by B. J Daniels
“Give it up. She’s making a fool out of you,” Johnny had said after they’d left the café earlier. Carson had realized the man was right. She’d been tempting him since day one. He’d gone too long not getting anything he wanted. He wanted Callie, and tonight he was going to have her.
“Wait here. I need to talk to my sister for a moment,” he told Johnny.
“Is everything all right?” Destry asked him when he came into the ranch kitchen. He could hear the kids making a racket down the hall. Destry, determined to be involved in the running of the ranches, had hired a nanny to take care of the little rug rats a few days a week. He could hear the elderly nanny trying to rein in the brats.
“Things are great. Well, not great yet.” He flashed her a big smile as he helped himself to a cup of coffee. “But they will be.”
She instantly looked worried. “Carson, I haven’t seen you like this since...”
“Since I was drinking and gambling?” He shook his head. “It’s nothing like that. I’ve met this woman, and no, she’s nothing like the last one I brought home.” Cherry had been a Vegas showgirl with dollar signs in her eyes. “I just wanted to let you know that I might be a little late in the morning.”
Destry smiled. “You have a date?”
He nodded, even though it wasn’t quite true, since Callie didn’t know about it yet. It was going to be a surprise.
* * *
OUTSIDE IN THE early-fall darkness, Rourke stood breathing in the cold night air after his talk with the P.I. A chilly wind rustled the dried leaves on a nearby aspen and sighed through the boughs of the dark pines. The snowcapped peaks behind Beartooth seemed to glow icy white in the dark stillness.
Rourke felt antsy, uncertain, and told himself it was the snowstorm that he’d heard would be hitting in the next twenty-four hours. What was he doing here? He thought of his boss. Brent Ryan was certain he was wrong. Laura thought he was sacrificing everything that made sense in his life. He knew she was scared for him. Scared that he was going to get himself killed. After Edwin’s call, he thought she might be right.
Mentally, he ticked off what he now knew at least with some certainty about Callie.
An unmarried, pregnant woman named Caligrace had given birth to a daughter in a girls’ home jokingly called Westfield Manor on the edge of the town of Flat Rock, Montana, approximately thirty years ago.
When the home closed, the daughter, also apparently named Caligrace, was about five. She had gone into the foster-care system. But because of the lack of records at Westfield, there was little way to track her.
When she turned seventeen, she got herself a fake birth certificate and called herself Caligrace Westfield. Before that, she’d apparently been bounced around from one foster home after another.
She had attended five universities, mostly on loans using fake credentials. She’d majored in psychology, gotten exceptional grades, but hadn’t graduated during those five years. She’d had numerous jobs for the past thirteen years, some of them in the Seattle area, most of them waitressing.
While living at the Westfield girls’ home, there had been a murder, killer still at large.
Rourke knew that couldn’t be a coincidence, but the Caligrace Westfield he knew would have been too young to have committed the murder. However, she still could have known about it—especially if her mother was involved.
He didn’t need the profile Laura was working up to know that Caligrace had the kind of past that bred serial killers.
She had a textbook serial-killer background—if she was male. Women serial killers were rarer. Their reasons for killing were often more mercenary.
He glanced toward the café. It had been closed now for hours. A single light burned in the apartment over it. Rourke glanced at his watch. It was late. Callie should be asleep. Or maybe she was like him and was having trouble sleeping again tonight.
Suddenly the light in the apartment blinked out. Apparently, she was going to have better luck than him. He started to turn toward the door to the cabin, when he noticed a pickup parked down the street from the café.
In the glow of a cigarette, he saw Carson Grant waiting in the truck. A few minutes later, Callie came driving out.
* * *
UNABLE TO SLEEP, Callie headed to the lake. She told herself she needed the peace and quiet, but a part of her wondered if the cowboy would show. If he did, then that meant he was watching her apartment—watching her.
Tonight would tell the tale.
The lake was beautiful in the moonlight. She parked and got out, hugging herself against the cold night air. When she heard the sound of the vehicle engine, she tensed and reached inside the pickup for her gun. As the vehicle grew closer, she realized it wasn’t Rourke’s SUV engine she was hearing.
As the truck pulled up next to the moonlit lake, she saw the driver and swore under her breath. Carson Grant. He cut his lights and engine and got out. She eased the gun into the waistband of her jeans, covering it with her jacket.
She didn’t want trouble, and if she played this right, there wouldn’t be any. At least she was hoping that was the case. Any fool knew that Carson had followed her here. She didn’t even have to guess what he had in mind.
Staying next to her pickup, she said, “I hope you have a good reason for being here.”
He grinned. “I got an invitation.”
“That right? Wasn’t from me.”
“Ah, come on, Callie. A woman doesn’t drive to such a remote spot in the middle of the night unless she wants company.”
“This woman does,” she said, her hands on her hips, just inches from the gun. She got a strong flash that filled her with dread. She knew exactly what Carson was doing here. Worse, he was making her head throb. “You just need to turn around and—”
“I heard you come down here,” he said, looking around before settling his gaze on her again. “I figured you were meeting someone, but don’t see anyone.” He took a step toward her.
* * *
ROURKE HAD WATCHED Callie turn at the edge of town where the pavement ended, and he’d known she was headed for the lake again. Only this time, Carson Grant was following her.
He’d hurried back inside for his gun, two beers and two glasses, then climbed into the SUV and followed. The moonlit night allowed him to drive without his lights on once he’d turned onto the dirt road that led back into the pines.
He told himself that the two could be meeting at the lake, something they’d set up earlier, but all his instincts said just the opposite.
As he came over a rise, he caught a glimpse of taillights before they disappeared around a curve as the road switchbacked down to the lake.
He shifted down and followed, stopping a quarter mile from the lake. The night air was cold as he cut the engine, got out and started down the road, moonlight playing through the pine boughs to splash silver across his path.
Moments later, he heard the raised voices. By the time he reached the pines at the edge of the lake, Carson and Callie were standing a few yards apart. They’d lowered their voices, but he could tell by Callie’s stance that she hadn’t invited Carson here.
Neither of them saw him as he approached from the trees next to them.
“I told you I wasn’t interested,” Callie said and reached under her jacket.
Rourke knew she was going for her gun, but Carson must have known it, as well. He lunged at her and grabbed her arm, making Callie cry out as he took the gun away from her and pointed it at her chest.
“Were you planning to shoot me?” Carson demanded. “What kind of crazy-ass woman are you, pulling a gun on me? I’ve been nice. I asked you out to dinner. I wanted to do this your way.” He thrust the weapon at her. “But, sweetheart, you just changed the rules.” He grabbed Callie’s arm with his free hand.
Rou
rke quickly stepped up behind him. “Put down the gun,” he ordered, pressing the barrel of his own weapon into the side of Carson’s neck. “Now!”
Carson turned, swinging around, leading with the gun.
Rourke had anticipated the move and quickly disarmed the cowboy, throwing him to the ground.
He handed Callie back her gun. “You might want to put that away.”
Turning to Carson, who was still sprawled in the dirt, he said, “The lady asked you to leave her alone. I suggest you take her at her word and do so from now on.”
“Lady?” Carson mocked as he got to his feet and dusted off his jeans. “What business is it of yours anyway?”
“I’m tired of watching you harass her. She said no. Let’s leave it at that.”
“We aren’t finished,” he yelled at Callie as he picked up his hat from the dirt and stuffed it down on his head.
“We are,” she said.
Carson didn’t seem to hear her as he turned on Rourke. “You’re going to regret getting into my business. Remember the name Carson Grant. You’ll be seeing me again.”
With that, he stormed over to his pickup and left, the tires of his rig throwing off dirt and gravel.
Rourke listened to the roar of the engine until it died away, then turned to Callie. “Are you all right?”
“That depends. Did you bring something to drink?”
“Beer,” he said and grinned. “I’ll be right back.”
* * *
SHE HEARD THE CLINK of glass. A moment later, as Rourke approached, she saw that he had his fingers looped around the necks of two beer bottles and two glasses. “You didn’t have to get fancy,” she said, motioning to the glasses. “I’ve been known to drink out of a bottle.”
“Not for our first moonlit drink together,” he said as he opened a beer and expertly poured part of it into the glass. He handed it to her along with the bottle, then motioned to a log next to the water.
As she sat down, he joined her.
“You just happened along again?” she asked after taking a drink.
“Nope. I knew there would be a full moon tonight. I was counting on you not being able to sleep.” He opened his beer, poured and took a long drink. “Beer by moonlight. But I only brought two, so Carson had to go.”
She took a sip of her beer. “Your timing is impeccable.”
“The truth is, I couldn’t sleep either. I happened to see Carson Grant sitting in his truck outside your apartment. When he followed you down here, I had a feeling you hadn’t invited him. I knew I could be wrong—”
She smiled over at him. “Thank you.”
He gave her a nod. “Glad I could be of assistance.”
“Kind of like at the café earlier with the robber,” she said. “Watching late-night TV has taught you all kinds of moves.”
Rourke grinned at her. “You have no idea.”
She chuckled, wishing she didn’t like him so much. The cowboy thought he knew her. That was his first mistake. All her instincts warned her not to trust him. He’d lied about needing to get up his nerve to ask her out. She feared what else he was lying about. “Why Beartooth?”
He shrugged. “I like the area, thought I might raise me some cattle and alfalfa.”
She studied her beer in the moonlight. He was no rancher. The way he’d unarmed the robber at the café and now Carson...
“I can’t see you as a rancher.” She turned just enough that she could see his profile and waited.
“I don’t know why not. I told you I grew up ropin’ and ridin’ in Wyoming on a ranch. Maybe I miss it more than I thought I would.” His look dared her to challenge him.
“You didn’t like Wyoming enough to buy there?”
“Have you seen Wyoming other than Yellowstone and the Tetons?”
She shook her head. She hadn’t.
“It’s inhospitable. Anyway, I like this,” he said, waving his beer toward the moonlit lake. “This area is breathtaking.” He glanced over at her, his look saying the lake wasn’t the only thing that took his breath away. But he’d been smart enough not to say it. “So what brought you here?”
“A job.”
He laughed softly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.”
She thought he would ask another personal question, but to her surprise, he didn’t say anything.
They sat in a companionable silence, drinking their beers as the moon made a slow, steady arc over the lake. A breeze stirred the pines behind them, whispering like lovers in their dark boughs.
Callie breathed in the night scents, the lake and pines predominantly stronger than the dried grasses at the water’s edge. She felt herself relax in his presence. It wouldn’t last; she knew that.
But for tonight, it felt good not to be on guard. Even as relaxing as it was, she couldn’t help but be aware that she still hadn’t picked up any flashes from him. At least the headache wasn’t as bad as it had been earlier with Carson. Still...she could read Carson. She couldn’t read Rourke, and that made her uneasy.
She told herself she didn’t need to know any more about him. But she feared she did. Who was this man? Why was he different? And maybe more to the point, what was his real interest in her?
* * *
CARSON HAD NEVER been so angry. He could spit nails. As the lights of Beartooth appeared ahead, he saw his life through clearer eyes than he had in a long time. Johnny was right. He’d never gotten what he wanted because someone was always taking it away from him. First his father, then his sister and now some cowboy passing through town.
As he reached the edge of town, he knew he couldn’t go back to the tiny cabin he’d been living in. Not sober, anyway. He should have been living in his father’s mansion instead of W.T.’s former cook living there.
Swinging into the parking lot of the Range Rider bar, he wondered if the whole damned town had been laughing at him behind his back all this time. He was pretty sure they had been.
What made him even more angry, he thought as he got out of his pickup and headed inside, was that he’d tried so damned hard to be the son his father had wanted. Then he’d tried to be the brother Destry demanded he be. He’d given up everything, gambling and drinking and his rightful inheritance.
He pushed into the dim darkness of the bar, the air ripe with the smell of beer. What he wouldn’t do for a drink right now. Fortunately, there wasn’t but a couple of cowboys at the other end of the bar. He didn’t want company.
“Carson,” the owner said, sounding surprised to see him. The few times he’d been in here since his father had died, he’d had a cola. Not tonight.
“I’ll take a shot of tequila with a beer chaser.”
Clete lifted a brow. “Seriously?”
“Did I stutter?” Carson snapped. “You’re running a bar, aren’t you?”
Clete held up both hands. “Just asking.”
“Well, don’t,” he said, slapping some money on the bar. “And keep ’em coming.”
After the first couple of drinks, Carson pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number he used to have on speed dial. “Anything happening tonight? I’m looking for a game.”
“Carson Grant?”
“I’m back.” He was practically salivating at the thought of a poker game. It had been so long since he’d held cards in his hands. His fingers itched for the feel of them, the smell of them, the rush that came with each hand.
The man on the other end of the line laughed. “How soon can you be here?”
Carson gulped down the rest of his drink. “I’m on my way. Keep a chair warm for me.”
Tonight he’d play some cards, maybe even win some money. This was all Callie’s fault, his falling off the wagon, he told himself as he got a six-pack for the road. Tomorrow he would decide how to make Callie W
estfield pay for making him look like a fool all these months.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CALLIE WATCHED ROURKE finish his beer and then, with a sigh, stand up from the log where they had been sitting beside the lake.
She swallowed the last of the beer in her glass as she got to her feet. The empty glass hung from her fingertips as she turned to look at the cowboy. He was drop-dead handsome and as sexy as any man she’d ever met, but there was a tenderness in his eyes when he looked at her, and that was her undoing.
Standing on tiptoes, she suddenly leaned toward him and gently kissed his lips. No flash. She had no idea what he was thinking. All she’d felt was a rush of desire.
He didn’t move, didn’t seem to breathe as his dark eyes locked with hers. “If that was a thank-you kiss—”
“No,” she said and put her glass down on the log. “This is a thank-you kiss.” Throwing caution to the wind, she circled his neck with her arms, her gaze again locking with his before shifting to his lips.
She felt as if she was playing with fire. If she wasn’t careful, she would definitely get burned. As she drew him down for the kiss, he wrapped his arms around her waist. Her lips touched his, and he pulled her into him, his hard body no surprise, as he deepened the kiss.
Callie could feel his heart pounding. Or maybe it was her own heartbeat loud in her ears. “You learned this on TV, too?” she whispered against his mouth.
He groaned in answer and grabbed the nape of her neck, burying his fingers in her hair.
Callie felt her blood run hot as her bare skin rippled with goose bumps. But it was the headache—more like the lack of it—that shocked her almost as much as the passion Rourke evoked from her. In his arms, his mouth on hers, she felt nothing but desire.
* * *
LAURA HAD CALLED the mortuary to say her mother had passed in her sleep. A local doctor had come, checked the woman’s vitals and pronounced her dead.
When asked who she was, Laura had said her name was Catherine McCormick. She’d even shed a few tears, explaining that she’d heard her mother was dying, but hadn’t arrived in time.