He leaped on that excuse to split, she noticed dryly, like a dog for a bone. Moments later, the Explorer’s headlights bounced out of her driveway.
She headed inside, intending to lock up, clean up and get ready for bed. She locked up, then completely forgot the rest of that game plan, and found herself standing in the front window, staring out at the empty driveway.
Her heart was beating like a revved up 747.
Thoughts were tumbling through her mind like dandelion fluff in a hurricane wind.
And every feminine hormone in her body was alive, awake and singing arias.
Inappropriate arias, Kansas mused. It was only a kiss. From a man who clearly wished he hadn’t indulged in the impulse, and in a place where she neither lived nor planned to stay long. As there was positively no chance to pursue a relationship, there was absolutely nothing to worry about.
And she wasn’t worried. She’d just never felt that fierce, instantaneous pull for anyone else. Before completely giving up men—which, as far as Kansas was concerned, was the most brilliant decision she ever made—she was no stranger to passion. Hal had been her last lover, and making love with him had been nice. Messy and time-consuming, but nice. Maybe she had an unusual pocketful of inhibitions, but she’d never been in a tearing hurry to get naked with a man, and Hal had been sweet, gentle, comfortable. Untenably, exasperatingly, as possessive as a bloodhound, but the intimate side of their relationship had been A-OK. She’d thought.
How startling, to discover at the vast age of twenty-nine, that a man could wipe all those previous preconceptions right off the map. If Pax had scared her, it was the most delicious scared she could remember. No man had ever kissed her like a lush slide straight into sensual oblivion, as if her whole world had been an arid desert until he touched her.
Kansas wasn’t about to mistake a molehill for a mountain—for both of them, it had probably just been a crazy, lost moment in time.
But she didn’t want to forget that kiss.
Kansas turned around, and forced her mind to concentrate on getting ready for bed. She had a bad, bad feeling that falling for Pax could be a terrible temptation. That wouldn’t do at all; not for him or her. For a few moments there, she’d almost forgotten that she was violently, sensibly and firmly off men.
It was a relief to remember that.
Pax turned down Cactus Court with a glance at the digital clock on his dash. Three o’clock on the button.
It was going to be a lot easier to deal with Kansas, he considered, now that he knew for sure she was a stark-raving lunatic.
His experience with her the night before couldn’t possibly have been more helpful. He had her measure now. She might be a wimp, but she had more guts—and recklessness—than any twenty women. And before getting any further involved in her brother’s problem, that was precisely what Pax needed to know—how she’d respond to trouble.
Now he knew.
She had no concept of trouble or danger at all. Skydive without a parachute—no problemo for Kansas. Pet a grizzly bear—what fun. Respond to a guy she barely knew with open vulnerability and passion and a free, naked invitation to do whatever the hell he wanted…damn that woman. Had she even thought about saying no?
Pax braked in her driveway, and slammed the door as he leaped out of the Explorer. Hot sun beat down on his shoulders, healing, soothing sun. He’d been up since five. Spring was calving season. He’d showered before leaving the Her nandez ranch—most of the local ranchers offered him a meal and a place to clean up as an automatic courtesy. So he was clean, but his muscles still ached from the physical work and long, grueling hours. He wouldn’t have minded ten minutes to put his feet up.
He’d have been even happier if the memory of Kansas coming apart in his arms would disappear, splat, from his mind. And yeah, he was guilty of initiating that kiss. But he’d only in tended a kiss, not a pass. He’d only intended to test her a little, see how she responded to a little surprise, a little stress. God knew how it had got ten out of hand so fast.
It was her fault. Completely. Only blaming her somehow didn’t make him feel better. Pax did not open up to strangers. Ever. He positively did not come onto women like a rabid bull. Ever. He was a grown man, a hundred years too old to let hormones rule his life or his behavior, and he had never touched a woman where he wasn’t in full control. It was unconscionable. It couldn’t have happened.
The front door hurled open…and Pax mentally braced. Trouble bounced outside, in a flurry of ditsy chitchat and a wincing bright orange streak of color.
“Hi there, Pax! You’re right on time. Wait, wait, wait—I forgot my purse…and I’d better lock the door. I just have to remember where I put the key to the house….”
Pax wiped a hand over his face as he waited for her to shoot back inside and come up with the key and purse and heaven knew what else. Last night must have been some kind of surreal fantasy, something he’d half imagined or blown out of proportion in his mind. This was the Kansas he’d first met. One of those alien species known as a Pure Female. In her case, a pure ditsy female, a chatterer with just an eensy tendency to be an airhead.
She chased back outside with a grin bigger than the sky, a floppy crocheted bag dangling from her arm. Her fingers were covered—plastered—in rings; bracelets clattered around her wrists; and he hadn’t a clue how to classify what she was wearing. Technically it seemed to be some kind of dress, but it buttoned from a loose neck and ended midthigh. A short midthigh. The fabric was a light cotton knit, and snuggled up to every skinny bone. Hell, a gusty sigh would probably knock her down.
Her fragility hit him every time he saw her. Never mind all the flash and sparkle—he’d felt her body last night. She didn’t own a sturdy bone and her skin was softer than a baby’s behind. He guessed she’d bruise if a man even looked at her roughly, and that thought was disturbing. Pax couldn’t imagine her surviving in any physically demanding situation—past five minutes—and there was just no way this side of the moon that he could stop himself from feeling protective of her.
“Ready,” she announced, and gave him another winsome, wicked grin. “At least I think I’m ready. We didn’t exactly pin down an agenda for the afternoon. Do we have a game plan on the table about where we’re going?”
“I have a place in mind, where your brother used to spend some time. But first—I should have asked you yesterday if you’d talked to the sheriff.”
“Why, sure. When I couldn’t get ahold of Case and started worrying he was missing, the first places I called were the hospitals—and then the law. Sheriff Simons and I are old phone pals. I called him at least a half dozen times from Minnesota.”
“And?”
“And…he was real sweet and real kind, but all those long-distance calls got me nowhere.” Kansas climbed into the passenger side of the Explorer and strapped herself in.
His Explorer was used to smelling like hay and vet medicines and a whole host of other natural, earthy smells. But his truck, for sure, had never been exposed to a blast of exuberantly sexy French perfume. Something about that audacious scent—or her—was developing a dangerous habit of arousing his hormones. But Pax consoled himself that at least she’d made no reference to the kiss the night before. Apparently they were both going to play this nice and comfortable and pretend it never happened—which was totally okay by him.
“The sheriff went so far as to drive out to Case’s place,” Kansas continued. “But when he didn’t find any sign of breaking in or a problem, he said that was the best he could do. There was no reason to think my brother was really missing. Case had a habit of taking off on any whim, and apparently everyone around here knew it. Unless I come up with some reason or proof that Case is in trouble, the sheriff just said he had no legal basis to do anything.”
“I told you the same thing yesterday,” Pax reminded her.
“Yeah, I know you did.” Blue eyes skimmed his face, then zipped away. “That’s exactly why I’m grateful that you belie
ved me.”
“I don’t necessarily believe that your brother is in trouble,” he said, correcting her.
“He is.” Her voice had turned quiet. “And you must believe me to some extent, or you wouldn’t be here.”
That wasn’t precisely true. Pax checked the rearview mirror and backed out of the driveway. “Al loco y al aire, darles calle,” he murmured under his breath.
“Pardon?”
“It’s a common Spanish saying around here. Clear the way for madmen and the wind.” Pax didn’t mention that men usually pounced on that Southwestern proverb in reference to the insanity of arguing with a stubborn woman. If he hadn’t been afraid Kansas would take off on her own—and potentially risk running into trouble—he wouldn’t be here.
“Madmen…?” she repeated curiously.
“It’s nothing. Just a thought that crossed my mind.” He switched subjects quickly. “There’s a place at the far end of Sierra Vista. Just a book store, with a kind of deli and coffee shop attached. Doesn’t sound like anything, but some how the kids have made it into a hangout spot. I know Case used to spend a lot of time there.”
“Great.”
Pax couldn’t swear that it would be “great”—or that Kansas would gain any helpful leads there about her brother. But it seemed a relatively safe place to start. His mind zipped back to the image of the datura plants at her place. It wasn’t a good omen, those plants. “Tell me about your brother,” Pax suggested.
“Tell you about Case? What do you want to know?” Adobe buildings with red-tiled roofs flashed by. The landscape was dominated by signs in Spanish and native cactus lying dusty in the sun. She kept looking out the window as if the view were as alien as a visit to the moon.
Pax loved his town. Sierra Vista was peaceful, quiet, clean and sleepy, even midafternoon downtown. Negotiating a little traffic didn’t inhibit him from stealing glances at her. “I think it takes a hell of a loyal sister to just fly down on nothing more than a hunch that her brother may or may not be in trouble. Didn’t you have to leave a job?”
“Yeah. I work in an art store in Minneapolis, close to the campus for the college of art and design. I frame pictures, work on displays, that kind of thing. But no one’s real rigid about work schedules. Taking off for a couple weeks was no problem, as long as I could afford to do it without pay. I had some money saved, and my living expenses were never high. I live in a loft—the attic of this wonderful old three-story house—and the rent is wonderfully inexpensive.”
“A loft,” he echoed, and mentally sighed. From her crazy jewelry and wild clothes, he could have guessed her artsy-craftsy background. It was no stretch at all to picture her living in some “romantic” artist’s loft, surrounded by a pile of impractical, ethereal dreamers for friends.
“Actually it wouldn’t have mattered if I had the money to afford this trip or not. Case is my brother.” To Kansas, that seemed to say everything. “He was there for me when I was little. The ten-year age span between us never mattered. There was a period when I went through some real hard times. Case was always in my corner.”
“What kind of hard times?” Pax asked swiftly. He sensed the answer mattered, that it was a serious clue to understanding Kansas—and maybe her brother, too. But she sidestepped the question smoother than a Las Vegas showgirl, and kicked right back to the subject of Case.
“He had trouble in school, was diagnosed as ADD—attention deficit disorder—around the junior high years. Case was smart. He just couldn’t settle down, couldn’t concentrate. Medication helped some, but it was easy for the school system to peg him as trouble. And since he was full of the devil, he seemed to feel obligated to live up to that reputation.”
“I think there’s a slim chance that a little…spirit runs in your family.”
“You can take that one to the bank.” She chuckled her agreement, yet her tone abruptly turned serious again. “He never did anything really wrong, Pax. No trouble with the law, no vandalism or drugs or drinking or anything like that. The things he did were just…mischief. Staying out late. Skipping classes. He wasn’t allergic to work, just never had any specific ambition that took his interest. And he’s such a life lover. He’s higher than a kite over a sunny day or a tromp in the woods—anything at all—and he makes everyone around him feel just as good.”
“You don’t have to sell me, Kansas. I believe you. I knew him. He’s a happy-go-lucky charmer. Everyone around here liked him on sight.”
“I just wanted to be sure you knew—there isn’t a bad bone in his whole body.”
Pax privately concurred in that personality assessment of her brother, but would have shut up, even if he hadn’t. A she-wolf protecting her cub had nothing on Kansas. Pax had never had an advocate in his corner, within or outside a family; couldn’t even remember a time when he didn’t have to take care of himself.
“My Lord,” she said suddenly.
“What?” He’d pulled into the strip mall parking lot and just thrown the Explorer in park.
“You said a bookstore. I figured you meant a Dalton’s or Waldenbooks or something like that.”
“No,” Pax said, “this isn’t exactly the kind of bookstore where you run in to buy a Popular Mechanics or pick up a paper.” Two Harleys were parked at the curb, and several other breeds of black-and-chrome bikes were parked down the way. The sign over the door said Food For The Spirit. Crystals and charms hung from the display window, and the nest of books advertised up front had pictures of spirits and ghosts and “other world” symbols.
Pax pocketed the truck key, climbed out of the Explorer and met up with Kansas at the storefront. “I can’t guarantee you’ll pick up any in formation about your brother here. For one thing, I’m just not sure you’ll get anyone to talk. This crowd isn’t big on chitchatting with strangers. All I can tell you is that I know Case spent a lot of time here.”
“Oh, I’ll get them to talk, not to worry,” Kansas murmured, and flashed him a smile.
He’d have smiled back, if his heartbeat hadn’t suddenly stopped dead. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, she was loosening another button at the neckline of her dress. Even accounting for Kansas’s unpredictability—and the heat—it seemed a hell of a time to strip.
With that button undone, the fabric gaped like an open window on a magnolia white throat with a spray of freckles. No man could have ignored the distracting path of those freckles. Kansas swiftly fluffed her hair, and then just as swiftly adopted a posture with her arms hugged tight under her chest. The mess she’d made of her hair made her look just-out-of-bed sexy. The hugging-herself gesture made her look small and defenseless…and dammit, she was showing off that vulnerably flat chest.
Pax wanted to shake his head in bewilderment. It was like watching Hyde turn into Jekyll. A minute ago, they’d been having a sensible, serious conversation. She was bright. And insightful. The strength of her loyalty to her brother said a lot about her character and values. And damned if he could figure out how—in the course of a few seconds—she could transform back into the image of a crushably vulnerable wimp.
“You ready to go in, Pax?”
Kansas had shot ahead of him and already reached the door. It seemed that he’d looked dead when he’d been staring so hard at her. He hiked—fast—to her side.
“Let’s hit it,” he said, and pulled open the door. The wimp ducked under his arm and zipped into the store. Pax washed a hand over his face, feeling confounded and vaguely alarmed.
This little outing was supposed to be real simple.
Somehow he had the disastrous feeling it wasn’t going to turn out that way.
Four
“I’m so glad you were willing to talk with me. I felt so…alone. I just had nowhere to turn.”
Pax cuffed a chin in his palm. A cup of cappuccino sat cooling in front of him. He was thirsty enough, but hated to spare a minute to drink it. He’d never seen a con artist at work before.
Kansas was laying it on thicker than the re
sidue on a horse racetrack. Her victim was a wild-haired, barrel-chested, tattooed young man with a gold ring in his eyebrows—weighing about 220 pounds, Pax guessed. The lad’s appearance was intimidating enough to make any normal woman either run for cover or a weapon. Kansas was treating him like an adorable puppy, and so far, Mr. Muscle Bound couldn’t seem to stop himself from drooling.
“Once you said you were Case’s sister, I knew you had to be okay. And like, hey, man, you don’t have to tell me what it’s like to feel alone. I been there.”
“Oh, George, I just knew you’d understand. And I’ve just been so upset about my brother. When I got here and couldn’t find him…gee, I just didn’t know what to do. Case and I…well, both of us always seemed to beat to a different drummer.”
“Oh man, do I ever know exactly where you’re coming from. You do something a little different, believe something a little different, and the whole world just climbs all over your case like you committed a crime.”
“Lord, I know.” She smiled at the slugger winsomely, and laid her ringed hand affectionately on his beefy wrist. “It sounds like you knew my brother really well. And I wouldn’t put you on the spot for anything. Case is a private person, too. He wouldn’t talk to just anyone about…”
She hesitated delicately. Pax had never seen anyone fish for a shark with nothing more for bait than a minnow and a wild guess, but Mr. Beefcake shot a wary look around the room, then focused a baleful stare right at him.
Kansas said swiftly, “Pax is a friend. We can trust him.”
“Yeah?” George didn’t look convinced, but Kansas’s slim hand squeezing his seemed to distract him. Two hundred twenty pounds of puddle—a disgrace to the entire male species—gazed right into her eyes. “A lot of people get real nervous about the group. Can’t talk to just anyone. They don’t understand.”
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