Ross

by Jennifer Ashley

  She continued to stare, and he liked that her gaze flicked down his body, giving his cock an interested glance. “Not hiding anything, you mean.”

  He grinned. “We’re adults, we’re single, we’re consenting. It’s our business.” He gestured to the window. “Show them no one messes with a Jones.”

  Callie’s lips twitched. “Or a Campbell?”

  “Damn straight. Now, don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right out.”

  Callie descended to the living room while the shower pattered behind the bathroom door. The impulse to charge inside, pull back the curtain, and dive in with Ross was intense, so Callie deliberately walked down the polished staircase, out of temptation’s reach.

  But not far enough. Her legs were wobbly, her eyes sandy, and she needed to process what had just happened. She’d been about to sneak out, go home, and hide, when Ross had opened his eyes.

  He’d regarded her, unworried, from his bed, full-length and naked, blue eyes warm with afterglow.

  Don’t worry about it, he’d basically said. Let’s see what happens.

  Callie had never been in a casual relationship in her life. She’d either been left alone, guys too intimidated by her family to ask her out, or in a high-pressure situation to be the perfect girlfriend. That’s what she’d been raised to be, right?

  Ross wasn’t asking anything of her. Just dinner out, probably at the diner, then maybe back here for some more great sex.

  A tightness inside her eased. She could laugh with Ross, talk about stupid things. She could be Callie, the nerdy woman who liked horses and reading, her real self. He didn’t seem to mind.

  She poured herself a cup of the waiting coffee, the machine having kept it warm. The bitter jolt on her tongue as she sipped woke her.

  The radio crackled. “Ross?” a woman’s voice called. “You there?”

  Callie froze in the act of taking another sip, eyes on the police radio. Should she pick it up? She was familiar with radios because her dad used them to communicate with his hands on the far reaches of the ranch. More reliable than cell phones, usually. But this was a police frequency, which meant she had no business being on it.

  “Ross? We’re trying to track you down.”

  Callie compromised. She grabbed the radio from its charging cradle and raced upstairs with it. Ross was just snapping off the water as she ran inside the bathroom.

  “Someone’s looking for you.”

  Turned out the shower didn’t have a curtain but a wall of glass blocks that separated it from the rest of the room. If she’d talked herself into coming in before, she’d have had a nice show.

  Ross came around the blocks, dripping, naked, and delectable, and regarded the radio Callie thrust at him in dismay. “Damn it.” He grabbed a towel and dried off his hands then tucked the towel around his middle and reached for the radio.

  “Mildred? What’s up?”

  “Hennessy is looking for you. Hate to bug you on your day off, but there’s a meeting—you’re the last.”

  “Shit.” Annoyance flushed Ross’s face. “I’ll be there. Give me ten. I’m just getting out of the shower.”

  “Gotcha,” Mildred said, and the radio clicked off.

  Ross set it on the counter, snatched up a second towel and rubbed it over his hair. “Sorry, Callie.”

  “I understand,” she said, trying to stifle her disappointment. “It’s work.”

  Ross rumbled. “It’s Hennessy. He’ll call these meetings spontaneously—late—just to dick with us. Sometimes it’s serious police business. Sometimes it’s about someone parking on the line between his space and theirs. Either way, I have to go.” He discarded the second towel, his dark hair every which way, and came to her. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

  Damp hands closed around her as Ross pulled her up to him to kiss her.

  He’d tasted good during sex, and afterward was definitely not bad. His lips were wet and warm from his shower, his skin smelling of soap and shaving cream.

  Ross eased the kiss to its close, his gaze on her mouth. “Damn the man.”

  “Not your fault,” Callie said softly. “No need to apologize.”

  “I don’t mean I’m sorry because I’m taking the blame. I mean I’m damn sorry I can’t spend more time with you. Take you to dinner, bring you back home, have you take a shower …”

  “Yeah, I’m kinda sorry about all that too.”

  “I’m not kicking you out,” Ross said. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, drink the coffee, take a bath, fix yourself something to eat—I know how to cook, so I have actual food in my fridge. Or you can head home. Your choice.”

  Stay here in this cozy apartment with Ross’s things around her? Or go home to the big empty house and painful memories? Hmm, tough choice. “How long you think you’ll be?” Callie asked.

  Ross grimaced. “I honestly don’t know. Could be ten minutes. Could be an all-nighter.”

  “Tell you what,” Callie said. “I’ll hang out for a little bit. Then if you don’t come back, I’ll know it’s an all-nighter, and I’ll go on home. You call me when you’re free again.”

  Ross stared at her. He released her, leaving wet fingermarks on her shirt, but he continued to scrutinize her and didn’t back away.

  “What?” she asked, hands going to her cheeks. “I have something on my face?”

  “No. I’m wondering if you’re real.”

  Callie touched her chest, her stomach, her hips. “Think so. Last time I checked, anyway.”

  Ross hauled her back to him. His next kiss was hard, opening her mouth, his arms tight around her. Callie hung in his grasp and enjoyed it until the kiss ended, leaving Callie shaking and hot.

  “I will do my damnedest to make it the shortest meeting in River County history.” Ross’s voice was low, his eyes intense.

  Callie believed him, but she’d lived with men who worked in time-consuming businesses all her life—her father with the ranch, Devon trying to claw his way to the top of his firm. Business came first, she’d learned. Relationships, second. Those in law enforcement were on call all the time to deal with anything from a rattlesnake in a house to drug dealers on a rampage.

  “’Kay,” she said.

  Ross kissed her one more time, then he left the bathroom, grabbed a uniform from his walk-in closet, and had it on in two minutes. Callie stood back and watched him dress, Ross making it look like a dance.

  One more kiss, then he was back downstairs. Ross unlocked his gun from a safe, holstered it, gave Callie yet another lingering kiss, and then was gone.

  Callie watched from the front window as he strode through the dying evening light across the street toward the courthouse, leaping puddles as he went.

  Her fingers on the blind’s cord, Callie tried to decide how she felt, but nothing came to her clearly. Elation, disappointment, excitement, dizziness, uncertainty—all mixed into a dizzying swirl.

  She concluded she shouldn’t examine her emotions too closely. For now, she’d follow Ross’s cue and take things as they came. See what happened. Not worry about making this a relationship.

  And she absolutely, positively could not fall in love with him. That would be a complete disaster.

  Now if she could make her pounding heart, tingling fingers, and very, very satisfied libido believe that.

  Ross knew right away it wasn’t going to be a short meeting.

  Hennessy, arms folded over his large chest, stood in front of all his deputies—four—and declared they were conducting a raid on the house in White Fork, almost certainly the temporary headquarters for one of the area’s biggest dealers.

  No one looked elated. They’d been keeping an eye on the house but didn’t yet have a handle on how many people were involved or what kind of armament they had, mostly because Hennessy had said they shouldn’t spare the manpower. Didn’t want to give away the fact that they knew the dealers were there, he claimed.

  “All right,” Hennessy said now. “Let’s roll.�
��

  Shawn McGregor, handsome, clean-cut, and Hennessy’s favorite, raised his hand. “Do we know what they’re packing, sir?”

  Good thing it was McGregor who’d asked the question. Hennessy would have snarled at any of the rest of them and told them to stop worrying like little girls. With McGregor, he’d actually answer.

  “Nothing we can’t handle. Remember, they think they’re safe there. Let’s show them they aren’t.”

  Ross knew from experience that any suggestion that they summon backup, call a SWAT team, or alert the feds, would be dismissed. If any other agency complained about jurisdiction, Hennessy would say they’d simply acted on a tip to investigate suspicious activity, which was true. The sheriff was always good at covering his ass.

  Hennessy usually stayed well out of the action, in any case, letting his deputies take the lead. He invoked his age as an excuse, claiming he’d be in the way of the younger deputies in a tight situation. He was better using his experience to direct, he’d say.

  “Now, can we roll?” Hennessy asked impatiently. “I’d like to make these busts and get home to watch TV with my wife.”

  He would go home, he meant. The deputies would be stuck at the office doing the paperwork, which would be monumental if they arrested a houseful of suspected drug dealers. Ross and Sanchez exchanged a look but managed to keep their expressions neutral.

  “You heard the boss,” McGregor said. “Let’s go.”

  Sanchez and Ross partnered, as usual. McGregor teamed up with a fairly new deputy, Joe Harrison, who’d arrived in Riverbend last year from San Antonio.

  Ross had worried at first that a black deputy in a mostly white town would have a hard time, but so far, Joe had settled in with no problem—he was easygoing and quick with a smile, but he didn’t take shit from anyone. The fact that Joe could get along with McGregor made him an extraordinary human being. Joe didn’t toady to McGregor or pretend to like him, and he explained to Ross he was professional enough to suck it up and not let McGregor’s attitude get in his way. Hennessy’s either.

  As Ross pulled his SUV from the lot, he couldn’t help glancing up at his apartment window across the square. Sanchez, in the passenger seat, burst out laughing.

  “Don’t wave. You’ll give it away.”

  Ross shot him a look, face burning. “What are you talking about?”

  “I saw you and Callie go by, all cozy in her fancy car. And I didn’t see her come out from your alley again. Don’t worry, my friend. No one knows but me.” Sanchez’s laughter died to chuckles. “Lucky bastard.”

  Ross said nothing—didn’t brag he’d had the most beautiful woman on earth in his bed. He didn’t kiss and tell.

  More mirth from Sanchez. “Man, the look on your face. Last thing you want to do tonight is bust up a bunch of smelly, well-armed dealers, am I right? Can’t blame you.”

  “What the hell is Hennessy doing?” Ross asked, abruptly changing the subject. “We aren’t ready to raid these guys. There might not be any evidence in there to hold them.”

  Sanchez shrugged. “He wants to go in hard, prove he’s serving the community. He’s up for reelection.”

  “Shit, is it that time already?”

  Hennessy had been sheriff for years, so long that the election was more or less a formality. But during the months running up to the election, he made sure to be more visible, personally responding to calls or showing up at accident scenes to comfort victims and assure them that justice would be done.

  “Means we’re rushing into a scene where we could all get shot, so Hennessy can have some publicity, am I right?” Ross asked as he drove around the square, resolutely turning his face from his apartment’s lighted windows.

  “That’s why we’re wearing.” Sanchez patted his bulletproof vest. “I’m thinking it’s going to be a long night.”

  Ross tried to concentrate on driving as he entered the open highway that led to White Fork. The storm had passed, and the moon hung overhead, its light reflecting on the standing water on the pavement and ditches beyond.

  Tried to concentrate. Ross’s thoughts flitted to Callie, her body beneath his, the uninhibited way she’d cried out. She’d made love enthusiastically, no lying back and pretending to enjoy it while he got his rocks off. She’d wanted to be there, in his bed, having sex with him.

  The fact that they’d made love in nothing but their socks for some reason heated Ross as he slid through the wet night. The humid air started to fog the windows—or maybe that was his thoughts of Callie.

  A coyote rushed across the road. Ross braked and swerved, the SUV sliding on the wet pavement.

  No one was around but them, McGregor’s SUV far ahead, and Hennessy a long way behind. Ross dragged in a breath, straightened the SUV, and went on.

  “Want me to drive?” Sanchez asked in a mild tone. “Seems like your heart isn’t in it.”

  Yes, Ross should let him take the wheel. Hadn’t occurred to him that he’d be distracted by thoughts of a woman—this had never happened to him before. Ross’s passionate encounters rarely went much beyond a few times with any one woman. His irregular hours and sudden calls in to work—like tonight—was a turnoff.

  Would it be for Callie? And why was he worried about that? He’d told her they’d keep it casual, take things as they came.

  He was so full of shit. Ross wanted to latch on to her and never let her go.

  “Yeah, I should be driving,” Sanchez said decidedly. “You have your head up your ass, my friend.”

  “Sorry.” Ross decided to go with humor. “Can’t blame me, like you said. She’s totally worth the head space.”

  “Great. You can double date with me and Sylvie. Ladies love the double date. Probably so they can gang up on us.”

  Sanchez and Sylvie Page had been going out forever, always together, never announcing a wedding date. If they’d lived together they’d be common-law married by now, but Sylvie had her own place a little way from town and owned a flower shop on the road that led to Lampasas. Sanchez lived in Riverbend on the opposite side of the square from Ross. Sylvie loved the guy but she said she slept better when she wasn’t interrupted by his late-night calls. The relationship worked for them, and even the nosiest Riverbenders had stopped asking when they’d tie the knot.

  They’d start asking Callie shit like that if she and Ross were seen together often enough. Callie would run for the hills.

  “No double dating,” Ross said firmly. “No dating at all. Keep it to yourself.”

  Sanchez looked surprised, but lifted his hands. “You got it. It’s your life.”

  “And for fuck’s sake, don’t tell my brothers. I’d never hear the end of it.”

  “That’s for sure. Like I said, don’t worry. I got your back.”

  Which was why Ross had been friends with Sanchez for so long. Sanchez accepted and didn’t judge.

  Ross’s brothers were very accepting too, but judged all the time. Even Carter, who was closest to Ross, would narrow his hazel eyes and ask what his intentions were.

  “Thanks,” Ross said. He and Sanchez rarely had to say please and thank you, but this was about Callie.

  “Let’s concentrate on surviving tonight. Then we’ll talk.”

  Ross nodded. Hennessy had taken them into tight situations before, and only the deputies’ experience and courage had got them out again. Made great headlines, but Ross preferred to keep his blood inside his body.

  White Fork, a smaller town than Riverbend, was mostly residential and surrounded by farms. Kids spent the first eight years of school in White Fork, and then went to Riverbend for high school. Yellow school buses were a familiar sight on this highway.

  The sidewalks rolled up here about nine. There was one roadhouse on the other side of town, far enough away that the noise and traffic didn’t reach White Fork.

  Lights were on in houses, most people at home and finishing up dinner. Ranchland lined the road even in the middle of town, and horses browsed in the fields beyon
d barbed wire fences.

  The neighborhood the SUVs turned to—no lights or sirens—was a development built about thirty years ago, nice suburban-like dwellings for those who commuted to Austin or other big towns for white-collar jobs but liked living in the country. Simple but comfortable, the houses said. They were brick with white windows and black shutters, set on about a half acre each, plenty of space for the kids and dogs.

  The house in question lay in the center of the development, and looked no different from the others. A few months ago, the house, which had been empty a while, had sold to a guy no one knew. Calls to the sheriff’s office had started soon after that, neighbors reporting strange people coming and going at all hours, several cars parked in front for days that would then disappear, to be replaced with others they’d never seen before. The people of White Fork knew exactly what went on in their streets and weren’t shy about telling.

  Ross pulled over a few houses down from the target. McGregor and Joe Harrison were nowhere in sight. Neither was Hennessy, but Ross didn’t worry. They each had their positions and would converge when Hennessy gave the signal.

  “Dark in there,” Ross said in a low voice. No lights shone in the windows, not even through slits in curtains or blinds. No cars were parked on the road and none stood in the driveway.

  “Either they’re lying very low, or this is a dead end,” Sanchez said.

  Ross didn’t like this. Uneasiness tingled in his fingers, a signal he’d learned never to ignore.

  He was reaching for his door handle when knuckles rapped on the window.

  “Shit!” Ross peeled himself from the SUV’s ceiling and quickly rolled down the window. “Manny?” he said in a harsh whisper to the shaking kid who stood outside his door. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Chapter Ten

  Warning you,” Manny said breathlessly as Ross yanked open the door and climbed out to face him. “That house is empty. The dudes inside are long gone. They got a tip, and they hightailed it out of there.”

  The warm, humid evening wrapped Ross’s body, and sweat trickled from his temples. “You’ve got ten seconds to tell me exactly how you know this.”