Bind Me Close: 3 (Knights in Black Leather) (5 page)

“Miz Turner,” Wade said as he wrapped one firm hand around
Willow’s waist, “lost her belongings when the burglar stole her car.”

The heat of his hand, the strength of his grip on her body
told Willow he didn’t want to part from her despite the intrusion of the
persistent Miss Sykes.

“Yes. So I heard. Terrible thing.” The lady eyed Wade’s hold
of Willow, and the way her eyes fluttered told Willow she delighted in the fact
that she’d be able to tell all of Bravado how the sheriff had his hands on the
new woman in town.

Willow stepped forward, loathe to leave Wade’s grasp but
knowing she shouldn’t remain there. Not if she wanted to think straight. Not if
she wanted to stay in town and get her work done without scandal. She would not
moon over the sheriff. “Thank you, Miss Sykes. I will be sure to thank them.”

“You’ll be seeing them tonight, won’t you?” The woman simply
stood there and ogled them both.

“I will.” Gossip traveled faster than brushfire in Bravado,
clearly. Willow walked to the door, took hold of the handle and awaited the
lady’s departure. “Thank you.”

Their guest took no hint that she should leave. “Would you
stay longer than a few weeks, do you think?”

“What?” Willow didn’t understand what she meant.

“We do need women, don’t we, Sheriff?” She said it in such a
way that implied something extraordinary, almost salacious.

Wade scowled at her.

Sykes fidgeted. “Oh, yes, I am meddling, aren’t I? Well,
I’ll be off! Bye, y’all.” She departed in a flurry of goodbyes and apologies.

Willow shut the door behind her, chuckling. But when she
turned, Wade looked fit to be tied. Not smiling. Not happy. Closed. Stern. The
sheriff. In control.

“I’ll be going too.” Wade strode to the door.

But her hand was still on the handle and a part of her
wanted to keep it there. Make him stay. Make him kiss her.

“Come on, Willow.” He pleaded with her, looking rather
trapped. “Be a good girl. Let me go.”

She got the message loud and clear. A few hours with the
Bravado County Sheriff was no basis for a relationship or a courtship or even a
fast fuck. She could have predicted it. She was a tourist in this town. Here to
work. Alone and in trouble she’d been a fool to be deluded into contemplating
an affair—or even a tiny kiss—with the man who had rescued her. Wade Saxon had
been the sheriff and a gentleman in that order. Now he had reverted to the
local lawman. Kissing cousins be damned. She’d live.

She pulled the door open and waited for him to walk through
it.

He stopped to speak but halted, thinking better of whatever
he intended to say.

“Please, Sheriff, do leave. In the South you men like to
open doors. In the North we Yankee women like to shut them. Tight.”

Hours later, as she drove Wade’s Chevy convertible up the
private drive to the MacRaes’ ranch, Willow still fumed from his rejection. Oh,
she understood men on the make. She’d met enough of them. Men who made
conquering the Big Girl a goal. Tall men who saw her as a challenge. Short men
who saw her as a prize. Drunk men who took bets to charm her. Crazy men who
tried to get her naked or rush her into bed. Boys, all of them.

“I thought more of Wade Saxon,” she groused as she pulled up
to the huge ranch house, parked under the limbs of a few live oaks and killed
the ignition. Instead she would focus on the evening and the task ahead of her.
This was the home of one set of her relatives. Okay, so they were distant
cousins, but they were strangers, every one. When she first discovered her
great-grandfather Blade’s journal a year ago, Willow had warmed to the idea of
recreating his story. As a Comanche he recounted a vital piece of the country’s
history between those pages. As a native Texan by birth and blood Blade also
told a rare tale of how the Anglo settlers and the Comanche lived together—and
fought each other.

“Maybe that conflict has DNA roots,” she told herself
bitterly. Wade Saxon had wanted to kiss her. In his garage and in her hotel
room. But for some reason after listening to that chatty receptionist, he’d
destroyed the chemistry between him and her. “And I am not going to moon over
him but get on with my life!”

She slid out of the car and shut the door, smoothing the
front of the sleek black cocktail dress that miraculously hugged her like a
second skin. So did the sheer black lace demi-bra and thong panties. Cara
MacRae and her Aunt Bree had performed a miracle to send over the right sizes
for her to the B&B. Even the strappy heels were a winner. Thanks to the
sheriff.

She wrinkled her nose. Was Wade Saxon that good at
estimating a woman’s size? Just how many women had he provided clothes for in
his lifetime? If she could have predicted anything at all for him, it would
have been that he was an expert in removing female garments, not obtaining
them.

Besides, she hated that she owed him for the favor of
getting her measurements right. He’d saved her ass in so many ways today. Those
were quite enough. Too much, in fact, for comfort.

Now, now. Temper, temper. Let no one here accuse you of
being a hot-headed Comanche. These folks are helping you, big-time.

She smiled, swirling her waist-length straight black hair
over one shoulder. Then she halted, plastering the pleasant look on her face
purposely when she noted one of the other four cars in the drive was one of the
snazzy older ones in Wade’s garage.

He was here before her? Well, fine. She slid the car key
into her little purse, also a gift from Cara and her aunt. She took the steps
up to the wraparound porch and the MacRaes’ front door.

Inside, laughter and conversation filled the air. As the
door opened and a fabulous-looking cowboy beamed down at her, the noise spilled
out around her like a benediction.

“You must be Willow,” said the man with long ebony hair and
dreamy pale-blue eyes. “My name’s Harry and you belong inside with us.”

He reached for her with both hands and dragged her into a
huge hall, past a home office and into a spacious family room and kitchen.
There, with drinks in their hands and grins as wide as Texas skies, stood more
than twenty people.

“Welcome, Willow! I’m Cara MacRae.” A platinum blonde with
sparkling eyes and a very pregnant figure rushed to her side, arms wide to
embrace her. “We are so happy you’re here. We’ve waited a long time to have a
member of Blade’s family come home to us.”

Willow grinned at the sweet, warm welcome. “Thank you. I am
delighted to be here.”

“I guess even more so tonight,” said a tall man who
resembled the one who had answered the front door. “This afternoon when that
rabbit jacked your car was no picnic. Hi,” he said, taking her hand and
bringing her into a bear hug. “I’m Jed MacRae. Another cousin.”

“Hi, Jed MacRae.” She let him enfold her and was shocked to
be presented with yet another man, blond this time, who also looked like him.
“And you are?”

“Will MacRae. Brother to these two cowpokes you just met.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, “but we don’t spread that word around
too much. Got to keep up appearances.”

“Hell,” said Will. “Do not listen to him. He wouldn’t
recognize anyone with an IQ over sixty.”

She chuckled as Cara hooked her arm through Willow’s.
“Listen to none of them. They’ve had too much sun today. It makes them dopey.
Let me introduce you to a few of your other relatives.”

Willow let Cara do her hostess duties, not daring to let her
gaze wander the room for Wade. Wherever he was he certainly was not stepping
forward. But then he didn’t have to, did he? They had already met.

“My Aunt Bree who owns the boutique in town,” Cara
introduced her to a tall, svelte fortysomething woman with such perfect
features and poise she might have won a few beauty pageants in her time.

“Thank you so much for this wonderful outfit. The long
summer dress too. I want to come in to the shop soon and buy more.”

“I’ll be happy to help you.”

“May I call you Bree?”

“Yes, do. And you are so welcome, Willow. I’m pleased to see
my selections on a woman who has a figure that does them proud.”

“You are very kind.” Willow ran her palm down her hip over
the soft, formfitting jersey. “The material of this feels wonderful.”

“Fits you to a T. Wade,” Bree called over her shoulder,
“come here and admire your skill.”

Willow stiffened as a dark figure at the back of the room
pushed away from the wall and emerged into the brighter light. God help her. In
body-hugging denim and a crisp white Western shirt, collar open to reveal the
cords of his strong ,tanned throat, Wade Saxon walked toward her. His eyes were
brilliant jewels. Wary and sultry. Why did he have to look good enough to lick?

It took all her concentration not to salivate.

“Hi, Willow,” he said as if they were acquaintances, which
of course was what they were. Nothing more, if she didn’t count that he’d made
a move on her. “You do look nice. Good to see you.”

Nice. Good.

His bland words riled her. How could he be so indifferent?

“Thanks, Sheriff.”

The title pricked him. Made him wince.
Good.

Triumphant, she turned away. But as she did she heard the
proverbial pin drop in the room. The silence shouted loud and clear that something
stood between the lady and the sheriff and it was definitely not right.

Shit. No way to start my visit here.

“Drink?” Cara steered her away from Wade, who simply stood
there staring at Willow.

“Yes. Gin and tonic.”

“Okay, then. Jed, get Willow a G and T, will you? And you
need to meet a few more people. All related to the Turners or MacRaes.” Cara
led her around the room from group to group, introducing her and stopping to
talk. One was a jovial fellow with laughing brown eyes named Giles Benedict, the
town’s newest doctor. Another was the owner of the local honky-tonk, Kyle
Miller. Another man, a striking George Clooney clone, was Garrett Scanlon but
Willow didn’t catch what he did for a living. “We have a few in town who lay
claim to being related, but couldn’t come tonight.”

“Are all of them men too?” Willow glanced around.

“Half and half,” Cara said. “We do have fewer females than
we’d like living here.”

“We’re trying to fix that.” Will joined them and put his
hand around the back of Cara’s neck to give her a small, but evidently
much-appreciated, massage. When she thanked him he pulled her to his side and
kissed her ear. The affection between them astonished Willow, having seen the
same in Jed’s manner with her.

Cara grinned at Willow. “Don’t mind me. It’s my pregnancy. I
get kinks and Will knows just how to work them out of me.”

Willow smiled at her but inside her envy grew. Why such a
novel need for affection erupted in her, she had no idea. But to have a man
like that who cared so much for her that across a crowded room he saw she
needed a massage would be heaven. Willow nodded, clearing her head as Cara
continued.

“And then we have two more very close relatives whom you
really must meet. Case Turner and his wife Samantha.”

“Samantha and Case.” Willow extended her hand to the tall
blond man with the redhead on his arm. It struck her that Case and Wade looked
remarkably alike. “Hello. I’m looking forward to talking with you both and
learning all you know.”

“Happy to do it, Willow.” Case leaned in to give her a hug.
“Sam here has a fondness for Texas history, so she’ll be more help to you than
I when it comes to putting things in some kind of historical perspective. I
know about personalities, colorful and dastardly. Period.”

“Don’t let him fool you, Willow,” added his wife as she
wrapped her arms around Willow. “Case knows who fought in what war, who came
back and who didn’t.”

“I want to know it all. See all the buildings or anything
that still stands.”

“Well, there isn’t much of the original homestead of the
Turners,” Case told her. “North of town and the creek, a shell of a house still
stands. It’s got a few limestone walls that remain.”

“Case and I,” Sam said, “would be happy to take you out
there one day. Tough to get in those woods though. We can take the four-wheel
drive only so far. Then we’ll go on foot. Are you up for a hike?”

“I am.” Willow accepted her drink from Jed then took a sip.
“Is that the house where Bull Elk appeared with his braves to steal Fancy from
her family?”

Case nodded. “It is. The terrain, I bet, is exactly the same
as the day he swooped down and caught her up in his saddle. Looking out over
the hill and valley, you can see how none of the Turners ever knew the Comanche
raiding party was coming.”

“Fancy was picking flowers, right?” Willow asked them.

“Yes,” Case said. “From what we know, that’s true. She was
out in the fields with her next-older sister, Collette.”

“They were picking bluebonnets to put on the table for
dinner because Reg Saxon was coming to dinner.”

Wade’s ancestor, the gambler.

Willow felt the warmth of Wade draw near behind her and she
didn’t move a muscle except to ask, “He was courting Fancy?”

“No.” Wade shook his head. “My great-grandfather came to
call on the oldest Turner sister, Marguerite.”

“That’s interesting,” Willow told them. “Blade wrote that
Mr. Saxon wanted to marry his mother.”

“Blade got it wrong,” Jed said. “It’s understandable that he
would. He was a little boy and he didn’t have much contact with the Turners
growing up.”

“Because he was a half-breed.” Willow put in what she knew
of Blade’s feelings.

“Yes,” Jed said with sadness in his tone. “We know from our
own family records that when Fancy married my two great-grandfathers, her
father and brother spurned her. Well, actually, they did that before she
married them.”

Willow had to let the intriguing issue of Fancy marrying two
men go for the moment. She was more fascinated by the attitudes of the family
toward Fancy and her son. “Blade was lonely growing up. He says in his journal
that he had two good friends here in Bravado.”

“One was his cousin, Beau, my grandfather,” Wade said, “the
son of Reg Saxon and Marguerite Turner. The other was Luke MacRae, Blade’s half
brother and the ancestor of Jed, Will and Harry. Luke and Beau said Blade was whip-smart
and honest to a fault.”

Gratified by that description Willow nodded. “He wrote that
he was grateful to have friends when so few would even speak to him.”

“My great-grandfather told his sons they must judge a man by
his deeds, not by his skin.”

“He was ahead of his time,” she said.

“Reg’s family owned slaves. He hated how his father had
whipped and beaten them.”

She took a sip of her cocktail, realizing that the two of
them stood alone. Cara, Will and Jed had drifted off to do their hosting. What could
she say to Wade now? Keep him talking about his ancestors? That was fine with
her, if she didn’t wear out the subject and bore him to death.

He downed his beer and set the bottle on a nearby table,
jamming his hands in his pockets. “Do you ride a horse?”

“A little. I’m more of a city slicker. Horses tend to run
away with me.”

He gave her one of his half-grins. “You have to show them
who’s boss.”

“That skill escapes me, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll teach you.”

The offer made her smile. “Want to feel superior to the rude
Boston lady?”

“No. I want to be helpful. You’re here only for a short time
so I thought perhaps you’d like to see where the old Comanche camp grounds
were.”

“Oh.” She practically gushed in her enthusiasm. “You can
locate that?”

“Part of one sits on my land. But you need to ride to get
there. If you come out to the house tomorrow, I’ll take you. Say seven?”

“In the morning?”

He tipped his head, a smile playing at his lips. “If we
don’t do it early then we’ll melt like butter all over the Texas hills.”

“Right. Well, then. The ungodly hour of seven it is.”

“You don’t like early mornings, I gather.”

“Not when I don’t have to love them. But I’m looking forward
to this. Oh, wait!” She raised a finger. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

She brushed a hand down her torso. “No clothes.”

“Come on out. I’ve got some duds I can give you for the
day.”

“Yours?” Horrified whenever any man thought her so big that
she’d fit into his clothes, she balked.

“God, no. You’d swim in mine. But you can wear an old shirt
and jeans of my daughter’s.”

“Oh. Great.”

“So we’re set?”

“We are.”
We’re also out of topics.