Brash (10 page)

“Yes, thank you, Cole,” she said with chilly irritation. “Thank you for showing me what a true asshole is.”

Ouch
. And yet he forced a shrug. “Come on now. I just felt you deserved to get kissed tonight.”

“Deserved?” she repeated frigidly, one brow arched.

“You know, because the Rev was probably too timid or gassed up with all that pizza he ate. I wanted to set things right.”

For exactly thirty seconds—he counted—she stared at him. Probably trying to figure out what rock he'd crawled out from under and when. He could tell her. The River Black one-screen movie theater, 2002. It had fucked him up something awful. Made him distrusting and an eternal pessimist. Made him turn away from anything good—anything pure he desired. Because he didn't deserve it.

Just like he hadn't deserved that kiss.

She stood up, smoothed her dress. “You are too kind, Cole.” Sarcasm bled from her words.

“No problem.” It was best she know it now. Know who she was dealing with, and it wasn't no small-town heart-of-gold reverend.

“But I won't be requiring your ‘help.'” She used
those air quotes when she said the last word. “Ever again.”

He should've felt relieved. “You mad or something?”

She didn't answer him. She was confused by him. And pissed. “I'm going to bed. You can get yourself there, right?”

“'Course. Almost healed.” Ready to get back to his reality. No stolen kisses under the moonlight with green-eyed girls.

She nodded stiffly and turned to walk away.

“Hey, Doc?” he called after her.

She stopped, and with forced patience turned around and glared at him. “What?”

He had it. Sarcasm, innuendo, all that on the tip of his tongue. That was the easy stuff. It cleared the room and made women like the one standing before him refuse to speak to him ever again. But Grace was different. Maybe she deserved better. She hadn't asked him for anything. Just given.

“Thank you,” he said at last.

Her lips thinned and she let out a frustrated breath. “Stop messing with me, Cole. It's not okay.”

His gut tightened. “I'm not.” Not right now. “Swear.”

She didn't say anything, just crossed her arms over her chest.

“Thank you for having me here. Taking care of
me. Feeding me.” His lips curled into a half smile he knew would be unwelcome. “Letting me kiss you.”

“Oh my God, Cole—” she started exasperatedly.

“Working with me to find the truth. It ain't easy, and I know that. I ain't easy. I come with a shitload of dirty, banged-up luggage.” He released a breath, all serious now. “But I appreciate it, okay? I appreciate you.”

Confusion blanketed her features. She didn't know what to make of him—of his words.

“Don't be mad,” he said.

“You make it hard, Cole.”

“Yeah, I know. Hey, and if Rev didn't say it,” he added, making sure to keep his gaze above the neck this time, “you look beautiful tonight.”

She sighed. “Thank you.”

“Smokin'. Red hot. Eyeball meltin'. And I'm imagining he probably didn't say it.” He snorted. “Shit, if the boy can't even get his ass in gear to kiss you good night, then commenting on your hotness would've probably been an impossible feat.”

“Oh my God,” she uttered, shaking her head, but a smile was touching her lips now. “Good night, Cole.”

“Night, Doc.”

“And try not to have any more bad dreams,” she called, turning around and heading for the house.

“I'll do my best,” he called back.

He watched her walk away, that white dress hugging every inch of her like a second skin. This time, Belle followed. And the stray cat from the night before—the one she'd been desperate to save—darted past. Cole didn't even try to catch it.

“Okay, what exactly did the woman say?” Grace asked as she and Cole walked up the driveway toward the well-kept duplex a few streets off Main.

“It was her mother,” Cole clarified, the morning sunlight making his blond hair appear almost white. “And when I asked to speak to Natalie, she said Natalie wasn't speaking to or seeing anyone right now.”

A groan escaped Grace's throat. “And yet, here we are. Skulking around on private property.”

“We ain't skulking, Doc. We have a purpose.”

“And what is that? Breaking and entering? Again?”

“You're never going to let me forget that, are you?”

“Probably not.”

Cole stopped near the garage and turned to face her. Except for the jeans and boots, he looked nothing like River Black, Texas, in the morning. Tattoos peeking out of the white T-shirt and black leather jacket and that nearly skull-shaved blond head. Nope. He looked like he was from a town called Wicked and it was somewhere around midnight. As he stared down at her, he made her forget to breathe—made her remember the kiss he'd planted on her lips last night. A kiss she'd sworn meant nothing to either of them. Couldn't mean anything.

“Do you really accept it when someone gives you a no for an answer?” he asked, his black eyes searching hers.

Grace's entire face furrowed. “I don't even know how to answer that.”

“You gotta push, Grace. If you want something done, you gotta make it happen. No matter what the roadblock.”

“I believe that's how you ended up with a restraining order.” Nope, not going to let him forget it.

He shrugged, his expression supercilious. “Well, I don't have one anymore, now do I?”

Heat surged into her cheeks.

“She could know something, Doc, okay?” he continued, undaunted. “If she was hanging around Cass, she could know something—could have seen something. You want the truth, right?”

“Of course I do,” she insisted.

“We could always bag this and go see your daddy,” he suggested.

Her eyes narrowed. “I'm just saying that this could be dangerous.”

He looked at her like she was crazy. Like she would never be in danger if she was with him. Or maybe that's just how he made her feel.

“Her father—”

“Is behind bars,” he said. “He can't get to her or us.”

“Unless he's warned her not to talk to us,” she put in. “To you, Cavanaugh brother.”

“Let's not put the cart before the horse, all right?” He inhaled deeply, then groaned. “Damn. You smell that?”

She did. It had been wafting her way ever since they hit the garage. Sugar and butter under heat. “Cookies?”

“Oh yeah,” he murmured, as if talking to a lover. “I know that smell. From the bakery.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Let's go 'round back. Follow our noses. She's home and she's doing what she does best.”

“I can't get arrested today,” Grace told him as they walked. “I have a neutering at ten.”

“Awww, poor guy.”

She shook her head, grinned. No matter what the consequences, Cole would always be on the side of the wild and unchecked. It was his side.

“Hurry up, Doc. My stomach's grumbling.”

“You're crazy if you think she's going to speak to us, much less offer you a cookie.”

“We'll see,” he replied, a grin in his voice.

He was moving well now, barely a hint of the sprain in his ankle. Whether he healed quickly or just refused the pain, she wouldn't know. But she was guessing it was the latter. She tended to think Cole Cavanaugh refused to acknowledge pain in all areas of his life.

They were no sooner around the side of the house than a woman in a pale blue dress and white apron opened the screen door and stepped out onto the small porch. She was petite, about Grace's height, and very well put together. Her short blond hair was perfectly combed and her makeup looked flawless. Because their fathers were friends, Grace had seen Natalie Palmer on occasion around town. More so when they were younger. But she wondered if the woman would recognize her.

“You're on private property,” she announced, her dark eyes moving from Grace to Cole.

“Just following that incredible smell,” Cole told her in that effortlessly charming way of his. “Been trying to find you for days, girl. You know, after you ran out on me.”

Natalie looked startled. “You have me confused with someone else. I suggest you go and find her.”

He stuck out his hand. “I'm Cole Cavanaugh.”

She looked at the hand, then back up at the man. “I know who you are.”

Grace stayed where she was, a few feet back from the porch steps. She wondered if this had been a truly stupid move on their part. Would Natalie call the police? Would she go inside and grab a shotgun?

“Then you know,” Cole continued, undaunted, “that I'm the one who's been buying up all those ginger snaps at the bakery last few weeks.”

It was as if the breeze that had just wafted past stole the woman's sour mood. Even those dark brown eyes softened a hair. “No. I didn't know that.” A hint of a smile touched her lips. “But I always wondered who it was. We never had any going into the noon hour. Plenty of customers want to tan your hide.”

Cole laughed, a rich baritone that caressed Grace's skin. “It'd be worth it. Best cookies in the world. You should open a bakery in New York City.”

A slow, shy smile crept over her face. “They're not
that
good.”

“They're perfection.” He leaned against the door frame, crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Now, would you be thinking me rude if I got down on my knees and begged for one of whatever you got cooking inside that house?”

As Natalie thought this over, her eyes moving
over his leather jacket, Grace just stared. It was like watching a master at work, and she felt both impressed and horrified at his skill.

“Oh, all right,” Natalie finally said. “Stay where you are.”

“You kidding?” Cole returned. “I'll be right here. Panting.”

Cheeks flushed, she turned away and went into the house. As soon as the screen door slammed, Grace turned on Cole.

“Cookies? Are you serious?”

“Yes. Relax.”

“Don't tell me to relax. I thought we were here to talk about—”

She never got to finish her sentence. The screen door creaked open once again and this time Natalie Palmer had a plate of cookies in her hands. She offered it to Cole, who took two.

“Good God, woman,” he said after taking a bite. “Pure bliss. Call me selfish, but you need to get back to work.”

Natalie blanched. “I don't know . . . Too many people coming in and asking questions . . .” She trailed off.

“It must be hard,” Grace said.

It was as if Natalie Palmer had just realized there was someone else in her backyard besides the tatted-up Cavanaugh brother. Her eyes darkened with hostility as she turned them on Grace. “It is.
For my whole family. But especially my father. He's a good man. No matter what anyone else believes. There was a mistake . . . a misunderstanding . . .”

Wow. She was sticking up for the man—calling his assault on Sheridan O'Neil a misunderstanding. Talk about delusion. Or insane family loyalty.

Grace's heart stilled in her chest. Was she doing the same thing? Living in a delusion about her dad and what he did and didn't know about Cass Cavanaugh's disappearance?

God, she hoped not.

“I'm Grace,” she told the woman. “Our fathers used to be best friends.”

Something flickered in Natalie's gaze. Interest. Curiosity? “You're Sheriff Hunter's girl. I know.”

Grace nodded. “That's right.”

“You didn't go to school with any of us, though, did you?”

“No. After my mom died, I went away to school.”

Natalie seemed to consider this as she turned back to Cole and offered him another cookie. “That must've been lonely.”

“It was,” Grace acknowledged, surprised at the woman's quick empathy. “I missed home and didn't have many friends.” But there were good things too. She didn't have to smell her mother's perfume, sit in her chair, cook at her stove.

“Sounds terrible,” Cole piped in, pulling Grace from her thoughts. “Aren't friends in the girl world like . . . everything?”

Natalie's lips twitched. “Sometimes.”

“Like my sister, Cass, and her friend Mac.” He took a bite of cookie. “Always together.”

Grace watched Natalie carefully, and to her surprise the woman's face softened. “She was a nice person. Your sister.”

“And a friend?” Cole pressed, his tone taking on a hint of seriousness now. “You two ever hang out together?”

“Not really. But she always said hi to me.”

Cole nodded. “You ever see her with any . . . male friends? I always wondered about that, being her brother and all.”

Natalie looked momentarily startled, even glanced at the screen door. “Oh, I don't remember anything like that. Not specifically. I remember seeing her with Mac, mostly. And of course, you all.”

He eyed her closely, but his voice was real gentle when he pressed, “Are you sure, Natalie?”

“I said I don't remember it,” she snapped. Then inhaled deeply. “Here.” She handed him the plate. “Take this. It's old and has a chip in it. Enjoy the cookies. I need to be getting back to my work.”

“'Course,” he said. “Thank you kindly, Natalie.”

“Hopefully things will be set to rights and I'll be back at the bakery soon.” She gave Grace a clipped nod and disappeared into the house.

Holding the plate as if it held the crown jewels,
Cole headed down the porch steps and along the side of the house.

“Well, that was a bust,” Grace said as she fell into step beside him.

“At least we got a few answers,” he said.

“A few answers? We got no answers.”

“She believes her father's innocent. That's something to consider.”

“Of course she does. What daughter wouldn't?” She felt his eyes on her, but she stared straight ahead at his truck. “We came here wanting information on the boy. Sweet. She gave us nothing.”

“It's one avenue, Grace. There are more.”

Right. Like Palmer. Like her dad. And she was going to have to face that fact. She was going to have to question him for real.

“I'd better get going,” she said when they reached his truck.

He hesitated, his eyes on her. “Can I drive you over to the clinic?”

“Thanks, but I think I'm going to walk. It's a gorgeous day.”
And I need some time to think
.
About how I'm going to talk to my dad.
About you
.

He nodded, ran a hand through his cropped hair. “Listen, once again, I appreciate all you did for me. Putting up with me.”

“And once again, it wasn't easy.” She smiled.

He returned it, nodded. “So I'll be back tomorrow afternoon. Can we get together again? Make a new plan?”

“Sounds good.” Why was her heart feeling so heavy? It was like a weight was resting on it.

“Here.” He handed her the plate of cookies.

“No, these are yours. And you worked damn hard to get them.”

He laughed. “I'm in training, remember? I've already had two too many. You enjoy them.”

She watched him walk around the truck.

“See you, Doc,” he called.

“See you,” she offered back, then started down the street toward the clinic. Despite the hot day, she barely felt the sun on her skin. She actually felt strangely cold. She hadn't wanted to say good-bye to Cole Cavanaugh. He was brash and overly charming and sometimes arrogant, but he was also soulful and surprising. Something was happening with her. It had started last night, with that kiss. The kiss she hadn't been able to get out of her head. The kiss that had made it very difficult to fall asleep.

As the truck moved past her and Cole gave her a wave, a quiet thrill went through her. Thing was, she didn't want to pretend that what she was feeling wasn't real. But she couldn't allow herself to get involved with Cole Cavanaugh. Not any more than she already was. It was dangerous. She glanced down at the cookies. She didn't want to see her dad today, didn't want to question him—not yet. But she knew she had to give Cole something when she saw him tomorrow.

Maybe the dad she could see and question was Natalie's.

*   *   *

“You haven't spoken to me in weeks, and now you walk around this house ignoring me.”

Blue poured himself a cup of coffee, sweetened with a few spoons of sugar, then turned to regard his mother. “I'm not ignoring you.”

Just didn't have anything to say. Anything that didn't deserve a mouthful of soap. And he was way too old for that now.

Closing the refrigerator door, Elena sighed. “Fine, then. Treating me like a . . .” She didn't finish. Just started laying out all the fixings for a salad on the counter.

“Like a what, Mom?” Blue inquired, taking a healthy gulp of his coffee. “Like a person who can't be trusted?”

Her jaw tightened as she snapped the end off a carrot. “I deserve that.”

Blue pushed away from the counter. He wasn't going to stand there and have this conversation. Not now. Maybe not ever. He could barely look at the woman who'd lied to his face every day of his life. Who pretended that Everett Cavanaugh was just her employer, when in reality the man was her lover. And his father.

His lip curled. “I have work to do,” he said, gulping down the rest of the coffee. The burning liquid scorched his throat.

“You always have work to do,” she returned.

“Yeah, well, this place needs runnin'.” He stalked past her.

“This place needs to know happiness again,” she uttered softly.

But Blue heard her.
Happiness,
he mused blackly, heading for the front door. He couldn't even imagine what that was. What it looked like. If he'd thought he'd experienced it before, he now questioned it. Shit, he questioned everything.