by Lori Wilde
The melancholy she’d felt in the kitchen was back, settling into her bones in a new way. She wondered how losing his father so young had changed him. It couldn’t have been easy.
“Thank you,” she said. “For sharing.”
That shoulder lift again. Water off a duck’s back. But he didn’t fool her.
“So, your dad was a professional cowboy?” she said.
“No.” Rick shook his head. “Raising bulls was his hobby, his passion. By profession, he was a cop.”
She really didn’t know what Rick did for a living. Barely knew him at all. A tiny snake of fear coiled in the bottom of her pelvis, but she pushed it aside because she didn’t understand it.
“Try getting away with anything when your dad is in law enforcement,” Rick said. “I got busted every single time I played hooky from school or snuck out the bedroom window to go hangout with my friends. Of course,” he wriggled his eyebrows comically, “I did learn how to do creative things with handcuffs.”
“You’ll have to show me that skill sometime.” She laughed, but then cut if off quickly. She didn’t want him to think she expected anything from him. Like a future.
“Hmm,” he said, a sultry look coming into his eyes, a devilish grin yanking up the corners of his mouth. “Sounds like a fun date.”
A thrilled rushed through her at that look, his smile. Maybe, possibly, there was something big here. Fingers crossed. Hopes raised. Darn it. She couldn’t help herself.
“Dad dreamed of retiring early, becoming a full-time rancher. He wanted to leave a legacy for me and my…” He paused as if he had planned on saying something else, hunched his shoulders, shifted his gaze to the photographs. “Us kids. He loved to brainstorm names for the ranch. Small Wonders Ranch was his favorite because he said it would be a small wonder if it ever happened. He’d put down earnest money on some land in Weatherford the day before he was killed in the line of duty.”
Allie reached for Rick’s hand, interlaced her fingers through his. Felt the throb of his pulse sear through her palm. She squeezed his hand. Said nothing. What was there to say? She couldn’t fix the past. Couldn’t change things for him.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
“For what?”
“Listening.”
Allie hugged him tight. He rested his chin on the top of her head. She’d gotten a miracle in her life with the cancer. He hadn’t been so lucky. “Your dad would be proud of you becoming a cowboy.”
“I don’t know about that,” he said, tilting her face up so he could drop a kiss on her lips. “Stripping off my shirt for tourists and playacting at being a cowboy is a lot different from actually being a cowboy.”
“Cowboy is as cowboy does,” she quipped around the sweet pressure of his mouth. “If you do cowboy things that makes you a cowboy.”
He pulled back, peered at her. “In the eyes of camera-wielding Yankee tourists, maybe.”
“Cut yourself some slack.”
A rueful smile claimed his face. “My dad used to say the same thing. He said I was too hard on myself.”
“Smart man.”
“He would have liked you.” His voice held a light, wistful note.
A shaft of sunlight slipped through the partially opened blinds, casting his handsome cheeks in angular shadows. Her heart swooped, dove.
Allie sighed. “I have to go get ready for work.”
“No time for breakfast?” he asked. “I make a mean frittata.”
She shrugged shyly, her self-consciousness roaring back. Shook her head. The longer she stayed, the more likely it was she’d start spinning forever fantasies. She was too good at that.
“You prefer French toast?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “Eggs are fine, but…I really can’t stay.”
“Why not?”
“My mom calls me every morning at seven-thirty. She’ll flip if I don’t answer.”
“You can talk to her here,” he said. “I’ll leave the room. Or, you can text her and tell her that you’re having breakfast with a friend and you’ll call her later.”
“Then she’ll want to know what friend and I’m just not very good at lying.”
“Your mother is all up in your business, huh?”
“Our relationship is a work in progress. I’m weaning her off slowly.”
“So just tell her the truth.”
Allie groaned. “Then she’ll want to know everything about you.”
“Oh,” he said, his pupils constricting to pinpricks. “I get it.”
“Get what?” She cocked her head, confused.
“You’re ashamed of me.” He sounded hurt.
“That’s not it. Not at all.”
“No?”
They stood there looking at each other, and in that bath of sunlight, she saw everything that was wrong with her life. She cruised along on the current, not resisting where circumstances took her. Just floated. Surrendered. Trusted. Sometimes that was a good thing. Trusting that it was okay to let go of control had gotten her through many dark
days with surprising ease. But sometimes, like now, not resisting, not having a strong opinion, not standing up for what she wanted, robbed her of her independence.
“You know what?” she said. “I think I will have that frittata.”
Rick grinned and rubbed his palms together, headed for the kitchen. Allie located her purse where she’d dropped it in the foyer the night before, dug out her cell phone, and texted her mom.
Late night. Busy A.M. Call U later.
She closed her phone, feeling more powerful and liberated than she’d ever felt. This was her life and she was in the driver’s seat.
The cardinal sin of undercover work? Sleeping with a suspect.
Last night, Kade had committed the biggest bonehead move of his career. He’d let his desire for Allie seduce him into believing it was okay to cross that line.
What had he been thinking?
That was just it. He hadn’t been thinking. Now here he was, Allie looking at him with sweet eyes and expectations he couldn’t fulfill.
Not as long as he was undercover and she was working for Thorn.
Poignant regret took a bite out of him. He felt the pain as a hollow ache deep inside his heart. Not that he regretted sleeping with her. Rather, he regretted lying to her. Yes, it was his job. Yes, if he hoped to catch Thorn, he still could not come clean. The problem was, he’d jumped the gun and took her to bed before he should have, and now he had a horrible feeling he’d ruined any long term chances he had with Allie.
Not to mention putting his promotion in jeopardy.
You screwed up, Richmond.
Was there any way to make it right?
A frittata is not going to do it.
Maybe not, but at least he could feed her, and while he did that, maybe he could nudge her to talk more about Thorn. The sooner he could nail the art thief, the sooner he could tell Allie who he was, and the sooner he could make his intentions known.
Assuming she’ll still talk to you.
“Can I do anything to help?” she asked, planting her sexy little butt on the countertop.
God, she was adorable wearing his shirt.
“You’re doing it.”
“What’s that?” She swished her legs back and forth, lightly bumping them against the cabinets.
“Looking absolutely gorgeous.”
She ran a hand through her hair, lowered her lashes in a shy gesture. “Well, Fiddlesticks, Mr. Braedon, you are a smooth talker.”
Hell, even her sayings were cute. But it was a punch of reality to hear her call him by his alias.
“You like mushrooms, onions, and garlic?” he mumbled, wishing he could just come clean.
“Yes, please.”
“Coming right up.” He worked for a few minutes, sautéing the vegetables in a skillet before adding the eggs, trying to work out the best way to steer the conversation around to Thorn.
“So,” he said as he popped the frittata
into the oven. “What’s your work schedule like today?”
“You know I won’t have time for a lunch break,” she said.
He stepped over to her and she wrapped her legs around his waist, drew him closer to her. “Me either. Biggest Stockyard tourist weekend of the year.”
“Kiss me,” she said.
In for a penny, in for a pound. No putting the genie back in that bottle. He might as well take his kisses where he could get them. When she found out he’d been lying to her, using her to catch a thief, well, this might be the last kiss he ever got from her. He should make it count.
He kissed her long and slow, savoring the moment, savoring her. “No break between the Visitors’ Center and the popup gallery?” he asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “Today is a big day. They’re bringing in the Remington this morning for the start of the long weekend and security will be tight. Extra protocol to wade through and some dignitaries are coming in for a VIP reception this afternoon. I’m actually sneaking out of the Visitors’ Center early to get over there and help set up.”
“Dang,” he said. “I was hoping to get a minute or two alone with you.”
“Not until after the Fourth,” she reminded him. “Dr. Thorn is on edge with the rolling blackouts, and he’s terrified that if a blackout happens while the Remington is in the gallery, someone might try to steal it. He’s got a backup generator, flashlights, and lanterns on hand in case the electricity goes out.”
“I’m sure the Fort Worth PD have it under control,” he said, feeling his muscles bunch and tighten.
“Oh, Dr. Thorn has hired his own security, too,” Allie said.
“He’s that nervous over a rolling blackout?”
“We have had three this summer. The heat is taxing the AC in the aging Stockyard buildings.”
What was Thorn up to? Why hire extra security if he wanted to steal the painting? Unless the “security” he was hiring was actually part of the theft ring. Mental note: Check to see if Thorn hired extra security in the other places he worked, and check to see if there had been any power outages on the off chance there was more to the rolling blackouts than it seemed on the surface.
Then again, who knew? Maybe Thorn wasn’t even involved. Maybe it was someone in his employ.
Like Allie?
He studied her. Soft smile. Slender, delicate fingers rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to her elbows. Mussed hair tangled about her shoulders.
No way. He didn’t believe that for a second. But he was a cop. He had to at least consider the possibility.
The oven timer dinged. He grabbed the hot pad, took out the sizzling skillet.
“That smells so good.” Allie leaned over his arm, inhaled deeply, her chest rising with her breath.
He dished up the frittata and they sat down at his kitchen table across from each other.
“Omigosh.” She moaned. “This tastes even better than it smells. Where did you learn to cook?”
“Mom believed in sexual equality. Boys should learn how to cook and girls should learn how to maintain their cars.”
“Can your twin brother, Kade, cook this well?” she asked.
Guilt was a buzz saw, cutting him up into tiny pieces. He wanted to tell her the truth, come clean about who he was and why he’d lied to her. He knew that would be the worst possible thing he could do, but jelly beans and jawbreakers, it took everything he had in him not to do it anyway. This was dangerous territory, and he couldn’t risk her asking too many questions about his “twin” and raise her suspicions.
“Do you cook?” he asked instead.
“Not like this.” She shook her head, gave him the lazy smile of someone who was well and truly satisfied. “You could be on a cooking show.”
He snorted, guilt making him sound a little too harsh. “No, thanks.”
They fell silent. Kade pushed his eggs around on the plate. His appetite had vanished.
“May I ask you a question?” Allie asked a few minutes later, her voice coming out thin and low.
He raised his head and she stared at him as if she were trying to figure out a complicated puzzle. The corner of her bottom lip caught up between her teeth. Just a few hours ago, he’d been nibbling on that delectable lip as if he owned it.
“Depends on the question,” he hedged, and braced himself for more questions about his mysterious brother.
She put down her fork, took another big inhale as if she too were bracing herself for something that could change their entire relationship. Her eyes fixed on his and there was an undercurrent of intense emotion blowing her pupils wide open, dark and unfathomable. “What’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told?”
Oh, shit! He was busted. She knew he didn’t have a twin brother. Knew he’d been lying to her. The hairs on the nape of his neck lifted, arched, and the chair seemed to melt away beneath him. His mouth was dry, his skin rippling.
“Allie, I—”
“I ask,” she said, speaking so quickly her words rolled together, “because I’ve been living with this lie, and I don’t know what to do about it. If I tell the truth, I’ll lose my job at the popup, but if I don’t tell the truth, and I end up getting a permanent job with Dr. Thorn…well…the lie will be this ticking time bomb just waiting to explode.”
“Hold up.” He blinked, not sure he was following her. “What?”
“I lied to get the job at the art gallery,” she said. “Or rather, I didn’t correct an erroneous perception they had about me.”
“They who?”
“Dr. Thorn and Ennui.”
“Ennui?” Kade scratched his head.
“Oops, sorry.” Allie grinned and slapped her palm over her mouth. “She’s Dr. Thorn’s personal assistant. Her real name is Daphne, but she acts so bored with life, in my head, I call her Ennui.”
“What was the lie?” he asked, relieved that she wasn’t on to him. His mouth filled with a strange taste, metallic, bitter, salty. The taste of guilt.
“Ennui er…Daphne…insinuated that if I knew a woman named Lila, I’d be much more likely to get the job. So, when Dr. Thorn assumed that this Lila person had recommended me for the job, I didn’t correct him.”
“Who is Lila?”
“I don’t know.” She hung her head, set down her fork. “I got the job over a dozen other people because I wasn’t honest.”
“It sounds like Enn—Daphne set you up to lie.” Kade stroked his chin with his thumb. His thoughts shifted, rearranged. Maybe it was Daphne behind the thefts and not Thorn.
“I didn’t want to do it.” Allie wrung her hands. “I knew it was wrong, but I really needed this job. I can’t move back in with my parents. Not when I’m finally carving out a life of my own.” She pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. “Wow, that sounds like an excuse.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” He rested a hand on her arm and she turned her palm up. She did it so automatically, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to turn to him for comfort, that a whiplash of fear cracked through him as startling and as potent as an explosion, blowing up across his nerve endings, blinding him with hot reality.
He was lying to her far worse than she was lying to Thorn. Holding back the truth to catch a thief, but at what cost to their relationship?
Kade had told so many lies as an undercover officer. Told himself it was necessary. Thought about how he’d lied to gain Angi’s trust in order to infiltrate the drug gang.
For a split second, he was back at that apartment complex, his mouth hanging open in shocked disbelief as he stared at the young stripper’s twisted neck and broken body—knowing he was in part responsible, that his lies had been an instrument of her death. His heart belted his chest, knocking against his ribs with hard, insistent raps.
“So, what should I do?” Allie whispered and raised her head, met his gaze with those magnificent purple-blue eyes. “Should I just go ahead and tell Dr. Thorn the truth? That I have no idea who Lila is, and let the chips f
all where they may?”
Christ, he felt like a shitheel. Kade threaded his hands through his hair, gently eased her upright in her chair. “No,” he said, hating himself for it. “You need the job. It’ll be over in a few weeks. If Thorn offers you a permanent position, you can tell him then.”
“Yes.” Allie nodded. “You’re right. Don’t rock the boat. That makes the most sense.”
He smiled at her, feeling like a total fraud.
“Thanks,” she said, glanced at the kitchen clock on the wall. “Oh, my, is that the time? I’ve got to go.” She pushed back her chair and so did he. “Last night was…” She blushed. “You were…well, maybe we can do this again sometime.”
He had an overwhelming urge to tell her that all he wanted to do was stay in bed with her, that he wanted to get to know her better, that he cared about her, that he was falling in love with her.
But he couldn’t do that.
And when she found out he’d been untruthful, and she didn’t even know the real name of the man she’d slept with? Kade had an ugly feeling that his straight-arrow Rosy would kick his lying ass to the curb.
She looked at him with hope in those gorgeous eyes and he had no idea what to tell her, so he met her smile and mumbled, “Maybe.”
Chapter 9
Maybe? Allie texted Tasha as she left Rick’s apartment. What the hell does that mean?
Tasha: Wait, what? U slept with him?
Allie: Don’t judge. U went back to the guy who dumped U.
Tasha: Not judging. UR just not the type to sleep with a guy U have only known just over a week.
True enough, but Allie was changing. Shifting from the go-with-the-flow, good girl into a woman who took charge of her sexuality and her life. She liked it, this change. Except for the “maybe” thing. What did that mean? Where did she stand with Rick?
Later, Allie texted as she reached the elevator, pocketed her phone, and stepped inside.
“Allie, hold the elevator!” a woman called.
She put her hand against the door to hold it open for the woman to catch up. It was Mindy Renfro, the manager of the Goodnight.