by Pamela Toth
“So who is he?” Patty chimed in, leaning forward with an avid expression. “Where’s he been hiding?” Perhaps she planned to take a run at Brandon next. Let her. It was nothing to Emma whom he danced with or anything else.
Reluctantly she told them his name and how she’d met him, but she refused to answer any more questions, pleading ignorance. It wasn’t as though she knew a lot of details about him, anyway.
To her relief, a new song began and a line dance was called, bringing her tablemates to their feet. Emma didn’t know the steps, so they left her to sip her beer and try not to wonder why Brandon had acted the way he did and what he wanted from her now.
Audra Westwood stared at the telephone, biting her lip. Lexine had insisted that the best way for Audra to divert any possible suspicion from herself in the death of Christina Montgomery was to call in an anonymous tip implicating someone else. Audra didn’t know what Lexine had against Emma Stover and she didn’t care. She’d never seen the waitress from the café herself, but Emma was a relative newcomer to Whitehorn—meaning she hadn’t been born here—and Lexine was confident she’d make a good suspect.
If Audra had just had kept her mouth shut in the first place instead of spilling her guts to Lexine, maybe she wouldn’t be having nightmares about joining her behind bars.
“That’s never going to happen,” Audra vowed out loud, clenching her fists. But what if someone in the sheriff’s office recognized her voice? Maybe they taped incoming calls. What if blocking it didn’t work and they traced it back here? She’d better use a pay phone, just to be safe. Maybe then she could relax and quit worrying. Even Micky Culver, the worthless auto mechanic she’d been forced to shack up with, said she’d gotten as jumpy as a chicken on a griddle.
She’d punched him when he compared her to a chicken and he’d sulked for an hour. She wasn’t skinny, just fashionably thin, even if her appetite had practically disappeared since Christina’s body was found. Audra had hoped it would stay hidden in the woods forever.
Micky thought he was so smart, blackmailing her into moving in with him by threatening to tell what he’d seen the night of Christina’s death. He didn’t know Audra had run into Homer Gilmore, the town idiot, that night, but who would listen to anything Homer said unless Micky backed him up? The idea made Audra’s stomach cramp with nerves. She’d have to make damn sure Micky was too distracted to even think about betraying her. Lucky for her the center of Micky’s existence didn’t lie anywhere near his brain.
Maybe pointing the sheriff at the waitress would buy Audra the time she needed to find the sapphire mine Lexine had told her about. The gems would buy Audra a new start. There were plenty of rich men in Vegas or California who’d treat her real nice for a chance at what she’d been giving Micky for nothing. Once before she’d been cheated out of the kind of life she deserved, when her stepmother had squandered Audra’s inheritance, but this time she was determined to have it all.
She stood up and wiped her damp palms down the sides of her tight jeans, going over just what she planned to say to the sheriff. The last time she’d tried to call him, Micky had walked in, scaring her so bad she’d nearly peed her pants. Right now she could hear him outside tinkering with one of his precious junk cars. She’d wait until he left so she could sneak off to a pay phone without arousing his suspicion. If he found out what she was up to, who knew what price he’d demand for his silence this time.
The list of possibilities was truly repulsive.
“Who was that woman you danced with last night?” Collin Kincaid asked Brandon as the two of them rode back to the ranch house for lunch. “The one in the killer blue dress.”
The two men had spent the morning checking the fence line along the east boundary and Brandon felt as though the brisk air had finally flushed the effects of stale smoke and cheap whiskey from his brain. Collin was his older half brother, one of their randy father’s two legitimate offspring. Collin didn’t say a lot and, until now, their conversation had been desultory without the long silences growing awkward.
Brandon shifted in the saddle. It had been his idea to bring the horses instead of the Jeep. On his first visit to Montana, he’d felt totally out of place. After his customary habitat of corporate offices and boardrooms, the ranch and its rustic trappings had been as alien to him as the surface of the moon. With his usual determination, he’d set out to master the traditional skills of horseback riding, fence mending and cattle herding. Somewhere along the line he’d begun to enjoy the whole cowboy scenario. Now whenever he was here, he spent as much time in the saddle as possible.
Collin’s question brought up a subject Brandon had been trying to forget—Emma and her latest rejection. Damn, but she had looked good last night, her reddish-brown hair hanging loose and that excuse for a dress hugging her curves. He’d been torn between staring like a green kid and throwing a coat around her to prevent anyone else from looking.
“Emma’s a waitress at the Hip Hop,” Brandon said reluctantly. He would have liked to ignore the question, but Collin and their grandfather had been quick to offer their support at the Black Boot last night, even though it hadn’t been needed. When Brandon had first shown up, Collin had gone out of his way to make him feel welcome when no one would have blamed Collin for resenting his newfound passel of bastard siblings.
Collin raised his eyebrows. “So you knew her before last night?”
Brandon flushed. Had Collin noticed the way Emma flounced off the minute the number ended? He probably figured that Brandon had hit on her and struck out, which wasn’t that far from the truth.
“Yeah, I knew her,” he muttered, reluctant to elaborate. He’d never understood men who felt the need to brag about their bedroom exploits. Some things should remain private. Besides, the way he’d treated Emma afterward hadn’t exactly been his shining hour in the chivalry department—not that she seemed to be nursing a broken heart. Near as he could tell, she was just plain mad.
Collin braced his crossed arms on his saddlehorn, clearly waiting for Brandon to enlarge on his reply. “She’s pretty,” Collin commented when he remained silent. “I don’t think she’s been around all that long.”
Brandon remembered that Emma had told him she was searching for her mother and he wondered if she’d had any luck. “I think she said she’s from South Dakota,” he volunteered. She’d told him a lot more than that, but he knew when to keep a confidence.
“You interested in her?” Collin asked bluntly.
Brandon shrugged. Interested was one way of putting it. “Like you said, she’s pretty,” he drawled with a grin. “And my blood’s as red as the next guy’s.” Let Collin draw his own conclusions.
To Brandon’s relief, he dropped the subject. Jamming his hat tighter onto his head, he gathered up the reins. “Last one back to the house does lunch KP,” he shouted right before he urged his mount into a run.
Collin’s quarter horse leaped forward, catching Brandon off guard as he swore and gave his gelding its head. “No fair!” he yelled in protest, but the only response besides the pounding of hooves was a whoop of wild laughter.
After a few futile moments, Brandon reined his bay back to a trot. No point in wearing the horse out when it was clear they weren’t going to make up for Collin’s head start. When it came to business, Brandon was a ruthless competitor but here at the ranch he would rather kick back and figure out where his life was headed than run a race he had no chance of winning.
Was that what his attraction toward Emma was—a race he had no chance of winning? Perhaps he’d be better off forgetting all about her. Considering the idea, he reached down to pat his horse’s neck. The animal snorted in response and his trot smoothed out as if he’d been waiting for a little appreciation.
Could that be all Emma wanted, as well? Brandon might be able to read a competitor’s expression like a hand of cards that had been dealt face-up, but when it came to a woman, he was as clueless as the next guy.
So far his attempts to fo
rget about her had been spectacularly unsuccessful. All he wanted was another chance to show her he wasn’t a complete jerk and, if he was going to be brutally honest with himself, a return trip to her bed that wasn’t interrupted by a damn business call. Before that happened, he needed to figure out how he was going to breach the barrier she’d erected around herself, as prickly a deterrent as a damned barbed-wire fence.
Working the lunch shift at the café, Emma took a minute to catch her breath between orders. The usual lull after the breakfast rush hadn’t materialized this morning and her feet were as tired as last year’s clothing fad. She’d gotten home late the night before and slept poorly.
Walking away from Brandon at the Black Boot had been the hardest thing she’d had to do since visiting the prison where Lexine was incarcerated. What Emma had really wanted was to slip her hand into his and follow wherever he chose to lead, whether it was the Chinese restaurant for Beef ChowYuk and egg rolls or back to her apartment for whatever might have happened between them. Realizing just how vulnerable she still was when it came to Brandon had been the impetus she’d needed to walk away.
So why had she been kicking herself ever since? Today at work her mind kept wandering back to the bar and the way it had felt to be in Brandon’s arms again—until Janie had to take her aside.
“Table four didn’t get their rolls and table seven is still waiting for their side of fries,” the café manager said with a hint of exasperation in her voice. “The woman in the corner booth complained that she asked for a refill on her iced tea and a lemon wedge. Emma, it’s not like you to be so inattentive. Are you ill? Is something wrong?”
Just everything. “I’m sorry,” Emma replied contritely as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ll get to them right away.” As she hurried off, she made herself a promise to put Brandon Harper as far from her mind as she could. After last night she sure as heck wouldn’t have to worry about him bothering her again. No man as attractive and successful as Brandon would tolerate rejection, and Emma had rejected him twice. Now all she had to do was to quit thinking about him.
She had poured the forgotten iced tea, delivered the lemon wedge, served the missing rolls with a dish of butter pats, and was bringing out the side of fries when she heard the bell over the front door tinkle. Emma didn’t take the time to look around. She served the fries, pulled a bottle of ketchup from her apron pocket and voiced an apology, but the woman barely glanced up.
Instead she leaned across the booth to her companion. “My, oh, my,” she purred, twirling a strand of implausibly shaded blond hair. “Will you look at the hunk who just walked in? If that’s not the best-looking man in Montana, I’ll eat my parsley.”
While Emma waited politely to ask if there was anything else she could bring either customer, the other woman turned her head and leaned around the side of the booth to see what the fuss was about.
“If only I were ten years younger, I’d toss Fred aside like a worn-out sweat sock,” she replied when she’d turned back to her friend.
They both laughed gaily as Emma parked a hand on her hip and resisted the urge to tap her foot. Didn’t these women realize she had other customers?
“He’s coming this way,” the blonde observed. “I’ll trip him and you hold him down.”
The women were still laughing as Emma finally gave in to her own curiosity and looked around. This time Brandon wasn’t headed toward his usual table and he wasn’t bearing flowers.
Three
“What time do you get off work?” Brandon asked Emma before she could stammer out a single word. The two women seated in the booth were gaping, and several other customers had turned to stare, as well.
“Two o’clock,” Emma murmured, her gaze fixed somewhere around the top button of his striped shirt.
“I’ll be waiting.” Without another word, he walked away. As the blond woman released a noisy sigh and Emma struggled to ignore his departure, Janie intercepted him with a welcoming smile and a menu.
“May I show you to a seat?” she asked brightly.
Brandon sent Emma a last solemn glance. “No, but thanks anyway,” he told Janie. In a moment he was gone, leaving Emma to wonder if she’d been hallucinating.
“Was that your husband?” the blond customer asked.
Slowly Emma shook her head, still staring at the door through which he’d just departed. So much for her theory that rejection would make him lose interest. Apparently the man took it as some sort of challenge.
“No, he’s not my husband,” Emma replied absently.
“Honey, what are you waiting for?” the customer demanded. “Reel him in!”
Her companion laughed. “Maxine, leave the poor girl alone.”
“I’m not, um, we’re not—” Emma found herself stuttering.
“But you’d like to,” the blonde said knowingly. “You’d better get busy, honey. Men like that don’t come along every day.”
Emma could scarcely believe she was listening to dating advice from a total stranger in the middle of the café. “Thank you for your comments,” she said neutrally as she laid the check on the table. “You can pay the cashier.”
Just then a group from two big RVs came pouring in. Helping Janie shove two long tables together, seating everyone, providing water, booster seats and crayons kept Emma from thinking about what had just happened. By the time she’d taken the orders, heated a baby bottle in the microwave and served dessert to another group, Brandon’s unofficial fan club was gone. At least the two women had left a decent tip.
After an hour during which the sudden rush finally slowed to a crawl, Janie came over to Emma, who immediately assumed she’d made more mistakes. It would be a miracle if she hadn’t; her mind was hardly on her work.
“Brandon is sitting in his car out in the parking lot,” Janie said quietly. “Do you think there’s anything wrong?”
“He’s waiting for me,” Emma admitted, surprised that he hadn’t gotten discouraged. Apparently his ego was dent-proof.
“I didn’t realize,” Janie said with a playful grin. “Did you want to leave early?” Emma’s alarm must have shown on her face, because Janie’s expression shifted to one of concern. “Is he bothering you? Should I call the sheriff?”
“No, that’s okay.” Emma hurried to the window and peered outside as Janie followed. She was right; Brandon was sitting in his Lexus. Paperwork was spread over the seat and he was talking on his cell phone. Emma had been torn between wishing he’d leave and hoping he’d stay. She still didn’t know which she preferred, but if all he wanted was to sleep with her again he was certainly being persistent. Could it be there was something else on his mind? But what?
“I told Brandon I’d be done at two,” she said to Janie. “If he wants to see me, he’ll have to wait until then.”
Janie shrugged. “Okay, if you’re sure.” She glanced around, but the few customers appeared content. “If you ever need someone to talk to…” Her voice trailed off.
“Thanks,” Emma replied sincerely. “I’ll keep your offer in mind.” She wasn’t ready to admit to anyone how easily she’d fallen for Brandon’s charm, especially someone like Janie, who was married and appeared to have her life in order. Unlike Emma, who hadn’t even managed to figure out her next step.
Doing nothing wasn’t getting her anywhere, she realized a few moments later as she dished up salads and soup for an elderly couple who came in nearly every day. Then she sat in the back with half a ham sandwich. Perhaps the time had come to hear what Brandon had to say. At least that would be a start. Once she’d dealt with him she might even be able to decide what to do about Lexine.
By the time Emma had completed her shift, relieved to see the black Lexus still parked outside, and ducked into the rest room to freshen up before she left, the ham sandwich was a hard ball in her stomach and she was having second thoughts. She might even have chickened out and driven away in her green Chevy if Brandon hadn’t glanced up when she turned to the s
idewalk. While she dithered, he got out of the car and came purposefully toward her as if he could guess she was ready to bolt.
“We need to talk,” he said without preliminaries. “I know I owe you an explanation. Are you willing to listen or not?”
He was persistent, she would have to grant him that, but even persistence had its limits. If she kept resisting his overtures, sooner or later he’d give up and she’d be left wondering what might have happened if she’d been braver.
“All right.” The moment she voiced her agreement, a great weight seemed to lift off her chest. She chose to view the feeling as a sign she was doing the right thing.
Brandon had no idea what he was going to say to her after he’d apologized again for his neglect. Normally he was pretty adept at thinking on his feet, and he’d had some hazy idea that the right words would come as he needed them. Now that he was with Emma again, remembering how she had felt and tasted when he’d held her, he wondered if he should have memorized a speech.
Her eyes, an intriguing mixture of green and gray, watched him warily. He missed the melting trust he’d seen there before, trust he’d inadvertently trod on with his thoughtlessness. Was that a bridge that could be rebuilt? And why did it matter so much? Those were questions whose answers he hadn’t yet worked out.
“Where do you want to go?” Emma asked.
He figured her apartment was out. A restaurant lacked privacy. Then inspiration struck. “Let’s take my car,” he said. “We’ll come back for yours later.” That way she couldn’t walk out on him before they were done talking.
She folded her arms across her chest, hiding the logo on her T-shirt. “Where are we going? I’ll drive myself.”
“That’s not practical, but you’ll be perfectly safe with me, Scout’s Honor,” he promised. When he was little, he’d been a Cub Scout until he’d been abruptly taken from his adoptive parents and plunged into the foster system at the age of eight. After that he’d been bounced around too much to join anything until he discovered sports.