Jeremiah stepped inside to pull his fleece on while the sausage cooked on the Coleman stove out on the porch. In a sharp contrast to last night’s blissful warmth, it was downright chilly this morning, and a fine rain drifted from the sullen gray sky, dampening the world and dimming the vibrant colors of summer. It was cold enough that he could see his breath. Heather lingered in bed, staring blankly out the window. The far-off look in her eyes made his chest tighten.
“You all right?” he asked.
She nodded but didn’t look at him.
Sighing, he turned to the wood stove to stoke the fire—good thing he’d cleaned the flue pipe when he’d moved in—and left the cozy warmth of the cabin to turn the sausage and scramble eggs on the second burner.
He couldn’t wrap his head around it.
Not that she’d contemplated suicide. That part he understood even if it broke his heart.
He didn’t understand how her family could see her strength and independence as a fault. How could they not appreciate how hard she’d worked to get where she was, to build a successful career for herself from something she loved? That was an incredible feat few people managed.
When breakfast was ready, he set the table while Heather slipped into her jeans. She sat hunched over the table in the old spindle-legged chair across from him with her hands folded in her lap. Because she didn’t seem too inclined to dish herself breakfast, he did it for her, and when he returned to his chair, he reached for her, resting his hand on the worn table top with his palm up in invitation. She didn’t seem to notice, so he withdrew his hand, uncertain.
“Are you okay?” he asked more firmly this time.
Finally, she met his eyes, and he flinched at the exhaustion in them.
“Looks like you have one hell of an emotional hangover right now,” he murmured.
She nodded, and her lips twitched with the faintest hint of a smile. “That’s a good way to put it. I’ve never talked about it like that before. Not even with Ainsley.”
“Did it help at all… or just make it worse?”
“It helped. But, like you said, I have an emotional hangover.”
“Do you still want to come with me to check on the cows, or would you rather stay here in the toasty warm cabin?”
“I’ll go. I could use the fresh air.”
They ate in silence, and after they’d finished, Jeremiah checked the pot of water he’d set on the wood stove to heat for dishes, but it wasn’t hot enough yet. Heather wandered over to the bed and sat on the edge of it, staring out the window again. Concerned, he sat beside her and rubbed his hand across her back. After about two seconds of that, she leaned against him with her head on his shoulder.
She let him rub her back for some time, and he was happy to do it, more so as she slowly came back to life again. About the time he figured the water was hot enough, she tilted her face up and kissed him, tugging on his bottom lip as she stood. She pushed him back onto the bed and straddled his waist, kissing him with increasing demand. When she slid her hands under his fleece, pressing the heels of her hands hard against his bare skin as she worked them up his body, he shuddered.
There was no trace of that dangerous fire in her, no warning going off in his head telling him to stop or risk getting burned. Only pure, delicious need. So he gave in.
“You’re not going to stop me,” she said huskily. It was more a statement than a question, but she searched his eyes, seeking clarification.
“Do you want me to?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t.”
Without warning, she claimed his mouth again, and just when he caught up to her, she shifted her attention to his jaw, nipping at it before raking her teeth over his neck. He swore under his breath, and she laughed with a feline smugness. She grabbed the front of his fleece and pulled him upright just so she could remove it slowly and torturously, trailing kisses from his stomach to his collar bone as she lifted it over his head.
He wasn’t exactly inexperienced, but he’d never been with a woman as bold and confident as Heather, and beneath her demanding touches, he felt like an unseasoned boy. He tried to tell her to slow down, that he wanted to savor every moment and every exquisite touch, but the words wouldn’t cooperate.
When her fingers slid over his scars, exploring the puckered texture, he winced.
“Sorry,” she murmured, nipping at his jaw with her teeth again.
Damn, he liked it when she did that. “’S okay,” he mumbled. “I’m a little self-conscious about them. It’ll pass. Oh, God.”
His eyes rolled back into his head when she sat deep into his lap and slid her hands under the elastic waistband of his flannel pajama pants to grip his buttocks. He couldn’t explain how she did it, but she used her arms and shoulders to push his upper body back while she worked his pajamas down his hips. He could do nothing but obey, so he laid back and lifted his pelvis off the bed so she could slide them and his boxers—both at once—the rest of the way off.
Then she dragged her hands down his body all the way from his jaw and wrapped a hand around him. He groaned.
She let go long enough to shimmy out of her jeans. She left the black lace panties on for now but she pulled his T-shirt off slowly, teasing him. As if he wasn’t already achingly aroused. Suddenly impatient, he grabbed her around the waist and yanked her onto the bed. He skimmed his hands up her legs and drew her panties down them.
Laughing breathlessly, she whispered, “Atta boy.”
Ignoring the sensation of surreality, he ran his hands over her sleek body with hunger pounding through him, reveling in the feel of silken skin beneath his palms. He kneaded one breast and latched onto the other with his mouth, and she arched into him. A soft moan escaped her, demanding more. He obliged, rocking his hips against hers. Encouraged by the way she dug her fingers into his back, he slid his hands between her legs to massage her until she begged him to take her.
She was already there.
“You’re sure you want this?” he asked hoarsely.
She clasped his face and kissed him. “I’m sure. I need this. I need you.”
Catching her bottom lip between his teeth, he plunged into her, gratified by her gasp of pleasure.
There was no take-it-slow-and-savor-it; impatience and ravenous desire ruled them both, and as he thrust deep, Heather clawed at his back and gripped his hips with her thighs. She was exquisite, and as they reached the peak together and crashed over it, he knew there would never be any woman who could ever compare. There never had been.
She hooked her arms under his with her fingers curled over his shoulders and her nails biting into his skin, clutching him to her as her body clenched around him. Panting and trembling, he didn’t know how much longer he was going to be able to hold himself above her before his arms gave out.
“Heather, I—”
“Shh.”
When she finally released him, he sank onto the bed beside her and rolled onto his back with his head turned toward her. He watched the rise and fall of her chest slow as she caught her breath, and when she had, a smug, feline grin curved her lips. He couldn’t help but grin in response. He might’ve felt totally inexperienced there for a while, but he’d still managed to satisfy her.
She rolled onto her stomach and pillowed her head on her arms, smiling at him. “You are full of surprises, Jere.”
“How do you mean?”
“You usually wait for me to make the moves—both physically and emotionally—and I love that. But I didn’t expect you to take command like that. That was… incredible.” She pushed against his shoulder. “And don’t look so smug about it.”
“Smug? No. For a while in there, you made me feel like a green-broke boy.”
She laughed huskily and stretched her neck to kiss him. “Coulda fooled me.”
They lay there for a while, naked and sated atop the blankets while he trailed his fingers lightly over her back. Finally, the sound of boiling water drew his attention.
“Crap. I forgot about the dishes.”
“We could always go for round two while we wait for the water to cool.”
“Tempting.” He chuckled. “So damned tempting. But I still have cattle to check on.”
“Bummer.”
“We’ll probably need some warming up after, though.”
She answered him with a grin.
He kissed her as he rolled off the bed. Yanking on his boxers, pajama pants, and fleece, he grabbed the water bucket and headed around to the water pump.
The task of washing their dishes took far longer than it should; Heather flirted and played, sliding her hands over his arms and shoulder and chest and back and nipped at his neck in a most distracting way as he worked, trying to draw him back into bed.
“You may have the day off,” he said huskily as he fended off another advance, “but I have to work.”
Finally, with his chore out of the way, he dressed quickly while Heather went out to use the outhouse. When she returned, she stuck her bottom lip out in the most adorable pout but changed into her clothes.
“Murph, you coming?” he asked his dog.
The Australian shepherd perked his ears but didn’t lift his head or otherwise move a muscle to get off the bed.
“Spoiled dog,” Jeremiah muttered.
“Can you blame him?” Heather asked. “The weather sucks.”
“You wanna stay here with him?”
“Tempting,” she replied, slipping into her wind breaker. “But nope. Let’s get this over with.”
Jeremiah grabbed the rifle leaning against the wall beside the door. He didn’t usually take it with him on his rounds, but the patter of rain and the growing wind would make it more difficult to hear any disturbance amongst the cows, and he didn’t want to be caught off guard and unprotected by a bear or mountain lion. Not that he’d seen signs of either in the two weeks he’d been up here. He tried not to think it, but it wasn’t a predator of the four-legged variety he was most concerned about; the autopsy on the dead calf had revealed that the cause of death was a bullet to the head just like the heifer.
Despite the cold drizzle, their ride around the allotment to check on the cows and inspect the fence line was pleasant. Heather let him ride Jinx, who she’d been keeping up here at the allotments with his chestnut gelding, Flame—what was it with him and fire?—and he marveled at the thoroughbred’s smooth gates. He definitely wasn’t a cow horse, and while he eyed the cattle with curiosity, he was too well-trained and trusted his rider’s promise that the bovines were safe for him to ride through.
Jeremiah had thought himself spoiled by Flame, who’d been trained by Ty Evans and responded to his rider’s lightest commands, but with Jinx’s easy gaits combined with that same, remarkable sensitivity, he was in awe… not only of the horse but of his owner. Heather had trained her ex-racer entirely herself, and Jeremiah knew she was incredibly talented, but to enjoy her handiwork himself was something else entirely.
“You are a magnificent animal, Jinx,” he murmured, patting the palomino’s damp neck.
They headed west from the cabin and looped south, east, and finally north, talking rarely, happy to enjoy each other’s company. Heather was much more her usual self, but some of her intoxicating vivaciousness was missing, replaced by a quiet contemplativeness. He might be tempted to think she was still struggling with her emotional hangover, but it was too natural. It seemed more that this was a side of her few people were ever lucky enough to see—her soft and fragile core that she protected with her bold and blunt mannerisms.
The worry that she would walk away from him as she’d walked away from so many other men had been subdued, but it lingered, a tiny voice deep in his mind reminding him that he had made the choices that had earned her family’s scorn. Maybe he wasn’t that man anymore, but he had been once upon a time. And it didn’t help that he hadn’t yet figured out what her previous boyfriends had lacked that she needed. Still… the fact that he was only the second person she’d told about contemplating suicide when she was seventeen—and the first she had discussed it with in such detail—had to mean something. At the very least, she trusted him with that immensely private and deep-rooted secret.
To lose her after that would break him.
He loved her blunt way of speaking, her vibrant spirit, her dedication to her career, her incredible body…
He just loved her.
Maybe he was a fool bound to have his heart burned to ashes, but he couldn’t help how he felt. He’d known from the first time he’d met her that she was exactly the kind of woman he wanted. Their time together and now their deeply revealing chats only solidified that.
She had changed the relationship by telling him about the teenaged fight with her brother and her suicidal thoughts after. His selfish desire to have her in his life had shifted to a powerful need to make sure she had someone who appreciated everything she was, exactly as she was with all her facets and flaws. Ainsley certainly did, but she had a family of her own now, and Jeremiah suspected that left Heather feeling a bit like a third wheel with no one left who had the time or inclination to hold her together those times when she needed to fall to pieces.
He started to ask if that was why her other relationships hadn’t worked out and what those seemingly perfect men had been lacking, but the out-of-place, dim reflection of gray sky on glass caught his attention. He tipped his head toward it. “See that?”
She nodded. “Looks like a vehicle.”
They rode closer to investigate, and as they neared, the vehicle took the shape of a black Ford Bronco sitting abandoned on the road just beyond the northern fence line a couple hundred yards east of the cabin not far from where they’d found the shot-up target the day they’d discovered the dead heifer.
When they reached it, Jeremiah swung out of his saddle, landing lightly on his feet, and handed his reins to Heather. The Bronco hadn’t been here yesterday afternoon when he’d done his herd check before the Bedspread’s barbecue, and upon closer inspection, he spotted footprints by the driver-side door. He was no expert tracker, but he didn’t have to be to know the tracks were fresh. If he had to guess, he’d say they belonged to a big man; next to his size nine ropers, the tracks were huge—long, wide, and deep with mud pushed up into squishy ridges around them. Peering through the windows, he noted a couple dozen empty beer cans. He tried the handle, and the door popped open, and his lip curled at the unmistakable stink of stale alcohol. Half a dozen shell casings spilled out into the mud, glinting faintly in the gloom.
He’d spent enough time around Aaron that he picked them up with a stick and slipped them into his saddle bag without touching them. Most likely, the vehicle’s owner had nothing to do with the deaths of the two cows… but maybe he did. The roads around here got a fair amount of traffic—mostly adventurers enjoying the mountain trails on four wheelers or dirt bikes—but it was too coincidental that the Bronco should be this close to the Hammonds’ allotments after two cows had turned up dead by gunshot to the head.
He returned his attention to the tracks, following as they led away from the Bronco. Realizing the direction they were going, he lifted his gaze to Heather. “These head to the cabin.”
“Good thing you grabbed the rifle this time.”
Jeremiah didn’t comment, but neither did he ignore the prickle of unease. The sharp fragrance of wood smoke drifted to him on the chilly breeze, and he hoped the man was nothing more than a drunk who’d gotten stuck out in the mountains and caught that same sent and gone looking in search of warmth. It wasn’t freezing, but it was cold enough that a night spent in a broke-down vehicle would be uncomfortable.
When they reached the cabin, a giant of a man stood on the porch, talking gently to the dog snarling with hackles raised like porcupine quills. Murph glanced only briefly at them, too intent on barring the man from entering the cabin to give them much of his attention.
“I just wanna get warm, dog,” the man said.
Jeremiah slipped the rifle out of its boot on his saddle and laid it unthreateningly across his thighs. “Can I help you?” he called.
The man jumped, and when he glanced over his shoulder at Jeremiah, Murph barked and snapped, startling him. He nearly fell down the stairs. He was still a little drunk, it seemed. He swore as he regained his balance.
“Easy, Murph,” Jeremiah called.
His dog sat in the doorway and stopped snarling, but he didn’t take his eyes off the stranger.
“Sorry to bother you folks,” the man said, turning only halfway to Jeremiah and Heather so he could keep an eye on the dog. “I’ve been in that damned Bronco all night, freezing my ass—” He glanced at Heather. “My butt off—sorry, ma’am. I smelled your fire and followed it here. Thought I might be able to get warm and find someone who could point me to the nearest phone so I can call for a tow.”
“What were you doing up here?” Heather asked.
“Just wanted to take a drive in the mountains. Borrowed the Bronco from a friend, and he said I’d have no trouble with it but the damned—darned—thing just up and died on me.”
“What’s your name?” Jeremiah asked.
“Oh, sorry.” The man cautiously made his way down the steps, wincing when Murphy let out a growl.
A jolt of recognition sizzled through Jeremiah when the stranger turned his face fully toward him. Then it faded, leaving him with a vague inkling that he’d seen the man before.
The man lifted his hand in greeting. “Greg Jones.”
The name didn’t elicit the same spark of recognition, which put Jeremiah even more on edge. Shaking the offered hand, he said, “I’m Jeremiah and this is Heather.”
“You’re the ones staying in this cabin?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you, uh, mind…?” He gestured to the open door and shivered. “I’m freezing my balls off. Sorry, ma’am.”
Heather shrugged.
How much of what he said was true, Jeremiah had no idea, but he wasn’t faking the part about being cold. His teeth were beginning to chatter. “Yeah. Come on in and get warmed up. Then I’ll give you a tow over to the Royal R. You can call for a tow into town from there.”
“Thanks, Jerry. I really appreciate it.”
Heather glanced sharply at Jeremiah, and he nodded. He caught the nickname, too. Greg wouldn’t be the first person to screw up his name, but it was one more thing that stretched his willingness to believe Greg was here by coincidence toward the breaking point. Heather volunteered to unsaddle the horses while Jeremiah headed into the cabin with their uninvited guest.
He stoked the fire and put the coffee percolator on the wood stove, watching Greg as he worked. Murphy clung to Jeremiah’s legs, nearly tripping him, with his eyes trained on the stranger. Jeremiah couldn’t blame the dog for his wariness. His own instincts were on high alert, though he couldn’t begin to explain why. There was nothing threatening about the man other than his size—he had to be as tall as Pat O’Neil and Luke Conner and half again wider.
“Good dog you got there,” Greg observed.
“One of the best.”
Heather came in right about the time the coffee was ready. He handed her a cup first, with milk and sugar like she preferred.
“You learn quick,” she remarked quietly with a grin. “You’re going to spoil me.”
“You deserve to be spoiled. You’ve busted your ass on your own long enough.”
Greg didn’t say anything else while he drank his coffee, but Jeremiah sensed the man’s eyes on them. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d met the man before. He’d love to see his reaction to the mention of Zach’s name but couldn’t think of a way to bring his cousin up without being totally obvious. Maybe Aaron could run the plates on the Bronco, see if that turned up anything.
“You ready for this?” Jeremiah asked, taking the empty cup from Greg. “Heather, do you want to stay here?”
“I’ll come. We can take my truck—more room.”
There was nothing obvious about her demeanor, but he sensed an undercurrent of intensity in her, and the way she held his gaze just a moment too long didn’t sit well with him. Then he caught the slightest movement at her side—she’d formed her hand into the shape of a gun. That’s right. She kept a .38 in the center console of her truck.
“Good idea,” he replied. “That way Murph won’t have to stay here. Not sure he’d forgive me for leaving him behind again.”
He reached down to ruffle his dog’s ears. Still the Australian shepherd would not be distracted from his death stare. At any other time, it might’ve been comical.
Jeremiah ushered everyone out the door and closed it behind himself. “Let me just grab the tow strap out of mine.”
Heather let him drive.
It didn’t take long for them to hook the strap to Greg’s Bronco, and with him behind the wheel steering it, Heather and Jeremiah were free to talk. They didn’t immediately say anything; instead, she grabbed a scrap of paper and a pen out of the center console and jotted down the license plate number of the Bronco along with the name the man had given them.
“Murph sure doesn’t like him,” she remarked.
“He doesn’t like most people at first, especially men,” he said. “But he seemed to take a special disliking to this guy. Maybe it’s just that Greg spooked him… but maybe not.”
“You think his name is really Greg?”
“No. And I know him from somewhere. I just can’t put my finger on it.” He let out a growl. “I hate this. For all we know, he might have nothing to do with Zach or the dead cows.”
He glanced at her in between checking his rearview mirror to keep an eye on Greg and the Bronco and watching the road in front of him.
“Everything he said makes sense—it’s logical.”
“But there are too many coincidences.”
He nodded. “Am I losing my mind?”
“I couldn’t say. Everything you’ve told me about your cousin makes him sound like a pretty ruthless guy. And….”
She didn’t immediately continue, and for the time being, he was too focused on the task of towing the Bronco and making sure Greg didn’t rear end Heather’s beautiful, dent-free truck to press her. Once they were on the scenic byway, it was easier, and he glanced at her. Her brows were knitted in a frown of deep thought or old memories—he wasn’t sure which.
“And what?” he asked.
“And the shot cows, the signs of someone staying in the cabin before you moved into it, and now this guy just happening to break down so close to where we found the target…. I don’t know. It kinda reminds me of the summer JP killed Mike and Carol—when he was fucking with Luke’s head. I mean, this is nothing as bad as that, but come on. There are just too many coincidences.”
“Screwing with heads is right up Zach’s alley.”
“I think you ought to call Aaron when we get to the Royal R and let him know what’s going on.”
“I was planning to.”
“Good.”
He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel and glanced in the rearview mirror again as he mulled over Heather’s words. It was bad enough that he was thinking like he was, questioning that this was Zach messing with him and thinking that it was indeed exactly what he feared. That this situation reminded her of JP’s manipulations did nothing to alleviate those fears.
This is nothing as bad as that.
He pressed his mouth into a flat line.
Yet.
* * *
Jeremiah looked up from his book with a trickle of adrenaline heightening his senses. He listened for a minute, but when whatever he heard didn’t come again, he let out a breath and sank back into his camp chair, returning his attention to his book.
This was getting ridiculous. In the three days since he and Heather had discovered the broken-down Bronco and returned to the cabin to find its driver trying to get past Murph, he’d spent far too much time thinking about that encounter. He could’ve used some company to keep his mind off it, even if it came in the form of Aaron or Nick or John or Henry telling him he was being paranoid. Heather’s company would’ve been a far better distraction, but she’d been up only for a couple hours the day after—she’d been swamped at work and with getting ready for her family’s trip to watch Curtis’s final boxing match. So, he’d finally decided it was time to lose himself in a book. But as much as he loved The Hunger Games, the book wasn’t working. Every time he heard a vehicle going by a couple hundred yards away on the scenic byway or caught the distant buzz of four-wheelers out on the numerous trails through these mountains, he was jerked out of his book with a shock of adrenaline just like now.
Aaron had run the Bronco’s plate numbers, and the vehicle was clean—registered to a Randall Cochran in Missoula. Under the pretense of checking up on suspicious activities near where the vehicle had been found, he’d even called the man to verify that “Greg Jones” had borrowed the vehicle. That should’ve eased Jeremiah’s suspicions. After all, Greg had said he was a friend of the owner, so that part checked out.
If anything, he was more suspicious now.
He knew the name Randall Cochran; recognized it with that same sense of vague familiarity he’d felt upon seeing the man. He still couldn’t figure out where he’d encountered the man, but he knew with a gut certainty that the name Randall Cochran and the man who called himself Greg Jones were one and the same.
Slipping his makeshift bookmark—a corner he’d torn off an old herd check sheet—between the pages, he set the hardcover on his chair and wandered into the cabin. He slipped the silver cross from under his mattress and stared at it for a long while.
Zach was behind this.
He had no idea how it was possible, since his cousin had been checking in with his PO on a regular basis and hadn’t missed a single day of work or shown up even fifteen minutes late. Maybe Aaron would find some connection between Zach and this “Greg Jones” and Randall Cochran.
Murph, who’d remained in his spot beside the camp chair, gave a happy yip, so Jeremiah returned the cross to its hiding place and joined his dog on the porch. He couldn’t see the truck yet, but it sounded like Heather’s.
The prospect of seeing her again was a warm summer breeze that drove away the clouds of dark musings. He reached down to give Murph a good behind-the-ears scratch and watched her blue-gray Silverado materialize through the trees.
“This is a welcome surprise,” he called as she parked beside his truck. “I thought you had dinner with your family tonight.”
“I did. But I missed you, so I ditched them again.”
“I bet they’re not too happy about that.”
She shrugged. “They ought to be used to it by now.”
“How have they been since the Fourth?”
“Same as ever. Maybe a little less insulting to you, but that’s only because I walk away any time one of them so much as mentions you.”
He winced. He did not like being a source of friction between her and her family.
“Don’t give me that look, Jere. It isn’t your fault they are the way they are.”
“I know, but….”
She didn’t let him finish that thought, wrapping her arms around his neck as she crested the steps. She kissed him, and he was too glad to have her back in his arms to let thoughts of her family distract him. When she raked her hands back through his hair, his eyes slid closed. That felt good.
“It’s getting long again,” she murmured.
“Yeah, I know. I need to ask Tracie if she can cut it for me sometime this week.”
“Mmm. I don’t know. It kinda suits you.”
He opened his eyes and grinned. “Are you just saying that to get me into bed?”
She tipped her head back and laughed. “Maybe. But we’ll save that for later. We probably ought to get dinner started, though, if we want to eat before midnight.”
“Dinner?”
“Yeah. You didn’t think I came all this way up here just to say hi, kiss you, and be on my merry way, did you?”
“No.” He chuckled. “Henry brought me up a couple good looking T-bones this morning. Steak all right?”
“Sure. And what to go with it?”
“How about some of Tracie’s famous potatoes and a salad?”
“You got it.”
She released and followed him into the cabin. He filled one of the plastic wash basins with enough water to scrub the three potatoes and then handed her a knife and a cutting board and asked her to slice them into thick French fries. While she was doing that, he sliced the onion into rings, halved them, and laid them on a sheet of aluminum foil. Heather scattered the potatoes on top, and he added several pats of butter and some salt and pepper and folded it all into a nice little pouch.
“That’s all she puts in them?” Heather asked.
“Yep. Simple, huh?”
“Yeah, but damn they’re good.”
“They’re my favorites. She says the trick is to use a sweet onion, especially a Walla Walla. If you grow them yourself, even better.”
“Mom’s tried to replicate these, but I don’t think she ever tried sweet onions. I know she tried adding brown sugar once. That was… interesting.” She snorted. “Mom likes to think she’s a gourmet chef, and she’s a good cook and an even better baker, but coming up with her own recipes or figuring someone else’s without directions is not her strong suit.”
Jeremiah fired up the little camp barbecue and set the potatoes on to cook while he seasoned the steaks.
“Those are good looking T-bones. Lazy H beef?”
“Naturally.”
“Who do you guys have do your butchering?”
“Top of the Hill, right here in Northstar.”
She made a sound that was half disgust and half annoyance. “I keep telling my dad to try them, but he won’t listen.”
He wanted to ask if her father had any idea that she was the child who should inherit his ranch, but he already knew the answer. If Brian Brown had refused to teach his daughter to box even though it was obvious she had a natural talent for it purely because she’d been born female, he wasn’t the type to think she could handle running the ranch by herself. And yet he had no problem letting her do it when it suited him… like this next week so he could go watch his eldest son fight.
“I know that look,” Heather said, prodding him in the chest. “It’s the same one I get whenever I think about how backwards my family’s stance on gender roles is.”
He laughed at that, not because it was funny—it wasn’t—but because of the way she delivered it with that adorably exaggerated eye roll and because it was better to laugh than to dwell on everything she’d told him the morning after the Fourth of July barbecue. It was bad enough to know that she suffered because of her family’s expectations for her, but knowing there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to stop them was excruciating.
And that was an entirely new feeling. He’d never been in a position like this before, to have someone trust him with such an incredible secret and to want to help but be unable to do so. He had always been the one needing help.
“Now that look…. I don’t know that one.”
“Just thinking I wish I knew how to make them see you and not what they want you to be.”
“Yeah. Good luck with that. I’ve been trying for thirty years, and nothing has worked. Not the barrel-racing trophies, not the couple of junior boxing fights I won, not the successful horse-training business… even if it’s a partnership with Ty for the time being.”
“Maybe you just need to draw a line in the sand for them. Make it clear that they either meet you on your terms or you’ll cut them out of your life.”
“I can’t do that. Cut them out of my life. They’re my family.”
“Just because they’re your blood, that doesn’t give them the right to treat you like they do. I know, I know. My blood family’s all dead except for the one cousin I wish wasn’t a blood relation, so I don’t really understand the whole ‘you must love your family’ bullshit. It’s abuse, what they do to you, and you don’t owe them a damned thing.”
“Hey, easy,” she cooed, folding her arms around him like he was the one being wronged. “I get what you’re saying. And you’re right. I don’t owe them anything. But they are my family, and…. I don’t know. I love them despite everything.”
“You can love them and still set boundaries with them.”
“Like not agreeing to watch the ranch for them while they’re away? I’ve been regretting that since I said I’d do it.”
“That’d be a start.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear like that.” She sighed and brushed her hand back through his hair again. “I’m beginning to wish I’d paid a lot more attention to you long before now. You’re a pretty amazing guy, Jere.”
“Thanks. I, uh, hate to interrupt this little heart-to-heart, but I need to get the steaks on the grill.”
Reluctantly, she released him and wandered over to the camp chair he’d vacated just before she’d arrived. He watched her from the corner of his eye when he wasn’t shooing his dog away from the barbecue. She picked up his book and opened it to the first page.
“The Hunger Games, huh?” she asked. “I’ve seen the movie, but I haven’t read the book.”
“The book is better,” he replied.
“They always are.” She shook her head with a faint, poignant smile gracing her features. “You keep surprising me.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. You’re nothing like I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“Not much.” She glanced sharply up from the book. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded. I just meant that you’re so quiet and reserved around most people that I didn’t expect a bookworm cowboy with a spoiled dog who talks to his truck. There’s a lot more to you that whan you let people see.”
“What’s that saying? Something like the quietest people have the loudest minds.”
“That’s definitely you. More so than me. I’m pretty loud.”
“That doesn’t mean you have a quiet mind. Far from it. You just hide what’s really in your head behind the blunt talk.”
“That’s probably the most complimentary way I’ve ever heard it described.”
“Maybe I just know you better than most.”
“Maybe you do. Hey, is that Aaron?”
Jeremiah turned around to follow her point. Sure enough, Aaron’s truck cruised down the low rise south of the allotment, slowing to turn onto the dirt road to the cabin. The sight of his truck triggered a now-familiar tingle of nerves. He wasn’t expecting Aaron tonight, which meant he had news of some kind, and Jeremiah suspected it wouldn’t in any way connect Zach to any of the incidents up here.
A minute or two later, Aaron was climbing the steps to the porch.
“Something smells great,” he greeted. “Those the steaks Hen brought up?”
“Yep,” Jeremiah replied.
“Heather, sweetheart, how are you?”
“Good. And you?”
“Can’t complain.”
Jeremiah tried to ignore his aggravation, but it came spilling out despite his efforts. “Why are you here, Aaron?”
His surrogate brother regarded him with concern. “I’m sorry this is so hard on you, Jere. I am. I wish I had more answers for you, but I do have some good news. Those shell casings you found?”
“Yes?”
“They’re the same caliber and manufacturer as the bullets that killed the cow and the calf.”
The rush of relief—of validation—was incredible. “And?”
“That was enough to get a search warrant for the Bronco, Randall Cochran’s home and Greg Jones’s home. Only… I’m having trouble tracking down Mr. Jones.”
“That’s because Greg Jones is Randall Cochran.”
“It’s beginning to look that way.”
“Still no ties between him and Zach?”
“No, but I’ll keep looking.”
Jeremiah sighed and stepped away to turn the steaks. His gut said there was a connection, that Zach was somehow orchestrating all this despite all the evidence to the contrary. The very fact that there was so much evidence and none of it pointing to Zach made him even more certain of it. Since Heather had made the connection to the way JP had toyed with Luke and the Conners, he hadn’t managed to get it out of his head. It was just too Zach. He was too good at manipulating situations and people for his reformed sinner act to be real—it was too obvious.
“Aaron, you are great at anticipating small-time criminals, and thank God that’s really all you have to deal with in this county. But Zach isn’t like them. He’s smart. He is a master manipulator. He didn’t build the biggest drug-running empire in this county by being stupid and leaving easy-to-follow trails. I’m telling you, he’s pulling strings again.”
“I believe you, Jere, but I have to operate within the law, and the law requires evidence. We have none. My gut says the same thing yours does even if my brain can’t figure out how it’s possible. I’m doing everything I can.”
Jeremiah let out a growl, and Heather came to stand beside him with her arms around him. That helped. “I’m sorry, Aaron. I’m just frustrated. And this is making me a little crazy.”
“Which, if this really is Zach, is probably exactly what he wants.”
He nodded. Of course, refusing to let this get to him was impossible. He’d spent too many years fearing the day Zach was released from prison, certain his cousin would make good on his unspoken threat at the earliest opportunity.
“Anyhow,” Aaron sighed, “I just wanted to let you know what I found. Keep that rifle close, just in case. I’ll leave you two to enjoy your evening. Heather, it’s always a pleasure.”
“Likewise,” she replied.
By the time Aaron pulled out onto the scenic byway, the steaks and potatoes were done, and putting the salad together kept Jeremiah’s mind occupied for a time. Heather’s praise of his potatoes kept him occupied a little longer.
“I’m not kidding. These are just like Tracie’s.”
“You should make them for your mom.”
She smirked conspiratorially. “I should… and pretend I don’t know why they’re better than hers. Speaking of cooking, I want to have you down for dinner sometime this week while my family’s out of town. Just you, me, and Christina. I want to give her a chance to get to know you without her husband whispering in her ear.”
“Dinner at your place? Sure.”
“No, at the main house. I’m staying there while everyone’s gone.”
He eyed her over his plate. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“Yep. I won’t get to see you much this week, and if my family doesn’t like having you in the house, they can suck it.”
“I just don’t want to create any more drama for you.”
“How many times am I going to have to say this? You aren’t the one creating the drama.”
“No, but I’m the reason for it.”
“If it weren’t you, it’d be something else. Like me breaking up with Dustin. So you’ll come? I already talked to Christina about it, and she’s willing to give you a chance to prove you’re not some degenerate out to drag me down into the criminal underworld.”
It was meant to be funny, so he gave a half-hearted chuckle, but it just made him sad. Would he ever bury his past, or would his mistakes precede him every time he met people who knew him only by his reputation?
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was a bit much.”
“It’s not what you said. But it would be nice if people looked at me and saw me and not what I did as a stupid, desperate kid.”
She reached across the table, offering her hand in a show of silent support, and as he took it, he met her gaze. What he saw in her eyes was breathtaking.
It was the soul-deep connection of someone who understood exactly the pain of being misunderstood. And that, he realized, was what made their relationship so beautiful and rare.
Was his ability to empathize with her also what he had that none of those other men did? If it was, he had a shot… a real shot at capturing her heart like no one else had.
A real shot at forever with her.