by Laura Wright
As Grace followed her out of the room, she felt Cole’s humor-filled gaze on her back. She wasn’t sure why the situation she’d just found herself in bothered her as much as it did. Instead of leaving, going off to train, Cole had called his doctor to come and check his ankle. It was exactly the right thing to do. So what was her problem? Couldn’t be the hot doctor who was walking out her front door and heading to her hot car with her perfectly proportioned hips swaying. She was around beautiful women all the time, like Mac and Sheridan. And it absolutely wasn’t the fact that Doctor Hottie and Cole were probably more than just doctor/patient. Because that would be none of her business. So what was it?
She closed the door, headed back down the hallway. When she looked inside her room and spied Cole sitting up on the bed reading the newspaper, Belle beside him, the muscles in her belly tightened. He looked ridiculously hot. Yards of tan skin pulled tight around thick muscle. And then there were the tattoos. Intricate lines and symbols moving up both arms like curious fingers. Good God, what was she doing? Thinking? Had this territorial, jealous chick arisen inside her because of Cole Cavanaugh? As in . . . she was interested in the man? As in, she wanted to demand to know if Dr. Vander-whatever had not only brought that spare pair of boxer shorts he was wearing, but helped him put them on?
Heat surged into her cheeks and she wanted to melt into the woodwork around the door frame. Of course Cole took that opportunity to glance up. His eyes assessed her, and whatever he saw there made his brow furrow.
“You all right?” he asked.
Of course she was. Right as rain. Never better. Not at all confused about what had just happened or the strange bout of jealousy she’d just experienced over a man she was not and could not be interested in.
He was a fighter.
Virtually a criminal—he’d broken into her desk at her office.
An overly charming, oversexed flirt who would destroy her father in an instant if it got him what he wanted.
Look but don’t touch, Doc, she warned herself. Better yet, don’t look. It’ll just make you nuts. Just get to the work. To why he’s here. The serious, important, life-altering work.
She forced a calm expression and a light smile and walked into the room. “I’m fine, Mr. Cavanaugh.”
He didn’t look at all convinced. Maybe she should’ve left off the Mr. Cavanaugh part. “You’re not angry that I called my doctor, are you? With the match coming up, I needed to make sure—”
“No, no,” she assured him. Doctor? Lover? She wasn’t mad. Couldn’t be mad. “Of course not.”
He nodded. “All right.”
“So . . . have you eaten?”
“Not yet.”
“The good doctor didn’t bring you anything?” She just couldn’t help herself. It was like the words were just bleeding from her mouth and she didn’t know how to cauterize.
“Just some hard-core pain meds,” he said, still studying her expression. “I took the anti-inflammatories, but that’s it. Don’t want anything messin’ up my focus. Even when I’m feet-up.”
“Well, how about some chicken salad?” she offered. “I think I have chips too. Maybe some lemonade.”
He brought one knee up near his chest. “Grace, you don’t have to do anything. Shit, you’ve done enough. I should be calling my brothers to come pick me up. Make them take care of my broken ass.”
It was strange and a little frightening how quickly the urge to say no landed on her dry tongue. Maybe she should support that suggestion. Maybe, given how she was reacting, she needed to push Cole Cavanaugh away. “Why didn’t you go with her?”
His brow lifted. “Who? Kathy?”
She nodded. Pathetic. Seriously, Hunter. PATHETIC.
For a moment, his eyes probed hers. Then a slow smile crept over his face and he shrugged. “She doesn’t have a pink room.”
Warmth seeped into her like honey. “Or access to the answers you seek,” she added.
Truly, she hadn’t meant the words as a dig. Or maybe unconsciously she had. But as soon as they were out of her mouth, she saw a hardness cross Cole’s black eyes, turning them into two impervious stones.
She didn’t like this Cole. He made her feel uneasy. As if she was standing on a small boat out to sea without a life preserver.
“I’ll get the sandwich,” she said, cutting off their eye contact and turning away. “Then I’ll bring the boxes in here and we can get back to work. Back to the real reason you’re here.”
Eight
“It’s funny,” Cole remarked, placing another file on top of the stack to his right. “We all thought Cass would be in college before she even looked at a guy.”
Grace glanced up from her own pile. “Really?”
They were both on the bed. Cole in his same spot, Grace across from him, near the foot. Belle on the floor, chewing on a stuffed cheeseburger dog toy.
He shrugged. “You know, no brother wants to think that about his sister. Especially his little sister.”
“Little sister?”
“By a couple of minutes.”
Her lips twitched with humor. “So she never mentioned the name Sweet? Not necessarily related to a guy?”
“No. Or not that I remember.”
“But to Mac?”
“Yeah. He was mentioned. But not in detail.”
“How is it possible that this young girl could be having a relationship—or meeting up with this stranger—and no one knows about it?”
The knot that had been forming inside Cole’s stomach ever since they started going through Sheriff Hunter’s paperwork twisted. “It isn’t. That’s why everyone thought she’d just made him up.”
Grace was quiet for a moment sifting through papers, and Cole went back to his work. When he heard her laugh softly, he glanced up.
“What is it?” he asked.
“One of my essays from junior high. It’s all about my love for Tex-Mex. Queso dip, specifically. It’s a miracle I graduated, I swear.”
“You didn’t go local, right?” he asked. “I don’t remember you. And I’m sure I would’ve remembered you.”
Her cheeks flushed, but she shook her head at him. “You’re such a flirt, Cole Cavanaugh.”
“Wasn’t flirtin’, Doc. Least not that I’m aware of.” His eyes moved over her. “Just telling the truth. If you went to school with me, I would’ve had a crush of my own to deal with.”
She stared at the papers before her. “I went to a boarding school a few hours away from here.”
“Why is that? Your family didn’t think the River Black schools were good enough?”
“Wasn’t my family. It was my dad.” A sad look crept over her face. “I went to River Black Elementary, but after my mom died I started acting out. Getting in fights at school—yep, badass Grace Hunter—stealing stuff from the store and from my friends. I wouldn’t speak to my dad for days at a time.” She shrugged. “I think he felt like I was falling apart. That maybe I needed time away from this town for a while.”
If there was one thing Cole understood, it was loss. “Sorry about your mom,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“It sucks, doesn’t it?”
Her eyes lifted again and connected with his. “Losing someone you love? Oh yeah. But I had my dad, and he was amazing.” She laughed softly. “You know, when I finally let him be amazing. He worked so hard to keep me happy and engaged. After the debacle of junior high, he pushed me. Wouldn’t let me turn my back on my goals even when things got hard.”
Cole didn’t say anything. What could he say? He wasn’t going to be an asshole right now. Not when she was reliving her grief.
Her eyes implored him then. “I know you don’t think so, but he’s a good man, Cole.”
“I’m not going to argue you that, Doc,” he said, dropping back against the pillows. “I only co
me to this from what I know. What you’ve told me. What he’s told me.”
She paled. “He wouldn’t have hurt your sister. He isn’t built like that. It’s not in his DNA. I know it. And I will prove it.”
Again he didn’t answer.
“What?” she demanded, an ache in her voice he’d never heard before.
“Just don’t want you feelin’ disappointed, let down, is all. My daddy was no saint, but I didn’t think he was capable of steppin’ out on my mom, making a baby . . .” His jaw went tight. “Lying his ass off about it—and letting us all find out at his funeral.”
She dropped her gaze, pretending to look through the contents of a faded red folder, but Cole had seen tears prick her eyes. She wasn’t being honest, with herself or with him. She was worried—real worried. Maybe even suspected him, her pops. No doubt that was why she’d agreed to working together. Being close to Cole, seeing what he knew, intercepting information.
They all had shit they didn’t want to face. But it was coming for them anyway. Best be prepared, and harden the heart. It had worked for him, he mused as he picked up another file. This one was thinner than the others, and the only thing inside was a faded newspaper. Cole eased it out and started thumbing through the yellowed pages. Community stuff, school sports . . . He was about to close it up and put it back when he spotted something on the lifestyle page. His family. His heart kicked inside his chest. There they were. At the River Black Fair. Mom was eating an ice-cream cone; Dad had his hand on her shoulder. All four kids were around them, eating ice cream too. Cole stared, entranced. He remembered that day. It had been a good day.
His eyes dropped to another picture below it. This one was of Barry Pickens and one of the Lansing kids, both atop horses in town. And to the right, sitting on the steps of the library, waving at the person taking the photograph, was Cass. Cole ran his fingers over the shot. Goddamn, he missed that girl. Would do anything to have her back. He’d failed her something awful.
Something caught his eye then and he drew the paper closer. What was that? Behind Cass on the steps, in the shadows? Or better yet, who was it? Didn’t look like a guy . . . Cole turned back at the picture of his family, stared hard. His heart jumped in his ribs. What was going on here?
“What’s wrong?”
Grace’s concerned tone didn’t pull him from the photographs. He brought the image even closer, wishing it was on the computer so he could enhance it. Fuzzy as it was, he could just make out a female shape . . . a skirt under the knees. He looked back and forth. He didn’t recognize what he could see of the face.
He felt Grace beside him, camped out over his left shoulder. “You found something.” It wasn’t a question.
“A newspaper. Only thing in one of your daddy’s folders.”
She paled slightly.
“You recognize this person?” he asked, pointing.
Grace drew in close, studied it for a second. “No. Who is it?”
“Not a clue. But she’s in the background of both pictures. Why would that be?”
“Were they taken on the same day?”
“No. We were at the fair in this one. And this one’s out in front of the library steps. Besides, she’s wearing different clothes. Hair’s different too.”
“It’s a small town, Cole,” she said. “Odds are you’re going to be running into the same people . . .”
He knew that. He knew what he was seeing might be nothing at all. But it wasn’t just what he was seeing. It was what he was feeling too. Wasn’t right. Wasn’t the guy they were looking for, true. But it wasn’t right.
His eyes found hers. “Why do you think your daddy had this, Grace? And all by its lonesome in the file?”
She looked uncomfortable. Her face tense. “I don’t know.”
Christ. “We’re gonna need to ask him.”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. What could he say? Your pops was in on this? Kept something hidden? Shit . . . she already knew that. It’s why she’d suggested they work together.
He placed the newspaper flat on his thighs and reached for his iPhone. He snapped a couple of pictures at different angles and ranges, then started texting.
“Who are you sending those to?” she asked, her voice sounding thin, worried.
“My brothers and Mac,” he told her. “We’ll see if any of them recognize her.”
“But we’re not looking for a girl, Cole,” she said. “We’re looking for a guy. The Sweet character.”
“I know. And we’ll continue to do that. But who’s to say what will ultimately get us there? Cass’s things, your daddy’s things, whoever this is in the photograph. Everything’s got to be on the table. Everything’s got to be examined.”
* * *
I wish I was there with you.
You could be. Can be.
Rules are rules.
I thought rules were made to be broken, Cowgirl.
Don’t you like what we have? You can tell me anything.
Blue hesitated, his fingers over the keys. He did appreciate the mystery of his online relationship with Cowgirl. Since they’d “met” on a chat site for new, heat-tolerant breeds of cattle about a year earlier, it had been fun, exciting, comforting even. But things had changed so drastically in his life as of late. Now he wasn’t content with texting or the mystery. He wanted to know her. No, he needed to know her—see her, touch her, talk to the one person on earth he felt he could trust.
Have I ever seen you? Have you ever seen me?
He waited on that one. Ten seconds. Thirty seconds. But there was no reply. Shit, what was he doing? Pushing her? They’d agreed to this relationship as is, and he was royally screwing it up. His gut contracted. He didn’t want to lose her. His fingers hovered over the keys. He needed to undo this before it was too late. But then her one-word answer came.
Yes.
Nine
In the year Grace Hunter had been living in her house in River Black, she’d had maybe a handful of guests. She liked to keep her home private—just hers—tending to meet friends or dates in town. But in the past two days she was well on her way to doubling that handful.
“We’re real sorry about this, Dr. Hunter.”
Grace stood near the fireplace, the easy flames warming her thighs, and took in the two exceptionally handsome Cavanaugh men seated on her couch. “Grace—please,” she told them.
Dressed in jeans and a faded blue T-shirt, James Cavanaugh stared up at her with eyes the color of the ocean and asked, “How long’s he been here?”
“Since last night,” Deacon answered him, then set his intimidating gaze on Grace. “Mac told me. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,” she said.
The eldest Cavanaugh brother looked as if he’d just come from the boardroom inside his fancy office building in Dallas. Suit and tie alongside black boots and black Stetson. “We’ve come to take him off your hands,” he said.
“You don’t need to do that,” Grace insisted.
“He’s got to be a huge burden,” James put in, setting his booted foot on his knee. “A huge pain in the ass—”
“I’m right here,” Cole ground out.
Grace turned to look at the man seated in her leather chair, hurt ankle propped up on the coffee table. He’d put on a pair of sweats that his brothers had brought for him, but he’d refused a shirt. She was starting to wonder if that’s how Cole Cavanaugh lived his life—shirtless. Hey, maybe that was the huge burden James had spoken of. Sans shirt, and what seemed like miles upon miles of tan, heavily muscled, intricately inked skin for her greedy eyes to peruse.
“If I’m not mistaken,” James continued as if his brother hadn’t said a word, “isn’t he not legally allowed to be this close to you?”
Cole snorted.
“I took care of that,” Grace said q
uickly. “It’s been dropped.”
James’s brow went up. “Dropped.”
“May I inquire why?” Deacon put in.
“No, you may not,” Cole said brusquely. “It’s none of your damn business. Either one of you.”
“The hell it’s not,” James said, though his voice lacked heat. “This whole thing started because we’re looking for the truth about what happened to Cass. Who happened to Cass. We’re all in that search together.”
“I agree,” Grace stated evenly, her insides tensing up once again. Or maybe they hadn’t stopped tensing after seeing the newspaper her father had kept all these years in Cole’s hand. Lord, she prayed it was just a random thing, and not more evidence that he did in fact have something to do with Cass Cavanaugh’s disappearance.
James turned to look at her then, his brows descending. “I didn’t exactly mean you, Grace.”
“Maybe not,” she pressed on. “But I am a part of it now.” They were all looking at her. Three sets of Cavanaugh eyes. It was daunting. She swallowed hard. “It’s why I dropped the restraining order,” she explained. “Granted, I don’t love the way Cole tried to extract information from me, but I understand why he did it.” She felt Cole’s gaze narrow on her as he tried to figure out her motivation. “I want to work together. I want to find out the truth too.”
“Why?” Deacon asked. It was a simple question, but heavy with significance.
“I want to know,” she began, her heart once again ascending into her throat. “Make sure everyone knows—that my father had nothing to do with it.”
She could feel Cole’s eyes on her. Those dark, probing eyes. Would he tell his brothers about the newspaper?
“And you truly believe he didn’t have something to do with it?” Deacon continued. There was no malice, no sarcasm in his tone. Just curiosity.
She nodded, though her chest was tight with tension and unease. “But he was around. And now his best friend claims to know something. I’m going to find out what that is.”
“How?” James asked.