“Roman called,” Lawson said. “You’d left your phone at the house so he called me.”
Garrett mentally repeated that hell. “What happened to him?” Better yet, had something happened to Roman’s twelve-year-old son? “Is Tate all right?”
“He didn’t mention Tate so everything must be okay with him.” Lawson paused. “Roman actually called about you. He’s worried about you.”
Garrett had learned never to be surprised by anything Roman did, but he was surprised now. “If he’s so worried, then why doesn’t he get his butt to the ranch to help with the paperwork?” Even better, Roman should do the paperwork.
Everything inside Garrett went still. Because it would have taken more than Garrett’s general well-being to prompt Roman to call.
Lawson paused again and took out his phone. “Roman has a friend over at one of the TV stations in San Antonio, and he sent Roman this. A reporter and his cameraman were filming a story on a planned dog park, and the cameraman accidently filmed this instead.”
Garrett couldn’t imagine why Lawson would be showing him anything about a dog park forty miles away, but he took the phone and pressed the play button on the video. It took him a few seconds to see past the reporter. A few more seconds to see what Lawson had brought to him.
“I’m sorry, Gare,” Lawson said. To the best of Garrett’s memory, that was his cousin’s one-and-only apology.
Garrett’s mother was always going on about life turning on a dime and the world tipping on its axis. Until recently, Garrett hadn’t had a true understanding of that—maybe he still didn’t—but he’d certainly gotten a taste of it. Lives could indeed turn. An axis could indeed tip.
And it’d just happened to him again.
* * *
SOPHIE CURSED THE rain that was just starting to spit at her. She also cursed the flat tire and the lug nut that wouldn’t budge. While she was at it, she cursed the text message she’d gotten from April the night before. This had been a crappy week, and the crap didn’t seem to be leveling off any.
Why did this have to happen today and on this stretch of the road? It was a dead zone for cell service, and the only traffic was that coming in and out of the ranch. With a storm moving in fast, it wasn’t likely that any of the hands, her cousin or brother would be headed this way. They’d no doubt hunker down until the weather cleared.
Sophie had considered waiting it out, too, but it might be morning before anyone came this way, and Garrett might think she was staying the night with Mila as she sometimes did.
Still cursing, she put the wrench on the lug nut again, and this time she tried to stand on one leg of the wrench, hoping that her weight would cause it to give way. It didn’t. The only thing that gave way was her footing, and she splatted onto the ground. At least she was wearing jeans and not a dress that would have landed over her head, but now the back of her jeans and butt were wet.
She tried once more and got the same results. This time her tailbone landed on a rock, and Sophie could have sworn she saw stars. Knowing it wouldn’t help, she still threw the wrench at the lug nut, and because it alleviated some of her frustrations, she picked it up and threw it again.
And that’s what Clay saw her doing when he pulled up beside her in his truck and let down his window.
“Who taught you how to use a lug wrench?” he asked, sounding way more amused than she was.
“Your mama.” Which, of course, was a childish thing to say, but her fun meter was tapped out.
She thought maybe he chuckled, something she’d never seen Clay do, but she couldn’t be sure because he turned to the side to get out of his truck. By the time he made it to her, there wasn’t a trace of a chuckle on his face.
His pretty face, she amended.
A face that’d nearly kissed her the night before. At least the lips on that face had nearly kissed her. Sophie had been telling herself that Brantley’s interruption was for the best, but it had put her in a sour mood. April’s text had only added more sourness, and that had clung to her like rain all day.
“The lug nut’s stuck,” she said. She retrieved the wrench and handed it to him so he could have a go.
“Why don’t you get inside the car, and I’ll see if I can fix this?” he suggested.
“Nice offer, thanks, but I don’t think I can get any wetter.” She frowned because that sounded a little sexual.
Clay thankfully didn’t seem to notice. He twisted the wrench. And twisted. He gave it an adjustment and tried again until the veins on his neck were bulging.
“Yep, it’s stuck.” He stood, his gaze meeting hers, but he immediately looked back at his truck. “I’ve got some Mighty Lube. It might work on this.”
He leaned over the truck bed, giving her a nice view of his butt. Since he didn’t notice that she was noticing, Sophie took in the view, too. All in all, it was good viewing material and a reminder that a butt like that probably looked as good out of the jeans as it did in them.
“For the record, you probably could get a little wetter,” he commented. “But you could also get inside the car just to stop that from happening.”
Sophie was fresh out of return insults so she just repeated, “Your mama.”
Clay made a sound that could have possibly been a chuckle and fished around in his tool box so Sophie kept watching. He wasn’t overly muscled, but there was enough of them to strain nicely against his shirt. The rain helped with that because, like her, he was quickly getting drenched. A reminder that he probably looked just as good out of that shirt as he did in it.
After a few more seconds of watching him, she’d mentally undressed him and had sex with him. She was probably flushed, and that’s why he did a double take when he turned back around.
But Sophie did a double take, too.
Not because of straining muscles and butt-framing jeans but because Clay was holding a huge can of Mighty Lube. Not the size you’d buy at a gas station but rather one from the big box store.
“Uh, you always carry that in your truck?” she asked.
“No. But Vita gave it to me a while back. Actually, she said it was for you.” He looked a little unnerved by that. “You don’t think she had a vision or something?”
“No vision. Over the years, I’ve had several flats on this very road. I suspect it’s Ordell Busby’s boys. They salt your property with chicken feed, and they salt the road with nails.”
He frowned again, but this time it was a cop’s frown. Sophie figured that he’d soon be having a chat with Ordell and his pranking offspring.
Clay sprayed the lube on the nut, but the lube bottle had such a phallic shape to it that Sophie decided it was best to look away. She’d already had enough mental foreplay. Still, she could hear Clay struggling, struggling some more and then cursing.
“It’s really stuck on there.” He glanced at the ground, and for a moment she thought he might throw the wrench there in frustration, but then she noticed he was looking at the little white pellets that were starting to land around them.
Hail.
Great. Now, in addition to being soaked, she was going to have welts on her body.
Sophie scrambled into the car, climbing over into the passenger’s seat so that she could pull Clay in with her. He still had the Mighty Lube with him, and he tossed it on her dash so he could start the car and turn on the heater. Of course, the air was cold since the engine hadn’t warmed up yet, and suddenly the car felt as if it’d shrunk to half its original size. That’s because Clay had a way of taking up space.
A good kind of way since his shoulder was practically touching hers.
She looked at him. He looked at her. And she got those foreplay thoughts again. However, as Clay usually did, he glanced away, his attention landing on the backseat. And he frowned. She doubted the frown was because he’d realized i
t was too small an area for comfortable sex so she had a look for herself.
And saw the pink envelope.
He recognized it, of course, since he’d been there when Brantley had given it to her.
“I thought you would have gone ahead and opened it,” he said.
“Nope. I’m putting it off until B-day which isn’t until tomorrow. I’m not exactly looking forward to what’s in it.”
“So Brantley said. He called a little while ago to see if you’d opened it and if so how you were handling it. That’s why I came out here, to see if you were okay.”
It riled her that Brantley was still concerned about her. She didn’t want his concern. But it did make her wonder if her ex knew what was in the letter. Brantley hadn’t been a lawyer ten years ago when her father had written it, but it was possible that Brantley had opened it and then resealed it since it’d been in his law firm’s files all this time.
“You’re expecting it to be bad news?” he asked.
Sophie nodded. “My dad’s messages from the grave can be unpredictable, and that’s why Roman burned his when he turned thirty. But the lawyer’s office had other copies, and they said they would keep sending it until he read it.”
Clay slid her a confused-looking glance. “How would the lawyers know if you’d read it or not?”
“My dad liked to play games. Or rather liked to play God, and he must have known that Roman wouldn’t cooperate. There was a password at the bottom of Roman’s, and he had to give that password to the lawyers to turn off the flow of future copies.”
Clay cursed under his breath. “What was in Garrett’s that was so bad?”
“Well, he peppered the bad with the good first. He left Garrett a collection of rodeo buckles from our grandfather. Garrett had always treasured those as a kid, but we couldn’t find them after Dad’s death. Turns out Dad had locked them away in a safe-deposit box. But he also made Garrett the CEO of Granger Western.”
“Garrett didn’t want that?”
“No way. Garrett wanted me to have it so he could run the ranch. I was eighteen when our dad first got diagnosed with cancer, and Garrett made him promise that I’d be CEO once I was old enough. But our dad obviously reneged on that.”
“He knew Garrett didn’t want the business, but he forced it on him anyway,” Clay concluded.
“That’s exactly what he did, and to make sure Garrett carried through on his wishes, there was a codicil to my father’s will in the letter. If at any point Garrett walked away from the company or didn’t fulfill all his duties as CEO, then Granger Western was to be sold to a nonfamily member. No friends, either. In fact, there’s a long list of people who wouldn’t be able to buy it.”
Her father had done that to make certain Garrett and she didn’t set it up as a dummy company that she could then run.
“In addition,” she went on, “if Garrett steps down as CEO, a lawsuit would immediately be filed against our cousins, Lawson and his brothers.”
Judging from the surprised glance Clay gave her, that was one bit of gossip he hadn’t heard yet. Or maybe folks genuinely didn’t know. If so, it would be the one-and-only thing her family had managed to keep secret.
“There’s an old feud between the two branches of the Granger family,” she explained. “We own the land east of the town. They own nearly equal acreage on the north side. The creek and a sliver of land divide the properties, and that’s what’s in dispute. Who owns it—them or us? There’s no way Garrett or I want to bring the lawyers in on that. It would be a nasty public battle that neither of us want.”
Clay stayed quiet a moment. “Your father was a sick bastard.”
“Yes, he was. And it didn’t get better with Roman when he got his letter from the grave. Dad set up a trust fund for Roman’s son, Tate, and then he sprang another codicil to his will on him. He made Roman the owner of the ranch. Until then, all of us, including our mother, had been co-owners, but Dad gave it to the one Granger who wanted no part of it.”
“Obviously that didn’t work. That didn’t bring Roman back here.”
“No. But you can see why I’m not so anxious to read mine.” Enough about her problems, though. Then Sophie remembered something she’d been meaning to mention to Clay. “Reena said you get a pink envelope every month delivered to the police station. My father didn’t know you, did he?”
“No. They’re not from your father.” He shook his head, looked out the window. “I talked to my sister about that text she sent you. I’m sorry about it and wish I could say it won’t happen again. She’s young, immature and dealing with mood swings from the pregnancy.”
Well, this change of subject wasn’t any more pleasant than the letters. “April’s right in a way. If I’m around, it won’t make her life pleasant. That’s why I was trying to avoid Brantley. And you. Obviously, I’m not doing a good job of that when it comes to you,” she added in a mumble.
Clay continued to look out the window. Sophie figured he was going to confirm that she wasn’t doing a good job but they needed to keep trying, for the sake of his sister.
But he didn’t say that.
“Close your eyes,” he said, his voice all low and manly.
Sophie glanced around to make sure there wasn’t something she wasn’t supposed to see, like a pervert flasher or an animal about to be hit on the road. But there was nothing like that. Only Clay, their vehicles and the hail.
“Close your eyes,” he repeated, and this time she got a better clue as to why he’d wanted her to do that.
He turned, and in the same motion his mouth came to hers. And he gave Sophie exactly what she’d been fantasizing about for months.
Clay kissed her.
* * *
KISSING SOPHIE WASN’T STUPID.
Nope.
It was well past that. Clay should be doing everything to keep some distance between them, and yet here he was, hauling her across the seat and planting a kiss on her.
She made a little sound of pleasure—which didn’t help—and she kissed him right back. That didn’t help, either, and it should have been Clay’s signal to put an end to the lip-lock. Then, he could apologize and step out into the hail so the ice chunks could maybe knock some sense into him.
But he stayed put.
In part because Sophie took hold of his jacket collar and held on. Also in part because he didn’t want to leave. Not with that slam of pleasure making its way from his mouth to other parts of him. One part in particular was pleased with the sensation, but Clay didn’t intend to let that part have a say in this.
The kiss went on and on, and since he’d already launched into this bad decision, Clay decided to keep launching. He deepened the kiss, dragging Sophie even closer to him until she was practically in his lap.
It was too much, too soon for a first kiss, but then Sophie and he had been skirting around this attraction for a while now, and it had clearly built up. Like a pressure cooker, hissing and chugging and ready to go off. The problem with that was it was not a good location for him to make this anything more than just a kiss. They were on the side of the road where anyone could come driving up, and it was daylight. Added to that he was a cop, and if this went beyond the kiss stage, he might have to arrest himself for indecent exposure.
Despite those good arguments, Clay didn’t stop, and Sophie played dirty by sliding her fingers up his neck, running her fingers through his hair, tugging gently on his ear. Normally, those weren’t hot spots for him, but apparently everything was a hot spot where Sophie was concerned.
Somehow, he managed to get her even closer though it came at a cost. Clay banged his funny bone on the steering wheel. Definitely not funny. And he had to pause the kiss so he could curse. Good thing, too, because that’s when Clay realized he was getting light-headed from lack of oxygen.
“
Wow,” she said. Gulping in some fast breaths, Sophie lowered her head to the crook of his neck. “I mean I’d expected a wow but not this much of one. My toes are tingling.”
“If that’s the only thing tingling, then I didn’t do it right.”
She laughed, her warm breath brushing against his neck. Now, that was a hot spot for him, and she must have sensed that from the grunt he made because she kissed him there.
“This is wrong,” she added. It probably would have been a more convincing argument if she hadn’t tongued the spot on his neck that she’d just kissed.
“Yeah, it is,” he verified. It probably would have been a more convincing argument if he hadn’t taken hold of the back of her hair and angled her so that he could kiss her again.
Somehow with all the maneuvering and kissing, her breasts landed against his chest. It hadn’t been easy. It had required him to twist in the seat, and this time he banged his knee on the gearshift.
He’d have bruises. Sophie would, too, because her elbow had an encounter with the steering wheel. With the horn, as well, the unexpected sound so jarring Clay nearly stopped what he was doing. But he didn’t until he heard something else.
A tapping sound on the glass.
It wasn’t the same sounds the hail had been making. This was slightly louder and more rhythmic.
“Oh, God.” Sophie scrambled to get off him, but it took Clay a moment to turn and see what had caused her to look as if she’d just seen a ghost. Just in case it was a real threat, Clay drew his gun.
And he came face-to-face with a man.
The guy was right there, staring in at them from beneath the brim of a black cowboy hat. How the devil had this clown gotten so close without Clay noticing? And when had it stopped hailing? He didn’t know a lot of things right now other than Sophie repeated that Oh, God a couple more times.
“Back up some so I can open the door,” Clay warned the Peeping Tom.
The guy smiled in a lazy but cocky way that only he and a rock star could have managed, and he lifted his hands in the air. He sort of resembled a rock star, too, in that black leather jacket, but the rest of his clothes were pure cowboy right down to that big shiny rodeo buckle.
Those Texas Nights Page 10