by B. J Daniels
“Logan?”
He started at the sound of her voice directly behind him. It was the first time she’d said his name. It was like music off her tongue. His hand froze in his pocket as he turned.
“Would you mind if I took a bath?”
He withdrew his hand from his pocket sans the note and smiled. He’d seen the gleam in her eye when she’d spotted his big clawfoot tub. “You’re in luck. There’s even some bubble bath up there. A joke housewarming gift from my brothers.”
“You have brothers?”
“Five.”
She raised a brow. “Wow. Sisters?”
He shook his head. “Take as long as you want. I have steaks thawing for steak sandwiches later.”
“Thanks.” She started to turn away. “And thanks for bringing me here.” With that she ran upstairs. A moment later he heard the water come on in the bathroom.
Thinking of her, he told himself there was something strong and carefree about this woman he’d brought home and, at the same time, vulnerable and almost fragile. Whatever she wanted or needed from him, he’d do his damnedest to give to her. Right now, though, it was just the use of his tub, he thought smiling, and tried not to imagine Blythe with her slim yet lush body up to her neck in bubbles.
He waited to make sure she didn’t come back down before he withdrew the scrap of paper and pressed it open to see what was on it.
Logan wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find on the piece of notepaper—if anything. He’d hoped it would be a clue to this woman.
He was disappointed.
There were only two words on the yellow note paper, both written in blue pen. You’re Next.
He stared at them for a moment. Next for what? He had no idea. The words didn’t offer any clue to Blythe, that was for sure. He wadded up the scrap of paper and tossed it into the garbage, pushing it down where it couldn’t be seen. He felt foolish for retrieving it, worse for thinking it might be important.
CHARLIE BAKER LET OUT A STRING of profanity when he saw all the flashing lights on the highway ahead. Cops. The stupid woman had gotten pulled over for speeding.
He swore again as his line of traffic came to a dead stop and he saw a highway patrolman walking down the line of cars toward him. Realizing regrettably that he had no way of getting out of the traffic, he quickly checked himself in his rearview mirror.
Charlie and his girlfriend had been on the road from Arizona for four days. He knew he looked rough. Hopefully not so rough that the officer would run the plates on this stolen pickup, especially with a warrant already out on him.
As the cop neared, Charlie put his window down, wishing he hadn’t listened to Susie. Earlier he’d stopped to take a leak beside the road. It had been her idea to take that sports car after she’d found the keys on the floorboard—and the purse lying on the passenger seat.
He had looked around, pretty sure that whoever it belonged to had walked down to the lake and would be coming back any minute. They’d argued about taking the car, but Susie said the owner deserved to have it stolen—hell, was asking to have it stolen.
Once she opened the glove box and realized it was a rental, there had been no more argument. “I’m taking it. It might be my only chance to drive a car like this and it sure as hell beats that old pickup you borrowed.”
She’d been bitching about the vehicle he’d stolen since they left Arizona and he’d been getting real tired of it.
“We can dump the pickup,” she’d said. “It’s probably going to break down soon anyway.”
“We’ll talk about it away from here,” he’d said. There was something about this that made him uneasy. Who just left such an expensive car beside the road with the keys and a purse in it?
But there was no arguing with Susie. She got in the car and started it up, revving the engine too loud.
Charlie hadn’t wanted to be around when whoever had rented the car came racing up and found Susie behind the wheel. He’d taken off in the pickup, yelling at her that he’d meet her down the road at the campground where they’d spent last night.
Only she hadn’t shown. Back at the camp, he’d fallen asleep and lost track of time. Susie should have shown hours ago. He figured she’d probably taken off in that convertible and left him high and dry. But he’d decided he’d better go look for her, since if she was in trouble, he knew she’d rat him out in a heartbeat, and now here he was with a cop heading for him.
The officer stepped to his window. “There’s been an accident. It could be a little bit before we get the road cleared.”
That damned Susie had gone on a joyride and left him. Or, he realized, she could be caught in the traffic on the other side of the wreck just like he was. “What kind of accident, officer?”
“A car went off the road.” He was already walking away.
Charlie watched him head down the highway to tell the other drivers of cars piling up behind him. Or, he thought, Susie might have wrecked that convertible. With a curse, he waited a minute before he got out of the pickup and worked his way along the edge of the trees to where a few people had gathered on the side of the road.
It was almost too dark to see what was going on, but as he drew closer, he smelled smoke. Joining the others gawking at the scene, he saw what was left of the pretty silver sports car convertible that Susie just had to drive being lifted up onto the back of a wrecker’s flatbed.
“Did the driver get out?” he asked the man standing next to him.
“Trapped in the car. I heard the EMT say she was burned beyond recognition.”
As Charlie turned to walk back to his pickup, he took an inventory of his emotions, surprised how little he felt other than anger. He should have known Susie wouldn’t know how to drive a car like that. He should have driven it. Served her right.
But he knew if he had taken the car, he wouldn’t have met Susie at the campground. He would have just kept going, leaving her and the stolen pickup behind. Susie probably knew that, he thought as he climbed into the truck and waited for the highway to clear so he could get the hell out of this state.
He had been getting real tired of Susie anyway. Fortunately, he’d insisted on taking everything from the purse she’d found in that expensive convertible. The cash and credit cards were going to come in handy.
Charlie smiled to himself. He’d never had good luck, but sometimes things had a way of working out for the best, didn’t they.
BUFORD HAD TO STOP BY HIS office on the way home and was shocked that he had a half-dozen calls from reporters. As tight-lipped as the Grizzly Club was, he couldn’t believe word had gotten out this quickly. But people liked to talk—especially when it was something juicy like the death of a wealthy man from the Grizzly Club. And he’d already caught Jett on his phone.
He decided to see how bad it was. He picked up one of the messages and dialed the number.
“Is it true that JJ was killed tonight on the road just outside of Big Fork?” the reporter asked.
Not about Martin Sanderson? “I’m sorry but I can’t…” He realized she’d called the victim JJ. “The accident is under investigation.” He hung up frowning.
Who would have given a reporter that information? No one at the scene, even if they’d overheard that the car had been rented to a Jennifer James. Who knew that Jennifer James was known as JJ?
Jett, he’d bet on it. Buford had insisted on the cell phone numbers of Jett and the three members of the former band in case he needed to ask them any more questions. He’d warned all of them not to leave town until the investigation was complete.
None of them had been happy about the prospect of staying around, since they couldn’t stay at the Grizzly Club and had been forced to take a cheap motel instead. Betsy had called him to tell him where they were staying, as per his request.
As he grabbed his phone to call, Buford felt his stomach rumble. He was starved. He’d picked up a couple of cheeseburgers at a fast-food restaurant on his way back to his office. Clara would k
ill him. He was supposed to be on a diet. But she was killing him anyway with those darned chili peppers. He’d prefer to drop dead after eating a cheeseburger any day than keep living with his belly on fire.
He dialed the cell phone number Jett had given him. Jett answered on the third ring and didn’t sound all that happy about hearing from him so soon.
“I just had a reporter call me,” Buford said. “You didn’t happen to—”
“I haven’t talked to anyone.”
Maybe. Maybe not. From what he’d seen of his granddaughter’s rock ’n’ roll idol, Jett liked publicity and he didn’t seem to care if it was good or bad. He’d talk to anyone, even the tabloids, and he’d admitted that he let Martin use him and JJ for publicity stunts.
“What about the others?”
“Nope,” Jett said after getting confirmation from the three women. Buford could hear the background noises. Apparently they were all in a restaurant together.
“Not even about the accident?” Buford said.
“Accident? Is that what you’re calling it?” Jett snapped. “I should have known JJ would get away with this. She’s always gotten away with whatever she did. Have you found her? Is that what she claims? That she accidentally killed Martin?”
So he didn’t know about the car wreck. Which meant neither did the others, and they couldn’t have called the press. But they were certainly quick to blame JJ for murder even before all the facts were in.
Buford decided to let Jett and the women read about the wreck in the morning papers. “I’ll let you finish your supper then. Wait, one more question. Why did JJ want out of her contract?”
Jett sighed. “You really don’t know much about the music business, do you? Martin discovered JJ, took over her career, made her a star. She wanted more control over her career and her life, but she was making him a ton of money. He would never have let her go though. She knew that.”
“Does she also go by the name of Jennifer James?” He asked the real question he had wanted to ask, hoping to confirm what he did know.
“Yes,” Jett said impatiently, as if everyone knew that. “Is that all?”
“For now,” he said and hung up.
He started to call it a night. But then he remembered the man on the motorcycle that the guard thought had chased after the infamous JJ.
When he ran the number, Buford got a surprise.
LOGAN HAD THE STEAKS COOKED and everything ready for a late supper when Blythe came down wearing his robe and smelling of lilac bubble bath. Her wet, long, dark hair was pulled up on top of her head and he was struck by how beautiful she looked. Everything about her took his breath away. As little as he knew about her, he felt they were kindred souls somehow.
“Tell me about this part of Montana,” she said as they ate. It was dark outside, the sky filled with millions of sparkling stars and a sliver of silver moon. A breeze stirred the curtains at the kitchen window. The house felt almost cozy.
He told her about the outlaw era that brought such infamous luminaries as Kid Curry, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid to the area. “It was the last lawless place in Montana.”
He told her how the railroad had come through and brought settlers who were given land and a time limit on improving the acres if they wanted to keep it.
“It was a hard place to survive. Not many of them made it. You had to be hardy.”
“Like your family?” she asked.
He smiled at that. “Chisholm roots run deep, that’s for sure.” He didn’t tell her how his ancestors had brought up a herd of cattle from Texas and each generation had helped build up Chisholm Cattle Company to what it was today.
Longhorns hadn’t done well because of the tough winters. Once they’d changed to Black Angus cattle, the ranch had thrived.
“I saw the horses out in the pasture,” she said. “Are they yours?”
“Do you ride?”
She laughed and shook her head. “But I’ve always wanted to.”
“Tomorrow I’ll teach you,” he said on impulse.
“Really?” She looked excited about the prospect. There was a peacefulness to her that he hadn’t seen since they were on the dance floor last night.
“I think you’ll like it, and when you’re ready, I’ll show you more of my part of Montana by horseback.”
“I’d love that,” she said and finished her sandwich.
“You liked the elk?” he asked amused at the way she ate. He had joked that she acted as if she wasn’t sure where her next meal might be coming from, but now wondered if that wasn’t the case. She’d said that the sports car she’d been driving didn’t belong to her. For all he knew, she might not have anything more than the clothes on her back.
Maybe she had been a guest at the Grizzly Club, but he had a bad feeling he’d been right and she’d borrowed a car she shouldn’t have.
He shook his head at the thought that he might be harboring a criminal. And such a beautiful, engaging one at that.
As they finished the elk steaks, Logan looked across the table at his guest and saw how exhausted she was. He felt a strange contentment being here with her like this. It surprised him. He never brought any of his dates back to his house. But then this woman wasn’t exactly a date, was she?
“There’s a quilt up on the bed that my great grandmother made,” he said. “You look like you’re ready to crawl under it.”
She smiled, appearing almost as content as he felt.
He got up and cleared the dishes, putting them in the sink, then he went to the closet and pulled down the extra blankets he kept there. Winters in this old farmhouse were downright cold, and there were many nights when he’d fallen asleep in front of the fire—the only really warm place in the house.
Dropping them on the couch, he turned to find her standing in the kitchen doorway. “Don’t you want me to help you with the dishes?” She looked cute wearing his robe. He watched her pull it around her, hugging herself as if even the spring night felt cold to her. It slid over her curves in a way that made him realize he would never look at that robe the same way again.
“The dishes can wait. Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll saddle up the horses in the morning and we’ll get you ridin’.”
She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then smiled gratefully. “Thank you. For everything.”
He nodded. “It’s nice to have you here.” It was true, but still he hadn’t meant to say it, let alone admit it. He’d never been without female company if he’d wanted it. But he often found women confusing. He preferred his horse.
Not this woman, though.
Even after she went upstairs, he could smell lilac and felt a stirring in him at the mere thought of her. He’d felt drawn to her from that moment he’d seen her expression on the dance floor. He recalled the way she had moved to the music.
As he heard her close his bedroom door, he groaned to himself. He must be losing his grip. His brothers would think him a damned fool. Not just for bringing a woman he knew nothing about back to his house, but for letting such a beautiful woman go to bed alone—and in his bed.
Whatever her reason for being here, it wasn’t because she couldn’t resist him, he thought with a laugh. Logan Chisholm wasn’t used to that, either.
As he lay down on the couch and pulled a blanket over him, he told himself she would be gone in the morning—and probably with his pickup and any cash she could find.