Sitting in the back seat of a quad cab truck outside my apartment, I watched as Walker backed the Jeep into a parking space. The anxious buzz swarming inside my head from the moment the vehicle was loaded onto a hauler at the ranch finally receded, then vanished completely as my gaze lingered over his long, supple frame unfolding from the Jeep. Moving toward the truck, he passed beneath the security lights, looking dangerous with the collar on his jacket flipped up against the wind, the shadows deepening the strong lines of his face.
Remembering how I had kissed him at the ranch, my cheeks grew hot and sore as I fought down a schoolgirl’s grin.
Finished securing the hauler’s tie downs, Royce Hammond jumped into the front passenger seat. Staring at Walker had erased the stable manager’s presence in my mind. Memory refreshed, I jerked, my legs and torso protectively moving toward one another. The pain was instant, but more like someone sticking sewing needles into the injured leg than the hot slice of a butcher’s knife that had made me collapse into Walker’s arms at the ranch house.
I drew a silent breath and waited until I could talk without groaning or wincing in discomfort.
Breathe in, breathe out, smile...
I threaded my hand between the two front seats.
“Thank you for the assist today.”
Taking a moment to stifle a yawn, Royce nodded then shook my hand.
“Don’t get much use out of the hauler this time of year,” he answered. “Good to stay in practice.”
“You know,” I chuckled. “Every local I run into in Montana makes it sound like I’m doing them a favor when they are the ones helping me.”
Looking over his shoulder, Royce cracked a smile.
“I guess I never thought about it that way. Just how people do things around Willow Gap.”
Catching Walker’s approach from the corner of my eye, I opened my door then carefully swiveled to get my left leg out over the big truck’s rail step. Getting into the cab had been murder, but, no matter how good a kisser Walker Turk was, I wasn’t about to be lifted up into the truck in front of two FBI agents, one local sheriff and a deputy trainee.
Standing straight, he held his arm out as a brace. I gripped it, my other hand holding onto the frame of the door, and put my left foot down first.
A ragged puff of air escaped me, but I didn’t cry out or start to fold to the ground. Hopefully, by morning, I would be back to nothing worse than a limp.
Walker waited until I stepped to the side of the truck before he reached in and grabbed my bags.
“Back in a few minutes,” he told Royce.
I had already invited both men into the apartment before we hit the road for the return drive, but Royce had passed up the offer after a glance at his watch.
While good manners had dictated that I extend the offer, I was glad Royce had declined. I wanted a few minutes alone with Walker.
I unlocked the apartment door and entered, turning the lights on with a quick flip of the switch. Without checking to see if he’d followed me in, I made straight for the freezer and a large bag of frozen peas.
Walker chuckled. “Daddy always said they were cheaper than ice packs.”
“They stay cold about as long, too,” I replied.
He wiggled his shoulders, my laptop bag and field case swinging lightly.
“Where do you want these?”
“By the recliner.”
Watching him walk the unimpeded path from the door to the only real piece of furniture in the living room, I chewed at the inside of my cheek.
Putting the bags down, his gaze moved around the empty space. “How long have you lived here?”
“Two months.”
My answer was as spare as the surroundings. I had arrived in Montana on a Thursday, secured the apartment on a Friday and bought the recliner that Saturday. I slept on it for the first few weeks until I found a decent mattress that didn’t instantly result in sticker shock. All of my clothes were either hanging from a rod or on the shelves built into one side of my closet. There was no television, no table. Books filled half my kitchen cupboards. Pushed under the overhang of the breakfast counter, a single stool served me when I ate and when I worked on my laptop.
“Spartan,” he chuckled. “Did you bring all this from California?”
I answered with an eye roll and a shake of my head. I had purchased everything in my last apartment at thrift stores. Paying for a gas guzzling rental truck would have exceeded the value of those furnishings. I had brought my books and clothing. Nothing else.
“Well,” he teased, “I love what you’ve done with the place.”
I couldn’t bring myself to match his smile. I could afford a couch, but I didn’t expect to have anyone over. I was the resident special agent in charge for the office. In Billings, that meant I was the only agent. My office, if it could be called that, was a stale, windowless eight-by-eight former break room with a door on it in one of the city’s federal buildings. Boxes of files left over from Deacon’s tenure shrank the workspace down to nothing.
Certified public accountants discussing tax codes filled the halls where I worked—when they weren’t holed up in their offices and cubes, fingers dancing over their calculators while they peered studiously at massive code and regulation books. The FBI resident office where Emerson and Agent Armstrong worked may have been a three-minute walk on the same square block, but it was also a world away.
“Sorry,” he said, joining me at the counter. “Sorta looks like you’re just passing through.”
I shook my head. “Part of taking the Billings office when it opened up was being able to afford a house with some land.”
“Putting down roots,” he said, moving close and sucking his bottom lip in.
I wanted to bite that lip while I knotted my fingers in his hair.
“Something like that,” I groaned as he brushed his thumb along the line of my jaw.
“Royce is probably getting antsy,” he said, both of his hands moving behind my head.
I felt the long, slow draw of a bobby pin from my braided hair, then heard it click as Walker placed it on the counter and found the next of three pins securing the tight bun.
“Deacon barely had any hair,” he joked, removing the third pin. He gently pulled the elastic band from the bottom of the braid. “I’ve been itching to know what this looks like down. Been imagining it from day one.”
Reaching behind me, I shook the braid loose and removed the top band. Walker took over, running his fingers through my hair as he stepped in close. He pressed a handful to his face and breathed deeply. His hand moved to the side of my throat, his fingers lightly splayed so that he touched me from earlobe to collarbone, his thumb restlessly caressing up and down.
“How’s the leg?”
“Much better,” I answered.
A reluctant smile ghosted his face.
“Liar,” he softly accused, his lips pressing a kiss at the corner of my mouth.
I expected him to pull away, but his other hand dropped to rest just above the top curve of my ass, his touch warming the small of my back. His teeth fastened on my bottom lip and sucked it into his mouth.
Turning into jelly, I leaned into Walker’s hard body. I gripped one strong shoulder, my other hand wrapping around his lean hip to secure him to me. His tongue slid into my mouth to curl and stroke between my top lip and teeth.
My clit danced with each sensuous lick until my entire body began to shake.
Walker parted from me with a sigh and a glance at the front door.
“I don’t see you being able to drive tomorrow,” he said.
“Don’t need to,” I answered, disappointment subduing my voice. “Moske said I couldn’t have any officers. But he didn’t say anything about field interns. I’ve got one coming in from the Bozeman office who can do all the driving and heavy lifting.”
He nodded, but his face didn’t look satisfied.
“I know you’re worried they’ll make you ride a desk, but driving the Jeep is the least of your worries with that leg. It’s going to take horses or ATVs to get into where those packs were at.”
My shoulders bounced. “I’ll cross that gully when I reach it.”
Walker dropped his chin as he looked at me, his bottom lip firmly lodged between his teeth for a deliciously long second. “Don’t expect I’ll be able to tag along next time.”
I shook my head. The location of the packs, if that’s what they were, was definitely on park land. The packs were evidence and the owners might be armed and dangerous. I wouldn’t take a civilian into that situation.
“Okay.” His jaw relaxed. Lightly pinching my chin, he leaned close once more. “So when might I see you again?”
I glanced at the door, surprised at how much I wished using the hauler hadn’t required a third person.
“I’m hoping I’ll be out that way tomorrow before noon. Moske may be micro-managing, but he can’t sit on his hands after what we found today.”
Walker shook his head and then his lips grazed mine. “I meant, when might I see you alone again.”
All my weight centered on my right leg, I began to sway. My eyes slipped shut. I pushed into him, hands surfing upward to rest against his chest.
“Weekend maybe,” I whispered. “You have plans?”
“If I did,” he answered, moving in for a long goodbye kiss. “I’d break them.”