Must Love Cowboys (28 page)

Stunned, perhaps.

“How did you know where to find Calvin?”

Wyatt's satyr-like frown and intimidating tone should have had Duane shaking in his shoes, but Duane simply smiled—a perfectly sincere, disarming smile.

“I'd tracked him down to Wyoming. Believe it or not, there are actually three men named Calvin Douglas living in this state. I was checking the newspapers trying to decide who to contact first when I saw the report of the problem you'd been having with your fences.”

“That was in the
newspaper
?” Even in a small-town paper, I doubted a story like that would have made the front page. Duane really must've been scouring the news.

“It was in the police log,” he replied. “Apparently they'd spoken to Mr. Douglas.”

Calvin nodded his agreement, but Wyatt was undeterred. “That still doesn't explain how you knew Calvin was in the hospital.”

Duane's unruffled demeanor never wavered. “I looked up the number for the ranch and called. The man who answered the phone told me he was in the hospital in Salt Lake City.”

Once again, I searched the faces of everyone present, not seeing anyone who appeared to remember taking the call.

Then it hit me. He'd called the main house. With Angela gone, Jack had been alone up there for at least part of each day. He wasn't claiming responsibility, but that didn't necessarily mean he hadn't spoken with Duane. At this stage of his life, he wasn't exactly a reliable witness, nor would he have had any reason to be suspicious of anyone trying to contact Calvin.

Angela darted a glance toward her father, suggesting that she and I had reached a similar conclusion. Still, the fact that Duane had called the house—if indeed he had—didn't necessarily mean he was innocent.

I wanted to slap some sense into myself. We now had a perfectly reasonable chain of events to explain how Duane knew Calvin's whereabouts.

Why couldn't I believe it?

Because we still don't know why the fences were being cut.

Ah, yes… The fences. I couldn't quash the notion that there was a connection.

Angela cleared her throat.
Good cop's turn.
“We wondered about that. The nurses told me that someone named Duane had tried to visit Calvin. You see, we were trying to find his next of kin ourselves. He was unconscious for a good while, and I was uncomfortable making decisions for him so I asked Tina to try to track down his family.”

My turn.
“We read through some old letters and discovered the names of his sister and her husband. With that information, I did an online search to see if he had any living relatives. As it turned out, he didn't.”

Color flooded Duane's cheeks. “You mean to say you already knew Jeannine had died?”

“We only found out a few days ago,” I said. “Since then, we've been in touch with her lawyers.” I gave him what I hoped was an equally sincere, albeit apologetic smile. “They've already told us she left her estate to Calvin. He's trying to decide if he wants it or not.”

There, I thought. Let him chew on that for a bit.

I was having a hard time maintaining my suspicions until I remembered what Duane had said about being a board member. Although support for single mothers was a worthy cause, I couldn't imagine anyone resorting to murder to fund it, even if they
were
on the board. Still, if Duane was the CFO, he would certainly have the opportunity to get his hands on the money.

The only motive required was greed.

“Well then,” Duane said. “I guess I've gone to a lot of trouble for nothing.”

Angela gave him a warm smile. “If Calvin hadn't been incapacitated, we never would've gone looking for his family, in which case, you would've been the one to bring him the news.”

Duane nodded slowly, then darted a quick look at Calvin. “You are going to accept the money, aren't you? I mean, I can't imagine why you wouldn't.”

“Dunno yet,” Calvin said with a shrug. “Depends on how much it is, I guess.”

Duane let out a shaky laugh. “I don't know the exact sum, but it has to be in the millions.”

“Millions, eh?” Calvin echoed. “No idea what I'd do with that kind of money.”

Expelling a laugh even shakier than the last, Duane said, “Donate it to charity?”

I'd been wondering why Duane had bothered to pay Calvin a visit. If he'd truly wanted the money to go to charity, he should've kept his mouth shut. Now I understood. He was here to talk Calvin into sharing his inheritance with the single moms.

And him.

My gaze met Wyatt's. The twitch of his brow and nearly imperceptible shake of his head suggested he was still suspicious. Convincing him of the murder plot had taken some doing. Therefore, I could only assume it would take a ton of proof to get him to believe otherwise.

“I suppose I could do that,” Calvin mused, stroking his chin. “Have to inherit it first, though.”

“I'd appreciate it if you'd think about it,” Duane said, sounding reasonably sincere. “I know she wanted you to have the money, but she also felt very strongly about support for single mothers.”

“I'm sure she did,” Calvin said. “Which makes me wonder why she left her entire estate to me.”

Duane spread his hands. “I can't answer that. We'll probably never know her exact reasoning, but those were her wishes.”

“Well then, I'll give it some thought,” Calvin said. “Thank you for coming.”

As dismissals went, it was a tad abrupt, but Duane seemed to take it well. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.” His gaze passed over everyone present as he stood, the
even if it wasn't as private as I would have liked
left unsaid. “I'll take myself off, then.”

Nick escorted him to the door and I heard the lock click behind him. Just as I'd done earlier that day, I didn't breathe easy until I heard his car drive away.

“What do you make of that?” Calvin asked no one in particular.

“I think he's lying through his goddamned teeth.” The words seemed to burst from Bull's mouth. Evidently the effort of keeping quiet had cost him a great deal.

“He sounded reasonable enough,” Dean said. “Can't say I trust him, though.”

I nodded. “He's too smooth.”

“He was until you rattled his cage, Tina,” Wyatt said. “He sure wasn't expecting to hear that.”

“No shit,” Angela said. “I thought he was gonna have a cow.”

“What do we do now?” Sonny asked.

“We email Calvin's forms and identification papers to that law firm right now.” I glanced at Calvin. “Got that form filled out?”

“Sure do,” Calvin replied. “Took care of that while you were getting supper on the table.”

“Great,” I said. “I'll need to use your scanner again, Angela.”

She hopped to her feet. “No problem. Let's do it.”

* * *

I was back at the bunkhouse and getting ready for bed before I remembered the one thing we hadn't discussed in the wake of Duane's visit: the phone call he claimed to have made to the ranch. A search of the phone records might prove his story, although I wasn't sure they could
dis
prove it.

Climbing in beside Wyatt, I asked, “Any idea how hard it is to get phone records?”

“No clue,” he replied, pulling me close. “I'm guessing you'd need a court order to get someone else's records. Dunno how it works when it's your own phone.”

Resting my head on the hollow of his shoulder, I draped an arm across his chest. “Jack is the logical person to have taken that call, and even if he'd forgotten about it, hearing what Duane had to say should've jogged his memory.”

“Maybe he wasn't too keen on admitting it—or maybe he couldn't remember one way or the other.”

“Either of those would explain why he didn't speak up,” I said, stifling a yawn. “I'm sure Angela will ask him about it.”

The occasional hand Jack had cupped around his ear proved he'd been listening to the conversation, but he hadn't said much of anything after dinner beyond a quick good night when he left the bunkhouse with Angela, Dusty, and me. He'd headed off to bed as soon as we reached the house. Perhaps he'd simply been too tired to think straight.

Jack wasn't the only one; I was pretty well exhausted myself—until Wyatt rolled over and kissed me.

And not just any old kiss. It was one of those I-know-the-world-has-gone-crazy-but-we-still-have-each-other kinds of kisses.

“Tired?”

“Not anymore.” I had considered simply giving him a hand job that night, but since my current visit from Aunt Flo had faded to the point where only a pantyliner was required, I didn't think I needed to go that route. Now all I had to do was figure out how to phrase my decision. After a moment's reflection, I opted to take the direct approach. “Better keep a condom handy.”

“No problem.”

As easy as that. I was getting better at this sex stuff all the time. One of these days I might even try saying something more graphic, like…

Hmm…
Maybe I still had some learning to do.

Didn't matter, really. Wyatt's kisses and his slow, sensuous removal of my pajamas and undies proved he didn't need me to talk dirty to get him in the mood. Actually, I was pretty sure he was in the mood before I ever came to bed. The way the sheet had been tented over his groin was proof of that.

Reaching down, I wrapped my hand around his penis, marveling at the smoothness of the skin stretched over his turgid flesh. I traced a fingertip over the engorged veins crisscrossing his shaft, then on to the thicker vessel that ran the length of the underside. I loved feeling that, seeing it, proving he wanted me as much as I wanted him.

Easing lower, I kissed his cockhead, sipping the salty nectar flowing from his slit—so slick, so smooth, so delightful on my tongue. I sucked him in and savored him slowly, completely. Rolling onto my side, I lay with my head pillowed on his stomach, my free hand massaging his balls while I devoured his cock.

I backed off slightly, running his shiny, plum-shaped glans over my lips before discovering the truly marvelous feel of his cock gliding over my cheek. My softly uttered “Ohhh…” must have encouraged him, for he took his cock in his hand and began stroking my face with it.

The transition was shockingly erotic, and my body responded with a swift contraction centered deep within my pelvis. Pressing my fingertips on the space between his scrotum and anus, I urged him on as more of that luscious fluid poured from his penis, coating my face. My legs writhed seemingly of their own accord, as though trying to soothe the desperate thirst in my core, a thirst only Wyatt could quench.

His stomach muscles tensed beneath my head, and I heard the drawer open, followed by rustling sounds as he rummaged through the contents. A slight breeze wafted over my face as he placed a condom packet on his thigh. “Whenever you're ready.”

I was more than ready. I was dying to have him inside me again, dying to keep him there until long after he'd reached his climax. We had so many wonderful encounters ahead of us. Would I ever know every move he could make, every sound? Would loving him ever get old?

I doubted it. Even tonight, when I'd been so worn out that all I really wanted was sleep, one kiss brought the desire surging back to fill me with need and want and lust and passion.

Sitting up, I ripped open the packet with my teeth before rolling it down over his pulsating cock. My patience exhausted, I lay back on the bed, dragging him down over me, demanding his kisses, beckoning to him with my parted thighs.

Although Wyatt hadn't been deprived of sexual release for several nights, he'd clearly been anticipating this moment as much as I had. His first push was gentle, but that nudge soon became a plunge, followed by another and another…

“Oh my…”

I raised a hand to his cheek, bestowing a delicate caress. He was as tough as any man could be, yet he leaned into my touch, his soft groan proving how much that simple gesture meant to him. He rose up on his hands and knees, altering the angle and undulating his spine as though determined to discover new ways to give me pleasure.

No, this would never get old, would never be the slightest bit dull. Those who complained it was boring had never been with Wyatt—or had never been in love.

Wrapping my legs around his waist, I locked my ankles near the small of his back. I reveled in the strength, the heat, the sheer joy of it all as he rocked into me, his rhythm as steady as waves crashing against the shore.

I could have lain there enjoying the ride for the rest of the night, but Wyatt obviously had other ideas. With a quick shove, he pushed himself upright and arched his back. My legs were still locked in place as he grasped my thighs, lifting me until only my head, shoulders, and outstretched arms rested on the mattress. His penetration was complete, and his balls brushed my bottom as he drove me to the brink of nirvana with short, powerful thrusts. Days spent on horseback must've been responsible for that ability, for only his hips moved. Nothing else.

Picturing the flexing of his buttocks triggered an unbelievably powerful orgasm. As my inner muscles gripped his cock, a guttural cry signaled Wyatt's climax, and his hips lurched upward, taking me with him as he reached the pinnacle of ecstasy.

My clitoris hovered near the flash point; one touch would detonate it. I didn't say a word, but somehow Wyatt knew what I needed. With one slow, circular sweep of his thumb, he blasted me into oblivion once more.

But he didn't leave it at that. Maintaining pressure on my clit intensified and prolonged my orgasm, keeping me suspended and breathless as time stood still. Nothing existed in the universe beyond the two of us.

Not one single thing.

* * *

The next morning I woke up early, let Ophelia out, and had my teeth brushed and hair combed before Wyatt even began to stir. I felt absolutely marvelous—even adventurous enough to try something new for breakfast.

A breakfast casserole? Hmm…

Grabbing my laptop, I headed for the kitchen. After a quick perusal of a few recipes, most of which needed to be put together the night before, I finally found a version that could be made on the spot and seemed easy enough, although I would, of course, have to double the amounts.

Pretty soon I was sautéing sausage, onions, and peppers with joyous abandon, all the worries of the previous evening completely expunged from my mind. Damn, I loved that man. He could make me forget all the bad karma our cold, cruel world could dish out.

All I needed to do now was feed my wonderful pack of cowboys and keep them happy. Simple enough job. Much more rewarding than cleaning viruses out of computers.

I lined two baking dishes with sliced bread and added the sausage mixture. After stirring milk and eggs together with a few added spices and seasonings, I poured it over the bread and sausage, topped both casseroles with grated cheese, and popped them in the oven.

Easy peasy.

I stuck my head out the door and called for Ophelia. When she didn't come right away, I set her breakfast out on the porch. The weather was clear, although still slightly chilly. I wondered if Wyoming nights were ever truly warm.

Maybe in late July
.

Deciding that smoothies also sounded good, I dumped a bunch of fresh fruit and juice into the blender and switched it on. Not surprisingly, the blender was loud enough to wake up the guys. Or maybe it was the delicious aroma wafting from the oven that did it. Whatever the reason, they began stumbling into the kitchen about the time the casserole was done.

Dean put the coffee on while Nick went off to set the table. I divvied up the smoothies into eight glasses.

“That looks tasty,” Dean said. “What's in it?”

“Strawberries, blueberries, orange juice, pineapple juice, bananas, and a few dollops of plain yogurt. Not allergic to any of that, are you?”

“Nope. Don't think any of us have any allergies.”

“
I
sure do,” I declared. “I'm allergic to all sorts of things—” I stopped there, realizing once again that Wyoming seemed to agree with me, at least in that respect. I shrugged. “Not bothering me much at the moment, though.”

“Guess that means you belong here.”

I smiled at him. “I guess it does.”

Wyatt came in from my room, running a hand through his tousled locks and looking like every hot, sexy dream I'd ever had—awake or asleep.

Our
room, I corrected myself.

“Hey, babe,” he said. “Something sure smells fantastic.” Hooking an arm around my waist, he tugged me closer for a kiss. “Must be you.”

“Yeah, well, you
taste
good.” Given that we had an audience, I thought it best to clarify. “Minty fresh.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean scoffed, obviously not believing that toothpaste had anything to do with Wyatt's flavor. “Sure.”

He was right, of course, but that didn't stop me from retaliating. “The rest of him tastes even better.”

Dean let out a long, tortured groan. “Guess I deserved that.”

“Yes, you did.” Still gloriously wrapped up in Wyatt's embrace, I refused to let anyone get me riled, not even Dean. “If you'll take those smoothies into the mess hall, Wyatt and I will bring in the casseroles.”