Hard to Hold

by Nicole Edwards

  Although Wolfe rarely entertained the idea of being with a man these days, he couldn’t deny he’d had some lascivious thoughts where the sheriff was concerned. Wolfe had experimented in his youth. His sexual desires were intense, and he’d been curious, seeking whatever it took to sate his powerful urges. His penchant for the ladies wasn’t due to some underlying denial though, so his interest in men confused him at times. At one point, he’d dubbed himself an equal opportunity lover. It suited him.

  “Because I can,” Rhys said and his tone resonated with truth. “She’s new in town, keeps to herself more than most, and if I’m not mistaken, she’s hidin’ out here. Yet she’s comfortable enough to work at the diner, where anyone and everyone can see her.”

  “Maybe she just needs money.” Since she needed electricity and food, maybe it was the lesser of two evils.

  “If she’s runnin’ from somethin’, I’d like to know how to help her.”

  “Well, she ain’t tellin’ me nothin’.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Not ever,” Wolfe countered. “A woman like that ain’t gonna spill her guts unless she wants to.” Hell, he figured it would be easier to wrestle a two-thousand-pound bull with his bare hands than to get that woman to talk.

  Rhys moved over to the table Wolfe had just finished. He ran his hand over the smooth, varnished top, and an image of Rhys bent over that table while Wolfe fucked him from behind nearly blinded him.

  Son of a bitch.

  He was going to have to get laid soon. These damn fantasies were getting ridiculous.

  “Why’d you offer her a job?”

  Wolfe sighed. “No ulterior motive here, Sheriff. And technically, Lynx’s the one who offered her a job. I just interviewed her.”

  “I talked to Donna,” Rhys explained, referring to the diner’s owner. “She said Amy didn’t share a lot of information when she applied for the job there.”

  Wolfe didn’t figure she had. “Maybe she’s a private person.”

  “So private she insisted on being paid in cash?”

  Okay, so maybe more like paranoid. Wolfe didn’t know. “I’m sure she has her reasons.”

  “Or she’s hidin’,” Rhys reiterated.

  Yeah. That, too. Wolfe put the lid on a can of stain. “Look, Trevino, I don’t know what you want from me. I hired her.”

  “So you can keep an eye on her.”

  Wolfe’s head snapped around and he glared at the sheriff.

  “Don’t bother denyin’ it, Caine. I know you’ve got a protective streak.”

  Maybe that was true, but Wolfe wasn’t going to let the sheriff rile him. “I’m not takin’ in strays, Sheriff.”

  “No?”

  Wolfe was tired of this conversation already. “I’ve got shit to do, Rhys. If you don’t mind…”

  Their eyes remained locked for a few seconds more than Wolfe was comfortable with, then Rhys turned and headed for the door.

  Wolfe stared after him until he heard the man’s truck leaving the parking lot. He’d just turned back to cleaning up his mess when Lynx stormed into the room.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Tammy stole my goddamn truck.”

  Wolfe processed the words, and when they sank in, he roared a laugh. That woman was something else. Not only was she vindictive, she was also batshit crazy. Which made her double trouble. Oftentimes, Wolfe wondered what the hell Lynx had seen in her, anyway, never mind why the hell he’d been inclined to marry the looney bitch. Well, other than the fact the crazy woman had claimed to be pregnant. People could say whatever they wanted about Lynx, but he was a stand-up guy.

  Granted, their marriage hadn’t lasted the better part of a year, but according to his cousin, that was twice as long as it should’ve lasted.

  “Rhys just left,” Wolfe noted when he stopped laughing. “Want me to call him back here?”

  Lynx shot a death glare his way, then stormed up the stairs, leaving Wolfe fighting the urge to laugh again.

  When the office door slammed, Wolfe lost the battle.

  Rhys pulled out of the lot and onto the main road through town. Four minutes later, he took a left turn and headed to the oversized five-bedroom farmhouse he’d grown up in. It was Monday, which meant Rhys was going to check on his grandfather, make sure all was well. It was the only time Rhys could get alone with the man. If he stopped by on the weekend, there was generally tons of family hanging around. Aunts, uncles, cousins all there to spend time with the patriarch of the family.

  The long dirt road leading up to the house had seen better days. He blamed his younger cousins for that. At sixteen, kids in this town seemed to think that driving through the mud was a rite of passage. Rhys merely wished they’d find somewhere other than Pawpaw’s house to do their thing.

  After parking his truck in the ruts in front of the house, Rhys climbed out, looked around. Someone needed to come out and mow the front yard. He’d have to remember to call the brats who’d made the mud hole, have them come over and put their restless energy to good use.

  “Boy?”

  “I’m here, Pawpaw,” Rhys greeted, his boots echoing on the rotted wood porch.

  Grabbing the screen door handle, he pulled it open. He found his grandfather sitting in his favorite chair—the one that Rhys’s grandmother had sat in when she was alive—beside the picture window that overlooked the driveway and the big oak tree in front of the house. All the lights in the house were off, the sun shining through the window and highlighting the lingering smoke and dust motes. It seemed the air conditioner was working, despite the fact the old man kept the front door open.

  Victor Trevino looked old, tired. Then again, he’d looked that way for the past two decades. He was a two-pack-a-day smoker who drank Schlitz from morning till night, and Rhys figured the old man’s permanent scowl had something to do with too much nicotine and far too much beer.

  “How’re you doin’?” Rhys asked, leaning against the wall. He knew better than to make himself comfortable. These days, Vic preferred to be alone most of the time. He said it was enough that Rhys’s mother still insisted on living with him despite the fact Rhys’s old man had kicked the bucket.

  Having raised three boys, Vic liked to say Cheryl Trevino was the daughter he’d never wanted. Although the old man tried to pretend he didn’t like her, Rhys knew he appreciated her help. She’d put up with a lot of shit over the years, all in the name of family. Her own parents had disowned her when she up and married William Trevino, claiming the guy wasn’t good enough for her. They’d probably been right, but she’d never strayed.

  Although her life would be significantly less stressful if she lived on her own, she stayed with Vic to help out around the house, plus to keep the vultures that were his family from stealing every damn thing the man owned. Somehow, they managed to make it work between them. But when she was at work, Vic wanted a little peace and quiet, or so he said.

  “I’m a grumpy old man. How d’you think I’m doin’?” The cough that followed was a testament to all those damn cigarettes.

  “Ornery as ever,” Rhys noted. “Good to see some things never change.”

  Vic spared him a quick glance, then looked out the window again. “You ain’t found you some sweet girl who’ll put up with that smart mouth yet?”

  Rhys smirked. “Not yet, Pawpaw.” No sexy cowboy, either.

  Not that he’d mention that part. The one time his grandfather had heard that Rhys had been with a man, the guy had stopped talking to him for a month. Rhys was merely grateful the guy hadn’t disowned him.

  “Well, do us all a favor and find one, would ya? It ain’t natural for a boy your age to be single.”

  He was thirty-four, but to hear his grandfather say it made Rhys feel a hell of a lot older than that.

  “Probably not,” Rhys said in an effort to appease the old man. “You or Momma need anything?”

  “The dishwasher’s actin’ up again
,” Vic informed him, waving him off with gnarled fingers clutching the butt of a cigarette.

  “Well, that’s because it’s twenty years old. You know, they make ’em real nice these days.”

  “Heh. Ain’t forkin’ out no more money for shit like that. Your momma’s the only one who complains. Far as I’m concerned, God gave her hands. She can put ’em to good use.”

  Rhys glanced toward the kitchen, rolling his eyes as he did. Ornery was an understatement when it came to his grandfather. The man was downright mean.

  Pushing off the wall, Rhys glanced back at Vic. “All right. I’ll give it a look, then I’m headin’ back to the office. Sure you don’t need anything?”

  Vic shook his head but didn’t look at Rhys.

  As much as Rhys loved the old fart, Monday afternoons certainly weren’t the highlight of his week.

  Two hours later, sitting at the desk in his office, Rhys propped his booted feet up on the desk and waited for the newest arrival to make his way down the hall. He’d heard Lynx Caine raising hell the second the man walked into the building five minutes ago.

  Not that Rhys wondered what the man wanted. The grapevine had already delivered the news to every-damn-body that Lynx’s crazy soon-to-be ex-wife had stolen his truck right out of his driveway.

  “Whose dick do I have to suck to get shit done around here?” Lynx bellowed.

  Dropping his feet to the floor, Rhys wiped the grin off his face and met the irate expression of their most recent crime victim. Not that Lynx Caine was a victim. The rumor was that he’d been banging some girl on his lunch break and Tammy—not-so-lovingly nicknamed Lynx’s Stalker by the folks in town—had busted him.

  Not that Rhys was defending the crazy bitch. The fact that Tammy had moved out of his county didn’t hurt his feelings none.

  “What the fuck, Trevino?” Lynx grumbled when he stepped into the small office.

  “Nice to see you, too.”

  “I want my goddamn truck back.”

  “I’m sure you do. Kinda hard to take the girls home after you finish the job without it.”

  Lynx glared at him, a look that Rhys was all too familiar with.

  “The papers are filed,” Lynx countered defensively. “I wasn’t cheatin’.”

  “Don’t need to explain it to me. I don’t care who you’re bangin’. Or where. But I think you’ve learned your lesson about leavin’ your keys in your truck.”

  Lynx flipped him off.

  “Your truck’s out back,” Rhys informed him.

  Lynx’s dark eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “What?”

  Chuckling, Rhys opened his top desk drawer and retrieved the set of keys he’d stashed there. He tossed them over to Lynx. “We pulled Tammy over just south of the county line for speedin’. She admitted to bein’ pissed when she saw your bare ass and some redhead beneath you on your couch. We told her we’d talk you outta pressin’ charges if she gave it back without a fight.”

  Lynx dropped into the chair. “Goddamn. I’m so fuckin’ sick of this shit.”

  Rhys felt sorry for the man. Sort of. The Caine cousins were a wild bunch, always had been. However, underneath the wild exterior, they weren’t bad guys. Hell, Rhys had been pretty damned impressed when Lynx married the girl in the first place and put forth the effort to be a good husband. Turned out, Tammy had faked being knocked up in order to land one of the Caine cousins. Lynx had been the unfortunate one who’d banged her in the first place.

  From the second the news hit town that Lynx had gotten hitched, there’d been a few bets that Lynx would be the one to stray. To everyone’s shock, Tammy had hooked up with one of the wranglers over at Dead Heat Ranch. Lynx had caught the two of them buck-ass naked in the bed of his truck, in fact.

  Guy deserved a break.

  “Thanks,” Lynx offered, getting to his feet.

  “Keep your damn truck locked,” Rhys ordered.

  “Right.” Lynx waved over his head as he disappeared down the hall.

  Some days Rhys loved his job.

  With the office once again quiet, Rhys pulled out his keyboard drawer and brought his computer to life. He typed in his password, then brought up his Internet browser.

  Amy Smith. Texas.

  He typed in the words and waited to see what the search would reveal. Just as he’d suspected, the list of people was vast.

  Leaning back in his chair, he stared at the screen.

  No one knew one single thing about the woman, which meant his search was pointless. He didn’t even know where she came from. If he had the name of a city, he would have a place to start. Unfortunately, the little bit of asking around he’d done today had resulted in zilch. The woman had managed to be in Embers Ridge for three months and keep every detail about herself under wraps.

  He had an overwhelming desire to find out what the woman was running from. Maybe it was his protective nature that had piqued his curiosity, or possibly something else entirely. Whatever it was, he hated the fear he saw in her eyes, hated knowing that someone had put it there.

  Shit, even the fact that she would be working for Wolfe made him feel significantly better. At least that way, he knew someone would be able to watch over her, keep her safe from whatever demons were haunting her.

  “Hey, Sheriff? We’ve got a loose cow out on No Name Road.”

  Locking his computer, Rhys got to his feet and grabbed his hat and his keys.

  Time to do some real work.

  4

  __________

  Three days later

  Pain.

  It was all-consuming, taking over her entire body. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly where it was coming from. If she had to guess, she’d say everywhere.

  God, please make it go away.

  “Jane? Talk to me, hun. I need you to keep your eyes open.”

  Jane? Who was Jane? Was that her?

  She felt the lightest of touches against her hand, but even that hurt. She tried to flinch, but nothing happened. She couldn’t move.

  “No, Jane. Don’t close your eyes. I need you to stay with me. You’re safe here.”

  Safe?

  Was there any such thing as safe? Did this woman honestly believe that?

  “Jane, how old are you?”

  Since the woman seemed to be talking to her, she assumed she was Jane.

  How old was she? She didn’t even know. Nothing made sense.

  She had no idea why her brain wasn’t connecting the words with her mouth. She was trying, but no matter how much effort she put into it, nothing was coming out.

  “Jane, this is important. Tell me how old you are.”

  Why wouldn’t her mouth work? She didn’t understand it. She tried to lift her arm, wanting to tell the nurse that she couldn’t talk, but nothing happened.

  She could feel the panic setting in, a bubble of anxiety building in her chest. What was happening to her?

  “Jane? Honey, I need you to relax. It’s going to be fine. Jane? Jane? Doctor, she’s losing consciousness.”

  Amy bolted upright in bed.

  She was soaked in sweat, her heart beating like a bass drum at a rock concert, breaths labored, hands trembling.

  “Only a dream,” she whispered into the dark room, her voice shaky, a chill racing over her clammy skin.

  Technically, it was a memory, but the good news was, she wasn’t having to relive it. Not the excruciating pain she’d endured, anyway. She wasn’t battered and broken, barely clinging to life.

  Not anymore.

  Willing her heart to stop pounding, Amy slipped her feet over the edge of the bed and onto the hardwood floor. It took a second before her legs were steady enough to hold her up. When they were, she went through the house and turned on every light, punching the air conditioner down a couple of notches to cool her off. The clock on the microwave told her it was 4:47 a.m.

  “Looks like it’s time to get up,” she muttered to herself, one arm snuggly wrapped around her middle as she sipped water from t
he glass she’d left on the counter when she went to bed five hours ago.

  Her stomach grumbled a warning and she remembered she hadn’t bothered to eat the night before. Ever since she’d received a hang-up call two nights ago, Amy hadn’t been able to stomach much of anything. She had a pay-as-you-go phone, so no one knew the number. Well, no one other than Reagan and Donna because she had put the number on her job applications.

  Surely they wouldn’t call and hang up. Would they?

  No. Of course not.

  Her anxiety was at an all-time high. Didn’t matter that the call was probably just someone who realized they’d gotten the wrong number. Amy’s imagination had turned it into a dozen worst-case scenarios.

  The dream certainly hadn’t helped. It brought the memories of that long-ago night to the forefront of her mind. Not that they were ever far away. She remembered it like it was yesterday. Sometimes her bones even ached. Her jaw, both wrists, all the bones in her left hand, her left clavicle, both bones in her lower right leg, three ribs…all had been broken and then repaired but still had the ghost ache from time to time.

  The beating she’d taken that night should’ve killed her. She figured that was the reason he had dumped her body in the ditch. Fortunately, a flat tire had caused an old man and his wife to pull over to the side of the road, just a short distance from where she’d lain broken and barely clinging to life. Had the wife not gotten out of the car to help, had she not seen Amy lying there, had they not called an ambulance, Amy wouldn’t be here today. She would’ve died in that muddy drainage ditch just fifteen feet from the highway.

  Dropping onto the couch, Amy put her head in her hands. The tears had long ago dried up, but the fear was rooted deep in her soul. If he ever found her, Amy knew he would kill her without hesitating. He’d tried it once. Although she had kept her mouth shut and never told the authorities who had come close to beating her to death, Amy knew he would want to silence her forever. If the news of what he’d done, what he was capable of ever got out…

  “No more.” She shot to her feet and stomped to the kitchen.

  Thinking about it only made it worse.

  She needed something to do. Something to keep her busy. She’d given her notice at the diner, and they said she was free and clear to go, that Donna would fill in temporarily.