by Laura Wright
“We’re looking through old newspapers now,” Cole put in.
Grace held her breath.
“Right,” Deacon said. “We got your text. Interesting, but I didn’t recognize the girl.”
Cole looked at James. “How ’bout you?”
James shook his head. “Why do you think that’s significant anyway? The girl? I mean, we’re looking for a guy.”
“We’re actually trying to find a lead on Sweet,” Grace put in quickly.
“If he existed at all,” James said under his breath.
“We gotta try what we can try,” Cole said. “Palmer won’t let us near him, so what does that leave us with?”
“My dad,” Grace said, throat tightening. “I’m going to keep pressing him—”
Cole cut her off with one look. “I’m hoping you let me come along for that.”
“Maybe we all could,” Deacon added. “With more respect and honesty this time, of course.”
“That’s a possibility,” Grace said, though her heart squeezed just thinking about it. What if he actually said something? Something incriminating. No . . . she couldn’t allow that. She’d have to keep the Cavanaughs away. Occupied with something else. “Maybe I could get in and see Palmer,” she suggested quickly. “He might be more receptive to me.”
“After what he did to Sheridan,” Cole said with a sneer, “I don’t think you should be anywhere near that asshole.”
“He’s behind bars,” Grace countered.
“I don’t like it.”
“It’s not really up to you, is it?”
Tension rent the air, and for a full minute no one said anything. The fire crackled on, the wind picked up outside, and the night took hold. And Belle lay sprawled on her back on the rug near Cole’s good foot.
Finally, Deacon broke the silence. “We appreciate all of this, Grace,” he said. “And look forward to working together to end this long-standing, long-suffering mystery. Let our girl rest once and for all.”
Grace’s chest tightened again. She was telling them the truth. She would find out what happened—or try to anyway—but she would also protect her father, and his reputation and legacy in the process.
“Cole,” Deacon started, “I’m going to Austin again tomorrow for a client meeting. I can give you a ride if you’re up for it.”
“Appreciate that,” Cole returned. “I hope to be. Better be.”
“In the meantime, why don’t you come home with us? Take the burden off Dr. Hunter here.”
“It ain’t no burden,” Cole said, sitting up now.
“Burdens don’t know they’re being burdens, little brother. That’s why they’re called burdens.”
“Fuck you, Deac.”
James’s head came around fast and his voice was sharp as a blade. “Don’t speak that way in front of a lady.”
Tossing his hands in the air, Cole turned to Grace. “Do you see what I put up with, Doc? I’m five years old to them no matter how low my voice is, how tall I grow, or how much hair I have on my ball—”
“Cole, Christ Almighty!” James exploded. He eyed Grace, who was trying not to smile. “Say the word and we’ll take him.”
As Cole cursed and tossed his brothers a slew of threatening looks, Grace lost the battle. She couldn’t help herself. Laughter bubbled in her throat. She didn’t have siblings, and though she imagined at times it was a real pain in the neck, it also seemed like a gift. No matter how angry you got at each other, how you fought, they were still your blood. They were there for you. Had your back. Helped you when you were tired and scared and unsure if you were doing the right thing with an aging parent.
“Her silence speaks volumes,” Deacon said with a hint of humor.
James nodded. “Should we toss him over our shoulder, then into the back of our truck, Dr. Hunter?”
“First, I’d say good luck with that—even with the hurt foot, he wrestles people for a living,” she returned. “But truly, he’s welcome here.” It was surprising how easily the words rolled off her tongue. Probably because they were true. “It’s really up to him.”
Cole looked irritatingly chuffed. “That’s right,” he agreed with an arrogant twist to his mouth. “I’m welcome.”
“Fine,” Deacon said, tight-lipped. “Then I suppose the question becomes, why do you want to stay here, Cole?”
The arrogance in the blond man receded and was replaced by unease and impatience.
“Yeah,” James said quickly. “Why do you want to stay at Grace’s place, Champ?”
It was the strangest thing. That moment. Grace and Cole weren’t even looking at each other. But completely unchecked, they both spoke at the exact same time.
“Don’t call me that,” he said.
“Don’t call him that,” she said.
The room fell silent again. Even the fire seemed only to smolder softly, mutedly. Grace turned to look at Cole. He was staring at her. Granted, maybe the other two Cavanaugh brothers were too, but she was hardly aware of their presence in that moment. Always deep, dark, and intense, Cole’s eyes sought to understand her, take her in and read her thoughts. They asked, Why? Why stick up for me? Why let me stay here? We barely know each other. We’re playing for different teams. And there’s that obvious attraction we’re not dealing with.
Grace had no answer for him. On any of those fronts. Hell, she was asking herself the very same things. Maybe she kind of liked him? Liked having him around? Maybe she liked their banter, liked watching him pretend he wasn’t falling for the basset? Maybe it felt kind of good to have someone around who understood loss.
But then again, there were the downsides to having him limping around her house. Most of those centered around his appeal, his attractiveness. All that muscle, all those dark, intense stares. And the growing suspicion of what might be captive inside the mind of her father.
“I’m staying,” Cole said, his eyes still pinned to hers. Then he inclined his head in the first show of Texas Gentleman she’d ever had from him. “That is, if you’ll have me for another night, ma’am.”
A thread of heat snaked through Grace’s blood, warming her insides, and she gently pushed aside all the negatives of Cole Cavanaugh’s presence. She heard one of his brothers mutter, “Ma’am?” under his breath in a confused tone as her mind rolled around the words “another night.”
“Of course you can stay, Cole,” she said in a voice that didn’t sound like her own. It was breathy and warmer than necessary.
His mouth curved into a satisfied smile. “Thank you kindly, Doc.”
“But I want you back in bed right now,” she said without thinking. Then instantly wished she could take the words back. Or at the very least, burrow herself into the ground.
She’d meant to treat him like a patient—one who wanted to be up and ready to train tomorrow morning. But Cole wasn’t looking at her like she was his doctor. His eyes had turned from deep, inky pools into two burning black suns that nearly stole her breath. Her eyes closed momentarily as she fought to keep all crazy and oh-so-wrong and inappropriate thoughts at bay.
“I think it’s time to say good night.” It was Cole’s voice, rich and deep, and when Grace finally opened her eyes once again she realized he wasn’t talking to her anymore. His narrowed and impatient gaze was fixed on his brothers. “Thanks for the clothes.”
“Maybe you should put ’em on,” James muttered, coming to his feet, righting his hat.
Deacon stood as well, but instead of talking to Cole, he gave Grace a serious look. “Call us if he gives you a problem.”
Grace nearly smiled at that. Wasn’t Problem Cole Cavanaugh’s middle name? A guarantee if you chose to be around him. And clearly, she was choosing to be around him.
“I’m sorry you had to make the trip out here,” she said, walking them to the door.
“It�
�s nothing, Dr. Hunter. We wanted to check things out, and we did. And I’m glad we’re going to be working together. Despite Cole’s feelings on the matter, you should try to get in to see Palmer. It would be a huge coup for all of us. I think the effort will prove futile however, but stranger things have happened. When I get back from Austin, maybe we can meet with your father. Bring him a nice lunch. Make it relaxed and casual—no pressure.” Nearly out the door and on the porch, Deacon turned to regard her. He lowered his voice so only she could hear him. “I feel it’s my place to tell you that Cole’s not really the kind of man a girl like you should be hanging around with.”
Grace stared at him, almost too stunned to speak. But she managed to eke out a hoarse-sounding “He’s your brother.”
“I know. And I love him. Doesn’t change what is.”
“What kind of girl do you think I am, Mr. Cavanaugh?” she asked imperiously.
“A kind, smart, hometown girl who I got to believe recognizes bullshit when it’s offered up.” Without letting her reply, he tugged the brim of his Stetson, gave her a grim smile, then turned and followed James down the steps toward his truck.
Closing the door with a little too much force, Grace tried to decide how she felt about what she’d just heard. Annoyed? Insulted? The assessment of her. The warning about Cole. As if she didn’t know what she had in her house. The overly confident tattooed arrogant pain in the ass. She fought the urge to grab the door handle and yank it back, holler after them. Tell them both that she didn’t need their warning. That—screw you—she was a grown-up and could take care of herself. And that what went on in her heart, and potentially her bed, was her business.
Of course . . . that would mean she was admitting something could go on in her bed with Cole Cavanaugh. And she wasn’t going to even contemplate that idea.
With a sigh, she turned to face the man in question—preparing herself to take in his hot, dark stare and waves of mouthwatering muscle once again. But the leather chair he’d just occupied not a moment before was empty, save for the indentation of his formidable ass. She glanced toward the kitchen and the hall. Had he gone back to her room? His room, she corrected. For now. Was that the bathroom sink running? For a moment she strained to hear, but then thought herself silly and started after him. They needed to talk. About the photograph. About the file. God, were there more files like that one?
A knock on the door halted her progress, and she groaned. Damn brothers, she thought as she turned and headed back. They really didn’t trust Cole at all, did they? Or her ability to resist him? Unless they’d forgotten to give him his toiletry bag or something. She grinned at that. What would Cole Cavanaugh have in a toiletry bag? Toothbrush? Moisturizer? Bengay? Condoms?
“You’d better have a pizza with you,” she called, yanking back the door. “Because that’s the only way you’re getting in—”
“Evenin’, Grace.”
“Wayne?” she said, surprised.
Standing on the other side of the threshold, dressed very handsomely in gray cords and a blue chambray shirt, was the always smiling, always cordial Reverend McCarron.
He took off his tan Stetson and gave her one of those smiles. “I didn’t bring pizza. Was I supposed to?”
“I’m sorry, no. That wasn’t for—” She glanced past him. The Cavanaughs weren’t still out there, were they? Nope. No black truck in sight. She turned back to Wayne. “Never mind. What are you doing here?” She instantly wished for a rewind button. She was pretty sure that question had skirted the edges of shrill.
“We had a date tonight?”
Oh, shit.
When he saw her horrified, and no doubt embarrassed, expression, he attempted to hide his dismay. But he wasn’t very good at hiding things. Emotions and desires especially. They seemed to flash like caution signs in his eyes whenever he spoke to her. His lips thinned. “You forgot.”
“Of course not,” Grace said emphatically. She forced a smile. “No. It’s just . . . something . . . came up.”
Instantly, the role of spiritual leader emerged within Wayne. He turned soft and pliable. “Oh, I hope it’s nothing serious.”
Before Grace could answer, a deep, masculine voice called out behind her, “Not serious at all, Reverend. Just a sprain. But thanks for the concern.”
* * *
Cole knew it. Had known it from the first time he’d seen them together, sharing a booth at the Bull’s Eye. The good and righteous Rev had a thing for the sexy, stubborn vet. Not that Cole could blame him. She was something to crush on, that was sure. Question was, did Grace have a thing for him too?
Something dark and alive rumbled in Cole’s chest at the thought. Most likely the animal he let out of its cage only for fights. The thing was unpredictable and vicious, and for some reason Cole refused to acknowledge, it didn’t like the idea of Grace Hunter taking up with the man who had just walked into her house like he’d been there before. Damn, Rev and Doc—that would be disappointing. Not because Cole wanted to take her out himself or anything—shit, that would be a disaster, her angel to his demon—but because Wayne McCarron was one dull son of a bitch. And no one should have to suffer through dull. Not for an evening. Not for a lifetime. Cole was probably going to hell for just thinking it. But then again, he was probably going to hell anyway.
Grace’s green eyes were wary with a side of fierce as she watched him hobble over to the couch and plop his ass down, then set one of her daddy’s boxes on the coffee table.
“You should be in bed,” she scolded.
Oh, those words—that command—were working their way down his belly to places he couldn’t acknowledge until after his fight with Fontana. And even then—with her—he wasn’t going to be acknowledging them at all.
“Bed?” Wayne repeated, glancing from Grace to Cole, then back again.
Poor dull fool. She couldn’t possibly be interested in pursuing someone like that.
Grace was trying to explain herself. “He’s supposed to stay in my bed one more night and—”
“What?” Wayne exclaimed.
“Oh, no, no.” Grace laughed nervously. “See, he hurt his ankle last night and I let him stay here. In my . . . bed . . .”
“Good heavens,” Wayne muttered, looking slightly sick to his stomach.
Cole shook his head, trying to suppress laughter. He almost felt sorry for the guy. “Listen, Your Holiness,” he began sharply. “She’s not sleeping there too, if that’s what’s worrying you. She’s in the guest room. Left me with Casa Pink.”
“That means ‘pink house,’ Cole,” she told him, with a roll of her eyes. “Not ‘pink room.’”
“Whatever. He gets the point. Don’t you, Rev?”
For one second, the Rev’s eyes skimmed Cole’s naked chest and gray sweats, which were hanging a little low on his hips as he sprawled on the couch. He was just trying to be comfortable as he convalesced.
“Grace,” Wayne said very slowly, turning his gaze back on the vet. “Seems like you were helping out someone in need. I think that’s very good of you.” The expression on his face changed. From shock and dismay to peaceful acceptance.
He’d decided Grace was doing the Lord’s work, Cole mused. Or had convinced himself of that. Damn, the man was righteous. If Cole had showed up here ready for a date and some guy was sprawled out naked on the couch, he’d be inclined to use the old wrestling arm drag move and toss him right out on his ass.
“I’d still love to take you to dinner,” Wayne continued. “And if it’s pizza you have a hankering for, it’s pizza you’ll get.”
“How sweet,” Cole muttered with a sneer.
Grace threw daggers at him with her eyes. “Yes, Wayne,” she said. “I’d like that. But . . . I’m not . . . Can you give me a few minutes to get ready?”
“Of course,” Wayne said graciously.
She’s going? What? They
had shit to do. Files . . . a game plan to get in to speak to her father about that newspaper he’d been saving.
“Please. Have a seat.” She gestured to the couch and saw that Cole had taken it over. “Cole?”
“What?”
“Make some room. Or go back to your room.”
His brow drifted up lazily. “Don’t you mean your room?”
This time the look she threw him had a grenade attached.
“Fine. No sweat, Doc,” he said, scooting over and pulling out a stack of papers from the box. “I’ll even entertain your guest while you’re gone making yourself pretty.”
“She doesn’t have to make herself into anything,” Wayne said, his eyes warm and soft as he looked at Grace. “You’re already beautiful.”
Cole nearly puked.
Grace’s smile was thin lipped. “Thank you.”
“Sure, of course she is,” Cole ground out. “But you know what I’m talking about, Rev. She’s been at work most of the morning. Around animals. And you know what comes out of ’em?”
Wayne just stared at him, nonplussed.
Cole snorted. “Well, maybe she can explain it to you over dinner.”
“Please ignore him, Wayne,” Grace suggested.
“I’m sure that would be impossible,” the man returned.
Cole grinned. Not so pious after all. Little smart-ass in there . . .
“Just do your best,” she added, then turned and headed down the hall.
Cole gestured to the now unoccupied twelve inches of space on the couch. “Have a seat.”
Wayne refused with a shake of the head, but said, “I’m sorry about your ankle, Mr. Cavanaugh. That must be a trying injury considering your line of work.”
“It is,” Cole agreed, grabbing another file and starting going through the contents. “And, Wayne?”
“Yes?”
“You know, we all went to school together.”
One eyebrow lifted in question. “I’m sorry?”
Cole heaved a breath, closed the file, and grabbed another one. “Why are you calling me Mr. Cavanaugh? Like we’re strangers?”