The front door slammed, the reverberations rattling through the house and waking Rylie. She blinked away early-morning sunlight as wisps of her dream came back to her—of a dark stranger with a very impressive package and some talented fingers.
Her body ached at the thought of what had happened last night to inspire such an erotic dream. A tiny part of her thought she should feel properly guilty for her Peeping Tom routine and maybe even freaked out by making out with a stranger—but the rest of her said, Screw it.
It was hot.
It was fun.
Rylie might be uptight about a lot of things, but sex sooo wasn’t one of them. Healthy, heated, and consensual—that’s all that counted.
She smiled and stretched her limbs, the sheet sliding across her bare flesh and down to her waist, exposing her body to the cool morning air. She always slept in the nude and loved how freshly laundered linens smelled, and how they felt against her naked skin.
With a grin, Rylie bounded out of bed and snatched her robe off the hook on the back of her bedroom door. She was a morning person and rarely slept in late, but that dream had certainly been worth sleeping in for. She had needed something to help her forget about the truck thefts, and had last night ever been the ticket.
She slipped on her robe and then opened her door to head to the bathroom across the hall, her mind wandering to the memory of last night. How incredible it felt to have the stranger’s muscled body pressed tight to her backside, his big hand between her thighs, his fingers moving like they knew exactly where to touch. That deep, sexy voice of his was enough to make her explode just thinking about it.
Too bad the man had pulled a vanishing act. She had a feeling he would’ve been one hell of a ride. His voice, though... Something about it had been familiar. Was he someone she knew? He had a mustache, wore jeans and a Western hat—that much she’d been able to tell. She knew a few men with mustaches—Wade Larson and a couple of Skylar MacKenna’s ranch hands... but the voice just didn’t match any of them.
Rylie shut and locked the bathroom door as she thought about how she’d instinctively trusted her mystery man. She had a natural intuition about most folks that was almost always dead-on. The one time she didn’t listen to that internal voice, she came close to being raped in high school by an asshole named Reggie Parker. Thank God Levi had come to her rescue and kicked Reggie’s skinny white ass.
Unfortunately, Levi had ended up in jail overnight for hitting a minor. That bastard Reggie had deserved having his face turned into hamburger. Rylie still owed her big brother for that one.
The faucet creaked and pipes groaned as Rylie ran the water in the tub, waiting for it to turn from freezing to only chilly before she jumped in. She and Levi needed to get a new water heater in the worst way, but right now most of their cash was sunk into the herd and she was going to have to shell out a bunch more to cover the cost of new trucks, whatever insurance didn’t pay. If only the price of beef would go back up, they might be able to afford a thing or two. The smell of rust met her nose, the water coming out orangish-red, compliments of plumbing twice her age. New pipes would be nice, too. Hell, a new house was what they really needed.
Once the water ran clear, Rylie ditched her robe and stepped under the spray. She shivered from the burst of cold. Accustomed to rushing through her morning ice-water shower, she shampooed her hair, soaped her body, and shaved her armpits, legs, and other places in record time.
How did he know I was the shaving type? Mystery Man must have himself some good instincts.
Rylie thought about how the stranger enjoyed touching her. What would he look like? Judging by the height of his package pressed against her backside, she figured he was a good eight inches taller than her, which would put him at close to six feet.
Her body got a lot warmer despite the chill of the water on her flesh. He was big in other ways. She had definitely been able to tell that without even touching him with her hands. Ten inches, or she’d eat a pair of her own underwear. A man like that, tall and strong and well proportioned...
Yum.
The sound of water roared in Rylie’s ears, blending with the pounding of her heart. Goose bumps sprouted on her skin, and she knew she had to get a grip and drag herself back to reality.
Reluctantly, she shut off the water and reached for a towel off the rack.
Too bad reality couldn’t always be like last night.
***
Clay wondered why he was even trying to concentrate. Every three seconds, his mind wandered to Rylie Thorn, and once he got her in his thoughts, he couldn’t get her out.
She fit in his hands like he had been born to touch her. And the way she smelled, the silk of her skin—Damn. Just, damn.
He shook his head, but that didn’t help, so he took a deep breath and forced himself to stare at the file folders on the desk in front of him: “Hazard Quinn,” “Sam Blalock,” and “Joe Garrison.” His three day-shift deputies, or more to the point, the heap of a mess he had inherited from the previous sheriff. These men had little training, even less discipline, and they had been allowed to run wild with a boss who barely showed up to work, and a superior officer, Gary Woods, who had gone about as bad as a law officer could go.
Clay glanced out his office window. Hazard Quinn was bent over a stack of papers, his too-tall dark hair sprayed in place as if he hoped he’d run into Elvis or Lyle Lovett, and be able to express his undying admiration. The boy worked hard, but he was young and he had a tendency to go off half-cocked. Then there was Sam Blalock—blond, too handsome for his own good—and that goatee, which would have to stay trimmed. Clay didn’t want anybody working for him who reminded him of old church paintings of Satan. Blalock had proven himself handy at turning up information other people missed, and that was good, because Joe Garrison was hitting middle age, working on a whole lot of nothing besides his paunch. The man had a tic that made him blink until Clay could barely concentrate when he was trying to work with the guy.
“Construction projects,” Clay muttered to himself. “All three of them.” He closed the folders, stacked them up, and pushed them off to the side. Then he picked up a list he’d been keeping, folded it, and slipped it into his jeans pocket. He wasn’t going to start thinking about Rylie Thorn again, not unless he kept sitting on his ass. The only cure for wanting a woman like he was wanting her was work, hard work, and lots more work on top of that.
He walked out into the main area and pointed to Quinn and Blalock. “You and you. Come with me. We’ve got a few stops to make.” To Garrison, Clay said, “Hold the fort and give us a shout if you need us.”
Garrison looked relieved that he wouldn’t have to do much of anything, and Clay bit back a rumble of irritation. He’d lead, the young ones would follow, and before long, Garrison would either pick up his step or get on out of their way.
Clay took a squad car and had both deputies follow in another. He hadn’t made an appointment, but after yesterday’s little display, Guerrero had opened the door for him to waltz back into Arizona Motors South with a semblance of a good excuse. When he pulled into the lot, he parked in a far-off spot and had Quinn and Blalock do the same.
He got out into the day’s heat and motioned to both men, who stopped in front of him, alert and nervous.
Good.
They should be nervous this close to a swimming shark or a prowling wolf. Nervous might keep them both alive when things got dicey down the road.
He faced the older of the two, the one with the chin hair. “When we go in, I’m going to talk to Guerrero alone. Blalock, you keep an eye on the employees. I want to know what they do, how they seem to you.”
“Yessir.” Blalock bobbed his head and his goatee bounced up and down.
Clay tried not to notice. He turned to Quinn and continued with Police Work for Kindergarteners. “Guerrero’s office is glassed in instead of walled off, so the view’s clear. Stand off a few paces and keep an eye on Guerrero as he talks to me. Watch for anything I might not see.”
“Gotcha, boss.” Quinn smoothed his hair even though not a strand was out of place, couldn’t possibly be out of place, and probably would snap clean off if Clay breathed on it too hard. He wasn’t sure he could trust a man who used hair spray, but for now, he didn’t have much choice.
He glanced at the sky, half hoping God would make an appearance and tell him what to do with these two, but he didn’t see so much as a single cloud. The three of them entered the auto dealership, hot and nearly sun-blind, and the cool air hit Clay like a quick slap on both cheeks.
Guerrero’s salesmen saw them, but didn’t approach, which was fine with Clay. Blalock drifted off into the showroom just like he’d been told, and Quinn glanced at Guerrero’s glass office and got busy picking his spot.
Clay headed straight for Guerrero’s door, knocked, and went in when Guerrero looked up and gestured to him.
Guerrero stood, and Clay noted he was dressed all in black, just like the day before, except for his red tie. Maybe he was trying to make black silk a trademark.
Maybe he’d get on good with Hair-spray Boy out in the showroom.
He slipped the list out of his jeans with his left hand and made himself shake Guerrero’s proffered hand with his right.
“I brought a list of victims who would like to take you up on your rental offer.”
“Excellent.” Guerrero showed Clay to a leather seat in front of his desk, then sat in his rolling wing chair. “I’ll have my men call and make appointments for these people.”
He placed the list on his desk, smoothing out the wrinkles, and he gave Clay his best canned smile.
Clay waited for the other shoe to drop, the casual mention of how much it might cost the people for insurance, or fees, or some crap like that. Guys like Guerrero didn’t give something for nothing.
His low opinion must have showed on his face, because Guerrero’s smile slipped away and he said, “You have something else on your mind, Sheriff?”
What the hell. Clay leaned back in his leather chair. Got to start somewhere with everybody in this town, him included. “Mr. Guerrero, you and I don’t know each other very well. I’ve got files and rumors and a handful of personal impressions—not much to go on.”
Guerrero folded his hands on his desk. He didn’t look exactly wary, but he wasn’t all open-and-friendly, either. “And?”
“And you don’t strike me as a man who’d waste his time on small-time truck thefts. High risk, minimal payoff.”
Guerrero went silent for a few seconds, studying Clay with unreadable black eyes. Clay couldn’t be sure, but he thought the man might be weighing his options, choosing his next statement carefully.
What came out was, “I’m not a thief, Mr. Wayland. I’m a businessman.”
“So I’ve heard.” Talking points, just like a damned politician. “And so you keep saying to anyone who’ll listen.”
The muscles in Guerrero’s face twitched. Again, he studied Clay like he was trying to choose the right words, or figure the right course of action.
He probably had some kind of deal with my predecessor. Hope he won’t be damned stupid enough to approach me with that kind of bullshit.
Clay kept his expression amiable enough, but let his eyes speak his mind for him.
“My family has many business interests,” Guerrero said, speaking more slowly than usual. “At times, my interests align with theirs, primarily when I have no choice. Mostly, I sell cars, Sheriff Wayland.”
This guy was a true piece of work. Was he trying to say he didn’t want to play ball with his brothers, that he didn’t want a share of the Guerrero empire?
If so, he was lying through his shiny teeth.
Clay nodded. Whatever. For now, he’d play along. At least he hadn’t started talking bribes or posturing like a bad imitation of the Godfather—that was a plus.
Clay got up to make his exit, and Guerrero stood, displaying, as usual, his impeccable manners. At the door, Clay made a split-second decision, stopped, turned back to Guerrero, and left him with, “If you happen on any information that might help our local ranchers, I’d appreciate hearing about it.”
He stopped short of saying he’d owe the creep a favor. Guerrero wasn’t a man to be indebted to, not for any reason, no matter what kind of grand con he was trying to run on Douglas.
Guerrero seemed to hear what he said, and what he didn’t say. “I’ll ask around, but I doubt I’ll find out anything of interest to you.”
Clay put his hand on the office door again, and Guerrero added, “Whoever is doing this, I’d say he was desperate for fast cash. Like you mentioned—high risk, little payoff.”
Clay gave the man a nod, then left his office. He approached Quinn, who was shifting from foot to foot and actually did have a hair out of place. Two hairs. Maybe three.
“How did he seem to you, Quinn?”
“Relaxed,” the kid said. “It didn’t look like an act.”
Miracles do happen. “That was my take.”
Blalock joined them near the showroom door, and as they stepped back out into the heat, he said, “The salesmen were all business. They’re well trained, I guess.”
“Or just not concerned,” Clay suggested.
They walked in silence back to the squad cars, and as Clay got to his door, Quinn said, “Are you thinking Guerrero’s not involved?”
Clay shrugged. “Anything’s possible.”
“If it’s a crime and it involves money, he’s got his hand in it somewhere,” Blalock said. “I mean, that’s my opinion. Sir.”
The younger man glanced at the ground, obviously anxious about offending his new boss. Quinn held his peace, but he glared back through the plate-glass window and nodded.
“Pisses me off, sir,” Quinn muttered, “that we can’t take them down when we know they’re dirty. He’s got blood on his hands.”
“His family does,” Clay said. “As for him, sooner or later, we’ll sweep up all the trash in this town. Blalock, hook up with our contacts at ICE and with the DEA. Stay on Guerrero, but keep your distance—and keep ICE and DEA in the loop.”
As Blalock nodded, looking like a kid with a brand-new toy to play with, Clay got in his car. Less than a minute later, his thoughts went straight back to Rylie Thorn.
***
It was late afternoon by the time Rylie was close to finishing her daily chores in the barn behind the old ranch house. The sun hung low over the Mule Mountains and the air smelled of fall, mixed with barn smells of dust, manure, and alfalfa hay.
Humming softly to herself, Rylie raked out Sassafras’s stall. Sass was a dappled Appaloosa mare that more than lived up to her name, but to Rylie the ten-year-old horse was like a member of the family. Sass had distinctive cream-colored knee-high stockings on her front legs, but her back legs were solid chocolate brown, as was most of her coat where she didn’t have cream spots. A diamond blaze was on her sleek muzzle, and she had a mischievous spark in her intelligent brown eyes.
Rylie loved to ride whenever she got the chance. It had been her favorite activity as she was growing up, her way to escape the world and her screwed up family life. She’d done pretty well in rodeo competitions, even beating Skylar MacKenna a few times in barrel racing.
A couple of stalls down from Sass was Shadow Warrior, a champion stallion they’d had for eight years. They’d had to sell the rest of their horses when things got tough and they couldn’t afford the feed or maintenance any longer. They used Warrior primarily for stud service, as a way to add a little cash to their income. And Sass, well, there was no way in hell Rylie would ever let her go.
The mare hung her head over the side of the next stall and lipped Rylie’s short blond hair. “Cut that out.” She grinned and shooed Sass away with a playful pat on the mare’s muzzle. Sass whickered and tossed her head, acting for all the world like she was laughing at Rylie.
The entire morning, all Rylie had been able to think about was the stranger from last night. She had never let any man under her skin, and it was starting to irk her that she couldn’t get one little sorta-sexual encounter off her mind.
It was different. It was a rush. But, really. All day, circling around the same guy in her head?
It had to be curiosity. Yeah, that was it. She couldn’t stop wondering what it might be like to actually have sex with the man. The man who had a voice so deep and sensual it sent shivers through her just thinking about it.
After Rylie’s experience with the stranger, even Luke Denver, Skylar MacKenna’s ranch foreman, didn’t seem half as intriguing as before—and Luke was one hot cowboy, with an incredibly sexy drawl. Rylie had been flirting with Luke since she met him, but he’d kept his distance, and now he’d gotten married off to Skylar’s little sister and he was about to take off on a long-delayed honeymoon.
Tingles skittered along Rylie’s spine and she stopped raking when the thought of another incredible hunk crossed her mind.
It couldn’t have been him. Could it?
Yesterday, when she’d met Clay Wayland, both before and after making an ass of herself, she’d just about melted the instant she’d laid eyes on him. She hadn’t been able to speak at first, she’d been so totally captured by lust. He had the most amazing crystalline green eyes, an incredibly deep and thrilling voice, and the sexiest mustache...
Dogs barking and the sound of a truck driving up to the ranch jerked Rylie from her fantasizing. She propped the rake up against the stall door, pulled off her leather work gloves, and tossed them onto a hay bale. Wiping her hands on her jeans, she stomped her boots on the hard-packed dirt floor to kick loose some of the manure.
“Be right back, girl.” Rylie patted Sass’s neck and headed toward the open barn door.
She paused in the shadows, and her heart rate picked up when she saw a truck with the county sheriff’s logo park in her front yard. And then a warm flush stole over her as that fine-looking lawman climbed out of it...
Clay Wayland.
Oh. My. God.
It couldn’t have been him last night.
Damn—it had to be.
As she watched the sheriff stride from the truck, Rylie tugged on her ear, a nervous habit she’d had since she was a child. Sheriff Wayland walked up to Levi, who was standing in front of the house.
The two knew each other in passing, she remembered, because Wayland had asked Levi to use his experience from Special Forces and his contacts at the U.S. Marshals to track down somebody for him a few months ago. Levi hadn’t been able to find the person, but Wayland had seemed grateful for the favor.
Levi smiled and shook hands with Wayland, and Rylie wished she was closer so that she could hear what they had to say. If she wasn’t so sweaty and didn’t smell like the barn, she would have strolled right out. She wanted more of what she knew that sheriff could give her.
That lawman was one hot hunk of male. Tall, broad shoulders, narrow hips, and a tight ass. She had a side view of him, and couldn’t tell what color his hair was because of his Stetson, but he had a sexy sable mustache and nice big hands. She liked a man with big—
As if aware of her, Wayland looked straight to where she was hidden in the shadows. The world stopped on its axis, and for one long moment, she all but forgot how to breathe.
Prickling erupted at Rylie’s nape and the fine hairs stood up on her arms.
He couldn’t see her, could he?
Her heart beat faster as his eyes seemed to lock with hers. But then he turned back to Levi and continued talking like nothing strange had just happened.
Nothing had happened. Surely it was just her desire and thoughts of what happened last night that was making her crazy.
Rylie eased back into the barn, her skin tingling. Her normal I-don’t-give-a-damn-what-anyone-thinks attitude had suddenly taken a hike. She was sweaty, probably had dirt streaked across her face, and smelled like a horse—not to mention the horseshit. As much as she was dying to get to know that sexy lawman, now was not the right time.
Biting her bottom lip, Rylie yanked on her gloves and set back to work, determined not to sneak another peek at the gorgeous man outside.
Sass whickered and moved her head up and down in a kind of horsey nod, as though telling Rylie she should go out and see him anyway.
Rylie glared at her. “What do you know?” she muttered. “You’re just a horse.”
In response, Sass snorted and blew snot all over Rylie’s shirt. “Brat.” Rylie swiped at it with her gloves and managed to wipe the worst of it off. “See if you get your sugar lump later.”
***
There she was.
Clay knew it deep in his gut that Rylie was there as soon as he’d driven up to the Thorn Ranch. While he talked to Levi Thorn about the truck thefts and the report he had filed this morning after getting Levi to fax him the vehicle information, Clay’s instincts had kicked in. And then he’d felt Rylie watching him from the barn.
He pushed up the brim of his hat and turned his attention back to Levi. “Anything else unusual happen on your property that you’re aware of?” Clay asked, watching Levi for any sign of recognition or discomfort at the questioning. “Anything at all?”
“Other than losing fifteen head of cattle during the rustling mess from last year?” Levi shook his head, his manner calm and amiable. “Nothing more than the fence being cut a couple of times. Between the Flying M and our ranch. Luke Denver, the foreman over at Flying M, he’s riding the line just like me, but he’s getting ready to leave town for his honeymoon.
“Too damned bad we haven’t been able to catch the bastards in action,” Levi continued. “Maybe that’s where they came through to get at the trucks, but I didn’t see any tire tracks around there when I went out this morning.”
Clay nodded. “Mind if I talk with your sister?”
With a shrug, Levi jerked his thumb in the direction of the barn. “Ry’s probably working with her Appaloosa.”
After thanking Levi and shaking the man’s hand again, Clay strode toward the barn. Blood thrummed in his veins, the same feeling he always got when he was close to solving a case.
For more than ten years he’d been a street cop and then a detective with the Tucson Police Department. He’d served with TPD from the time he was a rookie until he’d decided to move to the southeastern corner of Arizona to take over as Sierra Vista’s chief of police, some six years ago.
Needing a new challenge, Clay had decided to run for Cochise County Sheriff and the previous fall he had beat out the troubled incumbent by a hefty margin. The papers were making a big deal over the truck thefts, and Clay was determined to seek out the culprits and lock the bastards up.
In a few strides, he made it to the open barn door. Even before he walked into the barn, Clay heard the sound of a rake scraping against the ground and a horse’s soft whicker. When he entered, he stopped for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness. His gaze immediately focused on the petite blond who had her back to him and was raking out a stall.
Clay smiled and his body jerked to attention. He would recognize that fine little ass anywhere... even without the sexy worn-out jeans.
The Appaloosa raised its head and eyed Clay, but Rylie didn’t seem to realize he was there. Just like last night.
He eased up behind her. “Hello, Rylie Thorn.”
Rylie gave a small shriek and whirled around. She clenched the rake to her chest, her big brown eyes wide. “What the hell did you sneak up on me for?” She raised her chin and took a step back. “You like to have scared the crap out of me.”
Damn, but she was cute, right down to the sprinkling of freckles across her nose, and Clay couldn’t help but grin. “You gonna hit me with that thing?”
She glanced at the rake handle and back at him. “Depends.”
Clay raised an eyebrow. “On what?”
“If you ever do that again.”
As she stared up at the man, Rylie took a deep breath and tried to calm her scattered thoughts and the pounding of her heart. It was him last night. That incredible voice and those mesmerizing crystal green eyes... she was definitely in lust.
“Why don’t we try this again?” His mustache twitched as he smiled and held out his hand. “It’s good to see you again, Ms. Thorn.”
“ ‘Ms. Thorn’?” She propped the rake against the stall door, pulled off her gloves, and tucked them into her back pocket. “Don’t you think we’re a little beyond that, Sheriff Wayland?”
“Yeah.” He took her hand, and damn if his touch didn’t send tingles straight to where it counted. “After last night, I hope you’ll just call me Clay.”
His eyes swept over her, lingering on the swell of her breasts and her thin T-shirt. She didn’t feel the need to wear a bra all the time, and right now she felt almost naked under his gaze.
Rylie, who had never found herself at a loss for words around a man, once again couldn’t think of a thing to say, just like the first time she’d met him in his office. Her body vibrated with awareness and need, and all she wanted to do was get naked with him. Now.
“Well?” He released her hand and brought his fingers to her face. She felt him lightly brushing dirt away from her cheek. “What do you say?”
She leaned into the touch of his hand against her face. “Yes.”
Clay cocked an eyebrow and cupped her chin with his hand. “Yes... what?”
“Whatever you’re asking,” she murmured, her eyes focused on his, “the answer’s yes.”
A slow, sexy smile crept over his face, and his voice dropped to that seductive pitch that made her knees weak. “If I wanted to kiss you, that’d be all right?”
Rylie brought her hand up to the copper sheriff’s star pinned to his shirt, and traced it with her finger. “Damn straight.”
He moved closer, so that his muscled body was a fraction from hers, so close she could feel the heat of him through her T-shirt and jeans. “What if I said I wanted more, Rylie? Right here in the barn. You’d say yes?”
She kept her gaze locked with his as she placed her hand right on the bulge beneath his jeans, giving him his answer. He sucked in his breath as she trailed her fingernails up and down his impressive length. God, he was big, and did she ever want him.
Clay dropped his hand from her face as he fought to control the lust building up within him. “If you’re not careful, little wildcat, I might just take you up on what you’re offering.”
“Oh?” Rylie’s chocolate-brown eyes sparkled with sensuality. “What’s stopping you?”
“Only the fact that I’m on the job.” He resisted the urge to taste those sweet lips that pursed into a sexy smile. “And the fact that your brother and someone else are real close to walking in on us.” He jerked his head toward the barn door to where he heard the sound of voices coming closer.
“Oh.” She lowered her hand from his crotch and grinned. “Works for me.”
“About that ‘yes’...” Clay stepped away, putting some distance between them before unwelcome company arrived. “Dinner tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
She didn’t even hesitate. “What should I wear?”
And neither did he. “Short skirt. Tight shirt. No underwear, if you’ve got the guts.”
Dear God.
Rylie shivered as Clay moved away from her to the barn door to talk with Levi and the man she had formerly lusted over, Luke Denver, the Flying M Ranch foreman. Rylie couldn’t help but enjoy the view as she watched the gorgeous sheriff talk with Luke and Levi. Luke really was an example of prime U.S. male with dark brown hair, blue eyes that could make a woman beg, a Bruce Willis adorable grin, and a sexy drawl.
Yet now after she’d met Clay Wayland, Rylie didn’t even feel a twinge of lust for Luke anymore. Well, that was strange. She’d never had any problem maintaining multiple lustings before.
“Some assholes tried to steal Skylar MacKenna’s truck,” Luke was saying to Clay. “Damn near caught the bastards red-handed, but they got away.”
Rylie’s attention snapped from thoughts of the sheriff to concern for her friend and her friend’s ranch. She walked up to the men, feeling like a pixie in the land of the giants. “Is Skylar all right?”
Luke looked down at Rylie and gave her that grin of his that used to make her knees feel like gelatin. “Hey there, Rylie.” His friendly smile vanished as he answered her question. “Yeah, Skylar’s fine. She’s not even here. But that’s the second attempt this week on our vehicles. We’re setting up cameras and doing guard duty in shifts.”
He turned back to Levi and Clay. “Skylar left town for a week with her new husband Zack Hunter, and my wife Trinity went with them to do a little shopping in Bisbee, to get some clothes for our honeymoon. My thinking is that the thieves knew they were out of town, so that’s why they picked last night to strike, not counting on me being around.”
“Their trip sure was sudden-like,” Clay murmured.
Levi shook his head, laughter in his blue eyes. “Well, if you’d seen those two before they left... my guess is they’ve found themselves a hotel room and won’t be seeing daylight for a while. I don’t know what Trinity’ll be doing with herself.”
Luke snickered. “Spending lots of money on clothes I won’t let her wear longer than five minutes.”
Rylie had to laugh, too. The last time she’d seen Skylar was at dinner a couple of nights ago, and Zack couldn’t keep his eyes off of her even though they were sneaking up on their six-month anniversary.
When the two lovebirds couldn’t stand it any longer, Levi, Luke, Trinity, and Rylie had been left alone to finish dinner and clean up the mess—not that anyone complained. The men were more than happy to polish off every bite of the enchiladas.
Later, Skylar had called briefly to say that she and Zack were going on a little trip to Bisbee, with Trinity tagging along to hit the shops, and she’d call when they returned.
Clay smiled, but his expression went serious again. “So there’s a good chance that thieves are people who hang around enough to know what’s going on at the ranch.”
With a nod, Luke replied, “Yeah. But the question remains: is this Guerrero or some other shithead with a plan?”
The mention of Guerrero’s name turned Clay’s smile to a frown. He cut a quick look at Rylie, and she felt it like an ominous warning.
He’s worried I’m going to act like an idiot again.
She wondered if she should be offended, then blew it off. It was kind of cute, how he was concerned about her. Clay Wayland would learn soon enough that she could take care of herself. In fact, she might enjoy teaching him.
“Sooner or later, Guerrero will make a mistake big enough to take him down.” Levi took off his Western hat and ran a hand through his thick blond hair. “His boys will screw up and leave a trail, and we’ll get them all.”
Luke’s scowl came close to matching Clay’s. “They didn’t screw up last night. I couldn’t even follow their tracks more than a mile. They know the land, and they know what they’re doing—and what law enforcement might look for and find.”
“Why don’t I head over to the MacKenna ranch with you?”
Clay stroked his hand over his mustache and Rylie imagined what it would feel like to have that hand stroking her instead. “I’d like to check everything out myself.”
Luke said, “Suit yourself. Check out whatever you want, but I’ve given it a real thorough once-over.”
Check out whatever you want. Rylie studied Sheriff God-bod. No shit. Can’t wait to check out every inch of that.
Clay’s eyes met Rylie’s and for a moment she was sure he’d read her mind. He smiled and tipped his hat. “See you later, Rylie Thorn.”