by Paula Graves
Harlan’s gaze angled to meet Stacy’s briefly, then turned back to Matt. He forced another smile. “It was fine. She’s getting married again, so I’m off the alimony hook.”
“Really?” Matt grinned, seeming to take Harlan’s answer at face value. Stacy was beginning to wonder whether all men had a touch of Asperger’s syndrome, as bad as they were at reading subtext in conversations. “When’s the happy day?”
“I don’t know. Sometime soon. She said her lawyer would be in touch.”
Zachary tugged at her sleeve, drawing her attention. “Mommy, we can’t be late for the riding lesson today.”
With a start of surprise, Stacy glanced at her watch. It was nearly one. The lesson started at one-thirty, and Zachary hated to be late for anything, but especially for his riding lessons. To her relief, she saw Faith approaching with their orders. “Faith, can we get that to go? I have to drive Zachary out to the Long K for his riding lessons, and you know how he is about being late-”
“Sure thing,” Faith said with a smile of understanding, heading back toward the kitchen to prepare the orders for takeout. She dropped a kiss on her baby’s downy head on the way, and managed a quick peck for Matt, as well.
“I’m sorry, Harlan-I have to take Zachary to the Long K. But he stays there for the afternoon and plays with the twins after his lessons, so I’ll be able to give you my total attention until five. Okay?” Even as she asked the question, her stomach turned a little flip. After her scare earlier, the thought of leaving Zachary behind for someone else to take care of gave her the shivers.
“I have a better idea,” Harlan said. “I’ll go with y’all to the Long K. One of the ranch staff worked there before he worked at Twin Harts, so I was planning to talk to Lindsay about him anyway. We can work while Zachary is riding. Then we can all head back here when he’s done.”
She gave him a grateful look, certain that he’d been planning to talk to Lindsay by phone rather than drive out to the Long K Ranch. He must have read the hesitation in her expression earlier at the thought of leaving Zachary behind at the ranch. Maybe all men weren’t bad at nonverbal cues after all. “Okay,” she agreed.
She saw Matt Soarez give Harlan a thoughtful look. Matt’s dark-eyed gaze drifted her way, and one eyebrow notched upward.
Stacy looked quickly away, not wanting to encourage Matt’s speculation. Freedom was a tiny place, and it didn’t take long for the grapevine to start rumbling around town. She should have realized that sitting down for lunch with Harlan McClain might start minds turning and tongues wagging.
And newly-in-loves were the worst. They thought everyone should be as happy as they were, come hell or high water.
Only being in love wasn’t Stacy’s idea of happy. Not anymore. She’d loved Anthony once, beyond all reason or sanity, and look how well that had turned out. Apparently Harlan’s own marriage hadn’t exactly been all hearts and flowers, either.
There weren’t two people in Freedom, Texas, who belonged in a romantic relationship less than she and Harlan.
THE LONG K RANCH was smaller and a little shabbier than Twin Harts, which had benefited from the oil boom decades earlier. A month ago, during Wade Coltrane’s investigation into threats against the governor, stories of a longtime rivalry between the Kemps of Long K and the governor’s family had come out. Something about oil being found on land Lila Lockhart’s father had bought from the Kemp family years back when the Kemps had suffered some financial setbacks.
If he had his choice, Harlan would rather be working at the Long K than at Twin Harts, he decided as he left the homey ranch house behind and walked down to the training ring, where Lindsay was giving Zachary his riding lesson. The governor’s ranch was beautiful, but the Long K felt more comfortable. Like a real home.
He slowed his approach, his gaze following the dark-haired little boy as he circled the ring on a small but powerful-looking chestnut quarter horse. A ripple of unease tweaked his gut as he watched the tiny boy work the horse with a surprising show of both nerve and skill.
His gaze shifted until he spotted Stacy’s dark hair dancing in the breeze. She stood at the corral fence, arms folded across the top rail. At first glance, she seemed at ease, but as Harlan stepped closer, he saw the worry lines creasing her forehead and the tense set of her shoulders and back.
He felt a powerful urge to erase those worry lines and relax her muscles. Maybe put a smile back on her pretty but troubled face.
He just didn’t know if he had what it took anymore.
“He’s good,” Harlan said aloud.
She gave a little start, turning to squint at him. He stepped forward until he blocked the sun, and her face relaxed a little. “You have a habit of sneaking up on me.”
He smiled and settled in next to her at the fence. “Sorry. Military training. Sneaking is second nature.”
“What service?”
“U.S. Marine Corps, at your service.”
“Oo-rah,” she murmured softly. At his questioning look, she added, “My uncle was a Marine.”
“Marine uncle, search and rescue father-what was your mother, a lion tamer?”
“English professor.” She smiled, and he was struck again how much the expression transformed her face. The worry lines seemed to melt away, and her ordinarily pretty face became absolutely stunning.
He had to look away in order to continue. “I would ask who you’re more like-your mother or your father-but I saw you in action in Austin.”
“Actually, I have a master’s degree in English,” she said with a smile in her voice. “And a bachelor’s degree in English and Poli-Sci. I was a few credits short of a PhD in English-thought I wanted to teach.”
“What changed your mind?”
“I got married. My ex wanted me to pursue my interest in political science-he thought I’d be happier.” She sighed, her expression bittersweet. “He was right, as much as I hate to admit it. I did some PR for a Tennessee congressman while I was working on my doctorate. Then Anthony decided Texas was the place to be if we wanted to make a big splash in politics.”
“We?” he asked, looking back at the training ring as Zachary took the quarter horse into a canter.
“He’s a lobbyist for the oil industry. Not really that political, actually-he follows the money. I was the one who was bitten by the policy bug.”
He looked at her again, sensing from her tone of voice that her dangerous smile had disappeared. He was right. She was following her son’s circuit of the ring with a troubled gaze.
“Enough personal stuff,” she said. “Did you get what you needed at the ranch house, or should I call Lindsay over to talk to you?”
“I called ahead. Lindsay set me up with the foreman, and he gave me everything he had.”
“Anything of note?”
“Maybe.”
“What are you looking for in the background checks?”
“This and that,” he answered vaguely, not sure he should be telling anyone, not even Stacy, about what Vince Russo had discovered about the explosive device. Information security might turn out to be vital to the investigation.
“I know it’s important, but having people nose around in your background is creepy,” Stacy murmured.
“You’ve been through it before.”
“That’s how I know it’s creepy.”
It wasn’t his favorite part of the job, either. He usually preferred a more hands-on approach to security. Put a rifle in his hand, point him toward a nest of human vipers on the battlefield, and he knew what to do. Being in charge of all aspects of this security plan was a lot more daunting.
He flexed his scarred hand, the twinge of pain a reminder that his rifle-wielding days were behind him. He’d recently started taking target practice again, with mixed results. He supposed he should be happy he still had a hand left to pull a trigger. It could have gone the other way.
“How did you injure your hand?” Stacy asked.
“IED in Iraq,” he answered
shortly.
Her voice dropped an octave. “You’re lucky to be alive. It’s amazing you still have use of your hand.”
“I know.” At least, he knew that now. For months of painful surgeries, recovery and rehab at Walter Reed, he hadn’t been so sure. Especially when his doctors told him he’d never be able to shoot his sniper rifle again.
He’d proved them wrong. Sort of. He could finally shoot again. He just couldn’t always hit the target anymore.
“Is that why you retired from the service?”
“Something like that.”
She looked up at him, her face once again transformed by a smile. Her skin seemed to glow where the sun touched it, as if she were made of pale gold. He felt tempted to touch the curve of her cheek to find out if she were soft and warm-or hard and cold. He clenched his arm to his side and looked away.
“What are we going to do about security checkpoints at the party?” Stacy asked. “I don’t think the governor is going to want her guests to feel as if they’ve just entered the Green Zone in Baghdad.”
“They’re going to have to put up with at least some inconvenience,” Harlan said firmly, glad to have business talk to distract him from how much he still wanted to touch her.
They continued discussing the plans for the fundraiser on the drive back to Twin Harts Ranch, their spirited back-and-forth punctuated now and then by Zachary’s horse-related non sequiturs. They didn’t make a lot of sense in the context of what he and Stacy were talking about, but Harlan found himself more amused than frustrated by Zachary’s rambling commentary.
The kid was incredibly bright and articulate for a five-year-old, with a vocabulary and a logical thought process that might elude a much older child. And knowing his problem made it easier for Harlan to accept and enjoy Zachary for who he was. He was quirky and interesting. He was always going to be a different kind of person, but different wasn’t always bad.
Sometimes, he thought, his gaze wandering back to Stacy’s profile, different was very, very good.
THEY ARRIVED BACK AT THE RANCH around 5:00 p.m. “I need to get that ranch map you were asking about in the car,” Stacy said as she let them inside the house. She headed for her bedroom office, leaving Zachary with Harlan in the living room.
It only occurred to her as she was coming back up the hallway that she hadn’t thought twice about leaving Zachary in Harlan’s care. That wasn’t like her at all.
She found him in the kitchen, opening a can of vegetable soup for Zachary, who sat at the kitchen bar watching him, perched on one of the tall stools.
Harlan glanced at Stacy over his shoulder. “He said it was vegetable soup night and he was hungry.”
She smiled. “He insists on vegetable soup after his Thursday riding lesson. Not sure why.”
“Hey, why question something good like veggie soup, right?” He smiled at Zachary. Zachary was stone-faced in response. To his credit, Harlan seemed unfazed by Zachary’s lack of reaction.
“Is there a special way he likes his soup prepared?” he asked Stacy just as the phone started ringing.
She started toward the phone. “Use one of the bigger bowls to mix it with a half a can of water. Heat it for thirty seconds in the microwave, just to take the chill off. Put half in the red bowl-be sure it’s the red bowl. I’ll eat the rest later.” Stacy picked up the phone receiver. “Hello?”
The line was open, but no one responded.
“Hello?” she repeated.
She thought she heard breathing on the other end, for just a second. Then there was a soft click and the line went dead.
Weird, she thought as she hung up the phone.
“Wrong number?” Harlan asked.
She turned and found him pouring soup into the red bowl sitting in front of Zachary. “I guess-nobody said anything.”
A little furrow formed between Harlan’s dark eyebrows. “Did you hear anything at all on the other end of the line?”
“I thought I heard breathing. It was probably some kid making a crank call.” She shrugged it off.
“Maybe,” Harlan murmured. He picked up the phone and punched a couple of buttons-checking incoming caller ID, Stacy realized.
“Anything?” she asked.
He shook his head, putting down the phone and heading back to the kitchen. “Number’s blocked.”
“Do you think it was something besides a prank?” Stacy settled down next to Zachary at the breakfast bar.
Harlan set the larger bowl in front of her and slid a spoon across the counter. “I don’t think we can assume anything, one way or the other. Whoever’s after the governor probably knows you’re her closest aide. That could make you a target. I want to put an extra guard on your place, if that’s okay with you.”
Stacy had spent six years married to a man who had liked to micromanage her every move. To be caged that way again was unappealing. But the last thing Stacy wanted was for her son to be in danger.
“Okay,” she said, looking down at her soup, all appetite gone. “But can you even get a guard here tonight on such short notice?”
Harlan was quiet for a moment. Stacy could almost see his thoughts churning behind his dark, conflicted gaze. Then his expression cleared and his jaw squared.
“Tonight,” he said in a firm voice, “you’ll have me.”
Chapter Nine
Harlan listened to the sounds of Stacy putting Zachary to bed, feeling strangely lonely to be left out here in the living room, excluded from their nightly routine.
He’d been careful to keep his distance from them both that evening, not just to ease the wariness that lurked behind Stacy’s dark eyes but also because he didn’t want to throw Zachary’s schedule into flux. He knew the little boy disliked change, and he didn’t want to cause him any stress.
But he hadn’t reckoned with Zachary’s fascination with him. The boy had been Harlan’s shadow all night, and only the promise of another ride at the Twin Harts stables later that weekend had coaxed Zachary away from Harlan’s side at bedtime.
He should have called one of the other CSI agents to play bodyguard. Matt or Parker or Wade-someone already madly in love and immune to Stacy Giordano’s considerable charms.
Which, he had to admit, he was not. He wanted her. He could admit that much, couldn’t he?
Stacy emerged from the back of the house with a smile on her face and a stuffed horse in her arms. She handed the toy to Harlan. “Zachary sent you Bobbin in case you needed something to sleep with.”
It’s not Bobbin I want to sleep with, Harlan thought. He forced himself to look away from her radiant smile. “Thanks. I just might.”
She dropped into the armchair across from where he sat on the sofa, tucking her legs up under her. “I’m sorry he made a pest of himself tonight.”
“He didn’t. I like the little guy. He’s really smart.”
“Asperger’s isn’t all bad,” she said. “He could have been born with severe autism and be unable to communicate at all.”
“It must be expensive, dealing with his needs.”
Her smile faded. “It’s why I have to keep this job.”
“Can’t your ex pay more child support?”
“I could ask, and I will if I have to. But I depended on Anthony to be there for me and for Zachary, no matter what, and he failed me. That’s one mistake I don’t intend to repeat.”
Harlan could sympathize. He’d counted on that same sort of loyalty from Alexis. Of course, now that he was a couple of years past her betrayal, he could see his own failures that had led to their divorce. But the big one-the infidelity-that was all Alexis. He’d never broken his vows to her until she shattered them by cheating.
“Do you really think that call was a threat?” Stacy asked.
Grateful for the change of subject, Harlan answered as truthfully as he could. “I don’t know. I can’t assume anything at this point.”
“I wish we knew why the governor’s a target. It would give us a better idea where to sta
rt looking for suspects.”
“It could be anything,” Harlan pointed out. “She’s a woman-maybe someone doesn’t think a woman should be president. It could be eco-terrorists or someone who doesn’t like her Big Oil connections. It could even be far-right militia members who see her as another cog in the government machine.”
“Could it be personal? Someone she’s ticked off over the years?” Stacy asked.
“Maybe,” Harlan conceded. “Do you know anyone who fits that bill?”
“Well, Henry Kemp, of course-he’s always held on to that family grudge about the land purchase-but you’ve ruled him out now, haven’t you?”
Harlan hoped so, since his fellow agent Wade Coltrane was crazy in love with Kemp’s daughter Lindsay. “Anybody else come to mind?” He’d read over all the files by now and knew the governor was outspoken enough to draw fire from any number of special interest groups, but Stacy was in the governor’s inner circle. She might know things the files didn’t reveal.
“Allen Davidson can’t stand her.” Stacy grimaced. “He’s a radio talk show host out of Dallas. They’ve crossed swords more than once. But I can’t see him setting a bomb.”
“Not even for higher ratings?” Harlan teased, making Stacy smile. His body tightened at the sight.
“There’s also Bill Arkwright.”
“The mayor?”
“He’s not Lila’s biggest fan. But does he dislike her enough to plant a bomb in Austin? Not seeing it.”
“What about protestors? Have you come across any new groups lately?”
“The usual, really. Peace groups who don’t approve of her support for military action overseas. Animal activists who don’t like that she’s a rancher and a carnivore. Environmentalists who hate her oil interests and her land management policies. Anarchists who hate government in general.” Stacy shrugged. “You’ve probably seen all the files the state police have compiled on the various groups.”
He had. None of them had stood out as blatant threats, although he supposed all of the groups might contain dangerous elements that weren’t immediately obvious. “I guess, given the way Frank Dorian went after her, we should check on other death row inmates who were executed on her watch.”