by Leah Braemel
Like Logan had ever dared kiss a girl before. Or that Allie would choose Lo over him. Chuckling at the empty threat, Ben toed off his boots, ditched his shirt and jeans. He hesitated before dropping his briefs and glanced around.
“What’s the matter, chicken?” Logan draped his arm around Allie’s shoulders and pulled her closer. “I think you’re afraid to prove to your girlfriend here that my dick is bigger than yours.”
“As if.” He glanced around again, looking for any sign of movement on the hills. If a ranch hand was up there and reported to Gramps he was slacking off, he’d never hear the end of it.
“Come on, Ben.” Allie lowered herself into the water until Logan’s arm dropped to his side. She swam a few feet toward him, then rose again, the water sheeting off her breasts in a shower of diamonds. “It’s not like I ain’t never seen you naked before.”
With a shrug he slipped off his underwear until he was as naked as Logan, then waded out until the bath-warm water was to his thighs. He arced his body and dove, swimming beneath the surface with strong stroke.
The moment he surfaced Allie wrapped her legs around his waist. “Hey you, what took you so long?”
Oh damn, if she’d ditched her panties, his dick could have slid right inside her. “Baby, you feel so damned good. If I had a condom on right now, I’d fuck you right here and now.”
“Even though Logan’s watching us?” She tilted back, pressing her cleft over his cock.
A groan catching in his throat, Ben thrust into the damp cotton barrier. “Let him watch. Hell, he can even help if he wants to.”
“Oooh, kinky.” The glint of mischief in Allie’s expression should have warned him a half second before she squirmed from his grip and swam straight toward Logan. “Hey, Logan. You ever kissed a girl before?”
“Uh, s-sure.” There was no way in hell Logan could blame the color filling his cheeks on sunburn. Still, he slid a glance Ben’s way before grinning slyly. “Why? You want me to show you how a real man kisses a beautiful woman?”
“Sheesh, lay it on a little thick why don’t you? Just for that you’ll have to come get a kiss if you dare.” Allie slipped from Ben’s arms and sank beneath the surface, the water betraying her path away from him.
She was halfway across the pond before she slowed to see if he was following. “Well, come on, Lo. I tagged you. Now you have to tag one of us.”
Logan stared at him, wide-eyed.
“Go on, Lo. She’ll just keep bugging you until you kiss her.”
* * *
Maybe if they’d stopped there. Or at least checked the hills surrounding the cove to make sure no one was watching them his grandfather wouldn’t have freaked out as much if there’d been a video. No, Gramps was so uptight he would have freaked out when Allie had taken off her top. Maybe that was all he’d seen, all that had been taped. If his grandfather had seen what they’d done later, of Allie going down on Logan while Ben took her from behind, he would have been disinherited, and Logan would never have been allowed near him either.
Or maybe not. Jake was right. Gramps did have a double standard when it came to guys versus girls.
If there’d been a video. He searched his memory, trying to remember if there’d been any sign that someone had been on the hills, watching them, taping them. There’d been no other noise, no flash of light off a lens. He should have checked again, but after they’d started fooling around, their attention had been on Allie, not on the damned rocks.
So who the fuck would have been out there and not said a thing?
Chapter Four
Allie drove past the flowering crepe myrtles lining the Panola’s driveway and parked her car beside two SUVs, one a plain black, the other painted the same bright petal pink as the flowers. Oleanders flowered along the path to the stairs on the porch of sprawling ranch-style bungalow. She hadn’t even gotten out of her car when the front door opened and Bonnie Panola appeared. The former Bull’s Hollow bookkeeper had gained weight since Allie had last seen her—who hadn’t?—but she had the same warm smile when she recognized Allie.
“As I live and breathe, look what the cat dragged in.” Bonnie hurried down the path and met Allie, snatching her into a hug. “Look at you, honey, all grown up into a beautiful woman.”
“Thanks. You’re looking good too.”
“Oh, get on with you.” Bonnie waved her away then turned toward the house and yelled, “Tank, we’ve got a visitor. Put some clothes on and get decent, will you?”
Allie blinked at the demand, considering it was nearly noon. “He’s not sleeping, is he?”
Please don’t tell me I interrupting you doing anything else. Heaven forbid. The mental image of Bonnie and Tank in bed together wasn’t a picture she wanted burned into her brain.
“Oh, honey, no. He’s out back by the pool.” Bonnie lowered her voice. “Sometimes he don’t bother putting on trunks. The fool figures it’s private enough out here that no one’s gonna see him.”
There were no houses nearby, so there weren’t any neighbors who might be offended. Of course, not having neighbors would be no guarantee he wouldn’t be seen, as she could attest. Who knew who might be out in a field with a pair of high-strength binoculars? Of course if they were spying, seeing Tank naked would stop them for a good long while. She followed Bonnie through the house, her footsteps echoing off the gleaming hardwood floors.
Bonnie stopped in the kitchen—one with granite counters and an island with a breakfast nook at one end. The type Allie usually only saw in magazines. Obviously Bull’s Hollow paid their ranch hands far better than when her father had worked for them or—a sinking feeling plagued Allie’s gut—Logan was right and Tank, or Bonnie, had been skimming from the Gradys for a long time.
“I’m just fixin’ to make a pitcher of sweet tea.” Bonnie opened a cupboard and pulled out a carafe. “I remember how you loved having tea and cookies when you used to visit me. Now you can make yourself comfortable here or out in the front room if you like.” She raised her voice in another shout. “Tank. Get your butt in here. We’ve got company.”
“It’s not your sister again, is it?” Tank’s familiar gravelly voice called from outside.
“No, it ain’t my sister. It’s little Allie Daniels. Pete Daniel’s daughter.”
“Then why don’t you bring that girlie out here? You know how you’ll nag me if I drip water all over that danged new hardwood you insisted on putting down.”
“You got your clothes on?”
Allie bit the inner part of her lower lip in an effort to keep from laughing at the couple’s exchange.
“Of course I do, woman, what do you think I am?”
“An old fool, that’s what you are,” Bonnie muttered. “Skinny-dippin’ at your age. Could blind a person, he could.” She waved her hand toward the back door. “You go on out and say hi. I’ll bring the tea out in a few minutes.”
Allie stopped in the doorway. No ranch hand should have been making the money it must have cost to landscape the Panola’s backyard. From the water falling over the collection of limestone at the far end of the pool, to the intricate mosaic with a fountain, to the dual-level pool, the water from the higher level cascading into the larger bottom pool. Textured stonework ringed the pool and led in a path to a pergola covering a patio table where Tank sat.
Oh damn, her stomach clenched, what have you done, Tank? Tell me you and Bonnie haven’t been embezzling. Because unless they’d won a lottery—they hadn’t—there was no way they could afford this type of landscaping on their salaries.
To Allie’s relief, Tank had pulled on a pair of baggy trunks. Pity he hadn’t donned a shirt too. While she didn’t mind a little hair on a man’s chest, she wasn’t into the wet bearskin rug Tank was sporting, especially when the bearskin rug was grey and stretched across his back and over a paunch he hadn’t sported the last time she’d seen him. She guessed it was proof love was blind because otherwise she had no explanation for how Bonnie could standing touchi
ng such a fur ball. It could have been worse—he could have been wearing a Speedo.
“Hey, Mr. Panola. How are you doing?”
“Allie Daniels, as I live and breathe, it’s been a coon’s age since I saw you.” Tank climbed from his chair and lumbered to her. “Look at you, all grown up into such a purty woman. You’re a sight for sore eyes, I tell you. Come, sit a spell so we can catch up.”
“Thanks.” She took a seat by the patio table, glad for the umbrella’s cover in the hot sun. “How are you?”
“I’ve been better. Win some, lose some, you know.” He hiked up his trunks beneath his overhanging belly. “I tell you, I didn’t expect to see you around these parts again the way the Gradys ran you and your daddy off.”
“Neither did I,” Allie replied drily. They went through the awkward dance of exchanging pleasantries, Allie filling him in on her name change, skipping over the part where she was no longer married. The inevitable questions about how her father was doing wasn’t particularly pleasant but Bonnie came to the rescue when she arrived with a tray filled with a plate of cookies, the sweet tea and glasses and a can of beer for Tank.
“Have a cookie to go with your tea, honey.” Bonnie slid the plate across the table.
Oh dear Lord, she’d forgotten Bonnie’s addiction to sweets. If she hung out around here too much, she’d return to Houston wearing a muumuu. “Tank, would you like one?”
A frown creased Tank’s forehead. “Well now, I’m hurt you’ve forgotten I don’t eat sweets.”
Oh shoot, was Tank diabetic? “I’m sorry—”
“You’ve forgotten—” he leaned forward, “—I don’t eat sweets because I’m sweet enough already.” A smile stretching across his weathered face, he slapped her knee.
“Right.” She slid a cookie from the plate and nibbled at the edges. Maybe if she chewed slowly, the twenty-minute rule she’d heard about might kick in, and her stomach would remind her she wasn’t hungry enough to take a second one. Besides, she wasn’t here to socialize. With that realization, the snickerdoodle and overly sweet tea churned in her stomach like Brad and Angelina doing the tango. She closed her fingers around the icy glass. “I guess you’re both wondering why I’m back.”
“Isn’t coming to visit old friends a good enough reason?”
Both the Panolas needed soft words, honeyed words, not accusations if she was going to keep their attention. “I heard you’re not working at Bull’s Hollow anymore.”
“It’s all that damned boy Ben’s fault. His grandpappy was right about how college would fill his head full of nonsense.” Tank shook his head. “He’s undoin’ everything George and Ed built up over the years. Someone needs to shake that boy hard before he loses the rest of the ranch completely.”
“It’s a crying shame, that’s what it is,” Bonnie added.
“Actually I’m here on business. I’m working for Stars and Stripes Title Guaranty. They hold the title insurance for Bull’s Hollow.”
Tank’s smile faded. “I ain’t familiar with title insurance.”
Warning sirens blared in Allie’s head. If Tank had legally purchased any of Bull’s Hollow’s land, how could he not know about title insurance? He would have had to sign dozens of papers explaining the research done on the title. If his title agency hadn’t done the paperwork...there was another avenue to investigate. “If a landowner takes out a loan using the land as collateral, oftentimes the bank asks them to insure the title so if any liens or issues about the title crop up, the insurance company will cover the cost of any lawsuits.”
Tank shifted in his chair as if his trunks were too tight. “I don’t see what it has to do with us.”
Oh Tank, why are you denying what’s obvious?
“Tank, you and Bonnie are listed as the owners of the company who have allegedly purchased the land in question.”
Tank sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “How’d you figure that out?”
What type of idiot did he take her for? Didn’t he know anyone with a couple of bucks could get access to the state’s Registration Index? She stuffed aside her annoyance. “Because I’m good at my job. Now this Memorandum says you bought the share of the ranch from a George Grady Junior.”
“Yup.”
She released a quiet breath that he didn’t try to deny that too. “The thing is, George Grady wasn’t a Junior. Plus the Memorandum is dated last Thursday, even though George died over four years ago. Who is this George Grady Junior, and what right did he have to sell you any land?”
“Ed wasn’t George’s only kid.” He raised his gaze to her, but she swore he was looking at her nose, not her eyes.
Allie glanced at Bonnie, who was fiddling with the plate of cookies. “We’ve checked the records, Tank. Edward Grady is the only offspring on record. We’ve checked the birth records and baptismal records of the family’s church, plus George himself stated in his will that he was leaving Bull’s Hollow to his only son, Edward, not to a George Junior.”
“There’s no record because Agnes and her damned family hid it so as to not cause Agnes any embarrassment. I figure they sent the woman off to the city to have the kid, made sure George’s name didn’t appear on the birth certificate, the whole shebang. You know the Carters are powerful folks. They would have covered for his indiscretion.”
She couldn’t deny it—as the founding family of Carter Valley, Agnes’ kin held even more sway in the area than the Gradys. “Even if he did have another child, George did not leave any of Bull’s Hollow to him or her, so this Junior had no legal right to sell any of the spread to you.”
“But he did. George Senior left some of the spread to this kid, I mean.” Tank struggled to sit up in his lounger, his eyes ferret bright. “Right before he died, George changed his will to include Junior. But old Agnes, she destroyed the will and let the old one stand so all of Bull’s Hollow would go to Ed.”
If George had rewritten his will, a copy would have been filed and stored by George’s attorney, and Agnes wouldn’t have been able to destroy his copy. If the will ever existed. If there was a George Junior. Too many ifs.
“They should charge them Gradys with fraud, they should,” Tank continued. “The whole damn bunch of them, because they’re all in on it.”
“If Agnes destroyed the will, how do you know about it?” And why wouldn’t George’s executor—his attorney—have used the most recent will?
Something flickered in Tank’s expression again but he rubbed his hand over his face so she couldn’t read him. When he uncovered his face, he’d recovered enough to have his regular good ol’ boy expression in place. “Because I heard ’em talking about it at Ed’s funeral. I know it was Agnes—she’s got a screech you can hear from a mile away, but I didn’t see who else she was talking to. But you can believe me, I heard ’em talking, clear as a bell. She asked if this other person had burned the will. I didn’t hear what the other person said, but then Agnes, she said, ‘Good, then there’ll be no evidence for this bastard to use against my grandsons.’ I’m guessing they destroyed it.”
So he hadn’t seen an actual existing will. If anyone else had been investigating, they’d probably write Tank’s story off as a lie. But given her knowledge of the Gradys there was a ring of truth to his statement. If there had been a will, if there was an heir...Oh man, this was unravelling in one hot mess.
“Next day I dropped in on George’s lawyer, I did,” he continued. “Told him about the will and what Agnes had done, and do you know what he told me?”
“If he didn’t know about the will, he probably told you there was nothing he could do.”
“Exactly!” He stabbed his finger in her direction. “I figured Agnes had old Randy in her pocket too, so I went up to the court house and talked to Judge Weiner. Asked him about what would happen if someone deliberately destroyed a will so an heir didn’t discover their inheritance. He told me he couldn’t do a damned thing unless the injured party filed a suit. Can you believe that? You can destroy
a man’s dyin’ wish and yet you ain’t held accountable if the son don’t know about it.”
Even with a law degree, she’d had trouble wrapping her head around the law herself sometimes. To keep his story on track, she leaned closer. “So you went out and found George Junior. And told him he owned part of Bull’s Hollow.”
“Yeah.” He drew the word out to two syllables and his speech slowed, as if he were making up a story, sounding his answer out in his head before he spoke. “And he sold me his share of the ranch. And now I own a half of Bull’s Hollow.” He gained speed and confidence as he spoke “Except those damned Gradys won’t let me onto the land or let me have a say in running the place.”
Oh Tank, why are you making up so many lies?
But what if some of them weren’t lies? Maybe a second will really existed. All SSTG cared about was who legally owned the land. “Are you sure the sale was made by George Junior, Tank? Not someone just claiming to be this long-lost heir?”
“Of course I am.”
How could he say anything else? “What you need to understand is if no legal record of this Junior exists—” which it didn’t, “—and no will exists—” which was doubtful too, “—then the sale isn’t legal and you stand to be sued for clouding the title.”
Tank’s already florid face turned crimson. “That’s not what my lawyer said.”
She could find at least a half dozen lawyers who would be desperate enough to write up a Memorandum without proper documentation. It wasn’t legal, but some of her compatriots wouldn’t care. “You realize that if we can prove that this Junior doesn’t exist, if the sale is fraudulent, we can and will sue you.”
He lifted his chins defiantly. “The Gradys will never sue. Agnes would never allow it. She won’t want her family’s dirty laundry aired in public.”
“It wouldn’t be the Gradys who sue you, Tank. It would be my company. They will go after you with high-priced lawyers, lawyers you wouldn’t be able to afford to fight.”