Run Wild (35 page)

“Why didn’t you tell me Carl was your son when I was here last week?” Trent asked, not allowing a moment to pass before firing out the question.

“A man gets set in his ways,” Jim said, and adjusted his hat on his head. He tilted it against the afternoon sun, then kicked at the ground with his boot before focusing on Trent. “After years of keeping a secret it doesn’t come easy talking about it.”

“So you didn’t think of him as your son?”

“Now wait a minute, Sheriff.” Jim held up his large, work-worn hand. “I provided for that boy and his mama since the day he was born. Carl was my flesh and blood, and don’t think for a second it didn’t tear me apart seeing his life ended like that. Whoever killed him will pay dearly. You’ve got my word on that,” he said, his voice having turned hard and fierce sounding. At sixty-some years old, Jim Burrows still looked like a man who would dish out a threat and see it through and didn’t mind telling the lawman as much to his face.

“Whoever did this will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law,” Trent said calmly.

“Damn right!” Jim barked, then reached for his hat. “Excuse my language, little lady.”

“Did your wife know you were supporting Carl and his mother?” Trent asked.

“Which wife?” Jim didn’t smile, but he certainly didn’t appear ashamed to be on wife number two.

“Either,” Trent said, his expression and gaze on Jim never wavering. “Did either wife have a problem with you sending Carl and his mother money?”

Jim didn’t answer right away. When he did, all humor was gone from the man. “No, Sheriff. Neither Sandra nor Ethel had a problem with my supporting my boy.”

“Boys, right?” Trent pressed.

“Of course I have more than one son. This isn’t news, Oakley. You’ve known my boys all your life,” Jim growled. “Don’t sneak in from the side, boy. If you got a question, let’s hear it now.”

Trent didn’t so much as blink. “Are you Pat O’Reilly’s father?”

Jim Burrows stared at Trent, and a peculiar expression crossed over his face. Natasha watched all color drain from the man’s face and swore the good-sized rancher seemed to deflate before her eyes. It didn’t happen in the blink of an eye, but within the few moments that she and Trent waited out in silence the color slowly returned to Jim’s face. He started looking flushed, then pulled his cowboy hat from his head and ran his fingers through coarse dark brown and gray hair. He turned from them, staring at the men down by the cattle. Natasha guessed he probably wished he were with them instead of answering Trent’s questions.

She looked up at Trent when he quit watching Jim and turned to look at her. Trent’s expression looked strained but determined, which didn’t surprise her. He was one hell of a determined man. The dominating, aggressive nature of his beast was quite likely what made him a good sheriff. But it might be why he was still single, as well. Although she didn’t miss the looks the ladies working at the bank had given him, and her, when they’d first entered.

The thick waves in his dark hair bordered his hardened features. Sunlight pulled out a trace, here and there, of auburn strands she hadn’t noticed before. His height and broad shoulders, his muscular and perfectly fine-tuned body, were only the half of what made Trent so damn appealing. It was his personality. Natasha saw how any woman who took the time to know him would see the hard edge, his no-nonsense mannerisms, and an unbreakable will to protect and provide for all who mattered to him. Probably women had tried to rein in all the aggression and sheer willpower welled up inside the man. And each of them had failed.

Natasha relaxed, exhaled, and continued staring into his compelling green eyes. Even when she was positive every bit of his thought process was focused on Jim Burrows right now, Trent still watched her like a hawk. Natasha understood this was how he took in all his surroundings, all of which were land and people he’d been sworn in to protect.

The moment Jim shifted his weight, Trent snapped his attention in that direction. Which proved Natasha right. If she were to make a quick movement, whether it be drastic or barely detectable, she didn’t doubt for a moment Trent would snap his focus back to her. Although knowing what she did about Trent so far, he probably wouldn’t look but would simply reach out, grab her arm, and tighten his fingers around her like a vise.

He might be a brooding son of a bitch and have an inclination to throw tantrums when his authority was challenged, but he wasn’t fully ignoring her. For some seriously warped reason, that heightened her spirits.

Natasha returned her attention to Jim when Trent did. The rancher adjusted his hat on his head before looking at Trent.

“Where the hell did you hear that?” Jim hissed, his tone almost demonic. He sounded seriously pissed.

Trent did a good job of standing up to the rancher, who probably ran his business with confidence that he could bend any man’s will in his direction if necessary. Natasha would bet her uncle and cousins wouldn’t flinch under this man’s gruff nature either. She straightened, knowing Jim thought of her only as a little lady, but didn’t fear him either. She’d take him on, and probably win.

Were all Trinity County men dominating and built out of stubborn pride and a misguided belief that women needed to be protected and trained to sit, heel, and obey?

“Is that a ‘yes’?” Trent asked.

“Now you listen to me,” Jim snarled, pointing his finger at Trent’s face.

“I am listening,” Trent said coolly. “Is O’Reilly your son?”

“Damn it, Oakley. I want to know right now where you heard that.”

“Answer the question, Jim.”

Jim glared at Trent, his face so fiery red Natasha started worrying he might grab his chest and fall over from a heart attack.

“Yes!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the rough, uneven land around them. “Yes,” he repeated, a bit quieter a second time. “He’s my son, too. Now tell me how in the hell you knew that,” he demanded, barely giving Natasha a look when he waved his hand in the air briefly in her direction. “Why did you bring her along to hear a conversation like this?” he asked, this time just honestly sounding confused.

“Because Trent heard the information about your illegitimate sons from me,” she explained.

“Natasha,” Trent roared, although his voice didn’t echo; instead it sliced the air wide open between them and hit her hard with fierce aggression.

“Really,” Jim said, still somewhat confused, possibly that she’d entered their conversation when he’d just implied it wasn’t a proper exchange for her to hear. A noticeable wariness appeared on his face as well. “Now where in the world would you hear information like that?” Jim asked her.

“Not another word,” Trent whispered.

The look Trent gave her was harsh enough he might as well have told her she’d be walking to her truck if she kept speaking. She pursed her lips, confident she could take Jim Burrows on and hating being curbed the way Trent just did to her. But she wouldn’t challenge him in front of this old-school rancher who would definitely think less of Trent if she did. She doubted it would change Burrows’ opinion of her one way or the other.

“There really better be a better explanation for why you didn’t tell me about Pat than the reason you gave me for not telling me about Carl,” Trent said, speaking just as harshly to Jim as he had to her.

“The reason is the same.” Jim’s voice was cold and he straightened, puffing out his chest, and didn’t look away from Trent when he spoke. “I never knew about Pat until he came to town after he’d finished high school. His mama took him to Sacramento and never told me I was his daddy. And Pat isn’t a result of misguided thinking. I’ve done my penance for Carl and have no regrets today.” Once again the proud rancher stood before them, puffed out like a peacock. “Pat is almost your age,” he said, still looking at Trent. “I was with his mama before I married, or even proposed to, Sandra.”

“He’s your oldest son,” Natasha said under her breath, and looked up when both men looked at her.

Trent cleared his voice, getting Jim’s attention once again. “Your shock over my question makes me think very few people know you’re his father.”

“No one knows,” he emphasized. “Not a damn soul, until now. And if word of this gets out…,” he added, waving that finger again.

Trent looked like he might yank it off Jim’s hand if he didn’t put it down. “I don’t do threats, Jim,” Trent stated dryly. “I’ve only got one more question for you; then we’ll let you get back to work. Tell me about Nellie Burrows.”

This time Jim’s hand did go to his chest. He staggered backward as his mouth fell open and his complexion turned ashen.

“Wh-h-at … wh-h-at…,” he stammered. Then trying again, “Who have you been talking to?” he said, whispering. His expression then turned wild, angry, and pretty crazed looking. “You!” he said, snapping at Natasha. He turned his fierce look on Trent. “You sent King’s daughter to my ex, didn’t you? Set her up for some little-girl chat.” He spit out the accusation, then looked at Natasha. “Did you have tea with my ex?” he snarled.

Trent grabbed Natasha before she could respond and yanked her to him, then shoved her behind him. If it weren’t for the incredibly uneven ground, she probably would have maintained her balance better. As it was, she ended up grabbing Trent so she wouldn’t fall.

Jim started chuckling, although the well-humored man they’d met when they first walked out here was gone. “Nellie Burrows is a myth, a ghost conceived out of jealousy and in an effort to rob family of the fruit of their labors. And I’d be real careful if I were you, Sheriff. It might not do well for your career if word gets out you’ve captured yourself a killer’s daughter.”

“Why, you,” Natasha snarled. She was instantly pissed.

“Enough!” Trent ordered, holding Natasha against him so she couldn’t move. “Nellie Burrows isn’t a myth. I have a picture of her in an evidence bag, along with her dress and a rather large amount of cash that once belonged to her. Now you’re going to tell me everything you know about her so I can determine if she is linked to your son’s murder or not.”

Chapter Sixteen

Trent moved alongside Natasha as they headed down the hill toward the Suburban. He had a pissed-off woman, whom he happened to be sleeping with, ready to attack the father of his murder victim. Trent also had a prominent citizen in his community, who’d already been traumatized by the death of a son he could never really claim due to his own morals and convictions, now further traumatized through Trent’s questioning. A dull headache began throbbing at his temples.

“I want to be there when he tells you about Nellie Burrows.” Natasha continued marching down the hill, balancing herself with her hands held out in front of her.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Trent couldn’t afford for her to explode on Burrows. Not that he thought the man was guilty of anything, other than infidelity, but because he didn’t want to have to deal with pulling the two of them apart if Natasha and Burrows went at it full force.

She spun around, slapping long strands of hair that had slipped free from her coat away from her face. At the same time, she stepped on a clump of ground, losing her balance.

Trent told himself he wouldn’t touch her. He had a serious murder investigation to focus on, and Natasha was distracting him. They needed to talk. Now wasn’t the time, though. So he’d told himself he would keep clear of her until there was time for the two of them to hash it out. They would start with Natasha admitting that submitting wasn’t synonymous with failing. It meant trusting, something Natasha would learn to do with him.

When she started to fall, instinct kicked in. Trent grabbed her. She fell against his chest, her hand immediately pressing against his shoulder to stabilize herself.

Then she froze, turning stiff as a board.

Trent stared down at her wide eyes and her lips pressed together into a firm line. “Should I have let you fall?” he asked, still holding her.

“Huh?” She was looking past him.

Trent turned and looked at the truck parked next to his Suburban; then he looked back at Natasha. She blinked and looked up at him, her expression haunted.

“What is it?” he whispered, concerned with how pale she was.

When she remained quiet he gave her a slight shake. “Damn it, Natasha, talk to me. Would you accept we’re together on this and trust me?”

She blinked again and this time shook her head as if trying to knock some unpleasant thought out of her head. “What?” she asked, looking dazed. But then her expression transformed and she backed out of his arms. “I never said I don’t trust you.”

Now wasn’t the time for that argument. “Why did you just freeze?” He looked at the truck again. “Do you know that truck?” He studied it some more, but it simply looked like an old work truck. They were a dime a dozen on any ranch. It did mean someone had shown up since they’d arrived here, and Trent hadn’t seen anyone. He looked past Natasha back up the hilly meadow, but Burrows and the other men were still over the hill and out of sight.

“The tag.” Natasha pointed and cleared her throat.

“The tag?” Trent asked, looking at her, then staring at the license plate. “Do you recognize it?” Then it hit him. Before he could comment, Natasha filled him in.

“That’s the truck my father drove when I found him out at the cabin in Acorn. It’s the same tag number.” She looked at Trent sheepishly. “I memorized it.”