by Lori Wilde
“I can give you a damn good description of him and a little less detailed description of the car he was driving. It was a Chevy Cruise. Dark colored. Couldn’t read the plate. It was probably a rental. And we got his gun. I don’t know if his prints are still there. I knocked it out of his hand and then had to grab it before he did.”
“Let’s hope it’s enough.” Mark rubbed his jaw with the back of his hand and studied Jake. “I’m worried.”
“About?” Jake asked.
“If the note on Jennifer’s car is from this same guy, there’s no telling how long he’s been following her. And I know Jennifer’s been to my house at least four times. If this is a real hit man, and if he’s followed her. . .
“Shit. So, it’s not just Jennifer we have to worry about,” Jake said.
It was almost one when Clay parked his truck in front of the old farmhouse. Bugs of all sorts swarmed around the front porch light. No doubt Pete had left it on for him.
He sat in his truck for a few seconds and just stared at the house. It didn’t feel like his yet. Kind of felt like Pete’s place since the man had lived there for over ten years. No way in hell could Clay ask him to leave.
Getting out, he walked up the porch. He was so hungry he thought about opening his mouth and letting a few bugs fly in. He’d driven ten miles, in each direction, hoping to find a fast-food place still open. Dolly, and the two small neighboring towns, rolled up the carpet at ten. Damn, he hoped there was something in the fridge he could eat.
He started to put in the key, but then reached down to see if it was even locked. It wasn’t. It was nice to think most people felt safe in this town, but he didn’t trust it. Look what had happened tonight.
The sheriff had made him go over things a dozen times. Clay knew the man was just doing his job, but it felt different being on the citizen side of the desk.
He walked inside, careful not to be too loud, but the old wood floor still creaked. His mind creaked with it. Tonight, being pushed back into the role of cop had felt right. Well, almost right. Then he remembered how it had felt to have a soft woman lean against him. And that smile. Damn that smile.
He dropped his keys on an old antique sewing machine in the front entrance and headed right to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he saw a shitload of plastic containers and foil-covered dishes.
Then he remembered Pete telling him about the Daughters of the American Revolution bringing food. He was not marrying one of their daughters, but considering there were children going hungry all over the world, he was obligated to eat their food.
He started pulling out different containers. Then he saw what looked like a coconut pie. He was shitting in high cotton now. He loved coconut pie. Grabbing a plate, he dished up more beef stew than he probably needed, added some green beans to the side and stuck it in the microwave. While that heated, he started eating pie right out of the pie plate.
“Holy hell!” he muttered when the flavor danced on his tongue. His stomach, so empty, begged him to swallow before savoring it, and he shoved another bite into his mouth.
“Told ya.”
Clay turned around, and Pete stood in long johns at the kitchen door. Clay swallowed down another bit of fluffy sweetness. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist you marry one of them.”
“They want you.” Pete laughed, then frowned when his gaze lowered to see Clay eating out of the pie pan. “Save me some!”
Clay looked down. “You already ate half.”
“Yeah, but I had to be nice to ’em, and it took some finagling to get them to leave the food.”
Clay used the fork to cut off a piece of pie. He grabbed a saucer, pushed the piece onto it and passed it to Pete.
Pete moseyed across the kitchen to get a fork. He shoved a big bite into his mouth and studied Clay. When he swallowed, he dropped down onto a kitchen chair. “Heard you played hero tonight to some brunette?”
“How did you hear that?”
“Deputy told his wife. The wife told her neighbor. The neighbor is part of the gossip mill. I was going to go down, but then I heard you were prancing around naked.” Humor lit up his faded grey eyes. “Didn’t think I needed to see that.” He laughed.
“That is what I don’t miss about small towns,” Clay said. “You pee crooked, and the whole town knows.”
“Yeah, but it keeps you peeing on the straight and narrow.”
“And I think how I piss is my own business.”
Pete forked another bite of pie and slid it into his mouth. The microwave dinged. Clay stood up to get his food.
When he sat back down, he took a big bite of stew. “Damn.”
Pete chucked, and they both went back to eating. “Is she pretty?”
“Who?” Clay asked.
“The brunette. The one you were prancing around naked in front of.”
“I didn’t notice.” He swallowed the lie down with his next bite of stew.
“Naked?” Bethany asked, and then she, Savanna and Macy all burst out laughing.
“He was in the shower,” Jennifer explained.
Bethany and Savanna had met her at the hospital the previous night, but by the time she’d had her head sewed up and hand x-rayed—which was only sprained—it had been past midnight, and she’d insisted they leave. It wasn’t as if she’d be alone. She had a guard sitting outside her door. But . . .
But . . . someone had tried to kill her. She was trying really hard to come to terms with that. She just couldn’t seem to find the handle on those terms.
And God help her, but the thought of Savanna and the baby being anywhere near big, bald Bad Guy made her sick to her stomach.
Yet, at nine this morning her support group, including pregnant Savanna, had started arriving. Macy, Jake’s wife, had returned. Jennifer would admit having her friends around her almost made everything feel normal. But it wasn’t. Someone had tried to kill her!
The conversation started off downhill with Savanna insisting Jennifer come stay at her house. Jennifer insisted she wouldn’t. No way was she subjecting her pregnant friend to even the mere possibility of getting caught up in this.
Then, too tired to argue and needing a change in conversation, she filled them in on juicier details of the night. She knew they’d eat it up. She didn’t mind thinking about it again, either.
“Was he hard to look at?” Savanna asked. “I mean, there’s naked and then there’s . . . naakeed.”
Jennifer grinned. “Actually, the view was quite nice.” She recalled with clarity just how nice. He’d made her feel . . . safe. For one second she relived it, feeling his arm around her. Her cheek against his warm bare chest.
“Good. Because he was interested,” Macy said. “Jake said he saw a spark. And since you’re now available . . . I’m insulted I had to learn this from my husband, by the way.” She gave all three of them a dirty look.
“That’s what you get for going out of town,” Savanna told her.
“One day. I was gone one day. And when big stuff happens, I expect a call.”
“Wait,” Bethany said. “So, Naked Hero is age appropriate?”
“Stop,” Jennifer said. “He could be married for all I know.” Though he didn’t have a wedding ring. She’d checked. She’d checked other things, too. In spite of how she wished differently, her naked hero was not her man.
“Not married,” Macy piped up. “His name is Clay Connors. He inherited his grandfather’s property. Jake went to the academy with him. He’s divorced.”
“He’s a cop?” Jennifer asked. “I thought--”
“Was a cop,” Macy added.
“More importantly,” Savanna said, “what about all your requirements?” Her smile widened. “Did he have a tiny penis?”
“What?” Macy laughed.
“She’s looking for a hairy, short, funeral director sporting nothing more than a nub,” Bethany said. When Macy’s jaw dropped, Bethany added. “But first let her answer, and I’ll explain later.” Her gaze shot ba
ck to Jennifer. “Size it up for us.”
They laughed, Jennifer frowned. Then she realized this was what she needed. “He’s not a contender. I tried not to look, but . . . it was there . . . and it is much more than a nub.” She put her hand over her lips. “At one point, he used a cowboy hat to cover it.”
“Ride a cowboy, save a horse,” Bethany blurted out, laughing.
Jennifer shook her head. “And it’s not just that, he . . . the divorce rate for junkyard entrepreneurs is just a hair below roofers.”
“I’m lost again,” Macy said.
“Divorce rates,” Bethany explained. “She found a site that gives you the divorce rates for all careers. Hence the need for a funeral director.”
Macy’s mouth dropped open. “Funeral directors don’t get divorced?”
“Very few,” Bethany explained, “but I’m betting it’s because none of them get married, especially the ones with itty bitty nubs.”
“Stop guys,” Savanna said. “You’re ruining my vision. I’m still with the cowboy hat.” She glanced at Jennifer. “The whole hat? Was it a big hat? Ten gallon?”
They all started laughing again.
The knock had them sobering and turning to the door. “Come in,” Jennifer said, hoping it was the doctor coming to release her. But as soon as that thought hit, she remembered she’d be alone.
Being alone would be scary as hell, but she’d take that over putting her friends’ lives in danger.
The door swished opened. When her now-clothed-once-naked-cowboy-hero walked in, her face got hot. Her heart did a tango. Her lungs went on strike. And yet . . . she instantly felt safer.
She couldn’t explain it. Perhaps it was a symptom of his having saved her life.
He wore a pale green t-shirt with John Deere written across the front, jeans that were tight enough to look good, loose enough to look worked in, and a pair of scuffed-up boots that said he was the real thing.
A real cowboy.
And punctuating that point . . . was the old, tan cowboy hat he held in his hand, slowly tapping against his thigh. She’d bet her next meal—especially if it was hospital food—that he’d fed livestock this morning.
The funny girl-talk ambience exploded into sheer awkwardness. Silence swelled in the white room. Everyone stared at his cowboy hat tap-tapping against his thigh.
And bam, she realized what everyone was thinking. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Jennifer opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Clay, the non-contender, stood there in the awkward haze. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had company. I’ll come back.” He stepped away.
“No,” Savanna blurted out when Jennifer couldn’t spit out a word. “Are you Clay?” She glanced at Jennifer, her lips almost quivering—no doubt holding back a laugh.
“Yes. I . . . Jake asked me to bring Jennifer’s car here. He’s . . .” Clay met Jennifer’s panicked gaze. “He’s supposed to meet me here to give me a lift back.”
Jennifer tried to smile, but it came out shaky and without a smidgen of confidence. Face it, she had on no makeup, hadn’t combed her hair, still felt crusty dried blood on her scalp, hadn’t brushed her teeth, her girls were flying free range, and she’d just been talking about the size of this guy’s penis.
Her bare bottom shifted under the sheets, and she became instantly aware she was also panty-less.
Confidence was in short supply.
Chapter 4
Clay wasn’t sure what he’d walked into, but the room felt so filled with estrogen his testosterone curled up into the fetal position, yelled uncle, and took cover behind his liver.
“Hi, Clay,” the other brunette in the room spoke up. “I’m Macy, Jake’s wife. He called me five minutes ago, and said he’s running late.”
Clay nodded then shifted his gaze back to Jennifer. She looked like a fine mess. Hair a little tossed, make-up gone. Her eyes looked rounder, bluer. She appeared even prettier than last night. “Fine. I’ll just wait . . . out here.” He took another step back.
“No,” the very pregnant blonde spoke up again. “I’m leaving. I’m Savanna Donaldson. My husband, Mark, met you last night.”
“Yes,” Clay said, still feeling like a dog who’d walked into a cat house. “But I can just…” He motioned to the door.
“I’m leaving, too.” The redhead spoke up. “I’m Bethany, Jennifer’s friend. Thank you for saving her.”
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
“I beg to differ. It was big,” Jennifer said. Then her eyes rounded as if she’d said something wrong. Two of the three women started coughing to cover up laughter.
Jennifer glared at them. All their eyes went back to him or rather his hat that he held against his leg.
He shifted from booted foot to booted foot.
“I’ll walk you out,” Macy said to Bethany and Savanna.
They all piled through the door. Jennifer stared after them as if she wanted to follow.
“I feel like I chased them off,” he said. “Sorry.”
“No, uh, it’s fine.” She pulled the sheet up another inch. When the chorus of laughter leaked in from the hall, she frowned and sank deeper into the bed.
He glanced back at the door, and suddenly he knew what had happened. “You were ... uh, telling them about me being naked, weren’t you?”
She blushed. “Sorry.”
He’d expected her to lie. The fact that she hadn’t surprised him. And impressed him.
“It’s okay.” He grinned. “Live and learn. Next time I decide to save a damsel in distress, I’ll get dressed first.”
A laugh escaped her lips. “I’m a damsel?”
“Yup.” And there’s that smile again. She had that morning-after, still-in-bed-look he loved on a woman after spending the night with her. No make-up. No pretense. Only he hadn’t spent the night with this one. Well, not all night.
Frankly, he hadn’t spent the whole night with any of the women since his divorce. And having a soft, naked woman next to him in bed as he fell asleep had been one of his favorite things in life. Damn his wife for taking that away from him.
He wanted it back.
Some day.
She spoke up again. “Look, I think I said this last night, but it merits saying again. Thank you. I don’t even want to think what would have happened if you hadn’t been there. And I fully intend to pay for your door.”
“Not needed. I just had to replace the hinges. Did it before I left last night.”
“Did you have to hire a wrecker to get my car out? Do I owe you for that?”
“No, I used my tractor to pull it out.”
Another knock sounded at her hospital door. Clay looked back as Jake and Mark walked in.
Clay nodded. “I brought her car.”
“No problem pulling it out?” Jake asked.
“No,” Clay answered.
Mark looked at Jennifer. “How are you this morning?”
“Better,” she said. “Tell me you caught the guy?”
“Not yet, but thanks to Clay, we’ve got some good leads.”
Jennifer’s gaze shifted back to him and smiled again in appreciation, then shifted back to Mark. “Are you going to send Grumpy Gus home with me?”
“Grumpy Gus?” Mark asked.
“The guy at the door. I tried talking to him this morning. He’s not friendly.”
“Yeah,” Mark answered. “He’s not one of our more social butterflies. But no, he won’t be going home with you. He works for the department, and they won’t put anyone on your case until we prove it’s Mitchell. Getting him here for the night was a push.”
“Then I guess you’ll just send a car by to check on me?”
Clay sure as hell hoped that wasn’t their plan. He’d seen that guy up close and personal, and he didn’t look like a quitter. Clay inched closer.
“No,” Mark said. “This time it’s a little more serious.”
“I’ll lock my doors, keep my phone close--”
&
nbsp; “That’s not going to work.” Mark and Jake looked at each other as if they knew something else. “We just left your place. Someone broke in during the night.”
“Broke in?” Her eyes rounded with fear. “Pumpkin?” she asked.
“Your cat’s fine,” Mark said. “I took it home. But it’s clear you can’t go back there until we catch this guy. You can stay--”
“No,” Jennifer said. “I know what you’re thinking. And no. I can’t go home with either of you.”
“The guy tried to kill you.” Clay put in his two cents.
Mark looked from him back to Jennifer. “We don’t--”
“I can’t,” Jennifer snapped. “If it were just you, I’d say yes, but it’s not. It’s my friends. I mean, I like you guys, but you’re cops.” Her frown deepened. “Actually, if something happened to either one of you, Macy and Savanna would hate me, and I would hate myself. I’ve been down that road, and I’m not going again. So, no.”
Mark’s frown deepened. “What we’re suggesting--”
“I could rent a hotel. He couldn’t find me.”
Mark’s jaw tightened. “It’s not safe for you to be by yourself.”
Jennifer’s shoulders broadened, her chin inched up. Then her determined gaze shot to Clay. “How about him?”
“What about me?” Clay asked.
“You could watch me. You used to be a cop. If something happened to you . . .” she hesitated then frowned. “I would still care, but just not . . .”
“That much.” Clay laughed. Jake and Mark coughed, attempting to hide their laughter.
Jennifer rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean . . .”
“It’s okay.” Clay found it more humorous than insulting.
“I’d pay you. Or better yet we could barter. I mean, no offense, but your office could use some work.”
“Work?” Clay asked. “You mean cleaning?”
She made a face. “No, I’m an interior designer. But I could help you clean some, too.”
He lifted one brow. “It’s . . . it’s a junkyard.”
“It’s still a business,” she countered. “And if it was well-decorated a client would be more inclined to pay more for your products. I’m not saying it’s your fault. Most men have zero sense of design.”