Raylan

by Lindsay Cross

  Lawson raked a hand through his hair and didn’t bother looking at the numbers. “Wearing a ball cap? Shiny new Ford pick-up?”

  “Yep.”

  “Son of a bitch. Tommy, Amber’s ex-boyfriend. Did he physically harm her?”

  “If he had done more than twist her finger, I’d probably be dragging his body over here instead of sitting across the desk from you.” Raylan sat forward and dug his fingers into his legs. “But that’s not all of it.”

  Lawson thrummed his fingers on the desk, the sound almost as irritating as sitting there and doing nothing, but Raylan wanted to give the local law a chance to do their job without his interference. No matter how much he wanted to wrap his hands around Tommy’s fat throat.

  “What else?”

  “He gutted a stray cat and stuck it in my truck as a present. I covered it with a towel, but it’s still there for you to take a look at.” Even his training couldn’t suppress the shiver of nausea climbing up his stomach. It wasn’t so much the blood—he’d seen plenty of that—it was the smell of dead animal.

  A smell that would permeate his truck for weeks.

  Fucker.

  Lawson stopped moving his fingers and sat up, his eyes narrowed. “Animal mutilation? Again?”

  Alarm bells went off in Raylan’s head. “What do you mean, again?”

  “Shit. Forget I said that. Those were juvenile records—locked.”

  Raylan had to grip the arms of his chair to stay in his seat. “You’re telling me you let Amber date that sick fuck and didn’t warn her?”

  “You know as well as I do I can’t break those records. Not only would I lose my job, but he’d sue and bankrupt the entire town. Besides, I can’t go around telling all the women in town about their boyfriend’s childhood habits. Tommy hasn’t committed a crime since he turned eighteen.” Bo leaned forward, daring Raylan to argue.

  “Shit.” Raylan sat back in the chair abruptly. The antique groaned in protest, and he shot forward again. “You need new fucking furniture.”

  “Yeah, right along with a new cruiser and radio system. Does it look like Mercy is rolling in money to you?” Lawson gestured out the window behind him, his gaze just as hard and flat as the rest of the man.

  “Look, as much as I want to beat the shit out of Tommy, you are the law here. I respect that. That’s why I came here first. I don’t want trouble. I don’t want anything but to keep Amber safe.”

  “And you know as much as I do that until he threatens physical harm, my hands are tied.” Lawson crossed his arms, the movement stretching his tan uniform tight.

  “What about the dead cat?”

  “Who’s the witness?”

  “A Mrs. Peterson, Amber’s neighbor. She saw a man matching Tommy’s description next to my truck this morning.”

  Lawson’s deadpan expression took on a slight gleam. “The biggest gossip in town saw Tommy put a cat in your truck?”

  A snort drew both men’s attention to the doorway.

  “Lord, sonny, you don’t have a chance in heck.” Mrs. Oralee poked her head in the doorway, her expression full of sympathy. “Last year, she submitted an editorial to the newspaper saying she saw an alien space ship fly overhead. Tommy’s lawyer’ll eat her alive.”

  “Oralee, you know better than to eavesdrop,” Lawson said, rolling his eyes.

  She shrugged, and her overly-starched suit jacket shrugged with her.

  When she disappeared back to her desk, Raylan said, “So you’re telling me you aren’t going to do anything.”

  Lawson put his arms on the desk, his fingers threaded together. “I’ll put a deputy on him, and I’ll pull extra patrols at Amber’s house myself. But Tommy’s got lots of family money and a fancy lawyer on staff. Unless we get a concrete case together, I can arrest him all I want, but he’ll walk within the day. You know it. I know it.”

  As pissed as Raylan was, he still felt a grudging respect growing for the sheriff’s collected behavior. The man obviously controlled his office and his town, and he took his job personally. But that didn’t mean Raylan would sit on the sidelines and wait for Tommy to actually hurt his girl. He was no stranger to the ways of spoiled brats and criminals.

  He’d just have to keep his investigation quiet. Use his resources back home to gather intel. No matter how tightly the sheriff’s hands were tied, Raylan knew how to make a body disappear, if needed. He gave the sheriff a measured nod and said, “Didn’t come here to step on your toes. Just as a concerned citizen. You’ve got the license plate number and can get the evidence from my truck before I leave. What you do with it is up to you.”

  “Do I need to tell you to stay away from him?”

  Raylan smiled, not bothering to hide the hard glint he knew was in his eyes. “Well now, sheriff, you can tell me anything you want.”

  “You’re going to give me as much trouble as your cousins, aren’t you?” Lawson stood, his hand on his utility belt casual, except for the slight tension around the knuckles.

  “Do I really look like someone who causes trouble?”

  Lawson’s hard gaze locked on Raylan. “Shit.”

  Raylan stood and extended a hand, “You want the evidence out of my vehicle?”

  “Give me a minute, I’ll meet you outside.”

  Raylan walked out of the office and tipped his head at Ms. Oralee. “Ma’am.”

  He had every intention of staying under the Sheriff Lawson’s radar, but none whatsoever of leaving Tommy alone. That bastard would find out how serious Raylan took his promises.

  Seven

  “Thanks for letting me take my daughter’s appointment. These roots got out of control real quick.” Maxine Videl sat in Amber’s salon chair, a black cape wrapped around her.

  Amber placed another section of hair in the foil and painted Maxine’s roots with permanent hair color. If it wasn’t for the inch of grey growing out, no one would be able to guess that Maxine was over age forty. With her thick brown hair, stylish clothes and all-out-don’t-mess-with-me-attitude, the woman seemed more like a girl in her twenties. Heck, today she looked better than Amber, who’d barely spared the time to stick her hair into a tight bun and throw an apron over her old t-shirt and lounge pants. “Is Evie okay? I was worried when she cancelled this morning.”

  Maxine waved a hand in the air, her signature, long red nails flashing in front of Amber’s face. “She’s fine. Just some Braxton Hicks contractions. Her big, bad husband is going to shit a brick when she finally has my grandson. I went over to cook her breakfast this morning, her feet have been swelling a lot here at the end, and she grabbed her stomach for a nanosecond. Hunter was all over her, insisting she go lay down and let him call the doctor.”

  Amber smiled at the image of Hunter James, a huge Special Forces operative, acting like a worried hen over his tiny wife. Any time Amber had been around him, it had taken all she had not to quake in his shadow, but she’d never seen him be anything other than loving to his wife. “My mother always said men were babies when it came to having babies.”

  Maxine snorted. “For once, I agree with your mom. I’m making Hank bring the camera to the hospital when she goes into labor. I want to get Hunter passing out on video as proof even the strongest men are weaker than women.”

  Amber put another section of hair in the foil. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t picture six-foot three-inch and over two hundred pounds of Hunter James passing out. But since Hunter married Maxine’s daughter, and now Maxine was dating Hank, Hunter’s adopted father, Amber would have to take her word for it. “Has she picked out a name for the baby?”

  “Hank Willis James.” Maxine cringed, but there was still a happy light about the soon-to-be grandmother. “Evie insisted they name him after Hunter’s father, and Hunter insisted they name him after my dad. So there you go. All I can do is pray Hank Jr. doesn’t turn out like C.W.”

  Amber finished brushing color onto the last section of hair and started the timer. “You know the drill. Let i
t set for fifteen minutes then I’ll shampoo you.”

  Amber glanced out the window, looking for a distraction from the longing their conversation elicited. Everyone around her seemed to be either happily married or happily in love. But not Amber. She wasn’t happily anything.

  An older couple strolled past the glass-front doors of her salon, and she blinked hard once. Twice. Spine stiff, she turned to see Maxine pulling a magazine off the small stand nearby. “Did I just see C.W. and Mrs. Trudy holding hands?”

  Maxine rolled her eyes and tossed the magazine back on the rack. “Probably. Dad’s been officially dating Trudy for almost six months now.” She’d lifted her hands and did air quotes when she’d said dating.

  “Seriously?” Amber found that hard to believe. C.W. was a nice enough man, but the Vietnam War had left a serious mark on him. He typically dressed in fatigues, army boots, and kept his long grey hair pulled back into a ponytail. And she knew for a fact he didn’t go anywhere without his revolver strapped to his hip.

  Trudy Van Meter was all that her name implied. Classy. Elegant. Matron of the church. “Now, I really don’t believe you.”

  “I’ve seen crazier, but not often.” Maxine walked over to Amber and shook her head. “But I think she’s good for him. He doesn’t drink as much, and she even got him to attend the church service. Twice.”

  “Well, good for them. It seems like everyone’s got a date.” Everyone except her. Amber fought to keep her shoulders from stooping. She had a someone interested in her. Two, actually. No way she’d get back with Tommy—he’d shown his true colors this morning. At least, he hadn’t called again.

  No way she’d get back with Raylan either—even after the earth-shaking orgasms. No matter how much her body screamed that Raylan Wild was the answer to her relationship problems, her instincts screamed just as loudly that he couldn’t be trusted.

  “After that scene in my bar last night, I think you’ve got your own man troubles.” Never one to mince words, Maxine crossed her arms over her generous bosom and arched a dark brow.

  Amber clenched her hands at her sides. Since she hadn’t immediately brought up the incident, Amber had thought Maxine hadn’t been at work the previous night. So much for hoping. “Oh, that was nothing. Just some guy I used to know.”

  “Isn’t he that boy you dated after high school?”

  Seriously, the woman’s memory was more accurate than liquid eyeliner. Amber felt the flush working up her neck disperse across her entire face. “I can’t recall. Why don’t you sit down and let me check your color.”

  Maxine didn’t budge. “Didn’t look like you didn’t remember him when you threw your drink in his face.”

  The doorbell chimed and both women turned to see Raylan Wild stroll into the salon. Amber’s heart stopped completely, and she squeezed her eyes shut, praying he was just a bad dream invading her day.

  Raylan crossed the room and gave her a slow wink. “Good mornin’, cher.”

  Maxine nudged her with an elbow, “Just some guy, huh?”

  “Guess you’ve already heard the gossip. I’m the one who wore her margarita last night.” Raylan declared in his make-me-melt deep drawl.

  Amber opened her eyes in time to see Maxine accept his extended hand in greeting. “Maxine Videl.”

  “Raylan Wild.”

  Amber’s heart kicked into overdrive.

  Raylan winked at her, and then said, “Don’t worry. I deserved it.”

  Any angry retort quickly disappeared. Why couldn’t he just be a jerk? It would make it so much easier to hate him. But no, so far he’d been nothing but charming and sincere.

  His lips curved into a smile, and Amber sucked in a breath. The effect was devastating to her senses, as well as to her defenses. Raylan was pure sin and sex. And he was notorious for being good at both. Only last night, he hadn’t been good, he’d been mind-blowing. The heat staining her cheeks flushed down her chest and settled hot and heavy in her core.

  “You rushed out before we finished that conversation.” Raylan hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. The movement made him appear relaxed, but electricity sparked between them.

  Amber shoved her hands into the front pockets of her apron and closed around the comb she’d dropped in there earlier. She squeezed until the prongs pricked her palm. He’d almost said “this morning”, and that would have let Maxine know they’d spent the night together. “I had work, as you can see.”

  The whole reason she’d run this morning came slamming back and sent blood rushing in her ears. She couldn’t stop the small tremor that spread up her body. He’d tapped into her vulnerability, releasing long-buried emotions.

  Even as her anger rose at his daring to show up at her workplace like this, desire had her nipples tightening and straining toward him.

  “Don’t want to interrupt your work, just wanted to tell you that you’ve got a date tonight.” Raylan paused, letting the word sink before gesturing towards himself. “With me.”

  Alone with him again? Her immediate reaction was yes, she wanted all the alone time she could get it, but right on the heels of that visceral response came the logical one. She couldn’t handle Raylan anymore today than she could six years ago. “I’m sorry, but you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

  Raylan took one long stride forward, leaving barely an inch between them and forcing Amber to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. Their bodies didn’t touch, but it was like he had an invisible force field cocooning her body with his. “Do you want me to ask?” he whispered.

  Her heart beat hard once, twice. “It wouldn’t do you any good.”

  His gaze narrowed. “So you’d rather go home to an empty house while your ex-boyfriend stalks you?”

  A cold shock slammed into her body, and she glanced at Maxine, knowing it wouldn’t be much longer before she put two and two together.

  “Has Tommy threatened you?” he asked, this time not quietly enough.

  Amber shook her head no, and then bit her lip at the lie.

  “Want me to sic the boys on Tommy for you?” Maxine said, concern tightening her expression. “All I have to do is ask.”

  Did Amber want Hunter and Ranger to beat the crap out of Tommy? After this morning—maybe. But no matter how much she longed for him to simply disappear from her life, violence wasn’t the answer. “No, thank you. He won’t bother me again.”

  Maxine arched a dark brow, her expression disbelieving, and turned her attention to Raylan. “When did you meet him?”

  Raylan turned to Amber and raised his brows, all but asking out loud if she wanted him to tell the truth. She shook her head, no!

  A grin stretched his mouth. “Is it worth a date to you?”

  She wanted to scream. “That’s blackmail,” she whispered furiously.

  He shrugged. “Yep.”

  Dang it. Either agree to a date or have him tell the world they’d slept together. Could she hold him off for one night? Really, just a couple of hours in a restaurant surrounded by people. Surely she could keep her clothes on until she satisfied his requirement of a date. “Fine.”

  She couldn’t make her fingers let go of the comb in her pocket, so she locked her arms straight to keep from stabbing him with the sharp end.

  “What time do you get done tonight?”

  “Six,” Amber said through clenched teeth.

  “Nice to meet you,” Raylan said to Maxine, and then turned and left, the doorbell chiming like a bad omen in his wake.

  “Oh honey, you’re in way over your head,” Maxine murmured, her gaze following him down the street.

  The timer went off, and Amber ran to silence the alarm. Maxine had no idea just how right she was.

  Eight

  The afternoon flew by on freaking wings. After two perms, three cuts, and a highlight, she was ready to lock up the shop. But Saline stuck her foot in the door before she could flip the closed sign around.

  “What you got planned for tonight?”

  Saturd
ay night in Mercy offered about three options—go back to The Wharf for a drink, ride the dirt roads, or sit at home and watch reruns. None of which Amber was doing. She motioned Saline inside and quickly locked on the door, barring any unwelcome visitors. “Apparently, I have a date.”

  Saline’s eyes lit up, and she immediately clapped her hands together. “Is it the Cajun hottie from last night?”

  Amber squinted at her best friend. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

  “Anybody’s side that gets you laid.” Saline strolled farther into the salon and sat in the middle chair, spun around and steepled her fingers together like the evil mastermind that she was. “What time is he picking you up?”

  Amber glanced at the small clock over the wall of mirrors. “In about thirty minutes.”

  Saline shot up from the chair, grabbed Amber’s hand, and rushed to the door. “You sure as hell can’t let him see you looking like that.”

  Amber’s earlier insecurities about her choice of clothing came rushing back at full speed. Her apron was covered in hair and bleach. The baggy pants and shirt made her look like she was wearing a box. After her quick shower this morning, she’d forgone make-up altogether. Amber grimaced and pulled the apron off. “Too late, he stopped by earlier today.”

  “Okay—we’ll switch the game plan. You stay here, fix your hair and face, and I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Got a new shipment from the designer in New York I’ve been working with. We’re going to knock your stud’s socks off.” Saline snagged the keys from Amber, unlocked the door, and ran across the street to her boutique.

  She’d moved in and set up shop a couple of years ago, straight out of college, determined to bring fashion to the small town of Mercy. Amber had been leery of the edgy, stylish girl at first. But Saline had relentlessly visited, insisting Amber display some of her jewelry in the salon, and in turn, she’d give Amber’s patrons a discount. The deal had worked, bringing in more business for both of them, and the girls became friends.