“Sorry, not an option.” In a splashing sprint, Jess charged into dammed-up creek water that immediately rose to the middle of his thighs and dropped Casey fanny first into it. Her scream had barely finished ricocheting off the treetops when she realized it was warm—very warm. Snagging her around the middle, Jess pulled her to his side, their laughter filling the woods.
She felt warm, smooth gravel on her backside, then, suddenly, muscular thighs and black nylon as he pulled her onto his lap, her back against his chest. They were in an eddy, a circling current of water in a scooped-out pocket of the creek that was obviously fed by an underground hot spring. And it was heaven.
“Didn’t I tell you we’d be toasty?” He chuckled, snuggling her close.
“Yes, I guess you did.” Casey sighed, loving the silky flow of the water around her. “Mmmm...this is wonderful. I didn’t realize there were hot springs this far from Yellow-stone. But then, earth science wasn’t exactly my strong suit in college.”
“Mine either.” Jess bent to kiss her ear and the side of her neck. Despite the drizzling, tickling chills that zipped down her right side, Casey tipped her head to give him easier access.
“So what was?”
“What was what?” he murmured, sampling her shoulder now.
“Your strong suit in college.”
“I don’t want to talk about college.”
Casey closed her eyes. “No? What do you want to talk about?” The air was cool here in the creek, and his mouth warmed her shoulder where it stuck out of the water.
“How about your sexy new bathing suit?”
Laughing softly, Casey stroked his thighs beneath the water. “All right, but it’s going to be a very short conversation. There’s not much to discuss.”
“But then we could move on to your sexy new hairdo. And your sexy smile, and your sexy blue eyes, and your sexy mouth...” In a bobbing swirl of water, Jess turned Casey on his lap to face him, wrapping her legs around his hips. Water crept higher as he leaned his head and shoulders back against the rocky bank.
Casey felt her belly go liquid as Jess caressed her under the water, her hips, her rib cage, her breasts. Lazy thumbs broke the surface to push her top aside and make slow little circles on her nipples. She watched his eyes grow hungry for her, felt his burgeoning heat against her bottom. Fine wisps of steam rose and swirled atop the black water as the air continued to cool and the springs beneath them kept their little pocket of the creek warm.
Jess’s voice dropped to a husky murmur, and his hands disappeared beneath the water to cup her bottom again. “I have this idea.”
“Oh?”
“Mm-hmm. It’s a bad one. But a good one.”
Casey smoothed back his dark, damp hair, kissed him. “Maybe you should tell me about it.”
“Maybe I should.”
Casey felt Jess free himself from his bathing suit. Then she felt the thin triangle of fabric and the tiny snippet of strap that covered her being pulled aside. Sighing, she lowered herself onto him, surely, sweetly, and she was instantly awash with pleasure.
A soft groan rumbled in Jess’s throat, and he closed his eyes. “Okay now,” he whispered, moving gently beneath the water. “This is just a trial run. We have to behave ourselves this time, because our protection’s in my wallet. Okay?”
“Absolutely.” Casey’s eyes closed, too, and that curling sensation began to swirl upward through her belly. She circled his neck with her arms. How she adored this man. And not just for the way he made her feel physically. He was so tender, so caring, so into making the night special for her, that somewhere beneath all those denials, Jess had to feel the same for her.
They kissed slowly, deeply, without battling tongues, without the voraciousness of first-time lovers... and it was sublime. Casey drank from his mouth again and again, drawing his essence inside to live in her heart, letting their passions build slowly.
Just before she gave herself over to satin waters and silken mist—just before Jess forgot himself and did the same—Casey released a contented sigh beside his ear and mouthed, “I love you.”
“So much for behaving ourselves,” Jess said later, when they lay together in his oversize sleeping bag. Their fingers played and steepled before them in the warm glow of the fire. All around them, crickets chirruped from the tall grass, while the black water beyond the eddy rushed and bubbled its way downstream. Near the fire ring, their swimsuits hung from a makeshift drying rack of sticks.
Casey laughed softly, her head pillowed on Jess’s shoulder. “Well, we did try. But it’ll be okay.”
“It really is a safe time?”
He was speaking offhandedly, but there was an underlying concern in his tone that reminded Casey that he’d acted irresponsibly once before—and it had cost him. “I know my own body, Jess—there are signs. We’ll know in two days for sure, but I’m not worried.”
“Good.”
They were quiet for a moment, just enjoying the closeness, then Casey pressed a kiss to his chest. She wanted to know everything about him, every joy he’d had as a child, every heartbreak. But she would be satisfied with finishing a conversation they had started earlier. “Tell me about college now. Did it bother you having to quit?”
He thought about that for a moment. “No, not really. I only went because my dad wanted me to have a decent education. Feels like a million years ago now. He wanted that for Ross, too, but it didn’t pan out.”
“Money problems?”
“No, the insurance from the crash would have taken care of it. Ross just refused to go, and I wouldn’t force him. He’d just lost his parents, and he needed the security of home and family. Even if it was just Aunt Ruby and me.”
“That’s certainly understandable.” When Dane died, her mother had been her anchor. But this was a happy time for them, and talk of death and sadness was out of place here. “So what was your major a million years ago?” she asked, dragging the topic back to college.
“Agriculture—actually, range management—with a minor in accounting. I thought if I was going to run Broken-straw one day, I should probably learn something about feed, and a little about keeping the books. I picked up enough to get by—although my dad never went to school and he still managed to handle things pretty well.”
“Sounds like a smart man.”
“He was. He wasn’t the type to stock the kitchen cupboards with Hershey bars, but he was like your dad in some respects. He was always planning, looking ahead—making sure Broken straw had a future. He used to say the real trick to keeping a ranch this size running was hiring loyal people who knew what they were doing.” Jess’s tone suddenly cooled. “Although I might have screwed up in that department.”
Casey knew he was talking about Ray Pruitt And now that the opportunity had presented itself, she couldn’t delay sharing the information Ray had delivered last night, when he walked her to Jess’s truck. “Jess?”
“Hmm?”
“Ray told me something last night that you need to know.”
Casey felt his muscles stiffen. “What?”
“It’s about Ross...and I’m afraid it’s not good.” Stroking his rib cage, she tried to soften the news. “Ray’s afraid he’s in over his head with some men at Babylon. A few nights ago, Ross tried to borrow two thousand dollars from Ray.”
Jess swore, then moved Casey’s hand and sat up. “Great. Good old Ray takes him down there, introduces him to the boys, then gets concerned when Ross runs true to form. Did Pruitt give him any money?”
Casey sat up, too, covering herself with the flap of the sleeping bag. “No, he said he’d lent him money before and never got it back. He figured Ross was a bad risk. And Ray didn’t take Ross down there. He wasn’t his sponsor.”
Jess sent her a cynical smirk. “Who told you that? Ray?”
“Yes, but I believe him.”
“Becoming a Ray Pruitt fan?”
“No,” she answered patiently, “a Jess Dalton fan, so there’s no need t
o be jealous. But I do think Ray’s a decent guy.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he muttered, “I wasn’t jealous.”
Casey rolled her eyes wearily. “Oh, good, because that’s what it sounded like to me, and I wouldn’t want to get the wrong impression.”
The silence between them stretched on for another long moment. Then, sighing, Jess slid an arm around her and pulled Casey close again. “Okay, maybe I was a little jealous. I’ll see Ross tomorrow and find out what’s going on. But now, much as I hate to leave, we’d better get moving. It’s late.” Jess started to release her, then paused to scan her hair, her eyes, her lips. He fastened his gaze on hers again. “Move in with me.”
“I thought I already had.”
“I didn’t mean into the house,” he said softly. “I meant. into my room, into my bed. I don’t want you sleeping in the nursery anymore.”
“Good,” she whispered back. “Because I don’t want me sleeping in there, either.”
A week later, Casey was brushing white paint on one of the clapboard storage sheds and wondering why she felt so low. She should have been deliriously happy that she wasn’t pregnant. Jess certainly was. In fact, he couldn’t have been more elated if she’d told him cattle prices were at an all-time high and leprechauns had stashed a pot of gold in the barn.
Sighing, she dipped her brush into the paint can again. Maybe her mood had more to do with the afternoon heat and her mixed-up hormones than Jess’s obvious relief that they hadn’t made a baby back at the hot spring.
The low growl of an engine and the crunch of tires on gravel broke Casey’s thoughts, and she turned to see a four-wheel-drive vehicle with a sheriff’s-department emblem on its door roll to a stop in the driveway a dozen yards from the shed. Cy Farrell swung out of the Jeep, slammed the door and ambled toward her. As usual, he was in uniform, and as he walked, sunlight glinted off his sunglasses.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Marshall,” he said with a cordial tip of his beige Stetson. “Fine day for paintin’.”
Casey wiped her brow with the sleeve of her shirt, pushing her damp bangs away from her face. “Actually, I’ve been thinking it’s a little warm. If you’re looking for Jess, he’s up at the house. You might have to ring the bell a few times before he hears you, though. He’s in the basement.”
Farrell sent her a toothy smile and pulled a pen and notebook from his shirt pocket. “Thanks, but I’m not looking for Jess today. I’m here to see you. I need to ask you a few questions.”
“About what?” she asked, forcing herself to be polite. But that grin of his didn’t make it easy.
“Same old, same old,” he drawled off-handedly. “The rustlin’ over at Moe Jackson’s, and the elk-head watch fob that somehow managed to get itself lost over there.”
Casey felt a thin run of dread. Not because she thought Jess had anything to do with the rustling; he’d been genuinely upset when he learned about his neighbor’s loss. But Farrell was already twisting things around, and she suspected the sheriff was very good at making something out of nothing. At least where Jess was concerned.
“If I recall correctly,” Casey replied, “Jess told you his grandfather’s watch fob had been gone for some time. And I believe he said it was a Texas longhorn.”
Farrell checked his watch, then scribbled the time in his notebook. “Maybe. All I know for sure is the ranchers around here are getting mighty upset about this problem, and they’re expectin’ me to do something about it.” He glanced up, smiling again. “You probably don’t know this, but folks in the eastern part of the state had a similar problem a while back. Same kind of operation—tractor—trailer rig, big losses for the ranchers.... We frown on that kinda thing out here. Each of the rustlers got a fifty-thousand-dollar fine and twenty years in jail.”
The stiffness of the penalty surprised her, but she kept her face impassive. “And you’re telling me this... because?”
“No reason, I guess.” Farrell’s smile grew. “Where were you the night the Jackson spread was hit, Mrs. Marshall?”
Casey almost laughed. “Am I a suspect now, too?”
“Just askin’, ma’am.”
She glanced at her paintbrush; the bristles were already beginning to harden in the late-afternoon heat, and she had a lot of painting to do yet. “Do you mind if I keep painting while we talk?”
“No, ma’am, not at all. Now could you tell me where you were around 2:00 a.m. that night?”
Casey loaded her brush and slapped more white paint on the shed. “Strangely enough, I was in bed. I went upstairs around ten-thirty or eleven o’clock.”
“Anyone with you?”
She whirled, instantly angry. “What kind of question is that?”
“No offense, ma‘am, but I’m afraid it’s a necessary one.” Farrell’s apologetic expression claimed he was just doing his job. “I need to know if you have an alibi. Not that I think a fine woman like yourself is involved, mind you. I just need to start rulin’ out some of the folks on my list—people who might’ve had motive and opportunity.”
Casey was seething, and she didn’t try to hide it. Farrell’s sagebrush-Columbo act was getting on her nerves. “For the life of me, I can’t imagine what motive you think I might have had to—” She stopped and gathered her poise. “Never mind. I was alone, Sheriff. I don’t have an alibi. Looks like I’m still on your suspect list.”
Farrell began to smile. And in that moment, Casey realized she’d given him exactly what he’d come for.
“Which means Jess doesn’t have an alibi either,” Farrell concluded. “If the two of you live in the same house, and you were asleep, you can’t very well swear that he spent the entire night at home, now, can you?”
Casey’s hand tightened on the handle of the paintbrush. She had never been a suspect. Farrell had wanted to make sure she wouldn’t rush to Jess’s aid at the final moment and claim they’d been together all night. The disturbing memory of her waking to the sound of Jess’s truck leaving that night surfaced, and Casey moistened her lips nervously. “I don’t understand any of this. Why do you suspect him?”
“Besides the watch fob, you mean? How about because Broken straw’s one of the few ranches in the area that hasn’t been hit.”
Casey sighed wearily. “But if Jess were involved, wouldn’t it make sense for him to take some of his own cattle to allay everyone’s suspicions? He’s an honest, decent man, Sheriff. He wouldn’t do anything illegal.”
“Honest? Decent?” Farrell removed his glasses and chuckled. “Obviously, you don’t know Saint Jess as well as everybody else around here does. He’s got a police record, ma’am. Now, I won’t bore you with the details, but I do have to tell you, he’s not the squeaky-clean Boy Scout you take him for.” Farrell’s gray eyes flashed silver with satisfaction as he put his glasses back on. “But don’t take my word for it. Ask Jess.” Turning away, he tucked his notebook back in his shirt pocket. “Thanks for your time, Mrs. Marshall. You’ve been a big help.”
Casey stood there fuming until the white Jeep had disappeared around the bend in the driveway. Then she slopped some turpentine into a coffee can, threw her brush in it and stormed off for the house. That miserable, lying, grudge-holding snake wasn’t going to harass them ever again. And she’d see a judge if she had to. Jess had said there were photos showing his grandfather and dad—even him—wearing the watch fob, and by God, she was going to find it and nail it to Farrell’s door. He pretended to be such a dedicated lawman. But he was trying to frame Jess for something he didn’t do, and dammit, he wasn’t going to get away with it.
The screen door slammed behind her as Casey strode into the house, then dropped to her knees in the den and tore into the dozen or so photo albums on the lowest shelf of the bookcase. One by one, she flipped through the plastic leaves, starting with the most recent albums, hoping to find a picture of Jess wearing the watch chain and fob. But the only thing of any significance that she found was about two dozen empty thirty-five
-millimeter pockets. Their random position on the pages said the pockets had been filled at one time, but the photos had been removed.
Were they of Lydia, Casey wondered? Part of her began scanning the backgrounds of photos, looking for a glimpse of Jess’s ex-wife. There wasn’t one snapshot of a young, attractive woman in any of the pictures where Jess appeared to be in his late twenties. But that wasn’t the reason she was conducting a search, Casey reminded herself.
She delved into the earlier albums—nothing. Saw photos of Jess’s father with Ross and a pretty blonde who was obviously Ross’s mother, Joanna, then discovered pictures of another woman—darker, more beautiful, with Jess’s eyes and Jess’s mouth. Laura Dalton had been exquisite. How terrible that Jess had lost her so early in his life.
She was almost through the last album when a loose photo fell out. It was a black-and-white, five-by-seven portrait of a lean, dark-eyed man with a thick mustache and a sensible 1920s haircut. He was wearing a starched collar and suit, and his photographer’s pose showed a watch chain and fob hanging from his vest pocket.
Casey’s heart began to hammer as she squinted, trying to identify the dangling trinket. She jumped up and went to the desk drawer, digging around quickly and finding a magnifying glass. Then she hurried back, dropped back down on the floor and trained the glass on the small gold ... elk
Stunned, Casey sank back on her haunches and laid the magnifying lens aside.
He’d lied to her. And, thinking back, she realized he had done it so smoothly, so glibly, that she never doubted him. Everything he’d said, she’d taken as gospel, and he’d betrayed her trust. Casey’s gaze fell to the small fob in the photograph again, and she sighed wearily. “Dammit, Jess, I believed in you. How could you lie about something so important?”
Jess’s low, cold voice came from the doorway behind her, spinning Casey around. “I had no choice.”
Chapter 12
Casey shot to her feet. “We always have a choice whether . to lie or tell the truth. You lied, Jess. Why? Is that watch fob they found at Moe Jackson’s yours?”
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