by Shayla Black
After checking the casserole baking in the oven, Maggie pulled out her cell and hit Dixie Hill’s number. Her former high school classmate worked as one of the local 911 dispatchers, but her building was adjacent to the police station. Sheriff Wayne’s office was just down the hall. Dixie wasn’t a particularly good friend. But the woman did love any chance to gossip. Maggie was in the mood to indulge her.
“Afternoon, Mags. What’re you doing? Still cleaning up after the fancy Hollywood wedding y’all had yesterday? I sure would have liked to know what it looked like . . .”
Shealyn hadn’t invited Dixie because she hadn’t wanted to give the girl an opportunity to deliver her scoop to the tabloids. Even if no one had offered to pay her, Dixie would have handed over the juicy dirt. Cash wouldn’t hurt, of course, but what Dixie really sought was recognition and validation.
Maggie didn’t understand why the dispatcher couldn’t simply find the good in herself.
“Hey, girl. What’s going on?”
“Just getting ready to start the evening shift at the station. We missed you at Rhonda’s birthday party last week.”
Maggie hadn’t gone. She wasn’t close to Rhonda, either. For some reason, both women kept trying to include her in the female doings around town. Honestly, she couldn’t care less. “Sorry. Everything with Shealyn’s wedding was so busy . . .”
“I’ll bet. Hey, I saw a stranger talking to Deputy Preston earlier today at the Cypress Creek Inn. Short brown hair, muscles on his muscles—a real hot number. I overheard him say he was one of Cutter’s peers. What do you know about him?”
She had to be describing Josiah. If Dixie liked one thing even more than gossip, it was men. For some reason she didn’t want to examine, Maggie felt decidedly reluctant to discuss the gorgeous hunk of man she’d spent last night with.
“Yeah. He’s all right if you like a manwhore.”
Dixie didn’t. She’d gotten shafted—metaphorically and literally— by Curtis Garcia in the tenth grade. The next week, he’d moved on to Celine Moore, followed by someone else the week after. Since then, she seemed intent on finding a man who would fall madly, desperately in love with her and never fall out. Maggie couldn’t picture that happening. Not because Dixie was unattractive or unworthy. But how did she expect someone else to love her if she wouldn’t love herself?
“Oh,” she groaned. “That sucks. He come on to you or something?”
Time to change the subject. “Hey, I know you’re not supposed to say anything, but I’m scared and I could really use your excellent investigative nose. Ben Haney . . . What happened?”
For once, Dixie was silent.
“Hello?”
“I’m here. Honestly, Mags. It was really ugly. I’d rather not talk about it. We haven’t had a murder in Comfort in forever, and this . . .”
“Gory?”
“The pictures looked awful. It wasn’t like when Mrs. Adams got pissed at her husband for having a side thing with Gracie Lowe and shot him in the groin. Whoever killed Mr. Haney was really mad.”
Maggie imagined the blood everywhere and grimaced.
Haney had lost his wife a few years back and his only son in Afghanistan a decade prior. He hadn’t had anyone to look out for him since. He’d probably even thought he’d die alone—but not violently. When she thought about how terrified he must have been to see someone barge into his house with a pitchfork, she shuddered. The sweet old man must have suffered horrifically while the killer impaled and staked him to the ground, then let him bleed to death.
Maggie wished like hell she could have saved him. His family had always been so kind—his wife had baked her and Shealyn cookies, and Ben had often come out to the ranch to pick them up when he’d taken his boy, Todd, into town for ice cream. She felt as if she’d let the old man down.
“Dixie, anything you can tell me would help. Ben Haney was my nearest neighbor. My sister and most of her husband’s badass peers are gone now. My grandparents have decided to take a vacation after the exhaustion of hosting Shealyn’s wedding.” Maggie gave Dixie that scoop, hoping the woman would reciprocate. “It won’t be long before I’m at this ranch all alone for days. That didn’t bother me until I realized there’s a killer on the loose in Kendall County.”
“Oh, honey . . . I didn’t even think about that. I’m sorry. What do you want to know?”
“Please tell me they’ve identified the killer. Or at least have some idea who he is.”
“I wish I could. So far we’ve got nothing. Sheriff Wayne doesn’t seem too worried.”
“Of course not. He’s got Kane Preston to do his job for him.”
“That, and . . . Let’s face facts. Ben Haney wasn’t young and he wasn’t in good health. I think the sheriff feels as if someone merely hastened the Grim Reaper along.”
Seriously? “The sheriff can’t possibly know how much time Ben had left. And isn’t it his job to protect and serve?”
“You mean with the forty-seven days he has left before he retires to his place at the lake so he can fish every day?” Dixie returned tartly.
She had a good point. “True. Can you tell me anything about the investigation?”
“Nothing. Kane has all the information under lock and key. Something is up. I’ve tried talking to him but . . .”
The deputy was way too smart to share the details with one of the town’s best-known gossips. Maggie sighed. If she wanted something, she was going to have to go to the source.
“I understand. Thanks, anyway. If you hear something, will you let me know?”
“Will do. What are you up to tonight, Mags?”
“Getting my grandparents ready for their flight tomorrow.” Then a little factoid Dixie had shared with her a few months back circled through her brain. “What days does Deputy Preston have off this week?”
“Let me see.” On the other end of the phone, Dixie tapped on her computer. “Tomorrow and Tuesday. But he got off early tonight.”
Maggie smiled. That was the first piece of good news she’d heard all day. “Thanks.”
“What are you going to do?”
Whatever she had to in order to find out what Preston knew. “I don’t know. Probably nothing. What can I do?”
Dixie snorted. “The day you don’t have something up your sleeve is the day I become a virgin again.”
Since that ship had sailed about ten years ago, Maggie rolled her eyes. But one thing she did know? The deputy was always looking for love—at least temporarily—and he often went to a bar in nearby Boerne to find it. Maybe if she bought him a couple of beers and got close to him, he’d be willing to talk.
“Well, good luck with that,” Maggie quipped.
“Keep me posted, okay? When you make a move, I want all the juicy details.”
Not a chance. “You’ll be the first to know.”
Not too long after they rang off, Josiah came downstairs. Her grandparents meandered into the kitchen, her stubborn papa trying to drag his suitcase across the house.
“Let me do that for you.” Josiah reached for his luggage.
Papa snatched it back. “I’m getting on in years, but I’m not dead yet. If you want to be a help, boy, go see if Glenda needs any assistance with her suitcase.”
Josiah looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Yes, sir.”
As soon as he disappeared, Papa set down his bag with a sigh and peered at her with concern. “You sure about this? I hate to leave you so soon after the wedding . . . and Haney’s murder. Your grandmother didn’t say anything to you, but she’s worried. Hell, I am, too.”
“I’m sure. What happened to Mr. Haney was a terrible tragedy, but I can’t imagine something like that would happen again in Comfort in the next few days.” At least she hoped not. “Besides, I’ll have Josiah here for a day or two. Deputy Preston isn’t too far away. I’m sure I’l
l be fine.”
Papa took her shoulder in a gentle grip. “We’re going to call you every day. If there’s a hint of trouble, girl, we’ll come right home.”
“Go. Have fun. Forget about this place. If there’s a problem, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, enjoy La La Land.”
He snorted. “What’s an old guy from small-town Texas going to do around all those pretty people and movie stars?”
“First, I’m sure Shealyn thought similar things when she first moved out there, and look how that turned out. Second, take Granna on the second honeymoon y’all never had. Enjoy not having any responsibilities for a while. If anything happens with the cattle, Sawyer and I will handle it. Stop worrying.”
Papa rolled his eyes. “I’ll try, but you know how that’s going to go.”
“I do.” She smiled fondly.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “The first time I laid eyes on you, you were a wild, half-starved two-year-old with a temper. You’ve grown into an amazing woman, Maggie. I’m only hesitating because it’s been in my blood to protect you since that day. I don’t think I’ll ever stop until they put me in the ground.”
Tears pricked her eyes. That was her papa. If she could find a man like him, both gentle and protective, maybe she’d be willing to get hitched and have babies and all the stuff she’d been adamantly against her whole life. But who was she kidding? Men like him were from a bygone era. Guys now were from the Tinder generation, all about swiping right and hooking up. They tended to be as selfish as the day was long and they had the emotional range of a Skittle. Totally not worth the time and commitment.
“I know. And I appreciate you.” She brought him in for a bear hug. “I love you so much.”
He was the only man she’d ever said those words to and probably the only one she ever would.
“Love you, too, Maggie girl. Now, I’ve got to load up the car so we’ll be ready in the morning.”
“You realize you don’t have to catch the plane until almost noon tomorrow.”
“I do, but your grandmother doesn’t get many opportunities to shop in San Antonio, so I promised her we’d squeeze a few hours in.”
“So you’re saying she wants a new purse.”
“How did you guess?”
Maggie laughed. Her grandmother was one of the most practical women on the planet . . . until designer handbags were involved. Then? Granna turned into a squealing girl with no impulse control.
Just then her grandmother entered the room, Josiah in tow and carting her suitcases. Lord, she looked like she was prepared for the apocalypse, not two weeks in Los Angeles.
“Did you pack enough?” Maggie poked.
Granna waved the question away. “Oh, hush. I packed just enough.”
Papa started to laugh, but after one glare from his wife, he lifted a fist to his mouth and covered the sound with a cough. Even Josiah resisted the urge to smile.
“Should I take everything to the car?” he asked.
After a quick conversation about logistics, they wandered outside, loaded up Granna’s SUV, then came back in for a quiet dinner. While their meal settled, everyone sat on the sofa watching TV. Josiah answered a few texts, and Maggie found herself wondering who they were from. His boss? His family? Did he have a girl back home? A friend with benefits?
She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
About eight o’clock, her grandparents stood and stretched, declaring it their bedtime. Maggie took that as her cue to do the same. “It’s been an eventful weekend. I think I’ll turn in early, too.”
She hugged her grandparents, who blew kisses and left the room. Once they were gone, she turned to Josiah with a preplanned speech perched on her tongue. She hated to do this; another night with him and all those orgasms would have been great but . . . more important matters called.
“You’re welcome to bunk down in Shealyn’s room, the guest room, or the bunkhouse. If you need extra blankets, I’ll find you a few.”
He cocked his head. “But I’m not welcome in bed with you?”
Maggie shrugged. “I’m tired, and we scratched that itch last night. You’re only here for a few days, so what’s the point? Besides, my grandparents will be up before five A.M. tomorrow morning. Why advertise that we’ve been having sex? G’night.”
As she left the room and headed down the hall, Josiah hurried after her, stopping her with a deceptively soft grip on her elbow. “I’m not done talking about this. Something’s wrong. Tell me.”
If she did, he’d lose his temper and his mind. And while she appreciated that he’d stayed behind to make Cutter feel better, Maggie was the one who had to remain here after Josiah was gone. “I’ve already said all I’m going to tonight. Maybe I’ll feel more like talking tomorrow.”
She jerked her elbow free from his grip and climbed the stairs, knowing her hips swayed with every step . . . just like she knew he watched.
Fighting a smile, she let herself into her room and shut the door. She turned off every light and fluffed her pillows under her covers so that if he peeked in, he’d think she was asleep. Hopefully, that would be enough to deter him if he was feeling frisky. Then she shut her bathroom door, dragged out her makeup, plugged in her curling wand, and dug through her closet to find her shortest skirt.
An hour later, Maggie looked every inch like a woman on the prowl. She killed the bathroom light, carried her boots as she slipped out and tiptoed across the patio’s roof until she dropped down from the overhang, just outside the dining room. Through the windows in the adjacent room, she saw a flash of light that could only be the TV. So Josiah was still staring at the mindless box. Good. With any luck, she’d be long gone and back home from her mission, and he’d be none the wiser.
* * *
• • •
A faint slamming sound that didn’t belong with the droning TV show had Josiah’s head snapping up. If he wasn’t mistaken, the noise had come from the carport, just outside the family room.
Creeping up from the sofa, he turned off the lamp beside him. As he prowled toward the window, a car’s engine turned over and tires rolled over dirt. Suspicion brewed, and goddamn it, he wanted to be wrong. But when he peeked through the glass, Josiah just shook his head.
There was Maggie sneaking away from the house, driving slowly, no headlights to guide her.
Did she think he wouldn’t see or hear her leaving?
Snorting, he leapt into his sneakers, yanked his truck keys from his pocket, and let himself out the side door, grateful that Maggie’s grandfather had seen fit to give him a key to the house once he indicated he’d be staying a few days.
Josiah made his way through the dark and turned his engine over before shoving the vehicle into drive. As he turned off his automated headlights and pressed a heavy foot to the accelerator, he found himself less than a minute behind Maggie.
“Where are you going, girl?”
He intended to find out. And if his suspicions were anywhere close to reality—that she intended to stick her pretty nose in his investigation—the question wasn’t whether he’d spank her but how hard.
Yeah, okay, she hadn’t handed over her power or given him permission to top her, but the wild child clearly needed a firm hand. He probably shouldn’t bother, but if she needed someone to keep her sexy ass out of trouble, he’d damn well do it. Clearly, no one else had or would.
He followed her in darkness down their dirt drive, then to a wider dirt road serving the people in this rural area of town. This finally led to the paved road a few miles away.
As soon as Maggie hit the blacktop, she flipped on her headlights. Since the road was utterly deserted—Comfort rolled up early each night—Josiah remained dark until they reached the edge of town. He hung back while she went through a yellow light. Then, as soon as she was out of sight and obviously headed to the freeway, Josiah activated his he
adlights and waited until the stoplight turned green again. Two minutes later, he was behind Maggie, watching her little Honda travel east on I-10.
He had about twenty minutes to wonder where she was going. When they reached Boerne, she pulled off at the far edge of town, then got on the frontage road heading west again. Had she changed her mind and decided to head home?
Josiah had his answer when she pulled into a parking lot. He read the neon sign and groaned. “Why the hell are you going to a bar at nine thirty on a Sunday night?”
She parked, then climbed out of the vehicle. He gaped at what she wasn’t wearing while she obliviously scanned the lot, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the January chill because she hadn’t bothered with anything practical like a coat. An indecently tight white crop top cupped her breasts. In soft blue print across her boobs read the words COME AND GET IT. She’d paired that with a pink skirt so short, he feared a sudden gust of wind would reveal whatever she was—or wasn’t—wearing underneath. Her studded, blinged-out, high- heeled denim cowboy boots reached the middle of her thighs and made her legs look a hundred miles long.
Suddenly, she spotted a big black Jeep and nodded resolutely, slamming her car door and heading across the parking lot, toward the door, with purpose.
Magnolia Rose was on the prowl?
“Fuck,” Josiah muttered, gripping the steering wheel tight.
Who had she come to hook up with?
Shaking his head, he found a parking spot not far from Maggie’s, shoved his truck into park, and tried to decide what to do next. He’d expected her to seduce him tonight, try her best to coax information from him about the Haney investigation between the sheets. He hadn’t expected her to blow him off, drive to the nearest watering hole while wearing next to nothing, and . . . what? Josiah intended to find out.
He let her get inside and get comfortable—no sense not catching her red-handed—then he Googled the bar. Decent reviews, known for beer, chicken wings, and their constant sports on the big screens. For all that Maggie was a small-town girl, he wouldn’t have pegged her for a woman who liked any of those things. Her room had revealed a more sophisticated, even romantic soul. This place just said country.