Between a Book and a Hard Place (10 page)

“All those nights lying alone in my bed, I thought about running my fingers over your soft skin. It was all I could do not to drive over to your place and throw pebbles at your window until you came outside so that I could hold you and taste you.”

I tried to inhale, but his mouth was so near, I could barely draw enough breath to ask, “Why didn't you? All you had to do was text me.”

He gathered me closer, pressing me against his hard length and making me hotter than the cheese on a pizza. Then, when he moved his hand to my breast, a delicious shock wave radiated southward.

What was it about Jake that had my body commandeering the control from my brain? How did he sweep away all my doubts, anger, and common sense? We needed to concentrate on finding out who killed my stepfather, but I couldn't find the strength to stop Jake as he placed his lips on mine.

The desire in his kiss destroyed the little restraint I had held on to, and I was overcome with a primitive need for him. I slid my hands over his rock-solid pecs, and he groaned his approval before licking into my mouth as he held me against him. His heat warmed me and made me feel safe. I scraped my nails down his back, loving the texture of his firm muscles under my fingertips.

His hands were fumbling with the button on my
jeans, when a chorus of laughter jerked me out of my sensual fog. I thumped Jake on the shoulder, and it took him a long moment before the voices penetrated his sexual haze. He glanced over my shoulder and swore.

It suddenly dawned on me that not only had we forgotten about the murder, but we'd overlooked the fact that we were in a public parking lot. Whimpering, I looked around for my bra and top.

With a groan, Jake grabbed them and helped me re-dress, then put on his own T-shirt. An instant later, his cell rang. When he answered it, all I could hear was a woman screeching the word
Jake
over and over.

Apparently, Meg was having a meltdown and our alone time had come to an end.

J
ake glanced at his ex-wife as he drove out of Gossip Central's parking lot and turned his pickup toward home. She was rocking back and forth in the truck's passenger seat, making pitiful mewling sounds, her ragged nails digging into the armrest. When he and Devereaux had rushed into the bar, Meg had been standing with her back to the wall, her hands covering her face, shrieking his name.

While he'd tried to calm her down, Boone and Poppy had explained that one moment Meg had been sitting quietly sipping her Dr Pepper and the next she'd leaped from the chair and begun screaming. They had no idea what had triggered the outburst.

Once Jake had cajoled Meg into taking her medication and she'd stopped howling, he'd quickly hustled her out of the club, yelling over his shoulder that he'd call Devereaux the next day. Dev had smiled her acceptance and waved good-bye, but the look of abandonment that had flashed across her face had torn at his heart. If the home health aide didn't work out, Jake knew he would blow his chance for a life
with Dev, because she would end up married to Underwood.

Jake ground his teeth in frustration. He needed time to persuade Devereaux that he was the man for her. That Dr. Doolittle was her past and he was her present. But what woman in her right mind wanted a future that included a crazy ex-wife? Dev was certainly no Jane Eyre, but he was starting to feel a lot like Mr. Rochester.

Jake knew he'd been neglecting Devereaux, but there was never enough time. Between tending to Meg in the evenings and his increasing responsibilities on the ranch, he barely had a chance to breathe. He'd almost been happy when Birdie had called and asked for his help in solving Jett Benedict's murder. The situation had given him an excuse to be with Dev, one that didn't seem selfish and that his sense of duty couldn't demand he ignore.

When he'd bundled Meg into his truck and lit out for Gossip Central, Jake had known Devereaux wouldn't be entirely happy to see him, especially with his ex-wife in tow. Not to mention that once he told her about Birdie's telephone call to Tony, Dev would assume he was there out of obligation, not desire.

Devereaux was such a strange mix of tough businesswoman and vulnerable female that he hadn't been entirely sure how she'd react to his presence. She never did exactly what he expected her to do, and although he normally hated being caught by surprise, she always managed to charm him.

It had been a relief that Dev believed him when he told her about the aide he'd been trying to hire. And that she hadn't demanded he stick Meg back into the nuthouse. He would have done it, but he
wouldn't be able to think about Devereaux in the same way he had before. Abandoning his ex-wife would have eaten at his gut, and the resulting guilt would have eventually ruined things between him and Dev, just as much as keeping Meg at the ranch might.

Jake clenched his jaw as he pulled the F250 up to his uncle's front door. If only his ex could have managed to hold on to her sanity for a little while longer. He'd needed just a few more of Devereaux's kisses to tide him over. It had been so long since they'd been together that his hunger for her had grown into an insatiable craving.

Jake could still taste her sweetness. Sighing, he got out of the pickup and went around to the passenger side. Meg had fallen asleep, and he certainly didn't want to wake her and risk another screaming fit, or worse.

Slipping his arms around his ex, he eased her from her seat and nudged the door closed with his shoulder. Her lashes fluttered, but instead of stirring, she burrowed against his chest and clutched his neck. It felt as if she weighed less than a newborn calf. She refused to eat unless he hand-fed her. She was only a ghost of the strong, independent U.S. Marshal she had once been.

Jake stared at the dark house. It was a few minutes past eleven, and Tony and Ulysses would both be asleep. Most ranch folks went to bed right after the ten o'clock news and got up before dawn. This schedule had been a bit of an adjustment after Jake's life in law enforcement, especially his undercover work, but now he loved watching the sunrise.

As he climbed the front steps, he winced. This late in the day, his leg always ached. The docs had
told him that although his wounds had healed, he'd have some permanent pain. The injury, a gift from the gun of a fleeing scumbag who sold underage girls to the drug cartels in Mexico, was one of the reasons he'd retired.

Although he'd been deemed fit for duty, once he was back on the job he'd realized that he'd never be a hundred percent. And he wasn't willing to risk his team's safety should his leg give out in a crucial moment. Not when his weakness could endanger all their lives.

Ignoring the twinge, Jake went inside and headed to the den, which had been turned into Meg's sickroom. When he placed her on the bed, he had to pry her fingers from his shirt. He slipped off her jeans and shoes but decided she could sleep in her T-shirt and underwear.

Jake waited until he was sure she wouldn't wake up, then headed for the refrigerator. He needed a beer or three. He grabbed a bottle and the opener, walked into the living room, and flopped down on the old leather couch. After popping off the cap, he took a swig of the icy brew and lunged for the remote. Stopping midreach, he flopped back on the sofa. He wasn't in the mood for TV.

As he drank, his thoughts skittered to Devereaux and Dr. Dweeb, making Jake's stomach churn. He'd never been good at sharing. Had Underwood been worming his way into Dev's heart while Jake was AWOL? At the image of her in that asshole's arms, a wave of fury nearly choked him, and he fought the urge to punch something.

Toeing off his Durangos, Jake set his stocking feet on the coffee table. After he'd swallowed his anger, along with most of his beer, he made a mental note
to pump Tony for information on Devereaux's activity with Frat Boy during the time Jake had been MIA. Surely Birdie would have kept his uncle in the loop since she was firmly on Team Jake.

He frowned. At least she had been before his vanishing act. What if Devereaux's family had changed sides? Her father seemed friendly enough, but he hadn't indicated which man he thought would be better for his daughter. If Birdie switched teams, Kern might follow.

Jake got up and paced the length of the living room. Devereaux had haunted him over the past three weeks. He'd tried to steal a few minutes to stop by the store to see her, but something had always come up. She was constantly on his mind. He should have let her know that.

She had asked why, if he missed her so much, he hadn't texted her to meet him one of those nights when he'd lain awake thinking about her. But that would have felt too much like a hookup.

Which would have been just fine with him with any other woman.
Hell!
Until he'd met Dev, a night of wild sex was the only reason he'd felt the need to be with a gal. But that wasn't what he wanted from Dev. Or at least, it wasn't
all
that he wanted from her.

It had been sheer torture sitting hour after hour with his ex-wife when all he wanted to do was spend that time with Devereaux. While he felt sorry for Meg and he hated to see her the way she was, he'd had to ask himself why he'd ever married her. How had he thought he loved her? The only thing he felt for her now was pity.

After chugging the last of his Corona, he walked into the kitchen and put the empty beer bottle in the trash can under the sink. Then he pulled out a chair,
sat at the table, and leaned back. There was no use going to bed. He wouldn't be able to sleep. He knew he'd just lie there and fantasize that he and Devereaux were together in their own house and she was in his arms.

Instead of wasting his time staring at his bedroom ceiling, he turned his thoughts to the murder. If Dev's parents hadn't killed her stepfather, who had? They needed to know time of death, what was on the paper Benedict had been holding, and the vic's financial situation. He could call in a few favors in order to get some of that information, but without any authority, his options were limited. He needed the power of a badge.

It was nearly two a.m. by the time Jake headed to bed. In the hours he'd sat watching the clock above the sink tick off the seconds, he'd come to a decision. It was time to get a PI license.

He'd been considering the possibility since he'd first realized he would have to retire from the marshal service. He needed to get online and find out the requirements in Missouri to be recognized as a private investigator, but he doubted there would be any credentials he didn't already possess.

With autumn around the corner, things would slow down a little on the ranch, which meant this was the perfect time to start the accreditation procedure. As long as the home health aide resolved the situation with Meg, this might be his chance to keep his finger in the investigative pie and to spend more time with Devereaux in the process. A win-win scenario if he ever saw one.

•   •   •

That night Jake's sleep was plagued with dreams of Devereaux walking down the aisle with Noah Underwood. Every time Jake turned over, the pain in his leg woke him up, and he alternated between gazing out the window and at the clock. Finally, he gave up, and by five a.m., he was already dressed and outside doing chores.

It looked as if today's late-summer weather would be a repeat of the past week—warm and blustery. But this morning there was a hint of something strange in the air, and the cows were acting oddly. Jake chuckled to himself, thinking that Professor Hinkley would probably blame the herd's bizarre behavior on the extraterrestrials.

Jake had actually seen an array of lights in the sky a few nights ago, but they looked more like distant fireworks than a flying saucer. What would the alientologist do when ET was a no-show in the town square next week? Having dealt with his share of scam artists, Jake figured the professor would have some excuse for Khrelan Naze's failure to put in an appearance. And sadly, many of the suckers would believe the charlatan's lies.

Shrugging at the gullibility of the masses, Jake went back to work. The cows had to be tended to, no matter what the conditions, and the last crop of hay was nearly ready to be harvested from the field. Once it was baled and in the barn, there would be a short break before the winter work began in earnest.

While he labored, Jake considered what he knew about Jett Benedict's murder. If neither Devereaux's mother nor her father was guilty—and that was a big
if
—then who else had a reason to want the vic dead?

Unless someone had followed Benedict to Shadow Bend, he hadn't been in the area long enough for the killer to have a personal motivation. An unfamiliar individual lurking around the square certainly would have drawn someone's attention. Had anyone noticed a stranger in town?

If the reason for the homicide wasn't love or revenge, Jake's bet was on the money. Why hadn't the funds for the library arrived as promised?

As Jake treated a toe abscess on one cow, the injured tail of a second, and the cracked hoof of a third, he considered his next move.

Heading back to the house for breakfast, he decided that a trip to the police station was in his future. Without a badge, he'd have to charm the information he wanted out of someone. He hoped that the woman who had flirted with him on his previous visit to the PD was on duty. Dispatcher Barbie had seemed more than eager to help him in any way that his heart or any other part of him desired. Maybe he'd bring Devereaux along again. On their last visit, he'd enjoyed her reaction to the woman's flirting, and it would be good to let her see what it felt like to be jealous.

When Jake entered the kitchen, Ulysses nodded at him, then placed half a dozen sausage links on a plate and poured pancake batter into a sizzling-hot cast-iron griddle. Jake had known the housekeeper for more than twenty years and he hadn't changed at all during that time.

Ulysses was a short, chubby man of unidentifiable age and ethnicity who had always reminded Jake of a genie. A mythical being that materialized from a magic lantern and returned to the lamp every evening without ever revealing anything about his
history or future plans. An otherworldly creature that refused to answer any questions.

Jake greeted the housekeeper, then said good morning to his uncle, who was sitting at the head of the table reading the local newspaper. Jake rarely bothered to do more than skim the
Shadow Bend Banner
. National and international stories were given less than a couple paragraphs of coverage, while the area sports teams took up most of the remaining pages. And unless you had a kid in the game, the stats weren't all that interesting.

Tony lowered the paper and asked, “How did it go last night? Did that ex of yours behave herself long enough for you to talk to Dev? Or did she pull her usual hysterical act?”

Jake sighed, knowing his uncle thought Meg was faking, or at least exaggerating her condition. He was beginning to suspect Tony might be right, that his ex-wife wasn't as bad off as she pretended, and Jake was developing a plan to test that theory.

“Devereaux and I had some time together before Meg lost it.” Jake didn't bother to lie. Everyone in Gossip Central had heard his ex's breakdown. Her screams had been loud enough to wake the dead. Or at least the drunks at the bar. And all eyes had followed them as he'd led her through the club and outside to his truck.

“What a surprise.” Tony skewered his nephew with a piercing stare, lifted a bushy white eyebrow, and asked, “How did Dev take that?”

“She said it was fine.”

“And you believed her?” Tony shook his head. “The speed that a gal says ‘fine' is inversely proportional to the intensity of the shitstorm that's coming.”

“Devereaux's not like that.”

“Every lady has her limits.” Tony shrugged. “You need to wise up soon.”

“Probably in more ways than one.” Jake walked to the coffeemaker on the counter. “Want a refill?”