Run Wild (3 page)

There was a tilt to his head. She’d learned to read people’s body language from the best in the business. That slight tilt often indicated strong confidence or, at least, a high self-esteem. Natasha imagined him competent in his job, thorough, and well aware of his bad-boy good looks. He’d spoken to her on the phone as if he wasn’t used to anyone telling him no. She wondered how many ladies in his county told him yes. The report on him didn’t say he was married.

“He’s not bad looking,” her aunt murmured, glancing past her husband at Natasha.

“We don’t care how he looks,” her uncle grumbled.

Natasha worried her thoughts must have shown on her face when her aunt gave her a small smile.

“I’ll call Sheriff Oakley back and let him know I’ll meet him on Monday.” Natasha left her aunt and uncle and headed through the house to the KFA office, her stomach twisted in knots over her unexpected road trip and concern for her father.

Patty sat at Natasha’s desk, typing in reports Natasha usually handled.

“Thanks for holding down the fort,” Natasha said, moving around her desk.

Patty didn’t turn to acknowledge her but continued entering the report. “No problem at all. The filing is done. Would you run a couple messages to Greg?” she asked, as if it were her job to find something for Natasha to do.

It was on the tip of Natasha’s tongue to snap at Patty and demand she get out of her chair. Natasha allowed a second to pass, but Patty never stopped typing.

“The report can wait a minute, Patty. I need to talk to you.”

That got Patty’s attention and she looked over her shoulder, giving Natasha a quick once-over before raising her lashes and lifting one eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Get up.” Natasha didn’t snap. She remained calm, staring at Patty until the woman sighed, reluctantly scooted the office chair back, and stood. “Have a seat,” Natasha said, waving a hand to one of the chairs on the other side of her desk.

Patty might be attractive if she weren’t such a bitch. The woman stuck out her chin, walking with indignation around the desk, then plopped down hard enough in the chair that her ass slapped against the smooth surface. She made a show of clearing any expression from her face as she clasped her hands rigidly in her lap and stared Natasha down.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I’m going to be gone Monday and Tuesday of next week. I think you’re up to speed on how we do things around here, but if you aren’t, now is the time to let me know so we can familiarize you and make sure you’re comfortable.”

Patty’s entire expression transformed. “Really? You’re leaving? For two days?”

Natasha bit her lip so she wouldn’t make a sly remark about Patty’s enthusiasm. The woman couldn’t make it any clearer that she wanted Natasha’s job.

“Yes, I am. I’m going to make a few phone calls, but then I’m going to head out for a couple hours. It will be a good opportunity to see how you do running the office on your own. I’ll be back before five, and of course you can reach me on my cell. If you have questions, we’ll go over them when I return. Sound good?”

“Yes, it does.” Patty licked her lips, her excitement making her beam.

Natasha didn’t care what Patty thought. Her being here made leaving possible, and for that much Natasha needed to be grateful. She reached for her phone and held the pose for a moment, staring at Patty until the woman came back down to earth, more than likely stuffing her dreams of victory to the back of her head.

“Oh,” she said, giggling and making a show of running her hands down her pristine gray high-cut dress. “I’ll run these messages to Greg.”

“A piece of advice.” Natasha had to speak quickly when Patty ignored her and headed to the door leading into the house. “Greg prefers business not be brought to him when he’s inside his home. He’ll come get his messages. Unless it’s a life-or-death emergency, don’t chase him down with phone calls. He won’t like that.”

“Okay,” Patty said slowly, staring longingly at the door leading into the living room. Then returning the messages to the message spindle, she stabbed the papers on it and turned to her small, simple desk and organized the few pieces of paper on it.

Natasha ignored Patty, turning her attention to the phone call she needed to make. Her message pad had been pushed to the side when Patty had made herself at home at Natasha’s desk. After a moment of reorganizing her things, Natasha placed the pad next to her phone and dialed the number.

She mentally prepared herself for what she’d say and a few questions she wanted answered before leaving. Trent picked up the phone after the first ring.

“Trent Oakley,” he answered, his deep voice crisp and authoritative.

Natasha breathed in, ignoring the quick flutter in her stomach as she straightened. “Sheriff Oakley, this is Natasha King with KFA,” she began.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m calling to confirm our two o’clock meeting on Monday.”

“Good. I’ve taken the liberty of making reservations for you at Pearl’s. It’s a bed-and-breakfast. If you have something to write with, I’ll give you the address and phone number now.”

She had hit it on the mark when she’d guessed him so confident he wouldn’t imagine anyone telling him no. Grabbing her pen, she wrote down the address to Pearl’s Bed-and-Breakfast along with the phone number. “You were mighty sure of yourself that I’d agree to come up,” she couldn’t help saying.

“We’re talking about your daddy here. Most people care about their parents.” There wasn’t any indication he was making fun of her or joking in any way. He sounded serious.

“I would like to know what this meeting is about.”

“We’ll talk in person.”

“Sheriff Oakley, quote me a law that says you can’t tell me over the phone, or tell me now why you want to see me in person.”

There was silence before he muttered something Natasha didn’t catch. “Ms. King, I’m doing you a favor and giving you the opportunity to defend your father.”

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat. “Is my dad up there?” she asked, her voice catching.

“How long has it been since you last saw your father?”

She hated people asking her that question. Everyone jumped to conclusions when she answered. Over the years, she’d never found a perfect answer to prevent more questions or looks of pity. She and her dad didn’t have a typical father-daughter relationship, but she still loved him and knew he loved her.

“It’s been a while.”

“You care to narrow that down for me?”

He was a pushy bastard. Something told her by Monday evening, after meeting this Trent Oakley, she’d no longer think him handsome. He was going to be one of those people whose abrasive personality stole all good looks away from them.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of sounding defensive. “I’d have to say around three or four years.”

“Three or four years, huh. Are you telling me you don’t remember when you last saw your father?”

She remembered. It had been right before Christmas. When he’d shown up unannounced, Natasha had hurried out and bought presents for him, thrilled he would be with them over the holidays. Her father left on Christmas Eve, forgot to say good-bye, and called that night, laughing good-heartedly at his absentmindedness, and told her some friends had invited him out for Christmas. It had never crossed George King’s mind that his daughter might want him there for the holiday.

“It was almost four years ago,” she said, hearing the chill in her tone.

Trent Oakley let out a low whistle. “You sure about that?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m sure. Are you suggesting I’m lying?”

“Are you?”

“No. I am not lying,” she snapped, gripping the phone harder as she pressed it against her ear. She began pushing the end of her pen, opening and closing it repeatedly as she frowned. “You haven’t told me yet what this is about.”

“We’ll discuss all the details Monday. I’d suggest driving up Sunday. I reserved your room for Sunday night. Once you’ve checked in give me a call. You’ll get your details then.” Trent hung up the phone.

“Of all the—” Natasha slammed her phone on the receiver.

“What’s wrong?” Patty’s eyes flashed as she spun her chair to face Natasha.

“Nothing.” Natasha stormed out of the office. So much for having fun shopping for a new outfit or two before heading up to the mountains. She had half a mind to cancel the trip and tell the pompous sheriff to go to hell.

Sheriff Oakley didn’t know George King very well. Her father had never needed her help before and probably didn’t need, or want, her help now.

Chapter Two

Weaverville, California, turned out to be a very small town, obviously not very wealthy but somehow holding on to a content, peaceful atmosphere Natasha noticed immediately when she slowed to the posted speed limit and relied on the GPS system built into the dash of the Avalanche to show her how to get to the bed-and-breakfast. In spite of heavy clouds looming overhead that looked like bad weather, people on the sidewalks moved slower than they did in L.A. No one was darting around her or honking for her to get out of their way, and there wasn’t a taxi in sight.

She’d just entered a different dimension; she was sure of it.

“Turn right at the next corner.”

Natasha followed the automated woman’s voice and turned. A dark, midnight blue Suburban passed Natasha on the road just as she turned and she caught the logo on the driver’s side door. It was the sheriff. Would there be more than one sheriff in this tiny, timeless community?

“Drive two blocks,” the female voice said soothingly. Even its programming sounded less stressed and seemed to speak with a slower drawl.

“I’m losing it,” Natasha said, rolling her eyes.

“Pearl’s Bed-and-Breakfast is on the left. You have reached your destination.”

Natasha eyed the large front porch and potted plants hanging on hooks over the railing. They had to be fake at this time of the year. It was a hell of a lot colder up here than it had been in L.A. Not that Natasha didn’t already know it would be, but she wasn’t used to seeing her own breath, let alone turning on the heater in the truck. A large wooden sign in the front yard said simply:
PEARL’S
. Natasha turned off the road onto a gravel drive that ran alongside the large, old house to a square gravel parking lot where a backyard might once have been.

“Wow,” she whispered, after parking and getting out of her truck, then standing and stretching. “Who would have known places like this really existed?”

Even the back of the old, glorious home made her think at any moment a horse and buggy would drive by and women would scurry past her in long dresses with children at their feet. Natasha shook her head, reminding herself why she was here. This wasn’t time for silly fantasies, and she wasn’t the type of woman to stare at the world through rose-colored glasses. Maybe she wasn’t walking into a life-or-death situation, which she’d certainly done more than once in the past, but she was here on business.

Was her dad somewhere in this tiny town?

The place didn’t seem quite up to his speed.

Natasha opened the passenger door to the black truck and pulled out her suitcase and laptop, then, nudging the door closed with her elbow, pushed the button on the keys to lock it and headed to a covered back porch with a
WELCOME
sign nailed to the screen door.

The back porch led to a small room, and she thought of KFA back home and how this house had also been converted over to a business. The small room was an office, with a high counter and a bell in the middle of it. A handwritten three-by-five card next to it told her she should ring for service.

Natasha did just that and put her suitcase and laptop on the floor next to her.

“Hi there.” A middle-aged woman with an apron tied around her thick middle and her gray hair falling out of a tight bun behind her head hustled in from the other room. She dried her hands on a dish towel and dropped it unceremoniously on the counter next to her.

“I’m Natasha King,” Natasha offered, watching the woman grab a three-by-five-card box and open it. “I have reservations.”

“Yes, Miss King.” The woman pulled out a card, read it, then met Natasha with gray eyes as she gave her a curious once-over. “I hope you had a pleasant trip.”

“As pleasant as can be driving up the state of California.”

“Well, now that you’ve reached the beauty of it all, we sure hope you enjoy your stay here.” The woman pulled out an adding machine and began punching numbers. Then quoting Natasha the rate, she added, “We accept cash or most major credit cards, but no personal checks.”

Natasha pulled her credit card from her purse. “That seems a bit high. Your rates on your Web Site—”

“Ninety-five dollars per night for one week,” the woman stated, reading her three-by-five card. “That includes your meals, maid service each morning, and there is information in the living room on tours and the local dude ranches. I’m sure you’ll be visiting Trinity Ranch,” she said, narrowing her brow and again giving Natasha a shrewd look.

Natasha had no idea what Trinity Ranch was and at the moment didn’t care. “One week? I’m not paying for one week. I have an appointment here tomorrow afternoon and will head home after that. All I’m doing is staying the night.”