Brash (8 page)

In the year Grace Hunter had been living in her house in River Black, she'd had maybe a handful of guests. She liked to keep her home private—just hers—tending to meet friends or dates in town. But in the past two days she was well on her way to doubling that handful.

“We're real sorry about this, Dr. Hunter.”

Grace stood near the fireplace, the easy flames warming her thighs, and took in the two exceptionally handsome Cavanaugh men seated on her couch. “Grace—please,” she told them.

Dressed in jeans and a faded blue T-shirt, James Cavanaugh stared up at her with eyes the color of the ocean and asked, “How long's he been here?”

“Since last night,” Deacon answered him, then set his intimidating gaze on Grace. “Mac told me. I hope you don't mind.”

“Of course not,” she said.

The eldest Cavanaugh brother looked as if he'd just come from the boardroom inside his fancy office building in Dallas. Suit and tie alongside black boots and black Stetson. “We've come to take him off your hands,” he said.

“You don't need to do that,” Grace insisted.

“He's got to be a huge burden,” James put in, setting his booted foot on his knee. “A huge pain in the ass—”

“I'm right here,” Cole ground out.

Grace turned to look at the man seated in her leather chair, hurt ankle propped up on the coffee table. He'd put on a pair of sweats that his brothers had brought for him, but he'd refused a shirt. She was starting to wonder if that's how Cole Cavanaugh lived his life—shirtless. Hey, maybe that was the huge burden James had spoken of. Sans shirt, and what seemed like miles upon miles of tan, heavily muscled, intricately inked skin for her greedy eyes to peruse.

“If I'm not mistaken,” James continued as if his brother hadn't said a word, “isn't he not legally allowed to be this close to you?”

Cole snorted.

“I took care of that,” Grace said quickly. “It's been dropped.”

James's brow went up. “Dropped.”

“May I inquire why?” Deacon put in.

“No, you may not,” Cole said brusquely. “It's none of your damn business. Either one of you.”

“The hell it's not,” James said, though his voice lacked heat. “This whole thing started because we're looking for the truth about what happened to Cass. Who happened to Cass. We're all in that search together.”

“I agree,” Grace stated evenly, her insides tensing up once again. Or maybe they hadn't stopped tensing after seeing the newspaper her father had kept all these years in Cole's hand. Lord, she prayed it was just a random thing, and not more evidence that he did in fact have something to do with Cass Cavanaugh's disappearance.

James turned to look at her then, his brows descending. “I didn't exactly mean you, Grace.”

“Maybe not,” she pressed on. “But I am a part of it now.” They were all looking at her. Three sets of Cavanaugh eyes. It was daunting. She swallowed hard. “It's why I dropped the restraining order,” she explained. “Granted, I don't love the way Cole tried to extract information from me, but I understand why he did it.” She felt Cole's gaze narrow on her as he tried to figure out her motivation. “I want to work together. I want to find out the truth too.”

“Why?” Deacon asked. It was a simple question, but heavy with significance.

“I want to know,” she began, her heart once again ascending into her throat. “Make sure everyone knows—that my father had nothing to do with it.”

She could feel Cole's eyes on her. Those dark, probing eyes. Would he tell his brothers about the newspaper?

“And you truly believe he didn't have something to do with it?” Deacon continued. There was no malice, no sarcasm in his tone. Just curiosity.

She nodded, though her chest was tight with tension and unease. “But he was around. And now his best friend claims to know something. I'm going to find out what that is.”

“How?” James asked.

“We're looking through old newspapers now,” Cole put in.

Grace held her breath.

“Right,” Deacon said. “We got your text. Interesting, but I didn't recognize the girl.”

Cole looked at James. “How 'bout you?”

James shook his head. “Why do you think that's significant anyway? The girl? I mean, we're looking for a guy.”

“We're actually trying to find a lead on Sweet,” Grace put in quickly.

“If he existed at all,” James said under his breath.

“We gotta try what we can try,” Cole said. “Palmer won't let us near him, so what does that leave us with?”

“My dad,” Grace said, throat tightening. “I'm going to keep pressing him—”

Cole cut her off with one look. “I'm hoping you let me come along for that.”

“Maybe we all could,” Deacon added. “With more respect and honesty this time, of course.”

“That's a possibility,” Grace said, though her heart squeezed just thinking about it. What if he actually said something? Something incriminating. No . . . she couldn't allow that. She'd have to keep the Cavanaughs away. Occupied with something else. “Maybe I could get in and see Palmer,” she suggested quickly. “He might be more receptive to me.”

“After what he did to Sheridan,” Cole said with a sneer, “I don't think you should be anywhere near that asshole.”

“He's behind bars,” Grace countered.

“I don't like it.”

“It's not really up to you, is it?”

Tension rent the air, and for a full minute no one said anything. The fire crackled on, the wind picked up outside, and the night took hold. And Belle lay sprawled on her back on the rug near Cole's good foot.

Finally, Deacon broke the silence. “We appreciate all of this, Grace,” he said. “And look forward to working together to end this long-standing, long-suffering mystery. Let our girl rest once and for all.”

Grace's chest tightened again. She was telling them the truth. She would find out what happened—or try to anyway—but she would also protect her father, and his reputation and legacy in the process.

“Cole,” Deacon started, “I'm going to Austin again tomorrow for a client meeting. I can give you a ride if you're up for it.”

“Appreciate that,” Cole returned. “I hope to be. Better be.”

“In the meantime, why don't you come home with us? Take the burden off Dr. Hunter here.”

“It ain't no burden,” Cole said, sitting up now.

“Burdens don't know they're being burdens, little brother. That's why they're called burdens.”

“Fuck you, Deac.”

James's head came around fast and his voice was sharp as a blade. “Don't speak that way in front of a lady.”

Tossing his hands in the air, Cole turned to Grace. “Do you see what I put up with, Doc? I'm five years old to them no matter how low my voice is, how tall I grow, or how much hair I have on my ball—”

“Cole, Christ Almighty!” James exploded. He eyed Grace, who was trying not to smile. “Say the word and we'll take him.”

As Cole cursed and tossed his brothers a slew of threatening looks, Grace lost the battle. She couldn't help herself. Laughter bubbled in her throat. She didn't have siblings, and though she imagined at times it was a real pain in the neck, it also seemed like a gift. No matter how angry you got at each other, how you fought, they were still your blood. They were there for you. Had your back. Helped
you when you were tired and scared and unsure if you were doing the right thing with an aging parent.

“Her silence speaks volumes,” Deacon said with a hint of humor.

James nodded. “Should we toss him over our shoulder, then into the back of our truck, Dr. Hunter?”

“First, I'd say good luck with that—even with the hurt foot, he wrestles people for a living,” she returned. “But truly, he's welcome here.” It was surprising how easily the words rolled off her tongue. Probably because they were true. “It's really up to him.”

Cole looked irritatingly chuffed. “That's right,” he agreed with an arrogant twist to his mouth. “I'm welcome.”

“Fine,” Deacon said, tight-lipped. “Then I suppose the question becomes, why do you want to stay here, Cole?”

The arrogance in the blond man receded and was replaced by unease and impatience.

“Yeah,” James said quickly. “Why do you want to stay at Grace's place, Champ?”

It was the strangest thing. That moment. Grace and Cole weren't even looking at each other. But completely unchecked, they both spoke at the exact same time.

“Don't call me that,” he said.

“Don't call him that,” she said.

The room fell silent again. Even the fire seemed only to smolder softly, mutedly. Grace turned to
look at Cole. He was staring at her. Granted, maybe the other two Cavanaugh brothers were too, but she was hardly aware of their presence in that moment. Always deep, dark, and intense, Cole's eyes sought to understand her, take her in and read her thoughts. They asked,
Why? Why stick up for me? Why let me stay here? We barely know each other. We're playing for different teams. And there's that obvious attraction we're not dealing with.

Grace had no answer for him. On any of those fronts. Hell, she was asking herself the very same things. Maybe she kind of liked him? Liked having him around? Maybe she liked their banter, liked watching him pretend he wasn't falling for the basset? Maybe it felt kind of good to have someone around who understood loss.

But then again, there were the downsides to having him limping around her house. Most of those centered around his appeal, his attractiveness. All that muscle, all those dark, intense stares. And the growing suspicion of what might be captive inside the mind of her father.

“I'm staying,” Cole said, his eyes still pinned to hers. Then he inclined his head in the first show of Texas Gentleman she'd ever had from him. “That is, if you'll have me for another night, ma'am.”

A thread of heat snaked through Grace's blood, warming her insides, and she gently pushed aside all the negatives of Cole Cavanaugh's presence. She heard one of his brothers mutter,
“Ma'am?”
under his breath in a confused tone as her mind rolled around the words “another night.”

“Of course you can stay, Cole,” she said in a voice that didn't sound like her own. It was breathy and warmer than necessary.

His mouth curved into a satisfied smile. “Thank you kindly, Doc.”

“But I want you back in bed right now,” she said without thinking. Then instantly wished she could take the words back. Or at the very least, burrow herself into the ground.

She'd meant to treat him like a patient—one who wanted to be up and ready to train tomorrow morning. But Cole wasn't looking at her like she was his doctor. His eyes had turned from deep, inky pools into two burning black suns that nearly stole her breath. Her eyes closed momentarily as she fought to keep all crazy and oh-so-wrong and inappropriate thoughts at bay.

“I think it's time to say good night.” It was Cole's voice, rich and deep, and when Grace finally opened her eyes once again she realized he wasn't talking to her anymore. His narrowed and impatient gaze was fixed on his brothers. “Thanks for the clothes.”

“Maybe you should put 'em on,” James muttered, coming to his feet, righting his hat.

Deacon stood as well, but instead of talking to Cole, he gave Grace a serious look. “Call us if he gives you a problem.”

Grace nearly smiled at that. Wasn't
Problem
Cole Cavanaugh's middle name? A guarantee if you chose to be around him. And clearly, she was choosing to be around him.

“I'm sorry you had to make the trip out here,” she said, walking them to the door.

“It's nothing, Dr. Hunter. We wanted to check things out, and we did. And I'm glad we're going to be working together. Despite Cole's feelings on the matter, you should try to get in to see Palmer. It would be a huge coup for all of us. I think the effort will prove futile however, but stranger things have happened. When I get back from Austin, maybe we can meet with your father. Bring him a nice lunch. Make it relaxed and casual—no pressure.” Nearly out the door and on the porch, Deacon turned to regard her. He lowered his voice so only she could hear him. “I feel it's my place to tell you that Cole's not really the kind of man a girl like you should be hanging around with.”

Grace stared at him, almost too stunned to speak. But she managed to eke out a hoarse-sounding “He's your brother.”

“I know. And I love him. Doesn't change what is.”

“What kind of girl do you think I am, Mr. Cavanaugh?” she asked imperiously.

“A kind, smart, hometown girl who I got to believe recognizes bullshit when it's offered up.” Without letting her reply, he tugged the brim of
his Stetson, gave her a grim smile, then turned and followed James down the steps toward his truck.

Closing the door with a little too much force, Grace tried to decide how she felt about what she'd just heard. Annoyed? Insulted? The assessment of her. The warning about Cole. As if she didn't know what she had in her house. The overly confident tattooed arrogant pain in the ass. She fought the urge to grab the door handle and yank it back, holler after them. Tell them both that she didn't need their warning. That—
screw you
—she was a grown-up and could take care of herself. And that what went on in her heart, and potentially her bed, was her business.

Of course . . . that would mean she was admitting something could go on in her bed with Cole Cavanaugh. And she wasn't going to even contemplate that idea.

With a sigh, she turned to face the man in question—preparing herself to take in his hot, dark stare and waves of mouthwatering muscle once again. But the leather chair he'd just occupied not a moment before was empty, save for the indentation of his formidable ass. She glanced toward the kitchen and the hall. Had he gone back to her room?
His
room, she corrected. For now. Was that the bathroom sink running? For a moment she strained to hear, but then thought herself
silly and started after him. They needed to talk. About the photograph. About the file. God, were there more files like that one?