Brock held her close as he kissed her, then slowly slid from her body and rolled to his side. Stevie Rae let out a sigh as the heat of him left her. She started to rise. He pulled her back and cradled her in his arms. “Where are you going?”
“I thought…you’d want to be alone now.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
“I…I thought…that’s what men wanted. I’d been told—”
“Whoever told you that was an ass! Men—real men—would never treat a woman like that.” His arms tightened around her, surrounding her with warmth, so at odds with the anger she heard in his voice.
Breathless, still reeling from the shattering climax that shook her to her very soul, Stevie Rae nestled in Brock’s arms. His fingers lazily stroked her shoulder, but in a different way from just a bit ago. This touch was meant to comfort and reduce the frantic beat of her heart…or at least that’s what she thought, but she had nothing to compare it to. Lucas had never held her like this after the few times they’d…she wouldn’t exactly call it making love. There had been none of the tenderness she’d just experienced. Rather, it was more of Lucas relieving himself within her body when he felt the need and leaving her wanting so much more.
Why am I thinking about him again?
The question rambled through her brain, but she knew the answer. Making love to Brock had opened her eyes in so many ways, made her see how selfish and wrong Lucas had been.
She moved slightly so she could see his face. The smile she so loved seeing had taken up permanent residence on his lips and for reasons she dare not explore or question, seeing that grin made her happier than she’d been in a long time. She nestled a little closer, laid her hand over his heart so she could feel it beat, and closed her eyes.
Chapter 15
Stevie Rae glanced over at Brock and grinned as he laughed at a joke Sonny told. A tingle of pleasure settled in her belly, not only because memories of making love and the things he made her feel were still fresh in her mind, but because he seemed, at the moment, almost carefree. She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed like this or felt this free, either.
These emotions running riot within her were because of Brock, but the laughter—the laughter was compliments of Fergus “Sonny” MacLeish, his daughter, Brynna, and her three children. The luncheon Brynna prepared had been wonderful and the former sheriff kept everyone entertained with his brilliant humor. Stevie Rae liked him—from the moment Brock introduced them in the foyer of his daughter’s home, she’d felt welcome. He was the male version of Martha Prichard, warm and kind and not afraid to tell the truth, though he used humor to dull the sting, whereas Martha used love.
He wasn’t what she expected either. She thought she’d be meeting a much older man, one with a generous helping of white hair and perhaps an abundance of wrinkles on his face. Instead, she met a man only several years older than her own father with a few streaks of white to mar his otherwise wealth of ginger hair. And the wrinkles only appeared when he smiled, like now, as his loving gaze roamed over his three grandchildren.
His smile grew and a look of understanding passed between him and his daughter as Brynna dropped her napkin beside her plate and rose from the dining room table. She came around to her father’s chair and rested her hands on his shoulders. “It’s a beautiful day, Papa. Why don’t you and your guests sit on the patio? I’ll bring your tea.”
“Excellent idea, Brynna.”
She started to help him rise, but Sonny waved her off and placed his hands on the table to push himself into a standing position, his movements stiff and apparently painful. Brynna made a sympathetic noise and attempted to help him again, but he shrugged her away. “I’m all right, Bryn.” He grabbed his cane beside the chair. “I just stiffened up from sitting so long. I’ll be movin’ easier in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Just give me a moment.”
Stevie Rae, seeing the expression on Brynna’s face and the pain so evident in Sonny’s, stepped forward, though Brock shook his head and mouthed the word no. “Perhaps you’d like to escort me to the patio.” She casually slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.
“Ach, lass, have ye pity fer this poor mon then?” He lapsed into a bit of brogue, his accent thick, but humor danced in his startling green eyes.
“No, sir, no pity. Respect, certainly.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Truthfully, I just wanted to hold your hand.”
He laughed, as she hoped he would and allowed him to lead the way through the house at a slow pace. Brock followed, his boot heels loud on the tile floor then muffled as he stepped over carpet. She glanced behind her. He wore a silly grin on his face and the downcast set of his eyes had her believing he stared at her backside as she walked in front of him.
Caught, his gaze lifted to meet hers, the smile she so adored flashed across his lips before he winked.
A flush rose up her face and she nearly stumbled. One didn’t have to be a detective to know what thoughts were going through his mind. The flush deepened and spread over her entire body. Desire heated her blood and she couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel.
“My daughter has been a godsend,” Sonny said with a sigh once they were outside in the sunshine. His pain seemed to have lessened and his movements weren’t so rigid. “But she’ll only tolerate so much. She doesn’t like it when either her husband or I talk work in front of the children. My son-in-law, Michael, is a lawyer. As you can imagine, we’ve had some lively discussions, but Brynna wants no part of it. She said she heard enough when she was young that she doesn’t want to hear it anymore, which is why we’ve been banished outside.”
“I grew up listening to my father.” She smiled as the memory of him sitting in the rocking chair on the front porch, his pipe clenched between his teeth, became clear. “He was a doctor. A good one. Kind and caring. Like your daughter, my mother forbade him from talking about certain things, but I never minded.”
“You’re a sweet lass, Stevie Rae. Knew it the minute I laid my eyes on you.” He gestured to a table covered with a colorful tablecloth, and several cushioned chairs beneath a ramada. “Sit, please.”
Stevie Rae smoothed the fabric of her split skirt and slid into her seat. Brock took the chair to her right, leaned back, and stretched out his legs. He hadn’t spoken much during lunch. But then, that wasn’t unusual and Sonny seemed to do enough talking and joking for any three people. She forced her gaze away from him and focused her attention on Sonny.
He did not sit at the table with them. Instead, he paced in a slow gait, using his cane, but not as often now. The stiffness seemed to have eased a great deal and a long sigh escaped him. He patted first one pocket of his suit jacket then the other, his smile wide when he found what he wanted. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
“Not at all.”
Sonny pulled a thin cigar from his pocket and lit it with a match he struck against the wooden post of the ramada, then finally eased into a chair opposite Stevie Rae and Brock. “So, how is it, lassie, a fine girl such as yourself is looking for a murdering son of a…ah…gun like Logan?”
Stevie opened her mouth, but stopped herself from saying anything as Sonny’s eleven-year-old granddaughter, Violet, stepped onto the patio, a heavy tray in her hands. The ginger-colored curls framing her face hardly bounced as she crossed the expanse of flagstone, taking one careful step after another, and the fine china cups didn’t rattle at all as she slid the tray onto the table. She grinned at her grandfather, obviously pleased she hadn’t spilled or dropped anything. Her eyes, very much like Sonny’s, glowed with accomplishment.
And Sonny couldn’t have been prouder of his granddaughter, nor could anyone doubt the love he had for this child. His smile brightened his entire face and his bright green eyes twinkled as he kissed the girl on the cheek. “Good job, lass. Thank you. And thank your mother, too. Now, scoot.”
The girl skipped away, humming a merry tune before she disappeared into the house. Stevie watched her with a touch of envy.
Had she ever been that young and carefree? That lighthearted and untroubled? She remembered taking care of her mother, when her mother allowed her close enough to do so, then taking care of her father after her mother died, but she couldn’t remember a time in her life when she didn’t have responsibilities, when someone else’s need wasn’t more important than her own. Martha was fond of telling her she had an old soul, though she never quite understood the comment. Until now.
The light touch of Brock’s fingertips against the top of her hand and the rattle of fine china as Sonny slid the tray closer to her snapped her out of her musings. She raised her gaze to the former lawman and smiled.
“Would you do the honors?”
“Of course.” She poured tea into one of the rose-patterned cups and passed it to Sonny, then repeated the process, handing the second cup to Brock. His gaze met hers as he accepted the cup and saucer, the look in his eyes warm and inviting, the touch of his hand evoking visions in her mind. For a moment, she couldn’t turn away, lost in the memory of what had happened between them last night and again this morning and the way he made her feel…until she remembered where she was and why. With effort, she turned her attention back to Sonny. “You asked why I’m looking for Logan.”
Smoke swirled and climbed upward from the glass dish on the table where Sonny laid his cigar while he stirred sugar into his tea. “That I did.”
“He killed my father.”
The spoon tapped lightly against the rim of the cup as Sonny’s gaze rose to hers. Genuine sadness reflected in his eyes. “I’m sorry, lass. Logan doesn’t seem to care who he hurts…or kills. Tell me what happened if it’ll help.”
She opened her mouth, ready to share the events of the night she lost her father when Sonny shifted his weight in his chair and she noticed, again, how the pain transformed his face and caused every muscle in his body to tighten for a fraction of a second.
The words died on her tongue, replaced with concern for Sonny, as Stevie Rae glanced at Brock. His expression mirrored her own. She reached across the table and took Sonny’s hand. “Are you all right?”
“Right as rain, lass, don’t fret about me. Every once in a while, I am reminded of the bullet Logan put in my back. Doc Hawkins did a fine job of removing it.” He winked then and the pain on his face dissipated nearly as fast as it had come. “At least he says he removed it, but sometimes it feels like that piece of lead is still there.” He took a long drag on the cigar and exhaled a plume of smoke before he pulled a small flask from the inside pocket of his jacket and poured a little of the contents into his tea. He gestured toward her cup as well as Brock’s. “Gets a little worse when there’s a storm brewing, and there is a storm coming. Maybe not tonight or tomorrow, but definitely by the end of the week. Hawkins says it’s phantom pain. Not really there. Feels real enough to me.” He took a healthy swig from his flask, then screwed on the cap and tucked it back in his pocket. After a moment, his color came back to normal. “You were going to tell me what happened to your father.”
Stevie Rae shook her head. “I think that can wait for another visit. We—” She turned toward Brock and tilted her head. He gave a slight nod in return. “We don’t want to tire you. I feel we have already overstayed our welcome.”
“Nonsense, lass. Having you and Brock here has been a bright spot in my day.” His grin widened and white teeth flashed. “But I understand. You have a schedule to keep, so to speak. I would imagine you’re not planning on staying in Santa Fe for very long, so what can this old lawman tell you about Logan that you don’t already know, Brock?”
Brock shrugged and straightened in his chair. His booted foot tapped the flagstones beneath the table. “At this point, anything might be helpful. He knows I’m after him. That’s no secret, but he always seems to be one step ahead of me. And the brutality of his crimes is getting worse. He seems to be changing, too.”
Brock reached for her hand, almost unconsciously, and curled his fingers around hers so gently, so lovingly, Stevie wanted to weep. Did he draw strength from her through a touch so simple? Or was there another reason he held her hand so tenderly? She glanced at his face, but couldn’t glean the answer she sought. She only knew what she felt and at this moment, despite the topic of conversation and the madman they chased across New Mexico, she felt cherished and adored.
“Changing? In what way?” Sonny interrupted her thoughts.
Brock shrugged and took a sip of tea, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed the tasty brew. “Before, he never left anyone alive if he could help it. Now? He’s leaving witnesses to his violence. Stevie here he didn’t know about—she’d been hiding in the root cellar—but in Taos, he definitely left someone alive. I can’t help wondering why. Why change? Is there a purpose?” He let out a long sigh and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, Stevie noticed the change in color—from clear gray to an almost polished pewter and further evidence of his frustration. She squeezed his hand.
He didn’t smile at her, but he did squeeze her hand in return. “Stevie thinks he’s taunting me every time he hurts or kills someone because I can’t stop him.”
Sonny’s intent stare shifted from Brock to her. Something flickered in his eyes. Admiration? Appreciation? “Well now, not only is Miss Stevie beautiful and charming, she’s got a good head on her shoulders. Maybe he is, Brock. God knows, he’s a cruel man, but he’s smart, too. I knew that the moment he let me get close enough to arrest him. He turned the tables on me so fast, I didn’t know if I was coming or going.” He shifted his weight again, and leaned forward until his forearms rested on the table, this time without any accompanying pain. “He’s baiting you, hoping you’ll keep after him until you’re so exhausted and frustrated, you’ll make a mistake, like I did. You could end up with a bullet in your back, too. Or worse.”
Getting killed was a distinct possibility. Stevie Rae knew it. She’d always known it, but it hadn’t stopped her. Nor had it stopped Brock.
Brock leaned forward as well, almost mimicking Sonny’s position. “What about family? Is there anyone he would go to? A place? Somewhere he’d feel safe?”
Sonny shook his head as he rolled the cigar between his fingers. “There’s very few of the Logans left, just Tell and Jeff. As you know, Jeff is in prison. No one knows where Tell is. If we’re lucky, he’s dead, but I haven’t heard. There was a sister, too. Prissy? Patty? Something like that.”
“Could it have been Patrice?” Brock asked, his voice low and hoarse.
Stevie stiffened. Taos. The woman who had been beaten to death. Her name had been Patrice. Had she been Logan’s sister? She exchanged a quick glance with Brock, then turned her attention to Sonny, waiting for an answer. He leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on the handle of his cane, which Stevie noticed was in the shape of wolf’s head. He continued to roll the cigar between his fingers with his other hand. His eyes closed for a moment, as if deep in thought, then opened as he shrugged.
“Might be. I think she took off with a gambling man, but I don’t know what became of her. Salome, his mother, passed away not too long ago, but his father died when Zeb was just a boy.” The flask came out of his pocket once more. Sonny unscrewed the cap then took a deep swallow. He continued relating Logan’s history as he knew it while he put the flask away.
“That’s when the Logan boys started their life of crime. It all started innocently enough, I suppose. Ma Logan needed to keep food on the table, and the boys, never ones for farming the land, helped her as best they could. They weren’t always killers. They started out small, robbing stagecoaches and rustling cattle, then progressed to bigger things like robbing banks.” He paused and sipped from his cup, his lively green eyes a little sad, then took another deep pull on the cigar. The red tip glowed as the tobacco rolled tightly in a tube grew smaller. “As far as I know, Logan’s got no place to go and no one to take him in. The little farm outside San Luis, Colorado, where the Logans were raised, is gone, the land taken after Salome Logan
died, but I did hear of a hideout up in the Sangre de Cristos. I don’t know how true that is.”
“Why is he in New Mexico?”
Sonny grinned as he crushed the glowing end of his cigar into the glass dish. “Maybe because too many men are looking for him in Colorado.”
“There’s just as many here in New Mexico. And Arizona. Texas, too. Maybe even California.”
“Son, if I could answer that, I’d probably be a rich man. No one knows what drives Logan or makes him do the things he does.”
“Stevie thinks he does it because he likes it.”
Sonny nodded as his gaze swung to her and a smile played on his lips. “Well, now, that could be true, darlin’. One never knows what truly drives a man. Or a woman, for that matter. We have choices and free will, so what makes one of us choose a life of crime while another chooses the law? What makes one of us think life would be easy if we stole instead of worked for a living? What makes one think he or she can kill just because they want to?”
A wispy cloud, the only one in sight, rolled across the sky, blocking the sun for a moment as Sonny’s words resonated within her. Perhaps there were no easy answers and she’d never know what made Zeb Logan choose to kill her father or Brock’s brother or shoot Sonny in the back and leave him for dead. She shivered as a cold chill skittered up her spine, then looked up between the slats of the ramada and watched the cloud dissipate as if it had never been there at all.
“Ach, listen to me! I’m getting maudlin in my old age. Or maybe it’s the whiskey talkin’.” And with those words, he found his flask, untwisted the cap, and poured a little more of the liquor into his tea. “Will you stay for dinner? As you know, Brynna is an excellent cook. Learned it from her mother, God rest her soul.”
“We would love to, but unfortunately, we have another obligation.” Brock stood and reached across the table to shake the man’s hand. Stevie wondered if he did so because he didn’t want Sonny to stand. “Thank you for the invitation, though.”
A Kiss in the Shadows Page 18