by Alison Paige
He forced a smile and threw her an unaffected nod. “I’ll make a note.”
He looked back to the road in time to see the blur of a green metal Ford as they swerved to the left and it flew past on his right.
“Watch it.” Reflex shot his hand to the dashboard, stomped his feet into the floor.
They were back on the right side of the road before Kate answered. “What? Sheesh, don’t yell like that. You scared the heck outta me.”
Joe snapped his head around to look out the truck’s back window. The little green Tempo was receding fast as they sped down the road. He exhaled and slumped back around.
“Back at ya.” He raked a hand through his whiplash-mussed hair. Another deep exhale and his pulse slowly returned to normal. He draped his elbow on the open window again, his thumb flicking his academy ring around his finger. He stopped when he realized he was doing it.
“You look pale.” Kate turned her attention back to the road. “I’ve driven this road a zillion times.”
“It’s not a road. It’s barely a path.”
The road was almost two cars wide, no lane lines and worn shoulders where cars edged for extra space. He’d managed to ignore her breakneck speeding along the country lane until then.
“Relax. Everybody passes along here.”
“Right.”
He saw her glancing at him from the corner of his eye. He wouldn’t return her gaze. “Wow. That really freaked you out, didn’t it?”
Joe shifted again, settling deeper in his seat. He threw his left arm to the seatback, determined to forget the flash of panic. “I’m good.”
She snorted. “Obviously. What, you were in some sort of horrific accident or something and now cars make you wig out?”
He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth squeaked in his head. Joe glanced at Kate, pissed as hell he’d lost it in front of her and allowing the sentiment to show on his face.
“Oh God, Joe, I’m so sorry.” Her sincerity squelched his self-reproach and made him regret his reaction altogether.
“Forget it.” He shifted his attention out his window.
“No. What happened? I want to know.”
Joe looked at her and she held his gaze for a second before shifting her attention back to the road. Shit. What could he tell her without blowing his ridiculous cover? Not the truth, that he’d let some joy-riding gangbangers egg him into a high-speed chase, let himself get careless. He was a cop. He should’ve known better. And now he’d never be a cop again.
He shook his head and gazed out his window. “Bad judgment. That’s all.”
“It was your fault?”
His thumb flicked his academy ring. He didn’t care. “I was flying. Thought I could make the light. I didn’t.”
He’d made the light. The intersection was emergency red in all directions. The old geezer never did understand why no one was moving. Didn’t hear Joe’s sirens. Couldn’t see his lights around the delivery truck beside him. It was over fast as a bolt of lightning—a crack of thunder. Joe’s life changed forever.
“How bad?” Her voice was soft, hesitant as though the white walls, sanitized sheets, tubes and beeping monitors still surrounded him. As though his life still hung in the balance.
“About a year in the hospital.” Fourteen months, two weeks and three days. “Couple years of physical therapy.” Two years, five months and twenty-two days. He’d learned to walk again, learned to feed himself, to wipe his own fuckin’ ass. Joe shoved the memories from his head. It was over. He sure as shit didn’t want to go back.
He sighed, expelling the dark emotions of those days, and pushed straight in his seat as Kate made the left into a gravel-covered parking lot.
“This the place?”
“This is Sherman’s Feed Store,” she said, graciously allowing him to escape the discussion.
The cement block building was tan and white, L-shaped, with a red corporate symbol painted along the side. The store stood alone, wide fields on both sides, a farmhouse off in the distance behind. She parked at an angle next to the awning-covered glass entrance.
They reached the doors at the same time, but Joe snagged the handle first and held it open for Kate. A cowbell jangled, clanking against the glass in the corner.
“Thanks,” she said.
Joe gave her a nod then followed and stopped two steps in.
Inside was cowboy heaven. Everywhere he looked was tack, buckets, ropes, tools and animal food supplements. There were bridles on one wall, harnesses on another. Hats on pegs, a glass case filled with shiny silver belt buckles and aisles of metal racks filled with dog food, cat food, rabbit food and food for whatever else furred or feathered that ate. It was a country bumpkin’s one-stop shopping.
Kate hadn’t even hesitated. She wound her way around a center display of wind chimes next to a stack of saltlick blocks, past a pile of bagged goat pellets and a rack of saddle blankets straight to the glass display counter and register at the center of the store.
“Katie girl,” the wispy white-haired man behind the counter sang.
“Hey, Donny.”
“What can I do ya for?” Donny’s round face scrunched and wrinkled with his smile, his happy blue eyes following her approach. He had a belly on him that looked solid, and thick callused hands. He wore a Western-style shirt with the sleeves folded to his elbows. The top snaps at the collar were open, showing his white T-shirt underneath. Cowboy through and through.
“Same as always.” Kate leaned her elbows on the glass top. “Oh. I also need a bucket of supplements. The gray’s pregnant.”
His warm smile brightened, fuzzy white brows jumping to his hairline. “Yeah? Good to hear. Bill and Clay must be dancing the jig. Tell ’em congrats for me, will ya?”
Kate beamed. “You bet.”
Donny’s gaze flicked from Joe beside the doors to Kate. “Anything else new at Hickory Hills?”
Kate wrinkled her chin, thinking, and shook her head. “Nope. The camp’s up and running again. Managed to squeeze in four more kids this year.” She glanced back at Joe. “Well…three.”
Donny tipped his chin Joe’s way. “Who’s your friend?”
“Joe Garity,” Joe said before Kate could answer. He traced Kate’s path through the store to the center counter and offered his hand to the older man.
Donny matched Joe’s grip. “Good to meet ya. So are you two…?”
“No,” they said in unison, then looked at each other.
Joe knew why he’d answered so quickly. She was his principal. Bodyguards don’t fuck their principals. Plus he liked Kate beyond wanting to screw her brains out. And since everyone he screwed wound up hating him for one reason or another, he figured it was all for the best. But what was Kate’s excuse?
“He’s actually one of the campers this year.” She looked at him as though she was wondering the same thing about his quick response.
“Camper?” Donny eyed Joe. “Might consider puttin’ an age limit on that application, hon.”
Her brows perked. “I did.”
Joe winked at her and watched her ears blush. What else could he do? He couldn’t tell her the application was her father’s doing to get him onto the grounds immediately. Joe hadn’t known anything about the camp or that ridiculous application until he arrived.
Donny’s belly shook with a silent laugh. “Well, it looks like it’s working out for you anyway. Pull the truck to the docks and we’ll get you loaded up.”
Kate straightened and glanced at Donny. “Yeah. Thanks.” She turned to Joe and slugged him in the arm. “C’mon, Joey.”
It stung, not bad, but enough. Christ, he hated that nickname. Joe only smiled. “After you, Miss Kate.”
With a skill that comes from repetition, Kate maneuvered the truck, ass end in, to the warehouse dock on the lower section of the building. Joe walked around to meet her and reached the dock in time to see her step onto the fat metal bumper and up onto the four-foot-high loading dock.
Joe took
the steps at the side. After three days of constant riding, his body was getting used to the rigors. But his legs were aching today in a way that told him he shouldn’t push it more than necessary.
The morning sun was bright, casting the innards of the warehouse beyond the gaping doorway in dark shadows. He heard, more than saw, a forklift rolling from the depths before it broke through into the sunlight, a skid of feedbags balanced on its tongs.
Kate waved to the driver, a young man, mid-twenties, muscled, with oak-brown hair, white tank top, baggy jeans and clunky mud-caked work boots. He gave her a nod, his head bobbing to something piped through his tiny earbud headphones. His jaw worked a piece of gum like cud, his eyes sliding around for a view of her ass as she passed.
The kid had taste. Couldn’t fault him that. It was a damn fine view. Joe gave him a nod when he finally tore his attention from the seat of Kate’s breeches. A flash of surprise crossed his face, then an appreciatory grin. He shrugged and nodded back. Like art, appreciation of a fine piece is inevitable.
Joe held back, breaking the threshold several steps after Kate. There was a reason he’d come. If things worked out, he’d wrap the case up today. With any luck, this Frank person would be working and Joe would know for sure if he was the one stalking Kate. A few minutes of conversation was all he’d need. It was a gift.
Inside, beyond the reach of the morning sun, high ceiling lights in metal shades protected by wire mesh illuminated the vast space. Joe strolled to the side and leaned a shoulder against an industrial-sized shelving unit, stacked three tiers high with plastic-wrapped bags of feed on big wooden skids. There were rows and rows of the oversized shelves some full, some not.
With his thumbs hooked on the front pockets of his jeans, Joe watched Kate heading straight back from the big doorway toward the far wall and what looked like the open door to an office. Someone was sleeping on a ratty floral-print couch beneath a window beside the office door, cowboy boots propped on the couch arm, hat perched over his face.
“Hey, pony girl,” the man stretched out on the couch said as she approached. Clearly, he hadn’t been sleeping. Even now he didn’t move more than his eyes. “Lookin’ good as always.”
“Hey, Frank.”
Joe perked at the name.
Kate peered in through the office door then back to Frank. “Where’s Greg?”
Frank uncrossed his dirty cowboy boots, rolled to his side, bent his elbow and propped his head. “Off. I’m answering the phones.” He nudged his worn Western hat up from his eyes.
“Obviously.” She shifted her weight to one hip. “Listen. I wanna ask you something.”
“The answer’s yes.” Frank pushed up and swung his feet to the floor, resting his elbows on his wide knees.
“Knock it off. I’m being serious.”
“If it’ll get me a whiff of your panties, so am I.”
“Ick.”
Frank looked close to Kate’s age, a little younger, not that Kate looked her age. His ash-blond hair was brutally short, a few weeks past buzz cut, his eyes an average brown.
He had a rounded face, though he wasn’t fat by any means. He was lean, muscled, with a wide nose, narrow eyes and pronounced underbite that gave him a dim-witted appearance. But Joe saw beyond that to the leering glint in his eyes that belied the impression.
Tension radiated across Joe’s shoulders, pulling his muscles as Frank’s grin turned lecherous. He held back, forcing his body to relax. He’d let things play out, see where they went. He was close enough if the situation went south.
“Were you, y’know, upset when I told you I wouldn’t go out with you?” she asked.
“What answer will get my cock in your pretty little pussy?”
Kate balked, disgust wrinkling her nose, pulling her lips. “None.”
Frank snorted and shook his head. “Shoot, then what’ya hawin’ about, woman?”
“If I emasculated you—”
“Wha?”
“Made you feel weak, insignificant. You know, less of a man.”
Frank shot to his feet. “Hell no. Don’t be sayin’ that shit about me. You ain’t all that.”
Kate’s eyes shifted to Joe. Frank showed no signs that he noticed or even realized Joe was there.
She licked her lips and focused on Frank again. “Frank, it was obvious you weren’t happy I turned you down.”
“Maybe, but I weren’t no e-man-ulated, er, whatever.” He reached down and adjusted his balls through his jeans. He sniffed and strutted toward her still holding himself. “Want me to prove it?”
Kate shuffled back a step, though she didn’t look frightened. “Not necessary. My point is that if I hurt you, your feelings, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah?” His brows shot up.
“Yes. So, if you’ve been thinking about me, y’know, wishing things had been different…trying to figure out a way to get me back, or back at me,” she mumbled. “I hope you can let it go.”
She smiled and slipped the tips of her fingers into the little front pockets of her breeches. “You’re a good-looking-enough guy. I’m sure there are plenty of women out there who’d like to… I’m sure there are plenty of women out there.”
Frank had stopped groping himself, although his hand remained on his crotch. He listened, his face lax, brows high. “That right?”
“Sure.” She shrugged. “I mean, you were always nice to me…sort of. I’d feel bad if I really hurt you. I just wanted to make sure we were okay. Make things…right, between us.”
Frank’s brows knitted, his eyes shifting. Joe could almost see his mind working.
“Well, what if I say I am hurt? Yeah. What if I am that e-man-thing?”
“Well, like I said, I’m sorry—”
“Naw, that ain’t good enough.” Frank’s gaze raked over her like a lecherous hand. He licked his lips, his hand squeezing his cock, rubbing, massaging up to his chest.
“You’re gonna make it up to me,” he said. “You owe me.”
Frank straightened, his eyes hungry, his body somehow bigger, more menacing. He moved toward her, and Kate understood a heartbeat too late what he meant to do.
“Frank, no.” She moved back, leaning away from the hand he thrust toward her. His fingers brushed her arm just as another larger, stronger hand clamped around Frank’s wrist.
“Bad choice, cowboy.”
Kate looked to Joe, suddenly between them, protecting her. For two full heartbeats she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t close her mouth, couldn’t take her eyes off him.
“Hey.” Frank bent over the wrist Joe twisted back. “Hey. That hurts. Le’go. Le’go.”
“Sit.” Joe shoved Frank backward so he stumbled into the couch and dropped.
Frank rubbed his wrist, his wide face angry and stiff. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Write any poems lately?” Joe’s voice was ice cold, eyes dark. “Take any photos?”
“Hey, you can’t just come in—” He tried to stand and Joe shoved him back down.
“Sit. Answer.”
“What? I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, you whack job.” He got to his feet only to be shoved back down again.
“Restraining order. You understand that? Leave her alone. You hear me?”
“Joe.” Kate wasn’t sure Frank was the one who’d been sending the poems and photos. She’d made the exchange between them sound worse than it’d been, and Frank wasn’t exactly showing his best side today. Joe was jumping the gun, overreacting, and it was her fault.
“Who the fuck are you?” Frank stood fast and puffed his chest into Joe’s. “She was hittin’ on me. Came sniffin’ around lookin’ for some cock. For my cock, and ain’t you or nobody else gonna stop me from givin’ it to her.”
Joe outweighed him by nearly ninety pounds and Frank was a good four inches shorter. Joe didn’t budge.
“I’m gonna shove my cock so far down her throat—”
Bam. Frank’s head snapped back a half second before Kate’s
brain processed seeing Joe’s punch. His fist had jabbed out and back. Nothing else on Joe’s body had moved.
Frank staggered backward, blood gushing from the twisted ruin of his nose. He collapsed onto the couch, hands cupping over his face.
“Joe!” Kate lunged forward to stop him from doing any more damage, but Joe wasn’t moving.
He hissed under his breath. “Dammit.” His dark eyes held a shadow of regret, but his voice didn’t waver. He looked at Frank. “We understand each other?”
Frank nodded.
Joe glanced back at Kate, not meeting her eyes then turned and headed for the dock. “I’ll be in the truck.”
“He could be your stalker,” Joe said when they’d arrived back at Hickory Hills stables.
“Finally. He speaks.” Kate shoved her office door closed behind them. The glass rattled in the frame from the force. “Wanna tell me how you even know about any of it?”
Joe dropped into the brown leather chair opposite her desk. He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, elbow perched on the chair arm. “Magic.”
“Har-har.” God, he looked good, the gray Mustang T-shirt snug across his chest, stretched around his muscled arms, the faded jeans bunched at his crotch. Smelled good too, sweet male cologne, horses and the musky scent of the man that made all the rest uniquely him. Yum.
But she was pissed, dammit, and annoyed that she had to keep reminding herself. She wanted to hear him say it, even though she knew the answer. Clayton. Who else? She’d wring his neck for pulling Joe into the Thorndike melodrama.
Joe hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left the feed store. He’d spent the trip scowling out the window, hands balled into fists, jaw clenched. Just what she needed, another macho testosterone factory on overdrive stomping around trying to protect poor little Kate from the big bad world. Puhleeze.
“I don’t know what all Clayton told you, but trust me, he blew it out of proportion.” She dug the receipt from her pocket as she came around her desk and pulled the gray ledger from the bottom drawer and sat.