“Hang on.” She placed a kiss on his lips, then pushed against his chest until he dropped his arms. There was a handset on the bedside table and she reached for it with one hand, while the other smoothed down her wild hair.
“Yes?” Her eyes were bright and locked with his. He went to her, sliding his hands around her waist again, but she shook him off and turned her back.
“When?” She was tucking in her shirt now as she continued to listen.
He felt as if he’d been slammed into a brick wall. Retreating from the room, he found himself in the kitchen. A postcard with a picture of Chicago’s skyline was on the table next to a stack of junk mail. Without thinking, he flipped it over.
Having a great time. Don’t worry. Love you, Regan.
The murmur of Savannah’s voice carried down the short hall. “Thanks, Paul. I appreciate the call.” Then a few seconds later, he heard her say, “Maybe. I’ll let you know.”
She was in the kitchen a few seconds after that. The color was still high in her lips and on her cheeks, but her clothing was back in place and her eyes broadcast the need for extreme caution.
“Who was that?”
Her gaze dropped from him to the table. “Paul Corrigan. He’s a deputy attorney from the county attorney’s office.”
There was something about the way she’d said the man’s name that made him wonder. The chill in his heart suddenly became colder. “And?”
Finally she met his gaze. “They have the court order. The body is going to be exhumed tomorrow.”
* * *
THERE HAD NEVER been a woman who could mess with his mind the way Savannah Moody could. And B.J. resented this fact. He had work to do, damn it.
It was early, before dawn, and he was already on his way to the quarter-horse barns. June was still breeding season, and while the hired hands knew what they were doing, it was high time he started contributing more than just the occasional hour or two of work.
He stopped by the stallion quarters to say good morning to Big Shot. The red dun stallion was the king around here, and he sure knew it. He nickered loudly as B.J. approached his stall, tossing his mane and raising his head as if to say, Finally!
B.J. measured out his oats and fed the impatient stallion, then moved on to the others. When he was done, he headed for the office to review the breeding charts and schedules.
It was one thing to offer to take over the job of managing the quarter-horse operation—quite another to actually do it. Back when he was a kid living at home, they’d concentrated on cattle—so he wasn’t as knowledgeable about his mother’s new venture as he’d let on to Jackson.
But he was a quick study.
In the office he put on a pot of coffee and spent the next hour going through files. When hired hands Jay Owen and Griff Benson showed up, he told them that he wanted to hear their thoughts about the operation. Were there any places improvement was needed?
Both nodded thoughtfully and promised to get back to him after they’d finished their morning chores.
By ten o’clock, B.J. had put in five hours’ work. And still hadn’t eaten breakfast.
Corb came by at just the right time. “Want to join me and Mom up at the house? Bonny usually makes pancakes on Friday.”
His mouth started watering on the spot. “You bet.” He stuck the lineage papers back into the binder, then joined his younger brother on the walk up to the main house.
His brother was an inch shorter, but strong and sure-footed. His thick blond hair had grown back since the accident but the tip of a scar was still visible.
“You still getting headaches?” Thank God Corb had come out of that coma. B.J. didn’t know if he could have survived losing both of his brothers.
“Nope. All healed up, except for this beauty mark.” Corb touched a finger to the scar. “Laurel assures me it’s sexy.”
B.J. laughed. “Yeah, right. What about your memory? Did any of that ever come back?”
Corb shook his head. “The week before the accident is still pretty much a blank slate. The doctor figures if I haven’t recalled anything by now I probably never will. It was a problem at first, since I couldn’t remember meeting Laurel. But now that we’re married, it doesn’t matter so much.”
They were at the house now, and the delicious aroma of hotcakes and maple syrup had both of them picking up their pace. They washed at the sink, then went to join their mother at the dining table.
Bonny must have been waiting for them, because a moment later she was bringing in the hotcakes, a dish of sausages and a carafe of strong coffee.
As soon as he saw his mother—hair styled and face all made up despite the fact that she was dressed to work—B.J. thought about Maddie. The differences between the two sisters were remarkable.
He wolfed through two plates of breakfast before he decided to raise a delicate topic.
“Mom, are you aware that your sister has lung cancer?”
Her fork clattered to the plate. “What are you talking about, B.J.?”
“Your sister, Maddie. You left the other day without listening to Jackson’s explanation for why he’s going to work for her. Among other things, he plans to live with her in her house so she doesn’t have to go to a hospice to die.”
His words were blunt to the point of cruelty, but Olive showed no sign of being affected by her sister’s imminent death.
“I’m sorry for Maddie. But she’s made her bed.” Olive pressed her lips together. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to go and work for her, too?”
“Of course not. But I did want the chance to meet her before it was too late.” He waited for his mother to make the obvious extrapolation. If she and Maddie were ever to reconcile, now was the time.
But Olive showed no sign that her thoughts were moving in that direction. Smoothly she changed the conversation to another topic. “By the way, I’m trying to get Cassidy and Farley to set a date for their wedding. Now that she’s moved in with him, it’s only right they make it official.”
“She’s wearing Farley’s ring,” Corb pointed out. “I’m sure they’ll set a date when they’re ready.”
Olive just shook her head. “Maybe I’d better go out to lunch with that girl next week. A little prodding is what she needs.”
With that, Olive set down her napkin, then left the room.
“You warning Cass, or should I?” Corb asked.
B.J. grinned. “I’m thinking we’d best stay out of it.”
* * *
STANDING UP ON A HILL, well back from the action, Savannah glanced from her watch to the sky. At eleven in the morning the day was ridiculously sunny and warm. Not at all the right mood for an exhumation. The solemnity of the occasion called for rain. Or at least a few dark, heavy clouds.
But, no, the Montana sky was as blue as the walls of a little boy’s nursery today. A color of hope and optimism. Not death and disappointment.
But why had she thought of that metaphor? Children were not in Savannah’s life plan. She felt as if she’d been a mother forever...to her brother and younger sister. And only when Regan was safely in medical school would she feel that her job as surrogate parent was finally done.
“Okay. Good. Bring it up now.” Two men, one operating the machinery, the other giving instructions, were doing the work of raising the coffin out of the earth. Watching was an environmental-safety official from Lewistown, as well as June Savage—representing the McBride family—and Paul Corrigan.
Paul and June had been talking during most of the proceedings. Now, as the workers transferred the coffin into a waiting ambulance for transportation to the medical examiner’s office in Lewistown, Paul started heading up the hill toward her.
Savannah leaned her weight back on her heels. She wasn’t happy that Paul had been assigned this case. This was
her turf, after all. But at least she and Paul had history, and having an in on the investigation might prove helpful.
Paul was halfway up the hill when she sensed someone else approaching from her rear. She’d been expecting him and didn’t bother turning to verify his identity before speaking.
“Who told you where I was this time?”
“It was Laurel,” B.J. said, just before stepping in line beside her. He looked tired, but that only made her want to reach out to him all the more. She clamped down on the impulse.
“The guys hired for the exhumation stopped at the Cinnamon Stick first for coffee,” he elaborated.
Savannah shook her head. Good luck keeping a secret in this town.
“So who’s that guy?” B.J. nodded toward Paul. He was almost up the hill now and the deputy attorney’s face was perspiring lightly, although the fabric of his suit was as pristine as if it had just come off the hanger.
“That’s Paul Corrigan.”
“Figures,” B.J. snorted.
Finally Paul approached them. He looked from her to B.J., then back at her. “Good to see you, Savannah.”
“You, too.” After a second’s pause, she held out her hand. He seemed surprised by the move, but went through the formal ritual of shaking before turning to B.J. “And you are?”
“B. J. Lambert.” His voice came out even deeper than usual.
Paul’s eyebrows rose. “Really? So you were there the night our John Doe died.”
“I was.”
“If this ID pans out, you better get yourself a good lawyer. The family is looking for blood.”
B.J. made use of the extra couple of inches he had over Paul and managed to look down at him. “Is there such a thing as a good lawyer?”
Paul gave a short, unamused snort. “Right. Good one, Mr. Lambert.” He brushed his hands against the fabric on his legs, then turned back to Savannah. “We have the dental records in hand. It won’t take more than a day or two to determine whether this really is Travis McBride.”
“You’ll let me know?”
“As soon as I find out, I’ll call,” he promised, squeezing her arm lightly. B.J. stepped up between them, jostling Paul’s arm and generally making his larger size very evident.
Savannah wanted to smack him. Testosterone could be so annoying. Instead, she opted to ignore him. “I’ve got to get back to my office. I’ll talk to you soon, Paul.”
Stepping past B.J. as if he were a cement marker in her path, she headed toward her SUV, leaving Paul to wait for June, who was on her way up the hill now, too.
Of course, B.J. wouldn’t let it rest and go about his own business. He followed her until they were out of Paul’s hearing and then he started ranting. “What’s up with that guy? He was acting like he had some sort of prior claim on you or something.”
“Are you asking if Paul and I ever dated? If so, then yes, we did go out for a while. Now maybe you can answer a question for me.” She whirled on him, fighting back another urge to punch his broad shoulder. “What right did you have to act the part of the jealous lover? God, you did everything but pop him one in the face.”
“I thought about it,” B.J. admitted.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously. If he hadn’t interrupted us last night, we would be lovers by now and you know it.”
“Well, it’s a darn good thing he called then. I’d say his timing was absolutely perfect.”
B.J. shot her a look of affronted disbelief. “Damn it, woman. You drive me crazy. I’m thinking we’re finally getting somewhere and here you are jamming on the brakes again.”
He was right. She hadn’t been behaving rationally around him. And it wasn’t like her. She was known for keeping a cool head in a crisis. It was an essential part of her personality.
What was happening to her? Was she losing her sanity...like her mother?
“Hey. Don’t look like that.” B.J. was suddenly contrite, lowering his head to check her expression. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. Are you okay?”
Hell, there were tears in her eyes again. She shook her head, not sure how to answer him. When he held out his arms, she shook her head again. She wanted to feel his arms around her.
But— “I’m afraid,” she admitted.
She’d been alone for so long. She wasn’t sure she knew any other way to be. Dating Paul, and the other men who had come in and out of her life in the past eighteen years, had never threatened her peace of mind the way the idea of being with B.J. did.
What they felt for each other...it was just too strong.
“I’m afraid, too.”
She was shocked that he would admit it out loud like that. B.J. acted as if nothing on this earth could frighten him.
And yet, apparently, a relationship with her did.
“The crazy thing is, we both take chances almost every day. You’re a sheriff. I ride crazy broncos and bulls for a living. We’re not cowards.”
“That’s true,” she said, even though she wasn’t sure. Being brave on the job was one thing. Risking your heart, another.
“So let’s give this thing between us a chance. We can take it slow. Let me take you out to dinner?”
She wanted to say yes. She wanted to reach out to him, the way he was reaching out to her.
But was it the smart thing to do? Was it the respectable thing? She had so much on the line. Her job. Her reputation.
Her heart.
“I’ve got to think about this, B.J. Give me a few days.”
“Hell, Savannah.” He shook his head, clearly disappointed.
But he didn’t argue with her anymore. Just got in his truck and left.
Chapter Eleven
She was giving him the runaround something awful. Any other woman and he’d think she was playing games.
But Savannah wasn’t like that.
B.J. threw himself into his work—the best cure for heartache that he knew. Fortunately, there was plenty of that to be done. The next day he spent almost four hours with Dan Farley, helping the vet preg test the Coffee Creek Ranch mares. B.J. needed to know for sure which ones were pregnant and which ones still had to be bred.
When the job was done and they were leaving the mare barn, he asked the vet if he wanted a beer. “I could grab a couple from the house if you have a few minutes.”
“Is your mother home?” was Farley’s peculiar response.
“I think so. Why?”
“I’d rather not run into her if I can help it. She’ll only be after me about setting the wedding date.”
B.J. grinned. “What’s the problem? Getting cold feet about marrying my sister?” Fat chance of that happening. He knew damn well that Farley had been in love with Cassidy for half of his life.
“Cass can’t make up her mind. One minute she wants to elope. The next, she wants a big do. The rest of the time she talks about a small family affair.”
“And what do you want?”
“To marry Cassidy” was his simple, but heartfelt answer.
B.J. walked Farley to his vet truck then saw his old friend safely off before heading to the house to wash up. It was a good thing Farley had left when he did, because Olive was working on her laptop at the kitchen counter, trolling websites, looking for a new stallion, he supposed.
The two of them had talked about this last night. B.J. had showed her his analysis and explained his rationale for thinking it was time for them to invest in another stallion. It seemed his mother had been convinced if she was already shopping.
“Find any good prospects?” He grabbed a beer from the fridge and a leftover sandwich from the tray Bonny had made for lunch.
“Well, there’s Amber Ellis. She dated Farley a bit, but they were never serious.”
“Huh?�
� He plopped down on the stool next to his mom’s and took a look at the computer screen. Hell! His mother was on a dating site. “I thought you were searching for our new stallion.”
“Word’s going around that you were kissing Sheriff Moody in Monahan’s parking lot last week.” His mother looked at him reproachfully.
“Are you kidding me? Mom, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but it’s none of your business who I kiss.”
“But have you considered her background? Her father was a gambler and a drinker. And her mother is mentally ill. For all we know the problem is genetic.”
B.J. stared at his mother, dumbfounded that she would judge an amazing woman like Savannah based on the weaknesses of her parents. For the first time he realized that Savannah’s concerns about her reputation weren’t entirely groundless.
How many other people thought the way his mother did?
“She’s a good person, Mom.”
“I’m not saying she isn’t. Just that you can do better.”
Suddenly he made the connection. “Are you on that site looking for someone for me?”
“Don’t look so insulted. Everyone uses internet dating sites these days. And Amber—”
“Mom.” He held up his hand. “Hold it right there. Corb may put up with your meddling ways, but I won’t.”
His mother flinched at the word meddling. “I just want you to be happy, son.”
B.J. steeled himself against the waver in her voice. He knew his mother’s tricks. And he wasn’t giving in to them. He loved his mom and she’d been a good parent in many ways. When he was young, she’d always been there, nursing him when he was sick, helping with the school projects he’d always left to the last minute.
But life had been easier when their father was alive. Calm, steady Bob Lambert had known how to keep his more emotional wife on an even keel. Without his influence, Olive could easily get carried away.
“I appreciate your concern, Mom. But I’m thirty-four years old. How would you like it if I told you who to date?”
Promise from a Cowboy Page 12