by Darcy Burke
Right, Derek’s bedroom was down here. Jamie pondered his choices, but quickly decided his brain was too lust addled to think clearly. He stalked toward her and took the condom. After unwrapping it, he slipped it over his cock. Then he backed her against the wall and kissed her, his tongue spearing into her mouth as surely as he meant to spear into her sheath.
He put his fingers against her, feeling her wet heat. Damn, she was sexy. He clutched her thigh. “Put your leg around my hip.”
She did as he said, and guided his cock inside her. Pleasure washed over him as her muscles welcomed him and squeezed. He wrapped his hand around her other thigh, lifting her and pinning her between him and the wall.
He looked into her eyes and began to move. “I thought we could start this way.” He gripped her ass as he stroked inside her.
Her eyelids fluttered but didn’t close. “God, you are so strong.”
“Just wait until I carry you into the other room.”
Her gaze fixed on his for a moment. “You can’t do that.”
“Hold on tight.” He pulled her from the wall and walked from the locker room.
She clasped her arms around him, gasping. “You are so fucking strong.”
“I told you—I’ve been lifting weights for seventeen years.”
“Shit, you’re twenty-seven?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Never mind. Just shut up and kiss me.”
He happily obliged, taking her mouth with his lips and teeth and tongue. Steering her over to the wine cellar, he found the counter she was talking about. It was lower than a kitchen counter, just perfect for what he had in mind. Setting her on the edge, he pulled his mouth from hers. “How’s that?” he asked.
“You’re not moving.”
“Not yet. You’re greedy.”
“I’m horny. And I thought you were too.”
“Honey, that doesn’t even come close to describing what I feel for you right now. This is the hottest, craziest, best sex of my life.”
She blinked at him, her gaze hazy with desire. “How can you say that yet?”
He caressed her breast, his fingertips pulling on her hardened nipple and coaxing a moan from her throat. He grinned and thrust into her with devilish intent. “Because we’re just getting started.”
3
A frigid wind threatened to steal Crystal’s breath even as the bright sun shone off the window of the car she’d parked next to. Locking the car, she pulled her hat down over her ears and hurried to the entrance of the Yamhill County Historical Society.
Once she was inside, her body twitched as heat started to banish the cold.
“It’s a bit frosty out there!” she said to Ben, the young man who worked behind the counter.
“It’s that east wind. Brutal. Be glad we don’t live on the other side of Portland in the gorge. They’re getting hammered today with an ice storm.”
Crystal had been up the Columbia River Gorge—with Alaina and her family. But then that was how Crystal did a lot of things, tagging along with Alaina.
Darryl Gray, the gentleman who’d been helping Crystal and her friends with their research the past several months, came into the lobby wearing a grin. “Happy New Year! I thought I heard your voice.”
“Happy New Year to you too,” she said, pulling off her gloves. “Did you have a nice holiday?”
“Yep, very relaxing. My wife and I spent Christmas with our daughter and her new husband.” Darryl was in his late fifties and sported a shock of white-blond hair. “How about you?”
“It was good.” She’d gone home to Blueville for a short two-day trip over Christmas—arriving early on the twenty-fourth and leaving in the early evening on the twenty-fifth. Her mother had been disappointed at the brevity of her stay, but she was used to it by now. Crystal never liked to linger there too long.
He rubbed his hands together. “You ready for some exciting intel this morning?”
“Really?”
He nodded, then resituated his wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Most definitely. Come on.” He gestured for her to precede him to the conference room where they always met.
She tugged her knit hat from her head and smoothed her hair, certain there were pieces sticking straight up due to the static. As she stepped into the conference room, she set her hat and gloves on the table and unzipped her coat. “I don’t think you’ve ever used the word exciting before. This must be big.”
He sat at the head of the table and waited until Crystal had draped her coat over the back of a chair and sat down beside him before pulling a manila file folder toward him. “I’m not sure big covers it. But I’m getting ahead of myself. When I wasn’t able to find anything here in Yamhill County about the fire that destroyed Bird’s Nest Ranch, I contacted historical societies in other counties. It’s been a slog, but I finally got a hit back on something.”
Crystal turned toward him, her interest more than piqued. “Do tell.”
“I just have to say, I still find it beyond strange that there’s nothing about the fire in local records. It’s almost as if they covered it up—and maybe they did.” He gave her a mysterious look that only increased her curiosity.
“Now you’re teasing me.”
He chuckled. “I’ll stop dragging it out. Okay, here’s the deal.” He opened the file. “This is a letter I received from the Lane County Historical Society. It’s written by a man named Dell Beatty and it’s about a gathering of, wait for it, Ku Klux Klan members.”
Crystal gaped at him. Of all the things she might have expected him to say, that was not anywhere in her imagination. “You’re serious.”
He pressed his lips together in a grim line. “Unfortunately, yes. I don’t know how familiar you are with Oregon history, but it has some pretty dark spots. Most people opposed slavery, but they didn’t want black people living here. In 1844, there was a law to exclude black people, and they’d be lashed if they didn’t leave the state.”
Crystal’s jaw hung open. “That’s insane.”
“They changed the lashing to work punishment in 1845. There was even an article in the State Constitution that didn’t allow ‘negro or mulatto’ people who weren’t already living here to move here. Furthermore, those that were here couldn’t own property or make contracts. Most people aren’t aware of that history.”
Crystal certainly hadn’t been, but then she wasn’t an Oregonian. She’d grown up in the south where racism and an antiquated love for the Confederacy were hard to ignore in some places. “I had absolutely no idea. That’s horrible.”
“Nothing to be proud of, that’s for sure. I could go into a whole history lesson here, but I’ll probably bore you to tears.”
“Actually, you wouldn’t. In fact, if you could point me to some reading, I’d appreciate it.”
His gaze flickered with surprise and perhaps admiration. “Will do. I’ll get you a list before you go.”
Dorinda’s story had sparked a flame of interest in Crystal’s mind that had only intensified over the past few months. This new information had set a full-on bonfire and her brain was swirling with excitement to share this story. But how?
“So, back to the letter,” Darryl said, interrupting Crystal’s wild thoughts.
She refocused, shaking her head. “Yes, please.”
“The letter from Dell is to the Grand Cyclops, who would’ve been the leader of the KKK Den. That was a man named Redmond Stowe, and he was a prominent resident of Ribbon Ridge.”
“How prominent?”
“He was the mayor in the 1880s and his son, Hoyt, was mayor at the time of this letter. The timing, as you’ll see, is important.” He slid the paper, which was in a protective sleeve, in front of her.
The date was scrawled in the upper right corner: July 24, 1902.
Crystal started to read the letter but had trouble deciphering some of the words. The handwriting was terrible, and what she could read showed a deficit of spelling ability, not that Crystal’s
was great.
She got to one paragraph that she could read in its entirety. She gasped and lifted her hand to her mouth.
We’re set to meet you at dusk on the 28th with torshes. That horehouse will go up like a tinderbox.
Crystal lifted her gaze to that of Darryl, who nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think this is about Bird’s Nest Ranch,” he said. “It matches the date of the fire—or at least your archaeology team’s best guess.”
The archaeologists had narrowed the fire to about 1902, so this definitely supported that. “You think this was a Klan attack of some kind?” Crystal asked.
“I don’t know what I think,” Darryl said. “It sure looks that way, though.”
Crystal finished reading the letter, which was signed, Itsub, Dell.
She looked back over at Darryl. “What’s Itsub?”
“A common Klan sign-off: ‘In the sacred unfailing bond.’”
Crystal’s lip curled. “That’s disgusting.”
“I can’t disagree with you there. The Klan was very active in Oregon in the 1920s, but this is the first I’ve seen of it earlier than that. I’m keen to do more research of course.”
“I bet.” She wasn’t surprised; Darryl was just as interested in all this as she was. Everything she’d learned about research was because of him. She sat back in her chair. “So, we’ve got a KKK—what did you call it?”
“A Den. That’s what the local chapters were called. Look up Klan terminology on Wikipedia if you want to check out all the silly names they employed.”
“Such as Grand Cyclops.” She shook her head. “Ridiculous. So he was the guy in charge, and he was mayor of Ribbon Ridge.” She blew out a breath, wondering what her friends would think, what anyone in Ribbon Ridge would think. Did they even know? “You mentioned this is the first you’ve found of KKK activity before the 1920s. Is it strange that you haven’t run into this before?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps. Or not. The Klan was very active in the years after the Civil War, but then it faded somewhat until around 1915 when there was a resurgence with the rise of nationalism.”
Crystal thought for a moment. “We read a ton of documents from the Archers, and I never saw anything about the Klan or about the Stowe family. In fact, I don’t know any Stowes—not that I know everyone in Ribbon Ridge. Maybe they died out or moved on?”
He wagged his eyebrows at her over the top of his glasses. “You must know I already have an answer for that.”
She laughed. “Yes, you’re quite thorough. What did you find out?”
“One Stowe in Ribbon Ridge—Randy. Born in 1958. I have an address and phone number.” His unanswered question hung in the air—did they want to contact him?
Crystal slumped in her chair. “How does that conversation go exactly? ‘Hi, I wanted to talk to you about your ancestor who was a leader in the KKK and may have burned down a brothel outside town. Do you know anything about that?’”
Darryl leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “I have the same concerns. I’m trying to think of a way to approach it. We just have to come from a purely academic place.”
“Agreed. Let me talk to Kelsey. Since she’s the librarian in Ribbon Ridge and the one in charge of the history project there, maybe she’s the person who should approach him.”
“Not a bad idea. I’m happy to lend my support.”
“That would be good too.”
He peered at her, cocking his head to the side. “Have you decided what you’re going to do with what you learn?” Before the holidays, he’d asked what she planned to do with all the information she’d accumulated. “Your passion for this shouldn’t be wasted. I still say you should write a book.”
Except she wasn’t a good writer. Or so she thought. Alaina was constantly telling her to write about this too. She’d started to consider it, and now the story seemed like it was begging to be told. She just wasn’t sure if she was the right person to bring it to life.
“I’m still thinking about it,” she said. She handed the letter back to him. “Keep this somewhere safe. I’ll let you know what Kelsey says.” She started to rise.
He stood with her. “Sounds good. I’m going to do a bit more research into Dell Beatty also. I’d love to know if there was an active KKK Den here in Yamhill County or in Lane County or both. Did you know that Lane County is named after Joseph Lane? He was the first governor of the Oregon Territory and went on to become one of our first senators when we became a state. He was also a vice presidential candidate on the pro-slavery ticket in 1860.”
Crystal made a face. “Ugh. Well, I’ll be in touch. Thanks, Darryl, you’re amazing.”
She drew on her coat and picked up her hat and gloves before taking off. As she settled in the car, her phone pinged from her purse. Digging it out, she saw the text on the screen—it was Jamie.
A flush immediately heated her body. She’d spent far too much time thinking about New Year’s Eve and even more time trying not to think about it. The things they’d done… She blushed, glad that no one could see her.
She read the text: Hey, just checking to make sure I have the right number, especially after what I sent yesterday, lol. Thinking of you and would love to see you soon.
He’d texted her yesterday afternoon, telling her that the night before had been one of the best of his life—maybe even the best. Then he’d thanked her for sharing her…talents.
She blushed again and set the phone down in her lap. She hadn’t responded yesterday. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. She just didn’t know what to say. The whole thing was… What? Embarrassing? Not quite. But maybe awkward. They’d been little more than acquaintances and now she was pretty sure she could map every mole on his body, starting with the one just beneath his pelvic bone.
Erotic images flashed in her brain, and she started the car, eager for a distraction. She backed out, and her phone rang, startling her. “Shit, Crystal, try decaf,” she muttered.
Hitting the Bluetooth, she glanced at the caller ID. “Hey, Lainie.”
The sound of a screaming toddler filled Crystal’s car. “Hi! I’m supposed to get on a call with Jackson right now. Can you handle it? Alexa is apparently not interested in napping today.”
“Sure thing. Give Alexa a kiss from Auntie Crystal. That should make everything better.”
Alaina let out a snort-laugh. “Probably. Sometimes I’m sure she likes you better than me. Thanks for covering. See you later.” Alaina disconnected, and Crystal immediately voice-called Jackson, a publicist on a project Alaina was doing.
Thoughts of Jamie were pushed to the back of her mind, and she dodged responding to him again. But she couldn’t do that forever. Ribbon Ridge was a small town, and she was bound to see him.
Too bad she had no idea what she’d say.
* * *
Staring at the phone wouldn’t make it do anything. Jamie internally scoffed at himself and turned his attention to his center computer screen. He had three, but this was the one with the spreadsheet he was currently working on. Before he could get back into it, Cam pushed the door to his office open and strode inside.
“What’s up?” He sat on the couch and shoved a stack of files on the coffee table over so that he could prop his feet up.
“Hey, don’t mess up my files,” Jamie said.
Cam looked around at the office and blinked at him. “Seriously? You’ve always been a disaster.”
He wasn’t really. He just liked piles. And he had executive function issues. Which his brothers knew, but they gave him shit anyway. Jamie leaned back in his chair so that he slightly reclined. He set his hands on the arms. “So glad you stopped by. What do you need?”
“No sense of humor today, eh?” He waved his hand in dismissal. “Never mind. I just wanted to come in and say hi. I haven’t talked to you since New Year’s Eve when we left you alone with Crystal. Did you guys hang out for a while?”
All night, but he wasn’t going to say so. And he woul
dn’t categorize it as “hanging out.” If he closed his eyes, he’d easily conjure an image of her, nude, sprawled on the bed in Derek’s old room, her eyes closed in ecstasy and her hands on her breasts… He dug his fingers into the leather arms of the chair to fight off an erection.
“Uh, yeah, for a bit,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as tight as he felt. God, that had been an incredible night, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Cam’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Jamie worried that he’d detected something. “You guys seemed to be getting along well. Brooke and I thought there was maybe a spark. Were we wrong?”
Bollocks. He’d loved many things about living in London, chief among them the language. He’d adopted several terms, and even though he’d been home a few years now, he refused to give them up. “Why would you think that?” he asked.
Cam shrugged. “You seemed kind of flirty. Not just you—she did too.”
Flirty. If they only knew…
“I agree.” Luke stalked into the office and looked at Cam. “Scoot.”
Cam pulled his feet from the table and moved farther down the couch. He had to push the papers over again to replace his feet.
Luke sat down beside him and adopted the same feet-on-the-table position. “You did seem flirty. What happened after we left?” He gave Jamie a sly look.
Jamie stared at them. “Yeah, well, we played Never Have I Ever, Truth or Dare, and had sex all over the downstairs. Satisfied?”
Cam and Luke exchanged looks, then burst out laughing. “No, really. What happened?”
Jamie doubted they’d believe him, and he was quite relieved to realize he was correct. That had been a stupid thing to say, even if it was accurate. Especially because it was accurate. “We just hung out, nothing big.”
“I’m not sure I believe that,” Cam said, “but then you’ve always been incredibly private.”