JD
“He’s threatening to sue you for assault.”
I burst out laughing at the sheriff’s warning.
“Let him try.”
I tuck my arm tighter around Janey who, so far, has put up with my need to keep her as close as I can at all times these past few days. Although, she did draw the line when I tried to follow her into the bathroom the other day.
The doctor had given Janey a hard time for showing up at the hospital once again, and wasn’t enamored with her when she refused to stay the night. She just wanted some normalcy after what she described as being stuck in a spin cycle for a week. It made sense to me, I wasn’t going to argue with her, but I was going to make sure she was well looked after when the doctor ordered her to take it easy until her follow-up appointment next week.
I immediately shot off a text to Jonas to let him know I’d be taking some time. His response had been; I’d assumed as much.
The hardest part so far for Janey has been to close her clinic for a week. Luckily, Sam Feltner, the other vet in town, offered to take on any emergencies, and Frankie has been shuffling around all the standing appointments.
Still, Janey is going to have her hands full when she’s given the all clear by her doctor next week. Her workload hasn’t changed, but now she’s facing it without the help of an intern.
That’s something I still want to talk to her about. Call me selfish, but things have been crazy since she and I got together, and I want to make sure we carve out some time for us. I’m pretty sure she’ll be hesitant to take someone else into her trust—given how badly Logan pulled the wool over all our eyes—but she is going to need the help.
“He wouldn’t, would he?” Janey asks Junior Ewing, who dropped by to give us an update.
“It won’t get far,” he assures her. “Osborne Senior is just trying to flex his muscles, now that he’s lost all credibility in town. He first tried to get me to file assault charges against you, but I reminded him I was right there on the scene and didn’t see any assault take place. Then he tried to claim my incompetence with the mayor, but that didn’t go very far either. Now he’s threatening with this civil suit. What you’re seeing are the last muscle spasms of the man’s reputation. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was asked to resign. Special Agent Kramer is having a long hard look at his close relationship with Jericho.”
Apparently, Jericho had thrown Logan—and by association his father—under the bus, in hopes of securing a deal once he realized there was no escaping the evidence piled up against him.
“Did Jericho end up getting his deal?”
Ewing chuckles and shakes his head.
“Not a chance. Kramer is like a bulldog, she’s pulling apart his life thread by thread, determined to dig up every little bit of dirt he’s been hiding. Already he’s facing something in the range of thirty-five or so federal charges. He’s going down, and, if Stephanie has something to say about it, his entire network is going down with him.”
I guess Councilman Osborne has good reason to be concerned. He’s all but lost all credibility here in town, especially now the full scope of his son’s crimes is starting to come to light. His list of victims is growing, with the unsolved rape and murder of two college students in Bozeman now attributed to Logan as well.
The media has gotten a hold of the story and it’s been all over the headlines the past couple of days. Son of Prominent Libby Family a Sick and Depraved Killer. Fodder for the masses, but no less true.
Logan Osborne is one sick puppy.
He apparently has a type, if you can call it that. All his victims had longer, dark-blond or brown hair, and when you saw their pictures side by side, all looked very similar.
I glance down at Janey, whose brown hair is currently hanging loose down her shoulders, a bit of a departure from her usual braids, a little softer. She fit the profile as well.
But, more intriguingly, all of them look very similar to Megan Osborne, Logan’s own mother.
There’s been some speculation around that; some reports suggesting his deep-rooted hatred for his mother triggered his deadly spree. But those are just wild guesses, the family certainly isn’t supporting those claims.
The kid is a psychopath, I don’t know that he needs much of a justification for his actions. Either way, we may never know the real reason.
What I do know is, he’s currently in the custody of the FBI. In my mind, I picture him sitting in a cell next to Jericho’s. Wouldn’t that be something?
“Is she back in Kalispell? Stephanie?” Janey asks, shifting out of my hold as she gets to her feet and goes to grab the coffeepot.
“She’ll be back and forth, I would imagine,” Ewing informs her. “At least until she’s got both these cases wrapped up.” He holds up his hand to stop Janey from topping up his coffee. “I’ve had enough, thanks. I’ve had nothing but coffee sloshing around in my stomach for the past week. I’m pretty sure I’m growing an ulcer too.”
“You need to take better care of yourself,” Janey mutters as she tops up my cup and her own.
“Ha,” Ewing barks as he gets up from the table. “Pot meet kettle. I see you haven’t exactly been taking it easy.”
He indicates the kitchen, which is a bit of a mess right now, since I’ve started pulling off the cabinet doors and hauling them out back to sand. It’s not like me to start a new project when I already have one on the go in Janey’s bathroom, but the weather is supposed to be nice for a while and Janey wants to repaint those cabinets to save some money.
“That’s all JD’s doing,” she indicates. “All I’ve done so far is sit and watch him sweat,” she adds with a grin.
Junior shakes his head, grinning before he puts his hat back on.
“On that note, I’m outta here. I’ll be in touch.”
I walk him out the door and stop on the front step. Glancing back over my shoulder, I see Janey moving around the kitchen.
“Do I need to be concerned about Osborne Senior?” I ask the sheriff in a low voice.
“Nah, he’s too much of a coward. Besides, he’s already in hot water, lying to law enforcement to cover for his son. I wouldn’t worry about him; he’ll be too busy dealing with me.”
I watch him get in his cruiser and head down the driveway, when my phone rings in my pocket. I grin when I see the name pop up on my screen.
“Ma, I was wondering how long you could hold out.”
“Bite me,” she snaps. “You two have been holed up long enough. Dinner at the ranch at six.”
“Ma—” I start to object, but she doesn’t give me a chance.
“Don’t be late.”
Janey
“I’m so full,” I complain.
JD hums beside me, his eyes on the road home, but a smile playing on his lips.
“Forcing a second giant slice of lemon meringue pie down your gullet after eating Ma’s taco bake will do that to you,” he suggests dryly.
“Well, I could hardly say no,” I protest.
His mother had insisted, and I’d been feeling so welcomed by everyone at the large table in the ranch kitchen, I didn’t want to ruffle any feathers.
I’d been greeted like a member of the family, and was seated between JD and Thomas on my other side. JD didn’t say much—I’ve noticed he’s marginally more talkative one-on-one—but Thomas more than made up for that. I love that old man, he’s full of interesting anecdotes, and his ongoing bickering with Ama is highly entertaining.
I’ve also finally had a chance to get to know Alex, Jonas’s wife and Jackson’s mother, a little better. It’s funny, because Lord knows I’ve spent enough time here at the ranch, but also at Hart’s Rescue, which she owns, but I’ve only run into her once or twice. I had no idea she went to veterinary school when Jackson was still a baby. He was already an adult when she moved to the Libby area and started up her rescue.
Of course, Jonas and Jackson had been there, and so were Wolff and Jillian, and Sully and Pippa, along with their daughter, Carmi. JD’s dad, James, was another quiet presence at the table, a stark contrast to his wife, but I did notice his eyes followed her every move in the kitchen. Makes me wonder if JD looks at me like that.
When I glance over, I catch him side-eyeing me, a warm expression on his face.
“You know you’re gonna have to learn to say no to Ma, or she’ll continue to force food—and anything else she puts her mind to—on you.”
I groan. These are my choices? Say no and risk Ama’s wrath, or prepare to burst out of my pants?
“I don’t think my pants can handle more padding on my hips,” I grumble. “I guess I’ll have to offend your mother next time.”
He reaches out his hand and gives my knee a squeeze.
“My mother will live, and you can always buy bigger pants. I happen to love your padding.”
My knee-jerk reaction would be to reject a comment like that outright. Most people may tolerate extra weight, but love it?
Oddly enough, I believe JD. When he looks at me—when he touches me—it is with a certain reverence, an appreciation that feels genuine. The few times we’ve been out in public, he holds my hand or is touching me in some way.
A message to the world we are together, I am his, and he’s proud of it.
Proud to be seen with me.
For a larger, and rather plain farmer’s daughter, that’s a rare experience. But a beautiful one. He doesn’t tell me; he doesn’t have to. He shows me all the time, and that’s a language I understand much better.
We’re still considered very new, but in some ways I feel like I’ve known this man forever. I know him, like he knows me. Maybe we met in a previous life. I feel if there is such a thing as reincarnation, this would be at least our second time around, maybe more.
He feels right, and I feel right when I’m with him.
Which is why the words come naturally as he pulls up in front of my house.
“I love you, James Dean,” I admit softly, twisting in my seat so I face him.
He doesn’t say anything, but a muscle ticks in his jaw, and his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.
The next moment he’s exiting the pickup and stalks around the front to my side, yanking the door open, and grabbing for my hand.
Without a word, he half drags me to the door, where he curses under his breath as he digs through his pockets for the keys he took charge of.
Once inside, he doesn’t bother flicking on the lights, but presses my body against the wall, kicking the door shut behind him with a foot.
Then his hands are on my face, lifting it up, and I find myself looking into the deep pools of swirling emotions.
“You stole my line,” he grunts.
I feel a smile spreading on my face.
“You mean, I love you, James Dean?” I tease.
His dark eyes sparkle with humor as he slowly shakes his head.
The next moment his mouth is covering mine, his tongue forcefully spearing between my lips. The hunger in his kiss is an instant aphrodisiac. Then again, I seem to be in a perpetual state of arousal around this man. It doesn’t take much to trigger a response.
His hands leave my face and restlessly move down my body, mapping curves and dips, before finally shoving down the back of my pants, grabbing handfuls of my ass. The full length of his body presses against mine, every hard plane and prominent outline imprinting on my flesh. I feel the vibrations of his low growls every time he grinds his cock against me.
I’m not sure how we end up on the couch, but I find myself draped over him, my T-shirt and bra wrapped around my neck, and my pants and underwear tangled around one ankle. He’s still mostly dressed, with only his jeans partly shoved down his lean hips. His cock is free, and lightly probing my folds.
He tunnels his fingers into my hair and cups the back of my head, pulling my face within inches of his.
Then, as he surges up inside me, he whispers, “You have my love, Angel.”