Twice A Target (Task Force Eagle)

by Susan Vaughan

Like how come a big-time photographer could afford to hang out indefinitely in the mountains of Colorado? She remarked in an offhand way the other day that she’d talked to her agent. That made sense, but she was hiding something. Made him want to protect her, dammit.

  For a man who’d left official inquiries behind with the DEA, he was up to his hat band in two unofficial ones. Sorting out Maddy’s mysteries was creeping up a close second to solving Rob’s murder. Tough part in the meantime was dousing his hots for her.

  He worked his jaw to loosen the cramping muscle there. Then he started on the next chore of making sure the penned-up animals had plenty of hay and water before he headed inside to clean the stalls.

  *****

  “Here you go, Bobby. It’s all right, love.” Maddy stopped his squalling with the bottle. She sighed with the return of peace and strolled to the nursery window with the infant in her arms. Bobby guzzled his meal noisily, his chubby fingers curled into fists.

  Caring for him gave her joy, and she amused herself by snapping pictures with her Nikon—frames of him, of Bronc mending fence, of the wobbly calves, of the surrounding mountains, of the lonely family graves, everything. What she wouldn’t give for a darkroom.

  The days passed easily enough, but it was false security.

  When Bobby finished the bottle, she walked to the kitchen with him at her shoulder. She patted his back to coax a burp from his tummy. “Attaboy. You like that stuff now, don’t you, pumpkin?”

  She cuddled him, absorbing his sweet scent, then bundled him into a blue footed romper and a quilted red jacket with a matching cap. Her denim jacket over her favorite Guatemalan shirt and she was ready. Carrying Bobby in his infant seat, she strolled out to the barn.

  “I’ll bet the stalls need cleaning. Do you think the horses need fresh hay? Maybe some oats?”

  His fist in his mouth, Bobby replied, “B-b-brt.” He waved his chubby hands as if cheering her on.

  Once inside, the massive barn intoxicated her. In the low light of the bare overhead bulbs, the old wood of the stalls and posts gleamed like a sorrel cow pony’s coat. The crisp, cold air wrinkled her nose. Tangy scents of horses, grain, and leather threaded the air.

  On the roof old shingles sagged like molting feathers, but inside new boards stood out among the old. New slats on the stalls. A new beam. In his eagerness to pretty up the house, Rob had let more important things go, so Holt had to pay for the neglect. That explained the lack of funds to hire a real nanny.

  “Eau de manure. No one has touched those stalls this morning.” She set the infant seat securely on two bales. Hay crunched beneath her boots as she tucked a yellow blanket around Bobby’s feet. “You like me talking to you this way, don’t you, pumpkin? Unless Espie’s here, you’re the only one I have to discuss things with. Your uncle Holt sure avoids my company like I’m contagious.”

  Bobby’s bright blue eyes followed her smallest movement with apparent fascination. “Ga-ah,” he said in rebuke of his uncle.

  She couldn’t stay much longer, but she couldn’t leave without transportation. And Bobby needed her. She gazed out the barn door at the distant solid presence of Pikes Peak, its bare crest the only gray eminence she could consult. “I wish you could tell me what to do.”

  Like tell Holt about her real reasons for staying so long. Keeping her secrets made sense at first, but ten days later, disclosure seemed awkward and deceptive. And Holt had too much to deal with. Helping him solve Rob’s murder was the least she could do until her next contract forced her to leave.

  Leave Holt. And Bobby.

  A stony ache gripped her. What about her tenuous relationship with Holt? For days he’d avoided her even more than before. Their awkward midnight encounter had scared him off. Her too. If she and Holt gave in to the heat sizzling between them, he would feel like a traitor and hate himself. He’d hate her more. Then she’d have no choice but to leave.

  After donning work gloves, she snatched the manure fork from its hook and jabbed up the first load of urine and manure-soaked wood chips and hay. “Bobby, would you like to hear about the last time I rode a horse?”

  She glanced back in time to see a toothless yawn.

  Smiling, she carried on with both the chore and the story. “It was on Easter Island. I know you’ve probably never heard of it, but it’s wa-a-ay out in the ocean. A fascinating place with enormous statues I can’t begin to describe without a camera.” She delivered another malodorous scoop to the wheelbarrow. One stall down. She wheeled the barrow to the next. “A documentary company was doing a video about how the ancient islanders might have moved their huge statues around the island.”

  “I’ll bet they didn’t move them on horseback.”

  Chapter 8

  One elbow propped against the rough boards, Holt leaned against the wall beside Bobby. He grinned as Maddy whirled around.

  She immediately diverted her gaze from him. With what looked like forced nonchalance, she returned to her chore. “Easter Island horses are famous, but no. My ride was a way to take stills before they started filming. Some of those statues are remote. Three of us spent five days trekking and camping.”

  “Roughing it?” No more being stuck like a burr on a saddle blanket about her luxury-filled life. Well, most of the time. Admiration for her putting up with deprivations for her work was nibbling away at his skepticism.

  “Depends on your point of view.” She gazed at dust motes in the air. “High cliffs overlooking the Pacific. Wide, windswept rolling hills. The only way to understand the power of those incredible statues is to be there. I think my pictures come closer than words to conveying their beauty.”

  Or yours as you talk about them. He levered away from the wall to help out. As she described setting up camp in the shadows of the stone statues, her eyes shone. Man, she loved the photography, the adventure of it all.

  Maybe it wasn’t the jet-set life he’d imagined—though the call of the road would keep her on the move. She was a nomad.

  He’d stood in the shadows watching her before he spoke up. Watching her vigor as she slung manure. Wondering if he could ask her about all those incongruities that puzzled him. He couldn’t grill her. He needed her to stay. Bobby needed her. Push her too hard, and she’d run for sure. He didn’t like the hollow feeling that idea caused.

  He wheeled the barrow out and dumped it, then brought in clean shavings from the storage shed. Cedar scent mingled with other barn odors as the two of them shoveled chips and forked hay onto the stall floors. He added oats to the feed, then stowed the shovels.

  Procrastinating, for damn sure. Stud poker was his favorite game. A man should have most of his cards face up on the table, not close to the vest like in draw. He had to lay one card down. Saying his piece upped the ante between them, but it was the right thing to do.

  “Look, Maddy. About the other night.” He shoved his hands in his jean pockets. “I came on awful strong. I was too hard on you. And—”

  “It’s okay. I understand. You were right about Rob’s obsession. The perfume convinced me.”

  “Perfume?”

  “Sara’s perfume. It’s called Happy. I found it in the hall bathroom that first day and dabbed on a little.”

  “The Pattersons cleaned out the master bath, and I did that one before I stowed my stuff. Reckon I missed the perfume. What about it?”

  “Rob first bought it for me. He insisted I wear it whenever we went out. He must have bought it for Sara.” Her mouth thinned as her lips compressed. Emotion glimmered in her eyes. “That scent might also be the reason Bobby quieted in my arms. Mom’s familiar smell.”

  At the notion Rob had asked his wife to wear a former girlfriend’s scent, Holt’s insides twisted. Don’t even think about it. He wanted nothing more to scar the image of his little brother. Better to change the topic.

  “You’ve been to some exotic and exciting places. The Valley-D must seem as quiet as the underside of a rock.” He ignored the twist in his gut as he waited for h
er answer.

  “Quiet is underrated, if you ask me. You can find adventure anywhere, if you know how to look.” She replaced the big fork on its hook, then knelt beside the dozy baby. “Hearing this one’s laughter at a curious calf is exciting enough for me.”

  He grunted his doubt as he ambled to her side. “Still, mighty tame for someone who’s seen Easter Island or hiked the Andes.”

  She stood and turned to face him, arms propped on her hips, a grin curving her lips. “Why Holt Donovan, you read one of my articles.”

  “Rob had the magazine around. I was curious.” He swallowed. Hard. Picked up her scent. If that was the perfume Rob had bought both women, the fragrance ought to remind him to keep his distance. Instead the smell of lavender drew him closer.

  “Curious?”

  “Wanted to see where that camera took you. That’s all.”

  The grin eased to a softer, dreamy smile. “I’ve trekked in Land Rovers, on foot with llamas, and on donkeys and horseback. I’ve visited ancient Chachapoya ruins on the Huabayacu River in Peru and villages of the Tharu people in southern Nepal, but nowhere was more spectacular than these Colorado peaks and mountain valleys. The trips I cherish most are the horse camping weekends we did when we were kids. Like the time you and Rob and I spent the night on Ghost Mountain.”

  He gazed at the rafters. And away from Maddy. “We raced our ponies the length of the meadow there by Ghost Creek.”

  “And you two shot rabbits for our supper.”

  “Our supper?” Her comment brought his gaze back to her. A mistake. She was close enough for him to see flecks of gold in the violet of her irises. “You refused to eat the ‘poor little bunnies.’ “

  Her lower lip formed a tasty-looking pout. “They were so adorable. And Espie had packed us a perfectly good supper.”

  “Ham sandwiches. And piglets aren’t ‘adorable’?”

  “It’s not the same thing. I didn’t see them hopping around in the meadow.” She smiled at her own absurdity.

  He ought to back up, not stand so close, but the warmth in her eyes rooted him to the barn floor. “That why you tried to shove me down that old mine shaft the next morning?”

  “Shove you?” Maddy poked his chest. “No way, José. You insisted on protecting us by going ahead and playing intrepid scout.”

  Her nails were serviceably short, but the indignant index finger prodding him provoked a lower-body reaction. Not a good idea. He wrapped a hand around the offending digit. Her skin was soft and warm, and instead of yanking her hand away from his dented pecs, he held on. “Maddy.”

  Her hand relaxed as she flattened it against his belly.

  In response his heart thumped like a bass drum. “You wearing that perfume?”

  “Not since I realized what Rob did. This is just shampoo and soap.” She bowed her head and drew a deep breath before raising her gaze to his. “Look, you apologized about the other night. We covered my travels and old times, but what we need to talk about is the elephant in the room.”

  He felt like she’d doused him with ice water. “What do you mean?” As if he didn’t know. Hell, it was time. Years past time.

  “If I’m to stick around for a while to care for Bobby, I need peace between us about that other night.”

  He swallowed. “All right. What do you want me to say?”

  “I don’t need another apology, if that’s what you think. I just want you to admit you were right there with me. We both betrayed Rob the eve of the wedding.” Her jaw was set, and her eyes gleamed with determination.

  Holt stepped back. He cast an eye at Bobby, who was drifting to sleep. No help there.

  The memory swamped him, as it did nearly every time he looked at Maddy. Shit, or thought about Maddy.

  Rob and Maddy’s wedding rehearsal dinner had been at Duke’s Lake Resort. The beer and congratulatory toasts flowed freely, and both Rob and he were awash. After Rob took a swing at one of the waiters, Holt slung him over his shoulder. With Maddy’s help, he lugged him outside and left him to sleep it off in the truck bed.

  Holt and Maddy meandered down to the summer house on the lake shore. They talked and danced to the distant strains of the DJ’s tunes. All summer he’d been aware of her—those long, long legs and the taut body. All too apparent she wasn’t his little buddy any more. But he’d ignored his hormones and fought the attraction because she was Rob’s fiancée. His brother’s wife-to-be.

  Until that night. He held her in his arms and swayed to the music. She wore some filmy, tiny-strapped sundress that shimmied against her body. The dress and she drove him nuts. The beer and the music and her scent—the scent Rob had chosen—drowned his willpower.

  He scrubbed his jaw with his knuckles. “I was just talking while we danced. I wasn’t coming on to you. It was you. You were the one who kissed me.”

  “If that’s what you prefer to remember, no wonder you don’t admit to your share in the evening.” She took a hip-sprung stance and glared at him.

  “So you figure I kissed you first? Care for a demonstration?” He stepped closer again and yanked her against him. He was playing with fire, but he no longer cared. She’d riled his temper and his libido. The fire raged inside him, too hot to control.

  “Neither of us kissed first. The kiss just...happened. We were dancing one minute and kissing the next.” Her slender arms wound around his waist as though they belonged there. He’d felt that same sensation back then.

  “With my brother, your fiancé, sleeping it off not thirty yards away.” He nearly growled.

  She heaved a sigh that pressed her soft breasts against him. How could she miss his arousal? “You idiot, we kissed, yes. A hell of a kiss. It was the final straw for me. After that I knew I couldn’t go through with the wedding. I’d been fretting about it for weeks, postponing a decision, putting off telling Rob my misgivings. I was caught up in all the wedding festivities and ignored my instincts.

  “But, Holt, after all, it was only a kiss. Nothing else happened. We didn’t have sex. I didn’t have so much to drink that I don’t remember. What I truly regret is running away the way I did. Leaving a note. So inadequate. So immature.”

  Hell. The truth of what had gone down that night finally pulled him up to the surface after years of drowning in recriminations. He’d been blaming her to avoid his own part in it. She’d still been a kid, while he was a man. He sailed his hands down her slim back. She was warm and curvier than that kid. And his craving for her raced way past that long-ago encounter, closer to desperate.

  “Maddy, you’re right. The kiss was both our fault. But it wasn’t as innocent as you imply. Hell, if that gang of rowdy kids hadn’t come along, I’d have wanted to do a whole lot more than kissing.” Like now, for instance.

  Her gaze landed on his mouth, softened. Violet irises darkened to plum. “You would?”

  She wanted him too.

  The fire raging in him billowed. He lowered his head and brushed his lips on hers. Bad idea. The worst. The best.

  At the exquisite softness, sweet desire surged through him. He felt her sigh, a small puff of warm breath against his mouth, and when she opened to his tongue, blood thundered in his head. Releasing her hand, he pulled her against his chest and deepened the kiss.

  Inexorably, the sensations of her touch rippled through him, explored, enveloped. He hardened with an ache beyond casual. She was the wrong woman, a woman not to be trusted. She wouldn’t stay. A heartbreaker. At this moment, he didn’t care. He craved this taste of her.

  He cupped her breast. The colorful flowers sewn on the cotton had pulled his gaze to where her nipples might be, but now he wanted the layers of shirt and bra gone.

  Her breath came warm and sweet against his mouth, and not a sigh and not to say no. She whispered his name. “Holt, I—”

  “Oh! I beg your pardon.”

  Holt and Maddy leaped apart as if kicked by a horse.

  In the doorway stood two women. Someone might have to pry Phyllis Patterson’s
jaw off the barn floor before she could talk again. The younger, bird-like woman carrying a briefcase pursed her lips in an expression as severe as her black hair.

  Since there was nowhere to hide, he snatched Bobby into his arms, letting the dangling blanket cover his unrepentant arousal. The baby woke, but didn’t fuss. Ripples of lava still sluiced through Holt’s veins as the clouds cleared from his brain. Shit, the judge’s custody evaluator. Why was she here an hour earlier than the appointment?

  A smiling Maddy strode to the women, her hand out as she introduced herself. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?” she asked without a trace of sarcasm.

  Thank God she found her voice first. He wasn’t sure he could talk above a strangled gasp. His pulse thundered in his ears so loud he couldn’t hear what the women had replied.

  “Holt, this is Dr. Olympia Lombard.” Maddy herded the two women closer. “She’s the custody evaluator assigned by the judge.”

  Phyllis patted her tightly permed hair, a smug twist to her mouth. “Since Dr. Lombard didn’t know where the ranch was, I volunteered to show her the way for your appointment.”

  Show her the way in more ways than one. Get her digs and bias set firmly in the woman’s mind before she met Holt.

  “Mrs. Patterson,” Maddy said, “You have my sympathies for losing your daughter. Such a tragedy.”

  Phyllis pulled out a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “Thank you. She was our youngest, and Bobby’s our youngest grandchild. I want the best for him.”

  Holt had heard all this before, had seen Phyllis crank up the waterworks at will.

  “Naturally,” Maddy said, then gave him a look that meant the ball was in his court.

  He turned to the evaluator. “I was expecting you,” he rasped out, emphasizing the last word. He sure as hell hadn’t expected Phyllis. He’d bet his next hay crop the early arrival was her idea. A hell of a surprise, for both parties. “Sorry I wasn’t at the house to greet you. Dr. Lombard? What kind of doctor?”

  “Clinical psychologist, Mr. Donovan.” Lombard spoke in a smooth, musical voice that was probably soothing to her patients. Not to him. Her high-collared business suit gave him an inkling she was as conservative as the judge. “I’ve been asked to evaluate the fitness of both parties for custody of this baby. I assume this is Robert Trask Donovan.”