by Nora Roberts
He detoured by Reece’s apartment first. The door was wide open, and rock pumped out along with the sound of hammer on chisel.
Inside, Brody was on his knees in the bathroom, painfully from the looks of it, chipping up the ancient linoleum.
“Not your usual line of work,” Rick called out.
“Change of pace.” Brody sat back on his heels. “An ugly, sweaty, knuckle-scraping change of pace. It got dumped on me when it was discovered I have no latent carpentry talents.”
Rick hunkered down. “Subflooring’s trashed.”
“So I’m told.”
“You should’ve come to me with these incidents with Reece before this, Brody.”
“Her choice. Understandable. I can look at your face and see you’re not leaning toward believing her.”
“I’m not leaning any particular way. Hard to investigate if I don’t know, don’t see for myself. You painted over what was done in here before.”
“Took pictures first. I’ll get you copies.”
“That’s a start. None of these incidents happened at your place, or while you were with her?”
“Not so far.” He went back to chipping. “Listen, even objectively it’s hard for me to buy her leaving the water on in here. She checks the stove every time she leaves the kitchen. Checks the lights, the locks. A person with a mile-wide anal streak doesn’t forget she’s running a bath. And she doesn’t run one when she’s got someone waiting for her downstairs.”
“I can’t see any signs of that lock being tampered with, or forced entry.”
“He’s got a key. I’m going to see the locks’re changed.”
“You do that. I’m going to head down to the hotel, take a look in the laundry area. You want to come along?”
“And leave this fascinating hobby?” Brody dropped the tools. “Bet your ass.”
BRODY COULD IMAGINE how Reece felt as she carted her basket through the basement. There was light, harsh light that cast shadows in corners. The furnace hummed, the water heaters clanged, all hollow, echoing sounds as you walked over the raw cement floor to the worn vinyl of the cramped laundry.
Two washers, two dryers, commercial grade. A dispenser that sold laundry soap and fabric softener in miniature packages at inflated prices.
There was a narrow jalousie window high above the machines, rolled closed, that let fitful light through frosted glass.
“Guest elevators don’t come down to this level,” Rick began. “Got an outside entrance, too, back by the maintenance room. Couple windows. Not hard for somebody to get down here without anyone noticing. Still. How’d they know she was down here doing wash?”
“She walked back and forth on the street. Easy to know if you’re keeping tabs on her.”
Rick studied the lay. “Let me ask you something, Brody. If someone wishes harm on her, why haven’t they harmed her? She’s got it in her head the man she says she saw by the river’s doing this.”
“I put it in her head.”
As if suddenly tired, Rick leaned back against a washing machine. “Now why the hell did you go and do that?”
“It makes sense to me. Play on her weaknesses, scare her, make her doubt herself. Make sure everyone else doubts her, too. It’s smart, and in its way, it’s clean. Doesn’t mean he won’t harm her.”
And that, Brody thought, was why she wasn’t going anywhere alone. “It seems to me it’s escalating,” he continued. “She wasn’t isolated this time. Joanie got hit, too. Because it’s not working. Reece is sticking.”
“Brody, did you ever forget you left laundry wet in the washing machine?”
“Sure. But I’m not Reece.”
Rick shook his head. “I’ll go up, talk to Brenda.”
Brenda was at the desk using her professional welcome voice on the phone. “We’ll be expecting you on July tenth. I’ll make those reservations for you, and send you a confirmation. It’s absolutely my pleasure. Bye, Mr. Franklin.”
She hung up. “Just booked the second of our two suites for a week in July. We’re going to be full up for the summer if this keeps up. How you doing?”
“Well enough,” Rick told her. “You saw Reece in and out of here yesterday?”
“I sure did. I told Deb—”
“You can tell me now. She came in to do laundry.”
“Had her basket. No shoes.” Brenda rolled her eyes. “Got change for the machines. Zipped right down. Was out again in, I don’t know, ten minutes at most. Had her shoes on when she came back, about a half hour later. Down and up, same as before. I didn’t see her come in the last time. Must’ve been in the back, but she came up like a wild woman, let me tell you. Spitting mad. Claimed somebody was down there.”
“Did you see anyone else go down?”
“Not a soul. She said somebody’d put her dry clothes back in the wash. Now who’d do that?”
“But you weren’t at the desk the whole time?” Brody said, then glanced at Rick. “Sorry.”
“Not necessary. You said you were in the back last time she came in. Were you back there long?”
“Well, I can’t say how long, exactly. Ten, fifteen minutes maybe. But most times when I’m back there I hear the door.”
“Most times,” Brody pressed.
“If I get caught on the phone back there or whatnot, I might not hear unless somebody hits the bell on the desk.” Her tone turned defensive. “That’s what it’s for.”
“Anyone been in here asking about Reece?”
“Well no, Rick, why would they? Listen, I like her. She’s a nice woman. But she was acting damn strange yesterday. Never seen anybody so het up about some wet clothes. And I didn’t tell you how she told Debbie she was training for some sort of marathon or whatever, and that’s why she was running down here barefooted? Now, that’s just crazy.”
“All right, Brenda. Appreciate the time.”
When they walked back outside, Brody turned to Rick. “Did Brenda get her sense of humor surgically removed recently?”
“Oh now, Brody, she’s all right, you know that. With all the hoopla’s been going on, and Reece at the center of a lot of it, you can’t expect everybody to understand how it is.”
“Do you understand how it is?”
“Trying to. Why don’t you drop those pictures you took of the bathroom off to me when you get the chance? And since you’re a writer, maybe you could write me up your version of the events and incidents. Get me dates and times best as you can.”
Brody’s jaw relaxed again. “Yeah, I can do that. It’s a little more my line than hanging drywall.”
“Be specific,” Rick added as they walked. “If it’s something Reece just told you happened, make sure that’s how you put it. Something you saw yourself, put that.”
“Okay.”
Outside On the Trail, Rick paused for a moment. He could see Debbie inside, but she had customers. As was his habit, he tapped his knuckles on the glass, sent her a quick salute when she glanced over.
“Starting to busy up around here,” Rick commented as they continued down the sidewalk. “Ah…You got a serious thing happening? You two?”
“We’ve got a thing happening.”
“Be best if you try not to let that color your statement. When you’ve got feelings for a woman, it tends to shade things some.”
“She’s not crazy, Rick. Hell, she doesn’t even hit eccentric in some areas.”
“And in others?”
“Sure, she rings the bell. Who doesn’t? People around here used to think I was strange because I write about murder, I don’t fish, don’t shoot mammals and I can’t name the top ten songs on the country music chart.”
Rick smiled his little smile. “Brody, people still think you’re strange.”
24
LINDA-GAIL wasn’t quite sure what to do. As far as she could remember, she’d never screwed up so completely with a man before—and there’d never been a man who’d mattered as much as Lo.
Which was probably why sh
e’d screwed up.
He wasn’t answering her calls. She wanted to be pissed off at him for it, but instead just felt a little scared, a little sad. And a whole lot confused.
She’d planned it all out, spent hours and days and nights calculating just how to bring Lo to heel, when the time was right. When it suited her, she admitted. But damn it, if a man had ever needed to be brought to heel, it was Lo.
She’d given him plenty of time, plenty of room. It was time for both of them to settle down. Together.
As she drove out toward the ranch, with the sage flats ripening to bloom around her, she was determined to tell him just that. Fish or cut bait.
And if he opted to cut bait, she didn’t know what the hell she was going to do.
She wished she could have talked to Reece before taking this step. Reece had experience, city smarts and style. But Reece had plenty of problems of her own, and was probably a little bit irritated since she’d gotten sucked into a bar fight.
She had to brake for a moment as a bull buffalo stood in the middle of the road as if he owned it. With a sharp blast of her horn, she got him moving over to the flats through the grasses.
God, what had she been thinking, sashaying up with that stupid guy right in front of Lo’s face? Make him a little jealous, make him see what he was missing. It seemed like the thing to do at the time. The problem was it had worked too well.
How could she have known they’d start swinging?
Men. She sniffed on the thought, scowling at the wildflowers, the herd of pronghorns that snacked on them, and working up a new head of mad.
She’d only been dancing, for heaven’s sake.
She tapped her fingers on the wheel in time with Kenny Chesney. What she ought to do was turn right around, go back to town and let Lo stew in his own bile for a few more days. Possibly forever. What she ought to do was keep on going, track that brainless cowboy down and give him a piece of her mind for causing a ruckus over nothing.
So she drove, pushing her little car up to eighty on the flats, letting the wind fly through her open windows while Chesney wondered who you’d be today.
She slowed as she approached the big open gate with its wrought-ironK wrapped in a circle. No point in mowing down some tourist who wanted a taste of western life just because her love life was in the dumpster.
She passed a corral where a foal nursed from his mama, the bunkhouse with its faded logs and wide front porch built to look as if it had stood, frozen in time, for a couple of centuries. She happened to know that, among other things, the kitchen inside boasted a microwave and a Mr. Coffee.
The main house was log as well, and sprawled in every direction. Guests could stay in one of the second-floor rooms and one suite, or bunk in one of the one- or two-bedroom cabins tucked into the pretty pines. They could ride, rope, take overnight campouts, hike with a guide, float, fish, do a white-water trip.
They could pretend to be cowboys for a few days, and take home the bumps and blisters that went with the fantasy. Or they could just sit in a rocker on one of the big porches and contemplate the view.
At night they might belly up to the bar in the lodge and talk about their adventures before they slid into a feather bed, under a cozy duvet no cowboy had ever found at the end of the trail.
She turned at the fork of the dirt road toward the stables. Her contact, Marian, who worked in the kitchen there, had given her the intel that Lo would be on grooming detail that evening.
She parked, flipped down the vanity mirror to check, then finger-fluffed her windblown hair. As she got out of the car, the cowboy giving a riding lesson tapped a finger on the brim of his hat in salute.
“Hey there, Harley.” She fixed a bright smile on her face. Nothing wrong here, she thought. Just dropping by to pass the time.
And kick Lo’s stupid ass.
She swung into the stable, into the strong smell of horses and hay, the sweet scent of grain and leather. She shot a smile toward LaDonna, one of the women who guided trail rides.
“Linda-gail, how ya doing?” LaDonna raised an eyebrow. News traveled, especially when it involved fists and fury. She nodded toward the rear of the stables. “Lo’s back in the tack room. Pretty pissy, too.”
“Good. I’m feeling the same.”
Linda-gail marched back, turned the quick corner and, stiffening her spine, walked into the tack room.
He had Toby Keith on the CD player and his hat tipped back on his head as he worked saddle soap into leather. His jeans were faded and snug, riding low on his hips. His denim shirt was rolled up to the elbows. The toe of his scuffed left boot tapped the time.
His handsome face looked sulky and ridiculously handsome despite, maybe because of, the puffy bottom lip and the bruising around his eye.
The sight of him made Linda-gail’s heart melt, drowning the leading edge of her temper.
“Lo.”
His head came up. Sulky went to scowl. “What do you want? I’m working.”
“I can see that. I’m not stopping you.” She’d be big about it, Linda-gail decided, take the high road. “I’m sorry about your eye.”
He kept his gaze on hers for one long, humming moment, then shifted it back to the saddle, got back to work.
“I am sorry,” she said. “Still, it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve ever had a fist in the eye. I was just dancing.”
He rubbed leather, kept his silence. And Linda-gail felt a tickle of anxiety bubble under her melted heart. “That’s it? You’re not even going to speak to me? You’re the one who got all het up just because I was dancing with somebody. How many times have I been in Clancy’s when you’ve been dancing with somebody?”
“That’s different.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard. What’s different about it?”
“Just is.”
“Just is,” she repeated, scathingly. “I dance with somebody and it’s okay for you to start a brawl. But you can dance and whatever with anyone you like and I’m not supposed to think anything of it.”
“Doesn’t mean anything.”
“So you say.” She poked a finger in the air at him. “And I say I can dance with whoever I want and you’ve got no right to cause trouble.”
“Fine. You can bet I won’t from here on. So if that’s it—”
“Don’t you dismiss me, William Butler. Why’d you start that fight?”
“I didn’t. He did.”
“You got in his face.”
“He had his hands on your ass!” Lo threw down his rag and surged to his feet. “You let him paw you, in public.”
“He was not pawing me. And I wouldn’t have let him put his hands on my ass if you weren’t being such a dick.”
“Me?”
“Damn right.” This time, she jabbed her finger into his chest. “You’ve always been a dick because that’s what you use for a brain. I’ve waited long enough for you to grow the hell up and be a man.”
Danger shot into his eyes. “I am a man.” He grabbed her arm and yanked her forward. “And I’m the only man who’s going to put his hands on you. Got that?”
“What gives you the right?” Tears started in her eyes even as her pulse bumped. “What gives you the right?”
“I’m taking the right. Next time you let some other guy handle you, he’s going to have more than a bloody nose.”
“What do you care who handles me?” she shouted. “What do you care? If you can’t say it, say it to my face and mean it, right here and now, I’m walking away. I’m walking, Lo.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Then say it.” Tears tracked down her cheeks. “Look at me and say it, and I’ll know if you mean it.”
“I’m so damn mad at you, Linda-gail.”
“I know you mean that.”
“I love you. Is that what you need to hear? I love you. Probably always have.”
“Yeah, that’s what I need to hear. Hurt a little, didn’t it?”
“Some.”
“Scares you a little, too.”
His hands had gentled on her, stroked up and down her arms. “Maybe more than a little.”
“That’s how I know you mean it. That’s how I know,” she murmured, laying a hand over his bruised cheek. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear it from you.”
“I never could get over you.” He pulled her close, sent his abused lip throbbing by pressing it to hers. “I wanted to. I tried to. A lot.”
“A hell of a lot. Here.” She took his hands, pushed them around until they cupped her ass. “No other guy puts his hands where yours are, and you don’t put them on any other woman. Is that a deal?”
“That’s a deal.”
“You think you can get the rest of the night off?”
His smile spread, slow. “I reckon I can arrange it.”
“And come on home with me?”
“I could do that.”
“And get me all stirred up, and naked, make love with me till sunrise?”
“Only till sunrise?”
“This time,” she said and kissed him again.
HE WAS GOOD. Linda-gail imagined he would be—and she’d been imagining since she was old enough to understand what men and women did together in the dark. But he was better than even her active imagination had reached. Strong hands that found all the right places, a hot mouth with an endless appetite. A long, lean, tireless body.
He had her twice before her fevered brain could cool long enough to think, Hallelujah.
Naked, loose, skin slick with sweat, she sprawled crossways on the bed. “Where in God’s name did you learn all that?”
“I’ve been studying on it for some time.” He spoke lazily, eyes closed, his head resting on her belly. “So I could perfect the matter before I got to you.”
“Good job.” She reached down to toy with his hair. “You have to marry me now, Lo.”
“I have to…” His head came up. “What?”
She stayed as she was, the same cat-drenched-in-cream look on her face. “Had to make absolutely sure we got on good in bed. You don’t have good sex, you’re not going to have a good marriage, to my way of thinking anyway. So now that we know, we’re going to get married.”