized, want to know why he was so tense. It was better not to know some things. Yet another lesson from Richard.

  “I keep hearing his voice in my head at Meggie’s funeral saying, Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead, scribbling in the sky the message that [S]he is Dead—”