by Paula Graves
“Don’t try to distract me.” Jack strode into the stable, his eyes darkening. “You said something about an attack, Hannah.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded section of newspaper. “Funny-I read something about an attack in the newspaper just this afternoon.”
Riley’s arms tightened around Hannah’s waist. His tension radiated through her where their bodies touched, making her stomach clench painfully.
“Seems a woman was attacked on the road to Moran the other day. No identity given, but police sources say the assailant got away, and other sources mentioned a possible second attack in a Jackson hospital.” Jack handed the paper to Hannah. “Page three.”
She opened the paper to the page he mentioned. There it was: Tourist attacked on highway; hospital security breach?
“What makes you think that’s me?”
“The timing. Your injuries. The complete impossibility of Riley meeting someone online, much less someone he’d invite to stay with him after just one meeting.”
Riley dropped his hands away from Hannah, backing away. Cool air replaced the heat of his body, and she shivered.
“Nobody can know Hannah’s connected to that story. Nobody, Jack. Understand?”
Jack’s lips tightened to a thin, angry line. “You lied to me. Me, Riley. I didn’t deserve that.”
“You drink too much, Jack. You party too much. You don’t keep your tongue when you’re drinking.”
Real pain etched lines in Jack’s face. “That’s what you think of me?”
“Tell me it’s not true.”
“It’s not true,” Jack said angrily. Then he lowered his voice. “Not anymore.”
Riley’s expression grew thoughtful. “When did that happen?”
“Last year. I got drunk in Amarillo and lost the best thing that ever happened to me.” Jack removed his hat and ran his fingers briskly through his thick black hair. “I guess you wouldn’t have known about that.”
“And why’s that, Jack? Because you haven’t been back here since Emily died?”
“I couldn’t.”
Hannah felt like a voyeur, watching the two men deal with their private pain. She eased away from them, retreating to the horse box near the back, where Lucky quietly chewed what was left of the night’s feed. She ran her hand down his brown spotted neck. He rewarded her with a soft nicker of pleasure.
“Why did you bring her here to stay with you?” Jack asked, apparently not caring that she was right there in the stable with them. “She could have stayed with Joe and his wife, or, hell, the Teton County Sheriff’s Department could’ve found her a safe place to stay. Why was the first lie you came up with about sleeping with her? Have you given that any thought?”
“Stop it, Jack! This is all about Emily,” Riley said, his voice rising with emotion. “Everything I’ve done since the day she died is about making sure the son of a bitch who murdered her gets what’s coming to him. Don’t you dare question that.”
Hannah felt a sick, hot pain in the center of her chest. She turned her back to them, pressing her face against the gelding’s warm, silky neck.
What’s the matter, Hannah? You knew what was what. You knew it all along.
“Okay, so nobody can know why she’s here,” Jack said. “What’s next?”
Hannah looked over her shoulder at Riley, wondering what he’d answer. He paused, as if at a loss for an answer, and slowly turned to look at her, his expression impossible to read.
“A lot of people have already seen us together,” he said, his gaze remaining locked with hers. “The few who’ve asked, I told the same story I told you, Jack. It’s probably all over town by now. We can’t shift gears now.”
“I can move back to the guest room,” she suggested, pleased that her voice came out calm and pragmatic, considering how much she wanted to go find a quiet corner and cry.
“Then I guess I should go,” Jack said.
“No,” Hannah said quickly, moving toward him. The last thing she could bear was driving Jack away from what was apparently the only home-and family-he had.
And the last thing she needed was to spend the next few nights alone in the house with Riley.
Chapter Ten
Quiet tension settled over the scene, punctuated by the drumming of rain on the stable’s metal roof. Hannah’s pulse drummed in her ears as she waited for Jack’s answer.
Jack looked at Riley, a question in his eyes. Hannah looked at Riley, too, wondering what he’d say.
“It’s your home,” Riley said. “You’re Emily’s brother.”
She released a soft breath and laid her hand on Jack’s arm. “You keep the guest room. I’ll bunk on the sofa.”
“I’ll take the couch. You’re still recuperating.” Jack patted her hand, the tension in his muscles easing. “Dinner’s on the table. I grabbed takeout from Haley’s Barbecue-best beef ribs west of the Mississippi.”
The thought of food made her feel ill, but she managed a smile. “Why don’t you drive me back to the house and I’ll brew up some old-fashioned Southern sweet tea to go with it? Riley can finish up here.”
“Wait and let me drive you back,” Riley countered.
“Don’t you trust me?” Jack shot him a pointed look.
Riley frowned. “Fine. But don’t mess around. Go straight home and lock up when you get there.”
Jack laid his hand on Hannah’s back, gentle pressure guiding her out with him. They dashed through the rain to his battered Ford F-10 and hurried into the cab.
Jack paused with his hand on the starter. “I know I’m being a big baby about all this. It’s just-Riley was the best thing that ever happened to Emily. It’s hard even imagining him caring about anyone else the way he loved her, you know?”
Hannah smiled, genuinely this time. “I do understand. And for the record-I think Emily was the best thing that ever happened to him, too. I know he thinks so.”
The gratitude in Jack’s eyes made her want to cry. “I wish you could have known her.”
“I do, too,” she admitted.
Emily Patterson must have been one hell of a woman, to have left such a big hole in the lives of men like Jack Drummond and Riley Patterson.
HANNAH HAD THOUGHT SHE’D be relieved by having a room to herself after so much togetherness with Riley over the past couple of days, but she’d found it hard to fall asleep. Every bump, rattle or moan of the wind kept her on edge for most of the night. She fell into a restless sleep around 3:00 a.m., waking around seven thanks to the sound of bootfalls outside her door. Her headache was back, though she suspected the culprit was her sleepless night rather than her concussion, and sometime in the night the fire in her wood stove had died away, leaving the room icy cold.
She dressed in jeans and a dark green sweater, thankful she’d done her homework and packed for the cooler mountain climate. Back home in Alabama, early October was still warm enough to walk around in short sleeves and sandals most days.
She followed the smell of bacon and coffee to the kitchen and found Jack alone at the stove, cobbling together an omelet. “Good morning,” he said over his shoulder.
She mumbled a response and poured a cup of coffee, stirring in a teaspoon of sugar from a canister by the coffeemaker. The brew was hot and strong, just like she liked it. She took her cup back to the table and let it warm her up.
“Want an omelet?”
Now that the coffee was doing the trick, her appetite was kicking in. “Yes, please. Where’s Riley?”
“Joe came by early this morning. I think they’re out with the horses.” Jack flipped an omelet onto a plate and placed it in front of her. “Dig in.”
The omelet was excellent, and she told him so.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said mildly.
“I just figured a rodeo cowboy wouldn’t have much time to hone his culinary skills.”
“Oh, there’s plenty of downtime. And rodeo pay is pretty unpredictable, so you learn to get by without a lot of the p
erks.” He finished off his double omelet quickly, downing it with two cups of coffee. “I’m getting too old for it.”
“Thinking about settling down?” she teased, expecting him to quickly deny it.
But he didn’t. “I’ve lost too much time with people I love while I was chasing rodeos around the country. Maybe if I’d been here-”
She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “From what I understand, there’s not much anyone could have done, except stop the killer first.”
He turned his palm up, squeezing her hand with a grateful half smile. “You’re right. I know you are. I just-”
He fell quiet when the kitchen door opened and Riley entered, Joe Garrison bringing up the rear.
Riley’s eyes narrowed slightly as he saw Hannah’s hand in Jack’s. Hannah ignored the urge to jerk her hand away, letting Jack remove his hand first.
“Anything new?” she asked, directing the question to Joe. Riley crossed silently to the coffeemaker and poured a cup.
Joe sat next to her, laying a thick folder on the table. “Maybe. We’re not sure.” He opened the folder and handed her a photocopy of a driver’s license. “Does this man look familiar?”
The man in question was Dale Morton, age 44, with a home address in Moran, Wyoming. He had sandy-brown hair and, according to the information on the license, brown eyes, though it was hard to tell that from the photo. He was average-looking, maybe a little on the beefy side.
She shook her head. “But I didn’t see his face.”
“As far as you remember.” Riley had remained standing to drink his coffee, leaning against the counter. He continued to watch her through narrowed eyes.
It was starting to annoy her.
“Who is this guy?”
“He’s a security guard at the hospital. He was on duty the night you were admitted, but he was off duty earlier in the day. He also worked at the hospital in Casper where Emily was working when she was murdered,” Riley answered.
Jack reached across the table to take the photo from Hannah’s hands. “You think this is the guy who killed Em?”
“We don’t know,” Joe warned quickly. “We were looking for links, and that one turned up.”
“It’s the only link between the two hospitals among the Jackson Memorial security staff,” Riley added.
“What if it wasn’t someone in security?” Hannah asked. “I mean, we don’t know that it wasn’t someone on the medical staff. Whoever it was sure seemed to know his way around an IV tube.”
“We started with security because of the tampered surveillance recording,” Joe said. “We’re looking at the medical staff, too.”
“Joe just wanted to pass this one by you, see if he jogged your memory at all.”
She looked up at Jack. He handed her the photo again, and she gave it another look. “I think the build could probably fit.” Though she’d seen little more than the man’s midsection, he’d been on the bigger side. Not overweight, exactly, but thick waisted and on the burly side.
“I’ll tell Sheriff Tanner. Maybe we can connect him to some of the other crime scenes.” Joe took the photo from her and put it back in the file.
“Nothing yet on the belt buckle?” she asked.
“No, but we’ve got people from three different agencies out there looking,” Joe assured her. He picked up the file and stood. “I’ve got to get to the office. I’ll call later if anything new comes up.” He let himself out.
“There’s an omelet for you in the pan on the stove,” Jack told Riley.
Riley made a grunting sound in response and grabbed a clean plate from the drying rack by the sink. He transferred the omelet to the plate, took the seat Joe had vacated and started eating without a word.
Jack caught Hannah’s eye, lifting one eyebrow.
She shrugged.
“If you’re going to talk about me, do it aloud,” Riley said, setting his fork down by his plate.
“Bad morning out at the stable?” Jack asked innocently.
“No, everything’s fine. I just didn’t sleep well.”
“I didn’t, either,” Hannah admitted. “The coffee helped.”
Riley looked at her, his expression softening. “You didn’t have to get up so early.”
“I don’t want to sleep away what time I have left here in Wyoming. I feel like I haven’t accomplished anything.”
“You have,” he assured her. “We may not find the guy before you leave, but you’ve already given us leads we didn’t have before.”
“I wish I could remember more details. Maybe something about the car, or his voice or-something.”
Riley finished his omelet and washed it down with the rest of his coffee. “Actually, I thought about that while I was trying to go to sleep. I think we may have been doing the wrong things to try to jog your memory.”
“What do you mean?”
“The only thing you’ve really remembered was the belt buckle. And that happened when you weren’t actually trying to remember, right?”
She nodded, her cheeks growing warm as she remembered the intimacy of that moment, alone in Riley’s bedroom. He’d been sitting there watching her, close enough to touch.
“It gave me an idea.” Riley’s voice took on a dark, warm color that left her with no doubt that he also remembered that moment between them. He held out his hand, his gaze challenging her to take it.
She put her hand in his and rose from the table.
“Jack, you don’t mind cleaning up, do you?” Riley didn’t wait for an answer, closing his fingers around Hannah’s and leading her to the back door. He reached into the mudroom and grabbed their jackets off the hooks, letting go of her hand just long enough to help her into her coat.
Taking her hand again, he led her outside.
“Feel like a little exercise?” he asked, waving toward a wooden post to the right of the door, where Jazz and Bella stood, saddled and a little restless, breath rising from their nostrils in wispy curls of white.
She grinned, her mood immediately lightening. “We’re going riding?”
“You bet.” He handed her Bella’s reins, and she pulled herself up in the saddle. The chestnut mare nickered softly, her muscles twitching as if eager for a good run.
Riley mounted Jazz and took the lead, guiding the horses through an open gate toward the pasture beyond the stables. Once they were out in the pasture, he gave Jazz a swift nudge in the side and the shiny black gelding sprinted ahead, hitting a full, joyous gallop in a matter of seconds.
Excitement flowing like blood in her veins, Hannah urged Bella into a run and flew across the pasture in pursuit.
“THAT DOES IT,” SHE SAID LATER, watching the horses grazing a short distance away, their coats glistening with a light sweat after the morning run. “We’re definitely adding trail rides to the Cooper Cove Outdoor Experience.”
Riley had led them to the upper reaches of the pasture, where the grassland met the foot of Sawyer’s Rise. Flat, wide boulders dotted the area, providing a dry place to sit after the exhilarating ride.
“You’re a good rider.” Riley settled next to her on the boulder rather than finding his own seat on one of the nearby rocks, though her choice of seats was barely big enough for two. She didn’t know whether to be glad for his warmth or worried by the sudden acceleration of her pulse.
“I’m no cowgirl.” She smiled to cover her sudden nerves. “Bella’s a great horse.”
“She likes you.” He reached up and combed his fingers through her tousled hair. “We need to find you a hat.”
She closed her eyes, trying hard not to lean into his light touch. She might as well stop kidding herself-she was halfway over the moon about this guy, and all the self-lectures in the world wouldn’t do a damned bit of good.
So what if they’d be parting ways forever in just a few days? People had vacation flings all the time. Would it really be so wrong to enjoy whatever there was between them, even if she knew it could never last? On
ce she got home, she could file it away as a nice memory, to take out now and then and remember with fondness.
Couldn’t she?
Riley’s fingers crept lower, moving gently against the muscles of her neck. “How’s your head? Any more pain or dizziness?”
“No,” she answered. The headache she’d awakened with was long gone, banished by the invigorating ride. She felt better than she had since the attack. “You don’t have to treat me like an invalid anymore. I really feel fine now.”
He shifted until his legs were on either side of her and added his other hand to the neck massage. “I wouldn’t have brought you riding with me if I didn’t know that.”
Giving up her resistance, she relaxed back against his chest and gave herself permission to enjoy being close to him.
“Too bad we don’t have a deck of cards with us,” he murmured in her ear. “We could play another game of smackpop.”
“Popsmack,” she corrected with a chuckle. “We don’t need cards-we could just take turns. You can start. Ask me anything.”
“Anything?”
She nodded. “Except how much I weigh.”
“I already know. I peeked at your hospital chart.”
She groaned. “Completely unfair.”
He tugged at her hair. “Can I ask a question or not?”
She sighed and settled back against him. “Shoot.”
“Does the Crappie Queen have to wear a crown?”
She nudged him with her elbow. “Smart aleck.”
“And maybe one of those-what do you call it-sashes?”
“It wasn’t like I was in a pageant or anything,” she protested. “I’m just the best crappie fisherman on Gossamer Lake. I know where all the little suckers are hiding, no matter what time of year.”
She felt his lips nuzzle her earlobe. “Do you wear little shorts when you fish?”
“Only in the summer,” she murmured, moving her head to make it easier for him to keep doing whatever amazing thing it was he was doing to the side of her neck. “And that’s two questions.”
“Sorry. Your turn.”
She pondered what to ask, not wanting anything to shatter this perfect moment of contentment. She could keep it light, she supposed, like he had. Something he could answer yes or no, so he wouldn’t have to remove his lips from the side of her neck for long.