Brash (9 page)

A knock on the door halted her progress, and she groaned.
Damn brothers,
she thought as she turned and headed back. They really didn't trust Cole at all, did they? Or her ability to resist him? Unless they'd forgotten to give him his toiletry bag or something. She grinned at that. What would Cole Cavanaugh have in a toiletry bag? Toothbrush? Moisturizer? Bengay? Condoms?

“You'd better have a pizza with you,” she called, yanking back the door. “Because that's the only way you're getting in—”

“Evenin', Grace.”

“Wayne?” she said, surprised.

Standing on the other side of the threshold, dressed very handsomely in gray cords and a blue chambray shirt, was the always smiling, always cordial Reverend McCarron.

He took off his tan Stetson and gave her one of those smiles. “I didn't bring pizza. Was I supposed to?”

“I'm sorry, no. That wasn't for—” She glanced past him. The Cavanaughs weren't still out there, were they? Nope. No black truck in sight. She turned back to Wayne. “Never mind. What are you doing here?” She instantly wished for a rewind button. She was pretty sure that question had skirted the edges of shrill.

“We had a date tonight?”

Oh, shit.

When he saw her horrified, and no doubt embarrassed, expression, he attempted to hide his dismay. But he wasn't very good at hiding things. Emotions and desires especially. They seemed to flash like caution signs in his eyes whenever he spoke to her. His lips thinned. “You forgot.”

“Of course not,” Grace said emphatically. She forced a smile. “No. It's just . . . something . . . came up.”

Instantly, the role of spiritual leader emerged within Wayne. He turned soft and pliable. “Oh, I hope it's nothing serious.”

Before Grace could answer, a deep, masculine voice called out behind her, “Not serious at all, Reverend. Just a sprain. But thanks for the concern.”

*   *   *

Cole knew it. Had known it from the first time he'd seen them together, sharing a booth at the Bull's Eye. The good and righteous Rev had a thing for the sexy, stubborn vet. Not that Cole could blame him. She was something to crush on, that was sure. Question was, did Grace have a thing for him too?

Something dark and alive rumbled in Cole's chest at the thought. Most likely the animal he let out of its cage only for fights. The thing was unpredictable and vicious, and for some reason Cole
refused to acknowledge, it didn't like the idea of Grace Hunter taking up with the man who had just walked into her house like he'd been there before. Damn, Rev and Doc—that would be disappointing. Not because Cole wanted to take her out himself or anything—shit, that would be a disaster, her angel to his demon—but because Wayne McCarron was one dull son of a bitch. And no one should have to suffer through dull. Not for an evening. Not for a lifetime. Cole was probably going to hell for just thinking it. But then again, he was probably going to hell anyway.

Grace's green eyes were wary with a side of fierce as she watched him hobble over to the couch and plop his ass down, then set one of her daddy's boxes on the coffee table.

“You should be in bed,” she scolded.

Oh, those words—that command—were working their way down his belly to places he couldn't acknowledge until after his fight with Fontana. And even then—with her—he wasn't going to be acknowledging them at all.

“Bed?” Wayne repeated, glancing from Grace to Cole, then back again.

Poor dull fool.
She couldn't possibly be interested in pursuing someone like that
.

Grace was trying to explain herself. “He's supposed to stay in my bed one more night and—”

“What?” Wayne exclaimed.

“Oh, no, no.” Grace laughed nervously. “See, he
hurt his ankle last night and I let him stay here. In my . . . bed . . .”

“Good heavens,” Wayne muttered, looking slightly sick to his stomach.

Cole shook his head, trying to suppress laughter. He almost felt sorry for the guy. “Listen, Your Holiness,” he began sharply. “She's not sleeping there too, if that's what's worrying you. She's in the guest room. Left me with Casa Pink.”

“That means ‘pink house,' Cole,” she told him, with a roll of her eyes. “Not ‘pink room.'”

“Whatever. He gets the point. Don't you, Rev?”

For one second, the Rev's eyes skimmed Cole's naked chest and gray sweats, which were hanging a little low on his hips as he sprawled on the couch. He was just trying to be comfortable as he convalesced.

“Grace,” Wayne said very slowly, turning his gaze back on the vet. “Seems like you were helping out someone in need. I think that's very good of you.” The expression on his face changed. From shock and dismay to peaceful acceptance.

He'd decided Grace was doing the Lord's work, Cole mused. Or had convinced himself of that. Damn, the man was righteous. If Cole had showed up here ready for a date and some guy was sprawled out naked on the couch, he'd be inclined to use the old wrestling arm drag move and toss him right out on his ass.

“I'd still love to take you to dinner,” Wayne
continued. “And if it's pizza you have a hankering for, it's pizza you'll get.”

“How sweet,” Cole muttered with a sneer.

Grace threw daggers at him with her eyes. “Yes, Wayne,” she said. “I'd like that. But . . . I'm not . . . Can you give me a few minutes to get ready?”

“Of course,” Wayne said graciously.

She's going? What?
They had shit to do. Files . . . a game plan to get in to speak to her father about that newspaper he'd been saving.

“Please. Have a seat.” She gestured to the couch and saw that Cole had taken it over. “Cole?”

“What?”

“Make some room. Or go back to your room.”

His brow drifted up lazily. “Don't you mean
your
room?”

This time the look she threw him had a grenade attached.

“Fine. No sweat, Doc,” he said, scooting over and pulling out a stack of papers from the box. “I'll even entertain your guest while you're gone making yourself pretty.”

“She doesn't have to make herself into anything,” Wayne said, his eyes warm and soft as he looked at Grace. “You're already beautiful.”

Cole nearly puked.

Grace's smile was thin lipped. “Thank you.”

“Sure, of course she is,” Cole ground out. “But you know what I'm talking about, Rev. She's been
at work most of the morning. Around animals. And you know what comes out of 'em?”

Wayne just stared at him, nonplussed.

Cole snorted. “Well, maybe she can explain it to you over dinner.”

“Please ignore him, Wayne,” Grace suggested.

“I'm sure that would be impossible,” the man returned.

Cole grinned.
Not so pious after all. Little smart-ass in there . . .

“Just do your best,” she added, then turned and headed down the hall.

Cole gestured to the now unoccupied twelve inches of space on the couch. “Have a seat.”

Wayne refused with a shake of the head, but said, “I'm sorry about your ankle, Mr. Cavanaugh. That must be a trying injury considering your line of work.”

“It is,” Cole agreed, grabbing another file and starting going through the contents. “And, Wayne?”

“Yes?”

“You know, we all went to school together.”

One eyebrow lifted in question. “I'm sorry?”

Cole heaved a breath, closed the file, and grabbed another one. “Why are you calling me Mr. Cavanaugh? Like we're strangers?”

Wayne thought about this for a moment, then shrugged. “It's been a long time since you and your brothers have been back to River Black. It's almost like we're meeting again.”

“Okeydoke,” Cole said with a snort, his eyes running over the paperwork in the file in front of him. Meeting again.
Shoot
. He remembered pale-faced Wayne McCarron getting rejected by a girl in eighth grade and running off crying to the bathroom. Now, he wasn't going to say anything about that. But this man was taking his host and investigatory partner away tonight . . .

Cole's thoughts petered out as his gaze caught and held on a photograph at the very back of the file. It was the same photo he and Grace had found in the lifestyle section. Cass on the library steps with the girl in the background.

His heart started pumping, the pressure making his chest ache. Why the hell did Sheriff Hunter have this? What was he looking at? Looking for?

“Hey, Rev,” he started, swiveling in his spot to make some real room for the man to sit. “Take a look at this, will ya? Do you know who this girl is?”

Instead of sitting, though, Wayne came around the back of the couch. He leaned over and pointed to the shot with his middle finger. “That one there? Behind the girl on the steps?”

“Yup.”

He leaned in another few inches. “Looks like Natalie Palmer to me.”

Cole's gut contracted. “Natalie—”

“Palmer?” came Grace's voice behind them.

Both men glanced up, forgetting for a moment what they'd just been discussing. Grace was
standing there. All ready for a night on the town.
Damn
. The vet was undeniably a hot chick. Killer petite body, gorgeous face, expressive green eyes, long dark hair that made a man's fingers itch. But all of that was accentuated by the dress she'd put on. White and tight with little red flowers on it and a front that dipped into the most spectacular cleavage Cole had ever seen.

Wayne had noticed her too, and except for the rigid set of his jaw, was pretty much concealing his drool—as a righteous man of the cloth should, of course.

“What about the photograph?” Grace pressed, coming closer.

“Found it in one of your daddy's files,” Cole said pointedly.

Her eyes shuttered. She was wondering just what the hell was going on too. And for a moment, Cole hoped the man wasn't involved in Cass's disappearance. For his daughter's sake.

Wayne cleared his throat. “It's hard to make out her face,” he said, returning to the aged newspaper. “But see that mark running down her leg?”

Grace came over to the couch while Cole leaned in and narrowed his eyes. “What is that?” he asked.

“A scar,” Wayne answered. “She's had it since she was five. Ran into a glass table and had to have over seventy stitches. She's become very self-conscious about it.”

“How did you know that?” Cole demanded.

“She is a parishioner, Mr. Cavanaugh.” It was all he said before standing up and addressing Grace. He kept his eyes on hers, didn't let them slip down to the paradise below her neck.

He was a true gentleman.

A man of God.

And Cole? Well, he was admittedly the devil incarnate—his gaze was taking in every sweet and creamy wave.

“Ready?” Wayne asked her politely.

“Yes.” She glanced down at Cole. Concern warmed her eyes. “Will you be okay?”

He wanted to tell her that she shouldn't be taking off, with all they needed to do, with all they needed to talk about. And maybe he'd add in something about him being in a vulnerable, moderately pained state. But he didn't have the heart. She'd been good to him. Taken care of his pain-in-the-ass ass.

“I'll be fine,” he said with a nod and a smile.

Something crossed her gaze, shadowed disappointment. But she recovered quickly. “I've left you a sandwich and some pasta salad in the fridge if you get hungry.”

“How kind of you, Grace,” Wayne put in.

Yeah, it was kind, Cole agreed. She was a good woman. A good woman who might've been born to a very bad man.

“I could call your brothers,” she offered. “Get them to come back and keep you—”

“I'm going to keep working, darlin'. Keep diggin',” he said. His brow lifted. “Who knows what else I may find.”

She paled at his words, but didn't say anything.

Cole glanced over at the reverend. “You take care of her, Father. Have her back at ten or you and me . . . we're going to have words.”

Wayne blanched slightly, but still managed to try and set Cole straight. “I'm not a Father, Mr. Cavanaugh. That's a Catholic—”

“Don't worry about it, Wayne,” Grace interrupted with a soft laugh. She slipped her arm through his and led him away from the couch. “He's just messing with you.”

“What about the curfew?” Wayne asked. “He's not serious about that, is he?”

Again, she laughed as they headed for the door. “Come on.” Then she glanced back at Cole. “Night.”

His eyes searched hers for something that resembled a
Help me get out of this!
expression. But there was nothing. She was glad to be with Wayne. And why wouldn't she be? Sure, Cole considered the man dull as an unsharpened knife, but for someone who wanted a nice quiet life in River Black, he was probably the catch of the century. He clipped her a nod. “Night, Doc.”

She gave him a smile. “Don't do anything that might put strain on your ankle, okay?”

She didn't wait for a response. Just turned around and was gone. Out the door and under the
protection of the good Father Reverend. And Cole was alone with Belle and a helluva lot of files. He called the dog up onto the couch, then dug in to the box for another stack of potential clues, and most unwelcome memories.

Grace found Cole and Belle outside in the backyard when she returned home a few hours later. The former was seated at the antique glass-and-white-metal table she'd bought on eBay the year before, blond head bent over a stack of papers, broad shoulders and thickly muscled back exposed, and both feet on the ground. The tabletop was littered with about half a dozen candles, and when she approached and his head came up, those black eyes glittered in the firelight with quick interest.

Grace's heart skipped a beat or two inside her ribs and she moved his way. The man was terrifyingly sexy, overwhelmingly male. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

He sat back in his chair casually, his eyes moving over her. “Better.”

“Really?”

One pale eyebrow drifted upward. “You sound disappointed.”

“No. Of course I'm not disappointed.” Unbidden, her gaze snaked down his neck to his inked chest, then shot quickly back upward. “Just surprised.”

“I heal fast.”

“You're lucky.”

“Not saying I'm perfect, mind you—”

“No, please don't say that,” she uttered dryly.

His lips twitched. “Point is, the ankle is now at eighty percent, and that means I'll be back to training tomorrow.”

A lump the size of a grapefruit dropped into her gut. It was a strange reaction. One she wasn't sure she wanted to pick apart. “Well, that's great.”

Cole was studying her. It always felt like he was studying her. For what, she wasn't sure. A clue to how she felt around him? Or what she was thinking? Why did he care? Unless what he wanted to ascertain had to do with her father. That made the most sense.

“Are we going to talk about those photographs?” he asked.

Her heart shrank inside her chest. Though she'd been thinking about it all night, she'd been hoping he hadn't. “I want to say that it's just a strange coincidence, but I can't. I can't say anything until I talk to him.” She gave him a pointed look. “And I'm going to do that. Alone.”

For a second Cole appeared ready to argue that statement, but then he released a heavy breath. His gaze dropped to the box in her hands. “So, whaddya got there?”

She looked down too. “Oh. It's pizza.”

One brow lifted. “For me?”

She felt the muscles in her face relax, felt a smile tug at her lips. “Maybe.”

“Awww . . . Rev was right about you, Doc. You are sweet.”

Heat surged into her cheeks. “It was nothing. Just in case you didn't eat your sandwich . . .”

“As a matter of fact,” he said, eyes pinned to hers. “I didn't eat my sandwich.”

“Well, that's not very smart, Cole,” she started in, forgetting all about her embarrassment, all about the discussion she was going to have to have with her father. “Making sure you have enough calories is important to your—”

“You know, Doc,” he interrupted, reaching up and taking the pizza box from her hands. He placed it on the table beside him. “You're going to make someone a great wife.”

Grace's heart stuttered at his words. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged casually. “You got the caretaking gene, is all I'm sayin'. Not a lot of women have it. Surprising but true.” His gaze searched hers and something dark moved across the twin pools of near black. “I'm thinking the Rev might agree with me.”

Her heart went from stuttering to the muscle freezing up altogether. This was so dangerous. She wasn't going there with him. Chit chat. Flirtation. Discussing her date with another guy like they were two girlfriends over near empty glasses of wine. Cole Cavanaugh was just her injured houseguest/investigatory work partner.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, ready to flee the scene. “A beer might go nice with the pizza?”

“No, thanks,” he said with just a hint of melancholy. “Can't drink.”

“Oh, right. Training.” She shrugged, then turned. “Well, I'll get you a plate and a napkin, then.”

But before she could make her escape, Cole caught her hand and turned her back to face him. Heart slamming inside her chest, she gazed down at him. His expression was no longer relaxed, playful. Instead, he wore a mask of dark curiosity.

“Something wrong?” she asked, trying not to think about how amazing his hand felt against hers. Strong, warm . . .

“He kiss you tonight? The Rev?”

God, this was a bad idea. She blew out a breath. “What a question.”

“Needs an answer.”

“Does it?” She swallowed tightly. “It's really none of your business. I mean, I don't ask you who you kiss, now do I?”
Fancy Dallas doctor maybe?

“Hey, I'll tell you. No one.” He gave her a pointed look. “Training.”

“Well, I'm sorry about that,” she said idiotically. “For all of your . . . suffering.”

For a second, he stared at her. Then he started to laugh. Really laugh. It was a rough-edged sound that snaked down her back, giving her a hot shiver.

“Come on now,” he said finally. “Don't go running off. Sit with me. Watch me eat your leftover pizza.”

“Watch you eat?”

“Yep.”

Her lips twitched without her permission. “Sounds thrilling.”

“Could be.” His eyes glittered with cocky amusement. “I've heard I'm a sexy eater. Lots of tongue and teeth.”

She tried to pretend like the breath wasn't stalled in her lungs. “That might be what's known as oversharing, Cole.”

He just laughed again. “Come on, Doc. Sit.”

“I should really—”

“What? Go inside and go to bed?”

“Maybe. It's been a long day.” And at this rate, it was going to be a longer night. What was happening? Here? To them? A week ago she'd wanted to club him over the head. Now her mind was conjuring up all sorts of images that had nothing
to do with retribution, and everything to do with her lips on his.

He pulled out the chair beside him. “Don't make me eat alone. Do that way too often as it is.”

Nice touch
. She was pretty sure he was laying it on thick. Making her feel sorry for him. She couldn't imagine he was ever alone. Not in the woman department, anyway. But even so she caved, sat down in the seat he offered and opened the pizza box.

It was a gorgeous night. So different from the one before. Clear skies. Bright moon. The scent of cool grass on the breeze, Belle's collar making that jangling sound as she sniffed herself into oblivion over by the pecan tree.

“This looks good,” he remarked, grabbing a slice.

Her gaze shifted to the man beside her. Yes, he did. Too good. Cole Cavanaugh had this way about him . . . this thing that went far beyond his incredible looks and physique. Maybe it stemmed from confidence or a lack of caring what anyone thought of him. Or maybe it was his unwavering drive. Whatever it was, it unnerved her. Threw her world off its carefully constructed axis.

He glanced up then, a second before slipping the slice between his lips. “Pepperoni and black olive. This Rev or you?”

“Does it matter? It's untouched, I swear.”

“Shit, woman. 'Course it matters.”

“Why?”

He thought for a second, then shrugged. “I don't know.”

She laughed. “How many times have you been hit in the head?”

“I think we've gone over this. More than you got toes on your feet.”

Her mouth dropped open. She'd meant it as a joke. A comeback for his crazy questions about the pizza. “You've been hit in the head more than ten times?”

He shrugged. “Hit, kicked, dropped, slammed.” He took a bite of the pizza and groaned. “Hot damn, I shouldn't be eating this shit . . . Christ, I sound like a woman.”

She ignored the barb to her sex for the sake of keeping the conversation going. She never regretted pizza. Ever. “What's the problem?”

“Tastes like fucking heaven,” he explained. “But it doesn't do a damn thing to build muscle. And don't get me started on all the salt.”

She gestured at his chest. “You have plenty of muscle. I wouldn't worry.”

A grin split his features. “Staring at my body, are you, Doc?” he teased.

She snorted, though her insides were humming with an uncomfortable awareness. “Kind of impossible not to. You're very anti-shirt.”

“I run hot-blooded,” he informed her before finishing off the slice of pizza.

She rolled her eyes.

“It's true. I think I'm part tiger.”

“Or part dog,” she returned.

Without warning, he leaned in and growled at her.

Shock waves of heat barreled through Grace. She stared at him. He was so close. Less than a foot away. Her breath was coming in shallow, and she wondered if slapping herself might bring back the calm, put-together Dr. Hunter. Or diving into a vat of ice water. She guessed not.

She cleared her throat. “Did you manage to do some more digging?” She hated that she'd asked him that, that she'd brought up the files, and the photograph again. But it was the only thing that might bring back their sanity.

He nodded. “Didn't find anything else, though. I e-mailed Mac about the picture. Asked her what she knew about Natalie during those years. We'll see if she has anything to add.”

“Maybe they were friends?” she said, though it came out a whisper. “Natalie and Cass.”

“I don't think so. I tried not to always be up in my sister's business, but it wasn't easy. She was my other half. So I kept a look out. I knew who her friends were.” His brows lowered slightly over dark eyes fringed with pale lashes. “I know you want to talk with your pops on your own, but I say you and me, we pay the baker a little visit tomorrow. Ask her a few questions.”

“The bakery's closed,” she reminded him.

“I know.”

“So you want to go to her house?”

“Yup.”

“I thought you were going back to training.”

“I am. Will be. But I can spare a few hours in the morning. If you can.”

His eyes were eating her up now. There was no other way to describe it. He looked like he wanted to dig around inside her head and consume whatever he found there. Good, bad, right, wrong. It was the strangest thing she'd ever experienced with a man.

“Do you think Deacon and James are going to want to be involved?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he said. “Probably. But I think it's best if we do this on our own for now. Three Cavanaugh brothers descending on one already anxious woman . . .”

True. That would be pretty intimidating. “You know, it might be hard to get to her,” Grace said. “With what her daddy did, she may not think kindly on any visitors at all.”

Cole's lips twitched. Not with humor, but with that singular brand of cocky confidence he wore. “You know me, darlin'. I got my ways. When I want something, I go after it.” His eyes dropped to her lips. “By the way, that slice was good. Your soon-to-be husband knows his pizza.”

She nearly choked. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, watching her closely.

“Wayne is not my soon-to-be husband. He's not my soon-to-be anything—”

“Did you kiss him?”

“'Course I didn't kiss him.”
Wait
. Why was she so vehement about that? She liked Wayne. Wayne was a good man, with solid, real values.

A slow, satisfied smile was Cole's only response.

Nostrils flared, she shook her head at him. “You're insane. You know that?”

“I do. But at least I'm not stupid.”

She bristled. “Who are you calling stup—?”

“Don't get all bent out of shape, Doc. I'm talking about Wayne.”

“Oh, Wayne is not stupid.”

He leaned in, his gaze dropping to her mouth. “Sent you home to another man without givin' you a good, solid kiss good night? Stupid.”

“That's called being polite, Cole,” she said breathlessly. “Maybe you should try it.”

“No, thanks. I'm good.”

And with that, he dipped his head and captured her mouth with his.

*   *   *

What he'd meant to do was prove a point. No. What he'd meant to do was play with her a bit. No. That wasn't it either. What he'd meant to do was show her what a man who was interested in a woman . . .

Ah, shit
. He didn't know what he was doing.
Her lips were warm and just a little wet as he kissed her, and he wanted to lose himself in them for hours, days—a week. Screw the fight.

The fight.

He growled against her mouth.

The motherfucking fight
.

He pulled back. Not all the way, but enough to break their connection, enough so he could breathe on his own and look her in the eyes. She stared at him, heavy lidded, her lips parted—pink.
Oh . . . pink.
He couldn't escape that color. And in this case, he didn't want to.

He forced out a breath. His body felt racked with a desire so intense and unexpected, it nearly made him sick to his stomach. What was he going to do here? He hadn't meant for the silly little nothing peck to turn so epically hot. And from the look on her face, she hadn't expected it either.

Warning. Warning.
Back up and pretend that meant absolutely nothing before you blow not only your match next week, but the one reason you came here
.
The most important reason of all. The truth
.
Answers to the mystery that is consuming your life
.

“Cole . . .” Her voice was so soft, so threaded with need. It made him want to pull her into his arms and remove that tight white dress with his teeth.

But instead he sat back, inhaled sharply, and gave her a wolfish look. “You're welcome.”

Her mouth dropped open in shock, and every whisper of desire he'd seen in her eyes a second earlier dissolved.
Real classy, Champ
.
Yep, you deserve that name tonight
.