by Snow, Nicole
Holt shakes his head sharply. “Nope. So if there was something else in there, it came out before we ever had a chance to see it.” He frowns, setting the letter down and stroking his thumb and forefinger over the neatly trimmed line of his beard, tracing down to the firm peak of his chin again and again. “I’m guessing Gerald Bostrom’s our skeleton man.”
Way to go, Sherlock.
“I don’t know,” I say. “But I—look, I can’t deal with this right now. I’ve got to think about the ranch, and...and...”
And I’m about to break down.
I can’t breathe. My chest is heaving, but there’s no air coming in and I don’t know what’s happening, only that it hurts.
I suck in several wheezy breaths.
I barely hear Holt’s panicked, “Libby?”
Pressing a hand to my chest, I curl forward.
Suddenly there’s warmth wrapped around me—no, heat.
Heat that can only come from a large, firm body.
Heat that can only come from two enormous arms folding around me, gathering me close while Holt kneels next to my chair.
He holds me up effortlessly.
“Here,” he murmurs, and his breath and voice are warm against my hair, his hands stroking over my back like he can tame my lungs. “Breathe with me and count. Inhale—one, two, three. Exhale—one, two, three.”
He says it again, and I try to convince my rebelling, stupid body to listen.
Inhale. Exhale. Hold.
Holt...
My throat’s so tight it’s a miracle I can even get a breath out. But the more I do it while his dense, rhythmic voice rumbles in my ear and his warm body keeps me safely cocooned, the easier it gets.
“You’ll be okay, woman. Won’t let you be anything else,” he says softly.
I close my eyes. My breathing calms. I catch myself leaning into him, melting, wanting to hide in Holt Silverton where I can pretend my problems don’t exist.
“Holt...”
“Easy. We’ll figure out a way to save your ranch. One way or another, I swear.”
I lift my head to look at him.
That’s a mistake.
Because when I do, it makes me realize how close he is.
How handsome, how caring, how perfect this devil can be.
His nose almost touches mine. I feel the warmth of every exhale from his lips, teasing against my mouth.
All I can see is him, taking up my whole vision with eyes that aren’t so snake-yellow when I look closer.
They’re the gold of a fox.
Wily, clever, gorgeous as sin.
My heart beats harder for different reasons, now.
He’s the reason why I can’t breathe, my chest seizing up. That electricity he builds up inside me goes off in these sharp zings that zip through me so hard it’s almost painful, the jolt I feel as his hands flatten against my back.
We anchor there with me trembling for what seems like forever.
He’s got to feel it too—that charge building, tension like thunder, threatening to explode any time and throw us both into the biggest mistake of our lives.
Just why?
Why is every bit of me aching to throw myself at a man I abhor?
At least, I think I still do.
Thank God he speaks.
His voice is husky, smoky, dark as he asks softly, “Better now?”
I nod slowly, but that’s a mistake, too. Because when I do...our temples lightly touch, our noses brush, and...
Ugh. It would be so easy.
So freaking easy to tilt my head and seal my mouth to his.
And he’s leaning closer, like he’s got the same idea, the same wicked impulse.
My back arches as his fingers skim up my spine with a thrill that pulls me inside out, and then his hand weaves through my hair.
My gut catches wildfire with the subtle hint of a pull against my scalp. Then he presses his rogue lips to my forehead.
Um, what?
I want to enjoy it. His mouth is hot and sensuous and full, his scruff raspy against my skin, but after that sizzling-hot buildup, it’s almost insulting that he just kisses my forehead and pulls back with a smile.
I’m about to light his ass up.
This teasing, this toying, this stinking—
But the next thing he says makes me go cold. “Give me time. I might be able to get leads on that body.”
He’s standing, pulling back from holding me, a little breathless and excited.
I’m almost pissed off that I don’t think it’s me that has him so keyed up.
But I’m more scared than before.
Worried that he’s gonna unearth things nobody in Heart’s Edge needs to know.
“You know, those Galentron bastards caused a lot of mayhem here,” he says. “They might’ve had something to do with Mr. Bostrom never making that meeting with your dad. I’ll ask my brother, see what he and the guys know since they’re the ones who dealt with that mess more than anybody.”
My eyes widen.
I just stare at him, speechless and frozen.
“I’ll text you soon,” he says, eerily calm before letting himself out, clattering down the front porch steps loud enough to wake the dead.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding in since that kiss.
He...he didn’t even make the connection.
It never even crossed his mind that my dad might be the one who made Bostrom a pile of bones.
He just instantly jumped to those Galentron pricks who brought this town so much misery in the past.
Fine. That buys me more time.
But his brother and his friends ain’t stupid. Once they rule out Galentron, they’ll start asking other questions, and they might just figure some things out.
I’ve got to figure some things out, too.
Like whether or not I have the stones to try to hide a body on my own.
And then lie about it to Holt Silverton’s face.
I stand up, reaching for the briefcase, meaning to close it up and hide it away.
But that’s when I realize, with all the blood draining from my face, leaving me dizzy, I’m absolutely shafted.
Holt took that freaking letter with him.
8
The Right Horse (Holt)
So much for hoping my brother would be any help.
I sit across from Blake in his living room while he reads the letter with his brows knit together. I’ve slotted the letter away in a plastic bag just in case there’s evidence, prints, that sort of thing. It crinkles between Blake’s fingertips as he turns the page over and squints at the blank back, then the front.
“I’ve got nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “Never heard of any Gerald Bostrom livin’ around here. And I can’t imagine what Libby’s old man would be selling that Galentron would be willing to kill over.” He eyes me. “Where’d you find this thing, anyway?”
“You won’t believe this,” I say. “You know that old road leading off into the mountain pass on the far side of the Potter ranch?”
“Can’t say I remember it, no.”
“It’s half buried in scrub, away from the old trails we used to ride. Not on any modern maps, either, but get this.” I lean forward, propping my arms on my knees. “There’s an entire fucking ghost town down there. I think it might be Ursa.”
“Ursa?” Blake’s eyes widen. “Shitfire, you mean the place from those old bandit stories they used to tell kids? The lost town that was like the evil twin of Heart’s Edge way back when?”
“The one and only.” I grin. “If I can confirm it, we might be able to get Libby’s ranch a historical marker.”
“Protected land.” He latches on immediately and snorts. “You’ve been doing your homework, man. All this for Libby Potter, huh?”
I clear my throat, scrubbing a hand through my hair. “Don’t you start, too. Trouble is, that dead body could throw a wrench in the whole works. So if we could get that cleared up...”
; “I’ll talk to Doc and Leo. See what they know. I was never waist-deep in all that Galentron crap like they were, but they might have some good intel. Hell, maybe they can even hit up old Fuchsia in Alaska.”
“Thanks. Try to keep this quiet, though, okay?” I say. “If people find out there’s a ghost town full of valuables, they might start looti—”
“Did someone say ‘ghost town?’” A punky, purple-dyed head with an undercut hairstyle pops over the upstairs walkway railing. My niece Andrea leans over, practically doing gymnastics with the way she balances a few degrees away from falling over. “Where? I wanna see!”
I flop back in the easy chair, giving her a helpless look. “Both feet on the ground, young lady, or I’m not telling you another word.”
She huffs but plunks her feet on the walkway floor, her socks scuffing the carpet. “You’re as bad as Dad. What happened to being the cool uncle?”
“Since when am I bad?” Blake cuts in, muttering. But then he adds, “And your uncle isn’t telling you another thing, period. You need to stay out of the shit for once in your life, girl. I’m not having another incident that winds up like the winter carnival.”
“C’mon. You both know Peace would love it too.” Andrea rolls her eyes. “I don’t think cowboy ghosts are going to mess me up or try to set the town on fire, Dad.”
“Maybe not, but you’d find trouble out there anyway. Or at least, hell, cut yourself on something and wind up with tetanus.”
“I’ve had my shots.” She rolls her eyes harder.
“Even so.” He points a finger at her. “Go do your homework and quit eavesdropping.”
With an annoyed face, Andrea stalks off to her room, muttering—and I don’t think her dad sees the middle finger she flings back, but I do and bite back my grin.
I’ll be the cool uncle and keep that to myself.
“Now you’ve gone and done it,” Blake groans, rubbing the heel of his palm against one eye. “You realize this ain’t the end of this.”
“I know.” I laugh. “God, I’m glad I don’t have kids.”
“You will one day. Then you’ll get what it’s like.” He smirks at me. “Maybe a few little foul-mouthed, trouble-making half Potter kids running around will give you a taste of your own medicine.”
“Shit. Don’t go giving me imaginary kids with a woman who hates my guts.”
Hates me.
Sure.
That’s why she’d looked at me the way she did last night.
Because she hates me.
That’s why we’d been so close I could feel her knock-me-down lips braising the air against mine.
Because she hates me.
That’s why I could feel her heart beating so hard against my chest, her killer tits crushed between us, not even that heavy layer of plush flesh hiding the wild thump of her pulse.
...because she hates my dumb ass.
Fuck.
I’ve got to keep telling myself we’re sworn enemies.
Or else I’ll do something a whole lot more reckless than that cop-out kiss on the forehead.
I’ll give her good reasons to hate me for the rest of her life.
* * *
Just because Libby hates me doesn’t mean I can’t try making peace and keeping her in the loop on what I’ve found.
Which is honestly a whole damn lot of nothing.
At least I’ve brought beer.
I figured she’s a beer girl, after watching her nurse that can at Brody’s like a lifeline.
Which is why I’m pulling up around mid-afternoon with a six-pack riding shotgun, still cold from the fridge at the store, condensation beading on the cans. Probably not great for my leather seats.
Don’t care.
Just another reason to ditch the Benz soon.
But I’ve got other things on my mind as I park across the ditch from the main drive—and do a double take.
There’s a big honkin’ semi-truck in the driveway.
I recognize that truck because it’s been parked outside my trailer too often.
Declan Eckhard.
Come to think of it...why the hell does a banker drive a semi when he’s not sporting that Tesla? What’s up with that?
It’s always struck me as bizarre, but right now, I’m overwhelmed with odd things.
On a hunch, I dig around in my glove compartment until I come up with a pen and a scrap of paper, then write down his license plate number.
I just want to know more about our friendly banker man, the supposed love of Sierra’s life.
That’s all. I’ll look it up later.
Right now, I’m worried about Libby, if Declan’s got her cornered here alone.
I know she can take care of herself. I know she’d probably shoot him as fast as she’d spit on his polished leather shoes.
Still, I don’t like the idea of her alone with him.
He’s a big man.
Exactly the type to try to muscle a woman if he doesn’t get his way.
I kill the engine, grab the beer, and step out, jumping the gate and heading for the porch. I stop just outside as I realize the door’s open, hanging by a crack, but hell.
I can hear everything going on inside.
It doesn’t sound good.
Sierra’s there, too. I know it because she’s the first voice I hear.
“You’re still being unreasonable, Libby. I can’t believe I’m wasting time trying to talk some sense into your stupid head,” she hisses.
“It’d be easier,” Libby bites off, “if we could talk alone for once. You don’t know everything, Sierra.”
“What don’t I know?” Sierra scoffs. “Other than that you’re being a controlling bi—”
“Now, now,” Declan says. “No need to resort to fighting words.”
My jaw clenches. I don’t like his tone. It’s like he’s talking to kids, trying to referee a fight over a toy, instead of talking to them like they’re grown women.
“Did I invite you to this discussion?” Libby retorts.
I almost grin.
There’s my little firecracker.
“There’s nothing you can tell me that you can’t tell Declan,” Sierra huffs, and through the crack in the door I can just make out her folding her arms over her chest. “In fact, if there’s a ghost town out there, he’s the best person to talk to. He knows culture.”
Culture, my ass.
He’s good at faking it, sure. But that man wouldn’t know culture, class, or tact if it smashed him in the chin.
He proves it when he says, “If you’re really interested in keeping your land, the town’s probably crawling with priceless artifacts. Antiques and collectibles that could be worth more than the land itself. Sell it off, and you’ll be in a perfect position to buy out Sierra’s portion of the inheritance.”
“Excuse me,” Sierra says. “Anything in that town is my portion, too. It’s just as much mine as Libby’s, and if we’re gonna sell—”
“We can’t sell,” Libby says, her voice rising furiously, then cracking. “Sierra...I have to talk to you alone. Okay? Alone. Not with Declan. Not with anyone else. Just you and me. Family.”
I can hear the smirk in Declan’s voice, even if all I can see of him is a burly shoulder in a pinstriped suit. “Tough luck, Libby. I’m not leaving unless Sierra wants me gone. This is her house, too.”
Libby sucks a long breath, winding up. “You overbearing piece of—”
Shit.
I know that tone in her voice.
She’s about one second away from murder in the first degree if her shotgun’s anywhere in reach.
I know I need to mind my own business.
I also know I can’t stand to let her make a fatal mistake.
Hoisting the six-pack of beer like it’s all I’ve got on my mind, I throw the door open, stepping in and raising my voice. “Libby, hey, I brought beer if you—”
I stop just inside, where I can see into the open kitchen. Everyone’s eyes whip toward
me.
“Oh, hell. Didn’t realize you had company. Clumsy me.”
Libby’s eyes are a little too wide, too stressed.
She looks like a spooked horse. Sierra looks guilty.
Declan, he just looks annoyed, and he draws himself up, opening his mouth like he’s about to steamroll me.
I don’t give him the chance.
I flash him my coldest damn smile.
“And by company, I mean I didn’t realize some folks don’t know when they’ve overstayed their welcome,” I growl out. “This may be Sierra’s house, Mr. Eckhard, but it’s not yours. Unless you want to get hauled out of here by Sheriff Langley, I’d suggest you move your ass wherever Libby wants it.”
Declan narrows his eyes, sizing me up like he’s trying to decide where to hit first. “I don’t remember you being invited, Silverton. Never mind the fact we’re still in a legal agreement...”
“I told you I can’t fucking help you. And you know what?” I smile wider, showing all my teeth. “If you’re so hard up for cash, you can keep the deposit I gave you for purchasing the property. Agreement’s off. I don’t want my money back after your grubby hands have been all over it, and as soon as I take this to the city council and file for historical interest, you won’t get your paws on that, either. Now. Libby. You said you wanted to talk to Sierra alone, right?”
Libby nods slowly, faintly.
“Yeah,” she murmurs.
The quietness of her voice tells me there’s something severely wrong.
I was right to barge in when I did.
“You want Eckhard here?” I continue, while Declan glares goddamn murder at me.
“No.” She shakes her head.
“There you have it.” I gesture with my six-pack toward the door like I’m conducting a grand symphony, never dropping my smile. “Declan, you can go. I’ll leave, too. Sierra, this is your home, Libby needs to speak with you, so you’re obviously welcome to stay.”
“Now you see here—” Declan draws himself up, puffing his chest.
“No!” Libby says, quiet but picking up strength.
She shakes her head, blue eyes snapping, blonde curls bouncing.
“No—you, all of you. Everyone. Everyone but Holt just...get out.” Her voice is raspy like she’s trying not to cry, but it still rises to a furious snarl. “Get the hell out before I make you!”