Revenge (62 page)

Swallowing hard, she squared her shoulders and told herself to forget him; she was better off without a silent, brooding man complicating her life.

She headed straight to the kitchen where Kiki was busy peeling carrots and potatoes. Beef broth was simmering on the stove, lending the air a warm, spicy odor. “‘Bout time you woke up,” Kiki teased. “I thought you might sleep 'round the clock.”

“Almost.”

“There's coffee warming, if you're interested.”

“What, no espresso? No cappuccino?”

Kiki chuckled. “No, city gal, there ain't. Just dark, bitter, gut-rotting ranch coffee around here. You missed breakfast, but I could scramble some eggs and there's leftover biscuits and—”

“I'm really not that hungry, but the coffee sounds great.” Casey grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured herself a cup of the strong brew, then sat at the table. She glanced out the window to the barn, and her insides lurched as she spied Sloan standing in the paddock, ankle-deep in snow, talking with Chester Wilcox, the ranch foreman. As if he'd been a part of the Rocking M for years.

She couldn't help the expectant little beat of her heart and chastised herself for being such a fool.

“I wasn't sure how long he'd still be here—Sloan, I mean. I thought he was paid to bring me back here and then he'd leave...” Or had he said something about hanging around until the criminals were caught?

“Him leave without botherin' to say goodbye?” One of Kiki's steely eyebrows elevated a fraction.

“I didn't think it was necessary.”

“Didn't ya now?” Kiki dried her hands, then sliced off two thick slabs of homemade bread, which she popped into the toaster. “Nope, the way I hear it, he's stayin' on as a ranch hand and a kind of security guard for the Rocking M. At least until the culprit who's been causin' all this trouble is caught.” She reached for another potato from a ten-pound bag lying open on the counter.

Casey's stomach tightened. “Oh.”

“He's takin' over Jenner's room for the time being.”

“Is he?” She warmed her hands around her mug and didn't say more. The thought of Sloan being at the ranch was comforting in one way, disconcerting in another. She knew he'd do his level best to keep everyone in the family safe, but then there was her heart to consider.... She was attracted to him, dangerously so, and if she ever did fall in love she would probably fall for a man like him. She'd tried to convince herself for years that she wanted the button-down type. Sharp suits, good job, easy smile, educated to the hilt and yet... She'd always been more attracted to the rough-and-tumble men of the range—not that she'd been involved with any. At least not until Sloan. She'd been smarter than that.

Kiki plopped a plate of toast and a jar of raspberry jam on the table in front of her, but Casey's eyes strayed through the window and past the curtain of falling snow to Sloan, his Stetson firmly in place, only a fringe of black hair visible near the sheepskin collar of his jacket.

What was she going to do about him?

Nothing.
There was nothing she could do.

 

In the privacy of her bedroom, she dialed the long-distance number of the women's shelter in Seattle. On the third ring, a woman answered and Casey explained who she was. “I'm looking for Clarisse James,” she said.

“Ms. James is no longer here,” was the abrupt reply.

“But a week ago—”

“I'm sorry. If you want to leave a message I'll see that it's passed along to her.”

“I need to talk to her.”

“Is that what you want to say?”

Frustrated, Casey gritted her teeth. “Please tell her that Casey McKee called. I'm all right and back in Rimrock. She can reach me at the number for the ranch.” After rattling off the telephone number, Casey hung up and wished she knew that her friend was okay.

She saw her ring—the silver band set with turquoise that she'd fished out of her pocket earlier. She'd always loved the ring. Jenner had bought it for her when he'd been on the rodeo circuit and had stopped somewhere in New Mexico. Now it reminded her of the day Barry White had demanded she take it off to send to her family. Her stomach turned at the memory, but she was determined not to let her abductors win. She slipped the ring over her finger and didn't even wince; her hands had nearly healed. “There,” she said, glancing at her reflection. All of her was beginning to heal.

She heard the front door burst open. “Aunt Casey! Aunt Casey!” Hillary's voice, punctuated by the sharp, fast tap of the child's boots against the floor, carried through the house.

Casey dashed out of her room just as her five-year-old niece came charging down the hall. With a squeal of delight, Hillary hurtled her little body into Casey's eager embrace. Chubby arms circled her neck. “Did your daddy bring you?”

“Daddy and Skye,” Hillary said. “They got to make plans about the wedding. I get to be a flower girl!”

“Do you?”

“And wear a fancy dress and shoes!” Hillary beamed, her cheeks bright from the cold, her eyes glowing at the prospect of a wedding. “They said some bad guy took you away and hid you in a cabin in the mountains.”

“True, unfortunately,” Casey said as she transferred Hillary to her hip and carried her back toward the sound of excited voices.

“But Uncle Jenner's friend rescued you.”

“That he did.” Her heart warmed at the mention of Sloan.

“Were you scared?” Hillary asked.

“Nah!” Casey said, then, deciding that she should be a little more honest with her niece, sighed. “Well, yeah, I was a little. But I knew your daddy wouldn't let me stay up there forever.”

Skye was hanging her coat on a clothes tree near the front door. Her blond hair fell around her shoulders and a smile crossed her face when she spied Casey. “Thank God you're safe!” she said. “I was so worried...” She let her voice trail off when Hillary's eyebrows drew together. “I mean, it just wasn't the same here without you.”

“Are you gonna ask her?” Hillary demanded.

“Ask me what?”

Skye winked at the curly-headed girl before meeting Casey's curious gaze. “If you'll be in the wedding. Dani's going to be my matron of honor...at least I think she is,” she said as a shadow passed over her gaze, “but I'd like you to stand up for me, as well.”

“You get to be in the wedding, too!” Hillary enthused.

“Of course I will,” Casey said with a grin. “I think a wedding's just what we need to lift some spirits around here.”

“Well, there's going to be one. We didn't want to send out any invitations until we were sure you were all right, but they're going out in the mail today. The wedding's scheduled for the weekend of Christmas. That cuts it kind of close—only two and a half weeks away—but we figured no one would mind, what with the extenuating circumstances. It's going to be small, anyway, here in the house, with only about fifty guests.”

“Small or not, you've got a lot of work cut out for you.”

Skye blew her bangs from her eyes. “I think we can handle it.”

Hillary, impatient with the conversation, wiggled out of Casey's arms and announced she was going outside to ride her horse.

“It's snowing,” Skye said gently. “Maybe another time.”

Hillary shook her head. “Daddy will let me.”

“He usually lets you ride when Dani's here to instruct you, but she's not coming by today.”

“Doesn't matter. Uncle Jenner can teach me or that guy who saved Aunt Casey. He's a cowboy, isn't he?”

“Yes, but—”

Hillary didn't stop to listen. She yanked open the door.

“Hey, wait. Let me zip your jacket....” Skye's voice trailed after the girl who would become her stepdaughter. Embarrassment staining her cheeks, Skye closed the door behind Hillary, who raced across the porch and through the snow to the paddock. “I'm afraid she inherited her father's stubborn streak.”

“It's a McKee family trait.”

“Don't I know?” Skye said with a laugh, and Casey was reminded of the pride and lies that had caused Skye and Max to break up years ago. Only this past summer had they found that their love was strong enough to enable them to endure the pain of the past and face the future. Oh, if only she could find a love like that.

“But you came back, didn't you?” Casey observed as they walked to the kitchen, where the scents of a spicy stew mingled with the aroma of carrot cake. “Despite everything.”

“Yeah,” Skye agreed, gazing through the window to the barn where Max was talking with Jenner, Chester and Sloan. As Hillary approached them, he leaned down and, in one swift motion threw her into the air, caught her and slung her over his broad shoulders. “Max was a hard act to follow.”

“You never got over him.”

“No,” Skye admitted as Casey poured them each a cup of coffee from the pot still warming. “I told myself I did, but it was a lie.”

“Same with Beth and Jenner.”

“I suppose.” Skye sat in a chair next to the window. Snow collected in the corners of the panes and the warm air of the kitchen caused steam to fog the glass. “I guess when you fall in love, I mean, really fall in love with the right man, you never fall out of it—not completely. I've never considered myself particularly romantic, but when it came to Max...well, it's hard to explain. Nothing like it had ever happened to me before.” She took a sip of her coffee, but her gaze remained fixed on the man she loved, while Casey slid into a chair on the opposite side of the table. Kiki, in a rare moment of sensitivity as if she knew the conversation was private, turned up the volume of the radio. A Garth Brooks song was echoing through the room when Kiki headed out to do the laundry.

Skye's relationship with Max hadn't been smooth. They'd been lovers but had a falling-out, mostly instigated by Jonah, who knew of Skye's apparent inability to have children and felt that his firstborn son should marry another woman, Colleen Wheeler. Jonah had lied about Skye to Max and even created some incriminating evidence that seemed to prove that she was just using him, that she wanted only to further her career as a doctor and wasn't interested in a husband, only dating him because of his money. Skye had left town, and Max, brokenhearted and believing that she had betrayed him, had taken his father's advice and married Colleen. The result of their short, unhappy union was Hillary, the apple of Max's eye.

As if reading Casey's thoughts, Skye said, “Everything worked out for the best, I think.” She didn't elaborate, but Casey understood. If it hadn't been for Max's marriage to Colleen, he never would have become a father. Skye had been told her chances of bearing children were nearly zero.

“So, tell me what can I do to help with the wedding plans,” Casey said.

“I wish I knew where to start. What I need is more time. Even though Jenner and Beth have helped out a lot by managing the apartment house, I still have a million things to do. Beth's been a dream—she helps out at the clinic, too. We needed a nurse of her caliber. I don't know what we'll do once she and Jenner get married and move into the lodge next summer. Oh, well, I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Casey couldn't imagine the ranch without Jenner. Though he'd been away for a period of years, off chasing his dreams of becoming a rodeo star while he rebelled against their father, the Rocking M had never been the same without him.

But then, things were changing. Quickly.

Skye set her cup on the table and folded her hands under her chin. Skewering the woman who would become her sister-in-law with a searching look, she said, “Why don't you tell me all about Sloan Redhawk.”

“What's to tell?”

Skye's lips twitched upward. “Lots, unless I miss my guess,” she said, glancing out the window to the paddock. Max was leading a horse through the heavy snow while Jenner, Chester and Sloan looked on. “That man is one sexy cowboy. And don't tell me you haven't noticed, because I won't believe you. I just saw the way you looked at him, and believe me, Casey, I know that look. You're in love with him, aren't you?”

S
loan hated inactivity. Worse yet, he hated the feeling that while he was doing nothing other than trying to protect Casey, she was a sitting duck. Oh, he was busy enough, he supposed, as he sat astride a gray gelding and blinked against the snow, searching the drifts and brush for signs of any cattle that might have strayed from the herd. But this work, the kind he usually enjoyed, was little more than irritating for him now because he wanted to do something,
anything
to find the bastard behind Casey's abduction.

He'd started his search with Jimmy Rickert, but the little snitch hadn't revealed anything. He'd checked Steve Jansen's work orders—the ones the sheriff's department had already subpoenaed. He'd even started a computer check of boot companies that sold black leather boots with chains on the heels. But it wasn't enough. Even background searches—on top of the ones he'd already conducted—of the suspects hadn't gained him any more insight.

His nerves were stretched as tight as a newly strung bow, his gut feeling telling him that Casey wasn't safe. Even though Jenner and Max were somewhere on the ranch today, Sloan didn't like being separated from her. If he had his way, he'd steal her away himself and hide her far from Rimrock until he was convinced that all the culprits involved in the plot against the McKees had been put behind bars.

He found a small herd of five cows huddled against a windbreak of spindly pines. Shaggy red coats stood out against the stark, snow-covered ground. As he had since he was a kid on his grandfather's ranch, he used his horse and voice to move the lethargic animals, urging them to follow the lead cow, who plodded through the drifts back to the central area of the ranch. Within half an hour, they were in sight of the herd, and with a loud bawl, the lead cow picked up the pace, lumbering toward the other disinterested animals. Knowing that the animals would now return safely to the herd, Sloan rode along the fence line, found the break and repaired it as best he could, restretching the broken, rusted wire and staking it together with a branch from a pine tree. His efforts were only temporary; once the weather had improved, this whole stretch of fence would have to be replaced.

But it wasn't his problem. He'd be gone long before spring began to thaw the frozen ground; hopefully he'd be on his own ranch, with his own herds of range cattle and quarter horses. He climbed into the saddle, clucked his tongue, and the gray responded, trotting after the cattle.

Sloan had talked things over with Max and Jenner, the FBI, Sheriff Hammond Polk and even Rex Stone, the private investigator whom Virginia McKee had refused to kick off the case. In Sloan's opinion, Stone was a slimy bastard, an unprincipled man who would do whatever he had to—including breaking the law—to get what he wanted.

A lot like you, my friend,
an inner voice taunted, and he couldn't really argue. Hadn't he, like Rex Stone, accepted the case because of the lure of dollar signs? Wouldn't he bend the law as far as possible to put the right man behind bars? Wouldn't he damn near kill to protect Casey? And really, how noble were his intentions when he was anticipating accepting the reward money and then leaving?

His jaw clenched painfully at the thought of putting distance between himself and Casey. Though he'd known her less than a week, he'd grown attached to her, looked forward to being with her, enjoyed her quick wit and sharp tongue. And then there was the matter of sleeping with her. He couldn't quite forget the feel of her body pressed willingly against him, her soft, feminine curves molding to the harder male angles of his body.

He'd kept his distance, sleeping restlessly in the room next to hers, never giving in to the urge to go to her. He couldn't. Making love to her had been a mistake—a huge error in judgment. He'd let his body rule his mind and he wouldn't let it happen again.

He squared his hat on his head and growled a curse at himself as he clucked to his horse and headed back to the house. Overhead, the sky was the color of gunmetal. More snow had been predicted though the intense storms seemed to have passed through.

Within minutes, the buildings of the Rocking M were in sight. His horse trotted toward the barn and pulled up short near a water trough where a thin stream of water was visible in the ice. Sloan climbed out of the saddle. A. young hand by the name of Hank Something-or-other, who'd been chipping ice off the trough, offered to take his horse. Sloan didn't argue, just handed the kid his reins. Turning, he spied her and the air froze in his lungs and seemed to stay there indefinitely.

Casey was standing on a ladder, stringing Christmas lights along the eaves of the house. She glanced up at the sound of his boots breaking through the snow, and the smile she threw him was enough to melt the ice surrounding his heart. Her head was uncovered and snowflakes caught in her dark hair and melted against the flush of her cheeks.

“Need help?” he asked.

“Maybe a little. Hillary was working with me, but she bailed out when Kiki offered her some hot cocoa.” Casey plugged one strand of lights into another. “Ever done this before?”

“Nope.” Not even in L.A. while Jane was alive. Funny, he hadn't thought much about Jane in the past twenty-four hours.

“Okay, novice, you untangle the cords and hand them up to me and I'll do the rest.”

His gloves felt awkward as he straightened the strings of colored bulbs, plugged them into each other when instructed to do so and watched as she diligently wove the wires around icicles and up the few gables of the old ranch house. At one point he thought they were done, but she only laughed at him and insisted that he loop strings of smaller lights through the shrubbery and into a solitary dwarf apple tree in the corner of the front yard. By the time they were finished, the afternoon sky had darkened.

“Okay, stand here,” she ordered as she dashed back to the front door and flipped a switch. Hundreds of lights blazed in a rainbow of colors, flashing scarlet, gold, green and blue against the snow. The lights in the leafless apple tree were clear and winked slowly. “What do you think?” Casey was at his side again, surveying her work with a critical eye.

“That the electric company might run out of juice.”

“No, seriously.”

“Seriously?” he repeated, and she turned to find him staring at her, his black eyes somber, his face ruddy with the cold. He reached up a gloved hand and brushed a snowflake from her hair. “I think you might be the most incredible woman I've ever met.”

Stunned by the compliment, she couldn't speak, and when his hands slid to her shoulders, she felt a jolt of anticipation, a rush of adrenaline that caused her heart to pump just a little faster. As their gazes touched and held fast, she knew he was going to kiss her. Her mouth turned dry and she tilted her head just as his cold lips brushed across her mouth.

Her eyelids fluttered down and his fingers tightened over her shoulders. “Casey,” he breathed into her mouth before his lips caught fire and the cool kiss heated in the snow-dusted night. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and through thick layers of clothing, she felt his heat, the urgency of his body. His tongue pressed against her teeth and her mouth opened easily, inviting him in, wanting to taste and touch him.

With a groan, he yanked her against him, and his breathing came hot and shallow against her ear. Her blood thundered through her veins, pulsing at her temples, pounding in her throat. His smell—horses, leather and musk—invaded her nostrils and brought images of making love to him into the forefront of her mind.

Her legs were suddenly weak, and when he lifted his head to stare into her eyes, she saw the hot intensity, the fires of desire flaming bright in their coal black depths.

She'd told Skye that there was nothing between Sloan and her and that Skye's suddenly romantic imagination was running wild. Sloan had helped her, true, saved her life, but she wasn't involved with him. No way, no how.

But now, clinging to him beneath the thin veil of clouds blotting the moon, she doubted her own convictions. Yes, she was involved with Sloan. Yes, they were in the middle of a relationship, even an affair. But no, she didn't love him. She couldn't. He wasn't the loving kind. Whatever he'd once shared with his deceased wife, he wasn't about to share it again with any woman.

“This will never work,” he said, voicing her own doubts. The words hung in the air like tiny cold shards of ice and pierced deep into her heart. Though she was thinking the very same thoughts, to hear them spoken hurt to the quick.

“I know.”

“We can't—”

“I know!” She pulled out of his embrace and cleared her throat. Pretending that she felt nothing, she tossed her hair off her face and checked her watch. “Come on. It's cold and late. Kiki will be fit to be tied if we hold up dinner.” She started back to the house.

“Casey...” The sound of her name caught her off guard, but she steeled her heart.

“What is it you want from me, Redhawk?” she demanded, whirling to face him again. Planting her fists on her hips, she glared at him and felt the heat of her temper rise in her cheeks.

His jaw tightened. “I wish I knew.”

“The way I see it, you're here because you have a job to do. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“That's the way you see it?” He lifted a skeptical brow.

“Can't be any other.”

Frowning, he squared his hat on his head. “You're more to me than a job, Casey.”

She felt a jolt in her heart and ignored it. “Then you're a fool.”

His sudden smile caught her by surprise. “No doubt about it.” Grabbing her elbow, he spun her to face him, held her close enough that she felt the warm fog of his breath and hesitated. She expected him to kiss her, felt that special little thrill whenever he was so close as he slowly tipped up her chin with one gloved finger and stared straight into her eyes. “And you're a liar, Casey McKee. A damned sweet liar, but a liar nonetheless.”

“I
don't
lie.”

“Right.” His lips settled over hers and she wanted to pull back, to shove him away and prove that he meant nothing to her, but she didn't. Instead, a small moan escaped from her lips, and as he pressed closer, her spine bowed so that her head was angled upward to him. Heat swirled in her blood, her senses dimmed and snow fell around them in soft white flakes that seemed to curtain them from the rest of the world. When he lifted his head, he stared at her with an intensity that caused her heart to pound. “You're the last person I should be involved with.”

“We're not involved,” she said, angry with herself for lying just as he'd accused her.

“Yeah, that's what I try to tell myself, too. It doesn't work.” He kissed her again, lightly this time, then slowly released her. “Don't want to keep Kiki waiting now, do we?” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he headed toward the house and the magic of the moment before was broken.

Casey trudged after him and wondered what in the world she was going to do.

 

Sloan's cover was blown. Everyone in Rimrock knew that Casey had been rescued by the ex-rodeo rider turned investigator. He could no longer expect any loose tongues to confide in him at the Black Anvil. The culprits, whoever they were, would be more tight-lipped than ever when he was around.

But there was nothing he could do about it.

After four days at the ranch, with the snow deep enough to keep him close to the house—close to Casey—he was going stir-crazy, thinking that someone out there was plotting against them. The nights were worse. Just knowing that she was only one room away burned through his mind and kept him tossing and turning and spending more time than he wanted beneath the stinging spray of a cold shower.

Still, he wanted her. Plain and simple. He wanted her as he'd never wanted another woman.

He'd taken to staring out the window and watching the snowy terrain, while his mind spun with erotic thoughts of making love to her. Though he'd only slept with her that one night on the road back to Rimrock, he couldn't stop thinking about it.

He rubbed the kinks from his neck and watched as a night owl swooped beneath the blue glow of a security light near the barn, its shadow passing over the silver ground. He couldn't sleep, his nerves jangled, and he decided that he could use a cup of coffee. He was familiar with the house and could walk barefoot across the cool plank floors without making a sound.

The ranch house itself wasn't all that assuming, not for the richest man in the county. But Jonah had seemed to have a sense of loyalty to his family's original homestead, and over the years the old home had been updated and added to so that it was a single sweeping story with an incredible view of the acreage that was now part of the Rocking M. But it wasn't a grand mansion—it was a livable house.

In the kitchen, he snapped on the lights, heated water in the microwave and waited. Two spoons of bitter-tasting, freeze-dried coffee later, he was on his way back to Jenner's room, wondering what his next step would be. He couldn't just sit and wait for someone else to make a move.

He'd planned on seeing Barry White, who was being extradited to Oregon, the minute the bastard landed in the county jail. So far, the FBI hadn't been able to bully a story from him. Even though they'd offered him a good deal with a shortened prison sentence if he cooperated and named his partner or partners, he'd kept his silence. He'd hired an attorney, a slick guy from Dawson City by the name of Reggie Camp.

Camp seemed to be working for free because White didn't have a dime to his name. Either Reggie thought the notoriety of this case would bring him bigger cases in the future and make the value of his services go up, or someone was paying Barry's bills for him. Sloan smiled in the darkness. That was an interesting angle. Who? Steve Jansen had a little money and maybe Ned did, as well. But Randy Calhoun was supposed to be broke—almost destitute. The Purcell family had a few bucks between them. Otis had quite a bit of land, some of it timber rich. Fred Donner wasn't supposed to have much cash, not since Jonah had laid claim to his water rights and eventually his ranch.