by Karin Tabke
His thoughts went to the woman in the room next to him. He had the unusual urge to go to her, take her in his arms and hold her. Missy would have liked her. Both of them so similar in spirit.
He squeezed his eyes shut, the guilt and the pain too much for him to bear. It was his fault Missy was dead, and he would take that knowledge to his grave.
A slight noise caught his attention. His door slowly opened. He rolled over and grabbed his gun. A silhouette halted in the doorway. “Reese?”
He set his gun back on the nightstand. “Are you okay, Frankie?”
“I’m lonely.”
His heart squeezed for the briefest instant before his brain, that trusty protection mechanism, wrestled the emotion from him. Reese slid to the side of the full-size bed, his back against the wall, and pulled down the spread, holding it up invitingly.
It was the invitation she needed. Without a word she slipped into the bed, her naked body wrapped only in the sheet from her guest room bed. She felt Reese’s surprise at her pajama choice and smiled to herself. As much as she wanted him sexually, she wanted his arms around her more, reassuring her all would be right with the world when they woke.
As if sensing her mood, Reese pulled her close against his chest, where she snuggled her head and closed her eyes.
Bright light speared her eyelids and she stretched. Yawning loudly, Frankie bolted upright in bed. Wyoming. She was in Wyoming at Reese’s home. No, his father’s home. The two thugs shooting at them last night pressed forward in her consciousness and she shivered. Wrapping the sheet tight around her naked body, Frankie couldn’t help a smug smile. She’d slept like a dead person. If Reese had touched her, it was his secret. Her body warmed and she frowned. She knew from experience he woke up with a hard-on; why hadn’t he exercised it?
A loud whinny from the back of the house gave her her answer. She hurried to the window to see a tall, shapely blonde wrapped around Reese as pretty as a bow on a present. Frankie growled. When Reese slipped his arm around the hussy’s waist and pulled her close, giving her a full kiss on the lips, she hissed.
She hurried to her room and threw on a pair of new jeans and a form-fitting aquamarine sweater. She’d have to settle for her tennis shoes; the other ones were still in the truck. Quickly, she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and pulled back her wild hair into a neater wild mass, then dabbed on lip gloss and mascara.
The wonderful aroma of breakfast halted her mission to disengage Reese and what’s-her-name. She told herself she didn’t care. A covered plate sat on a warmer, and when she took the lid off she almost had an orgasm. Blueberry griddle cakes, warm syrup, sausage patties, and fresh compote. Grabbing the plate, Frankie loaded it, then sat down at the kitchen table and made quick work of the meal.
Just as she savored the last bite, Reese walked through the back kitchen door with that woman still wrapped around him. This time she looked more like a strangling weed. His grin waned when he saw her. The blonde could have chilled a snowman, her stare was so cold.
“I didn’t think you’d be up yet, Frankie.”
“I thought you city girls didn’t get up till noon,” the blonde said in an annoying hick accent.
“Yeah, well, this city girl can chew you up and spit you out, so knock off the crap chatter.”
The blonde — Angie, Frankie surmised — blanched, wide-eyed, and dropped one hand from Reese’s arm. But not the other.
Pushing back from the table, Frankie stood and Reese beamed. She grabbed the plate and looked Reese square in the eye. “I’m so happy you find humor at my expense.” She rinsed the plate off in the sink, her movements jerky. “And far be it from me to remind you, we have work to do.”
Reese nodded.
“Anything I can help with?” Blondie asked.
Reese laughed. “Not this time, Angie.” And he unwrapped the rest of Angie from his body.
Frankie set the rest of the dishes in the sink, turned back to the couple, brushed past them, and went out the back door. She was clueless as to her destination; she just needed to be away from Reese. The urge to dig her nails into his back was overwhelming, and her inability to control that impulse, sent her into flight mode.
Reese disturbed her emotional balance at a most basic level, and she didn’t like it. The thought of sharing Reese instigated a surge of violence she’d never experienced before. She wanted to scream, her frustration was so overwhelming. Her hands opened and closed into fists at her sides. At that moment she felt more vulnerable than if she were standing naked in Golden Gate Park. The sensation made her stomach churn and she fought the urge to vomit. This was not good. She didn’t sign on for this shit.
She ran a hand through her hair, took several deep cleansing breaths, and followed the scent of horses to the long, low barn. The fresh country air smelled good. Her pulse rate slowed. She liked the crispness of the air and the way it cleared her head.
She was at heart a one-woman man. Apparently Reese was a multiwoman man. Her insides rolled, and her hands fisted again. She was making herself physically ill. What was more distressing was that while she’d formed some twisted emotional attachment to the man, he hadn’t to her. She was basically forgotten. She had gone to him last night, lonely and yearning for contact. She’d hoped he would reach out to her in the way men did. With their bodies. Instead, she woke alone and untouched in his bed. While she hadn’t wanted more than what he gave her — a safe, warm place to sleep — she knew enough about men to know what was on their brain pretty much nonstop. So why had he shunned her?
“Stupid, the answer is tall, blonde, and standing back there in the kitchen.”
Frankie picked up her pace. When had she started to have feelings for Reese? And for the love of God, why? He was just a pretty face, a nice cock, a good lover. He was pretty amazing, actually.
She strode through the open double doors to the barn, determined to get an emotional grip on herself. The swooshy sound of horse tails and soft nickers filled her senses. Immediately her mood softened. Just being around horses soothed her. She’d never lost her passion for the beasts or for riding. But it had been years since she sat in a saddle, galloping along the beaches of Half Moon Bay with her mother. She made a mental note to find a horse and ride regularly when she got home.
The late-morning air had a slight nip to it, but the sun shone brightly, promising warmth. Lazy dust motes swirled idly around the wooden beams of the pitched roof.
“Mornin’, Miss Frankie.”
Frankie smiled as Midas came out of a stall, a hoof pick in his hand.
“Good morning, Midas. Thank you for that wonderful breakfast.”
He moved a piece of straw from one side of his mouth to the other. “No thanking me. Reese done cooked it. The boy always did like those blueberry pancakes. Missy liked the banana ones.”
“What happened to Missy, Midas?”
He moved the piece of straw back to the other side of his mouth and shuffled his feet, his head down, finding the floor interesting. “She died.”
Frankie opened her mouth to speak but Midas continued, “Reese don’t like to talk about it, so it’s best you don’t mention her.”
“How did she die?”
“Like Midas said, I don’t like to talk about it.”
Frankie whirled around to find Reese standing only a few feet behind her, his dark features stormy in the bright sunlight.
Her jaw clenched. Taking a deep breath, Frankie cooled her temper. Reese was entitled to his own demons. God knew she had her own. She focused a professional eye on her subject.
In the kitchen she’d immediately noticed his rugged handsomeness. The way his ass filled his tight Wranglers, and the way his chest busted out against the doeskin-colored chambray shirt he wore open at the collar. The worn leather boots he sported finished the look. Immediately her photographer’s eye conjured up pictures of him half naked on a horse, bareback…and…her skin flushed warm…him riding her bareback.
He snapped his finger
s in front of her. “Earth to Frankie.”
She shook herself out of her lustful daydream and smiled at him. “We have work to do. I know how to ride, so let’s saddle up and you show me around. The more scenic the better.”
“It’s nearly winter in Wyoming.”
“Yep, and unseasonably warm. Let’s get going.”
She turned to Midas. “I can ride, but it’s been a while, so some gentle old soul will work just fine for me.”
“How do you know we have a horse for you?” he asked.
“Um, the brass plaque on the barn door that says Bronson Quarter Horses.” Her brows furrowed. “Who is Bronson?”
“My father’s name.”
“Then it’s yours as well? What about Barrett?”
“It’s my stage name.”
It made sense. Lots of models used pseudonyms. Maybe that’s why Unk couldn’t get much on him. That was good news. Maybe he really was who he said he was. But she doubted it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Riding a horse was like riding a bike, Frankie thought, lifting her face to the sun. Once in the saddle, she felt like it had been only a day instead of years since the last time. She knew she’d pay the next day, but she enjoyed the feeling of freedom she always felt when riding. The chestnut mare, Rosie, was gentle but spunky.
Reese’s black stallion, Zorro, rolled his eyes and shook his head at Rosie. Unlike Reese, who looked ahead at the horizon and never at her. She frowned.
As usual when something bothered her, she focused her thoughts on her work. Her camera and a tripod, along with several rolls of film, were stuffed in her backpack. Reese’s saddlebags held several blankets to use for props. The sun shone brightly, warming the chilled air. Reese wouldn’t freeze while she filmed him. She could Photoshop goose bumps, but penises reacted badly to the cold.
Zorro sidled up to her mare. After a sharp command from his rider and a firm rein, he calmed to a more controlled walk.
“Control your mount, mister,” Frankie said over her shoulder, her nose up in the air. “My daddy told me about men like you.”
Reese urged the stallion closer. His hard features softened and she could practically see his morose mood roll off him. When his left leg brushed against her right leg, she stopped wondering about his mood. The thrill of the contact was instant, and as much as she liked it, she wished she didn’t. She craved Reese like she craved caffeine. “Well, little girl, my mama told me to stay away from your type.”
“And what type might that be, sir?”
“The siren type.”
Frankie laughed. “There is nothing siren about me.” She never considered herself beautiful, maybe exotic in an odd way, certainly not everyone’s cup of tea. Her dark features were strong, not the classic girl-next-door features of the blonde she met this morning. She could see Angie as every man’s fantasy woman.
“For someone who has an artistic eye, you sure sell yourself short,” Reese said.
“What are you saying?”
“Fishing for a compliment?”
“No, I just don’t understand what you meant by that comment.”
“Your look. It’s exotic, you remind me of a young Sophia Loren.”
She raised a brow. He nodded. “Everything about you is lush. Your lips, your eyes.” He grinned. “Your ass.”
When she opened her mouth to respond he cut her off. “Your tits. You have great tits, Frankie.”
She felt a flush scroll from her breast to her forehead. “Stop it.”
“Can’t take a compliment?”
She shrugged. “No, it’s not that.”
“Then what?”
She shrugged again. “I was an early bloomer. By the sixth grade I was in a D cup, and well, I was teased. My father insisted I wear baggy clothes and told me God was testing me.”
“Testing you how?”
“By giving me so much, it was up to me to keep the boys away.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It was his way of keeping me chaste. Catholic guilt is strong voodoo. If planted properly and nurtured, it can screw you up for life.”
Reese grinned. “I can see by the way you dress you got over the guilt.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You dress to accentuate what you have.”
“I don’t flaunt it.”
His eyebrow quirked. “If you say so.”
“I don’t!”
“Who are you trying to convince?”
“I’m not trying to convince anyone, it’s the truth. Besides, you go around looking like you just walked out of GQ. How do you afford that on a cop’s salary?”
Reese shook his head. “Nice try. It’s my job to look good. I’m a highly paid professional, and I get lots of designers who pay me to wear their threads.”
“Yeah, Wrangler and Levi’s.”
“I just haven’t shown all my stuff.”
“I think I’ve seen just about all your stuff.”
“You like it?”
“It’s okay.”
“Just okay?” His brow quirked again.
“Okay, your cock is lush.”
He laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment, although I can tell you didn’t. I meant you’re lush in the best of ways.”
“Sure. A nice way to say I’m fat.”
“Fat isn’t a word I’d use to describe you.”
“No, lush.” She urged Rosie to pick up the pace. “I’ve never been the tall, slender type. I look at pasta and it sticks to my thighs.”
“You have great thighs.”
“Hmm, well, thanks, but I see you more with the tall, skinny blonde types. Like your friend, Amy.”
“Angie. And she definitely has her assets.”
Frankie’s ire rose. “Maybe I’ll get a few shots of the two of you. She’ll translate well.”
“What about us?” His voice dropped, and although they were coming upon a rather swift running stream, he spoke low. The deep timbre of his voice stroked her as effectively as his hand.
She caught his meaning immediately.
“I haven’t forgotten, but out here we don’t exactly have privacy.”
“I can make her go away. And Midas said he was going over to his sister’s for dinner. She’s in Jackson, a good hour’s drive. How about the barn later tonight?”
The thought sent waves of warmth through her. She smiled. “I guess we’ll play it by ear, then.”
“Yeah, see what comes up.”
Before Frankie could make a snide comeback, they entered a wide clearing. “This is beautiful,” Frankie gasped.
Several huge oaks made up a natural umbrella over a small inlet of the stream. Sunlight glistened like dancing jewels off the clear blue water. As she drank in the soothing landscape, Frankie realized the trees stood on the other side of the stream, which looked less than lazy. She peered up and down but didn’t see a bridge. “Is it safe?”
When Reese failed to answer, she turned in the saddle to ask him again. He sat ramrod stiff, his eyes far away but focused. A small twitch worked his left jaw.
“Reese, what’s wrong?”
His skin paled and he pulled the reins back. Zorro stomped, then backed up. “This is a bad spot.”
He turned Zorro and urged him into a canter that quickly turned into a wild gallop. Frankie chased after him for a few minutes, then slowed. The stallion’s stride far outpaced the mare’s.
He disappeared over a hill. She pushed down her worry. But when she crested the hill she found the meadow below empty, and her breath shortened. Where was he?
A dark form crested another hill past the meadow and her breath gushed out in relief. At least he was going in a straight line. She continued after him at a leisurely canter. His mood changes since they arrived in Wyoming confused her. She wished he would open up and tell her what bothered him. Instead, he had become more morose.
When she finally caught up to him, Zorro stood tied to a tree and Reese lounged again
st a thick oak, chewing a piece of grass.
She liked the setting, but not the company. “What’s bugging you?” she asked.
Perspiration glistened on his face. Before he could answer, she’d switched gears, seeing him through the mind of a camera as well as of a woman. “Do some jumping jacks to keep your skin all slick like it is. When I tell you, take your shirt off.”
She hurried to set up her camera. When Reese didn’t do what she asked, she frowned. “C’mon, Reese, I want the hot, sultry look. You and Zorro. C’mon, these shots will be incredible.”
He scowled. Instead of doing jumping jacks, he pulled a blanket out of a saddlebag, sat down on it, and did a few sit-ups. She smiled. “That’ll work.”
Once he slicked up, she told him to stop. “I want you like you were when I rode up, against the tree, the grass in your mouth. Yep, just like that.” She reached down and unbuttoned his shirt a few buttons, her fingertips lingering on his sultry skin. “Perfect.”
She stood back, focused, and began her shoot.
After several shots she lowered her camera. “Reese, I need you to go someplace else. This isn’t working.”
He stood and shrugged. “Where?”
“Not physically, emotionally. Whatever is on your mind is coming through in your eyes.”
His features tightened.
Damn. She knew he’d react like that but she had to try. “Sometimes it helps to talk about things.”
“Like you do?”
She put her hand on her hip. “Don’t turn this around.”
“Why not? You want something from me you’re unwilling to give yourself.”
“The difference is my stuff is personal and has nothing to do with our contract. Something is obviously bugging you and until you deal with it or go somewhere else in your head, it’s affecting my shoot, which affects my bottom line.”
“I’m not a trained monkey, I can’t turn on and off for you.”
“You are a trained monkey. We have a contract, and I need you to perform, now.” The minute she said the words she regretted them. She knew she was pushing him away, and she didn’t understand why.