by Julie Miller
“You’ve only been here three days, and you’ve already acted like a father to Cody. You were a friend to him. You stood ready to sacrifice your life for him. That’s what fathers do, they give love and protection.”
He stared at her, then slowly he reached out and pulled her to him.
Her world was whole when she was in his arms. She felt right in a way she didn’t feel anytime or anywhere else. “Morgan,” she whispered.
“I don’t want to let you go again,” he whispered back as he claimed her lips.
“Then don’t.” Her heart thrilled. Her body sang.
“You would trust me with your son?”
“Without reservations. I know you, Morgan McCabe.” She pressed against him, palms flat against the hard muscles of his chest. As he shifted, his muscles played under her fingertips.
She itched to touch more. He must have felt the same, because he hooked his hands under her bottom and lifted her, his hardness pressed against her core.
She sucked in her breath, then explored him more fully while he deepened the kiss. Her mind was in such a haze, she was surprised she heard the footsteps coming up the stairs.
“Justice?”
“Probably Bull,” he whispered back, looking at the door behind him that hid Wyatt, and then the door behind her that hid Cody.
In a few long strides he was at the door of the hall closet in the back, then inside. He held her tight against him in the dark. Memories assailed her, sending heat skittering through her body.
The footsteps came closer. Stopped. A door opened next to them, then indistinct noises came as Bull got ready for bed.
“I think we should...” she started in a whisper, but he claimed her lips again, and this time he deepened the kiss.
He swept inside her mouth and tasted every corner of her, toyed with her, teased her until her brain turned to mush. Desires long suppressed unfurled in a slow awakening. His hands tucked under her T-shirt, his fingers massaging their way up her ribcage until he stopped just under her breasts.
She moaned a protest.
He moved higher, cupping her, pebbled nipples pressing into his warm palms—she had taken off her bra for sleeping. When his hands slid back down to the hem of her shirt and drew the soft material over her head, she didn’t protest.
Then they were skin to skin, her aching nipples brushing against his flat chest.
“You drive me crazy.” The words came in a raspy whisper next to her ear.
Then his arm moved and a soft click sounded above them, and the closet light came on.
“Morgan!” She jerked up her hands to cover herself. She was a lot older than the last time he’d seen her naked. She’d had a baby since. Had breastfed.
“No way I’m missing this.” He wore the devil’s own smile as he took her in, gently drew her hands away. “Beautiful.”
The awe in his eyes was gratifying, making her forget about her insecurities.
The large closet around them was stuffed with camping gear. A bunch of sleeping bags lay tossed on top of rolled-up tents. He pulled her down on top of those.
“I can’t believe we’re back here again.”
“I want you.”
She gave a strangled laugh. “I kind of deduced that from um...”
He reached down and unbuttoned his jeans, gave himself a little room. Grinned. Then grew serious. Took her face into his hands, brushed his lips over hers. “I love you.”
Her heart skipped a beat.
“I’ve always loved you. I was just too stupid to say it. I didn’t know how to be romantic. I still don’t. But I’m going to try. I don’t want to lose you again.”
She stared at him. “Wow. That’s the longest we’ve talked about feelings.”
“My heart is an open book. Ask me anything.”
She leaned forward and brushed her lips over his. “What are you feeling now?”
“A bucket load of horny.”
Her hands slipped into the front of his jeans. “And now?”
“Like I’m going to die of frustration if I can’t have you in the next two minutes.”
She laughed, liking the sense of power.
“I know you’re doing this to torture me.”
She withdrew. “Sorry. If my touch is torture...”
He took her hand and put it back where it had been a second ago. “Not your touch... I said I loved you and you didn’t say anything back.”
“I love you, too. That’s all that matters, you know. We’ll figure out the rest.”
With a groan that came straight from his chest he claimed her lips, shedding all restraint. He made her feel alive for the first time in a long time, her body buzzing with pleasure.
“I’m on leave until the New Year. After that... We’ll work out the details.”
* * *
THANKFULLY, THE CAMPING emergency kit had a condom. Morgan didn’t question why, he just took the gift.
Dakota’s eyes drifting closed and her back arching as he entered her was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. He planned on seeing it again and again, as often as possible for the rest of his life.
“I love you,” he told her again, and his heart thrilled when she echoed the words.
He made love to her slowly, thoroughly, making up for all those lost years. And when they lay sated in each other’s arms, they talked, caught up, laughed.
“I better get back,” she said at last. “In case Cody wakes up.”
“Is he a light sleeper?”
“Sleeps like a log. I swear he doesn’t even twitch.”
He helped her dress—any excuse to touch her again. He walked her to her door and kissed her, putting all his heart into the kiss.
Then he snuck into Wyatt’s room, making his way to the pile of blankets on the floor in the dark.
“You have a supportive family,” Wyatt said without turning. “It’s okay to come out of the closet.”
Morgan bit back a grin and punched his brother in the shoulder.
Man, it was good to be back.
* * * * *
Paula Graves
WYATT
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Wyatt McCabe—The Serpentine, Texas, sheriff’s young half sister has been kidnapped by a ruthless Mexican drug lord who’s using her as leverage against his rancher father. He needs the help of ICE agent Elena Vargas, but does Elena have her own agenda?
Elena Vargas—The Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent has been put on mandatory vacation by her boss, who thinks she’s too close to the kidnapping case. But she won’t let anyone stop her from finding the brutal drug runner who’s put a price on her head.
Brittany Means—The half sister the McCabe brothers never knew they had.
Javier Calderón—The drug lord needs access to McCabe land for trouble-free access to a coast-to-coast highway that will greatly expand his drug trafficking business. But will he let his personal vendetta against Agent Elena Vargas get in the way of his pragmatic concerns?
Los Jaguares—Calderón’s vicious enforcers spread fear and terror throughout the small towns of the Texas/Mexico border. But are they completely loyal to Calderón?
Clive Howard—Elena’s boss at ICE thinks she’s letting her personal concerns get in the way of her job. Is he right?
Justice McCabe—Wyatt’s rancher father hasn’t always been the best of fathers. But how far will he be willing to go to save his daughter?
Morgan McCabe—Wyatt’s older brother has spent years away on commando missions, but now that he’s home again to help out his family, will he be sticking around? Or is the draw of danger and adventure too much to resist?
Virgil “Bull” McCabe—It took the kidnapping of the half sister he didn’t know he had to bring the cop back home to Texas. Does he have it in his heart to forgive his difficult father?
For Julie and Dana.
Thanks for being so much fun to work with.
Contents
Chapter One
Cha
pter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Epilogue
Excerpt
Chapter One
Serpentine, Texas, shivered under a gray December sky, a cold north wind blowing across the scrubby grassland and swaying the bare trees dotting the landscape around the fairgrounds on the southern edge of town. The Feria de la Navidad had been an annual festival since long before Elena Vargas was born, and she had a feeling it would be there long after she was gone. Some things seemed to hang on forever.
And some things, she thought blackly as she spotted her prey across the crowded market square, just won’t go away.
Her target on this blustery day wore a black Justin wool hat low over his dark eyes and a black Western shirt with an embroidered rose pattern across the shoulders. His boots were silver snakeskin and black leather, embellished at points with silver and turquoise.
El Pavón. The Peacock. He lived up to the name.
His real name was Tomás Sanchez, and he was one of Javier Calderón’s top lieutenants. Calderón’s cartel, Los Jaguares, had been tormenting towns across the Mexican border for the last seven years. For the last two years, they’d been bringing their ruthless brutality into Texas.
It had to stop.
Sanchez strutted across the square toward a couple of women swaying to the street band’s lively rendition of “La Rama.” He coaxed one into a dance in the middle of the square, drawing claps and smiles.
“Do you think they laugh because they like him? Or fear him?”
The low voice in her ear made Elena jump. She whipped around to face the gray-eyed cowboy who had slipped up behind her without a sound. “Go away, Sheriff.”
Wyatt McCabe’s dark eyebrows notched upward. “Feliz Navidad to you, too, Agent Vargas.”
She turned away, trying to pretend she didn’t know him. There was no way McCabe could blend in with the crowd in this part of town the way she could. “You’re blowing my cover, cowboy.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation?”
Damn. He’d heard. “I’m spending my vacation pretending to be a human being,” she covered lightly, although she knew Wyatt McCabe wouldn’t buy that excuse for a second.
“A human being keeping an eye on El Pavón?” He ignored her obvious attempt to distance herself from him, closing the gap between them. He held out a bag of freshly roasted pecans, the warm, nutty aroma reminding her she’d skipped breakfast that morning. “Nuts?”
“I’m trying to pretend you’re not here.” She clenched her fist to keep from grabbing a handful of pecans.
“You know how to make a man feel wanted.” His tone as dry as the north wind, he cocked his head to one side. “Your hair looks different.”
Her clenched fists tightened, this time to keep from self-consciously finger-combing her curls. Instead of her usual struggle to tame her unruly hair into the sleek, professional bob she wore on the job, she’d let her hair air dry after the shower this morning. She’d also skipped applying makeup, she realized with a grimace. She probably looked terrible.
Not that she cared how she looked to Wyatt McCabe. She squared her jaw. “If I let you tell me why you’re here, will you go away?”
“Morgan’s found out where Calderón is keeping Brittany.”
Elena tried not to react, but she couldn’t keep her gaze from straying to Wyatt’s face. “Where?”
His gaze swept the square. “Dance with me and I’ll tell you.”
“What?” He’d lost his mind.
“We’re the only folks here not dancing. Do you want to blend in or stick out like a sore thumb?” He folded the bag of pecans and stuffed it in the pocket of his jeans. Holding out his hand, he gave her a pointed look.
She took his hand and let him whirl her out into the square with the others. “Where is Calderón holding your sister?”
“Somewhere around Los Soldados, down near Malachi.”
She knew the place. “There’s nothing in Los Soldados but scrub grass and alpaca dung.”
“Well, that alpaca dung belongs to our friend Javier. Calderón owns majority interest in Rancho de Las Crías.”
She stopped pretending he wasn’t there. “What?”
“Yeah, came as a shock to me, too. The task force has been busting our tails trying to sniff out any business holdings Calderón has in the southwest and apparently the slimy cabrón has been shoveling alpaca droppings ten miles away for two years.”
“I doubt he does any of his own shoveling,” she muttered as he tugged her closer to avoid a collision with another dancing couple. As she leaned in to speak quietly in his ear, her cheek brushing against his, she felt the light bristle of his beard stubble and suppressed a shiver of attraction. “What makes you think he’s keeping Brittany there?”
“Morgan got the information out of one of our ranch hands who was working for Calderón.”
She leaned her head back to look up at him, struck by his bitter tone. “Got it out of him how?”
“Morgan has his ways,” Wyatt said flatly. Elena had a feeling some of Morgan’s ways of getting things done wouldn’t please her superiors at Immigration and Customs Enforcement.
Then again, ICE had made her take a three-week enforced vacation when she was hot on Calderón’s trail. They weren’t her favorite people at the moment.
“What are you going to do?” she asked Wyatt.
“Morgan, Bull and I went to Mexico earlier this week, but we got nowhere. Everybody’s terrified of Calderón. Nobody’s talking.” He pulled her back to him, resting his cheek against hers so he could lower his voice. Again, she felt a tremor of sexual awareness dart through her, as unstoppable as a south Texas flash flood. “But you know more about Calderón than anyone. It was criminal of ICE to tie your hands, which makes me wonder if Calderón has people in the San Antonio field office.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Do you know something?”
“Just speculating.”
She was almost certain there was a mole at ICE, as Calderón constantly slipped through their fingers just as they got close to bringing him down. “What do you want?”
“I want to see your personal files. Maybe there’s information there we can use to open up some doors.”
She shook her head quickly. “Nobody sees my files. Not even ICE.”
His voice hardened. “Calderón has my sister, Vargas.”
“I don’t let people look at my files,” she said more quietly. “I have my reasons. But I’ll dig through them myself for every bit of information I’ve collected about Calderón’s movements along the border and see if there’s something we can exploit.”
She saw he wasn’t pleased with the compromise, but he gave a brief nod. His hand moved lightly against her back, tracking fire along her nerve endings. “I can be at your place by one. Will you be there?”
She looked across the square, where Sanchez had moved on to another pretty dance partner. Her stakeout here at the fair had been a desperation move anyway, she thought. If McCabe was right about the alpaca farm in Los Soldados, it could turn out to be a far more productive lead.
“I’ll be there,” she said.
He let her go and reached into his pocket, retrieving the bag of pecans. He put the rumpled paper sack in her hands. “Here. You look hungry.”
Before she could come up with a retort, he’d disappeared into the crowd, blending in far more easily than she’d expected.
She checked her watch. Only eleven-fifteen. The drive back to her house would take less than fifteen minutes, and thanks to McCabe, she now had a bag of pecans for lunch.
It might have been a desperation move, but she could stick with her surveillance of El Pavón a little while longer.
Better than waiting at home like a desperate spinster for the sexy cowboy to show up.
* * *
“THAT’S ALL SHE’D AGREE TO?” Morg
an sounded disgusted.
“It’s more than I expected,” Wyatt answered quietly.
“I’ve met a few difficult women in my time,” his older brother Virgil muttered, “but your ICE queen tops them all.”
“ICE queen,” Wyatt repeated. “Cute. What are you, thirteen?”
“She’s in our way,” Morgan growled.
“She’d say we’re in hers.”
Both of his brothers turned to glare at him. “You’re taking her side on this?” Virgil asked, his demeanor reminding Wyatt of his nickname—Bull.
Turn him out in a rodeo arena with a wrangler on his back and he’d give you one hell of an eight-second ride, Wyatt thought, hiding a grin because he had a feeling Bull was in the mood to punch it right off his face. “I don’t think we are on opposite sides,” he answered his brother’s question, keeping his voice calm. He’d gotten good playing peacemaker over the years, first between his brothers and their father and later as a lawman.
“You trying to handle me?” Bull asked.
“No more than usual,” he shot back, grinning this time.
Bull’s belligerent look faded into a grin as well. “Clearly you’re not related to me. You’re entirely too diplomatic.”
“And you’re conveniently forgetting my adolescence,” Wyatt said with a laugh. “I know you and Morgan have a lot at stake here besides our sister. But try to see it from Agent Vargas’s point of view—”
“Look, Wyatt, I know you like the woman—”
“I value her insight. I think she’s a damned fine investigator. She’s courageous, determined—”
“Not to mention hot as a Texas summer,” Bull murmured. “Suppose that might have something to do with your admiration for her fine attributes?”
Wyatt shot Bull a withering look. “I’ll let y’all know what I find out.”
Morgan followed him to the door. “There’s a lot riding on what you can get out of her.”
“I know.” Wyatt kept his voice low, aware his father was two doors down in the study, within earshot. Justice McCabe’s uncharacteristic lethargy over the past few days had begun to worry Wyatt. Was the old man thinking about caving to Calderón’s demands?
Javier Calderón’s ransom for Brittany had been simple but devastating: if he wanted his daughter back alive, by midnight Christmas Eve, Justice was to sign a lease allowing Calderón to use the western valley, which included thousands of acres of prime pastureland, as a through-point for his trucks.