Run Wild (5 page)

Trent headed downstairs and wasn’t surprised when he pushed through the swinging door from the dining room to the back office and Matilda and Jerry were sipping coffee and leaning on the counter facing each other.

“I wondered where you went off to,” Matilda said, giving Trent a side-glance before smiling at her mailman. “Jerry and I were just speculating about our murder. The two of us might solve it for you.” Matilda had a deep, throaty laugh and her large breasts jiggled as she grinned.

Jerry sipped coffee, eyeing Trent when he came around the counter. “Any new leads?” Jerry asked, adjusting his bag of mail on his shoulder. “We were just talking about that woman who just got here, King’s daughter.”

“He’s keeping that drifter’s daughter upstairs,” Matilda told Jerry, dropping her voice to a low whisper as she thumbed in the direction of the house. “Trent knows I’ll keep a close eye on her here in my house.”

“I thought we agreed to keep that between ourselves.” Trent knew Matilda wouldn’t keep the knowledge of Natasha King coming to town a secret but didn’t have a problem reminding her. Possibly she’d only hand out the news to a few people instead of half the town that way.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Trent, it’s just Jerry. We both know he won’t tell anyone.” Matilda blushed in spite of herself, then huffed and ran her hand over the counter.

Jerry Packard was known for delivering the latest gossip as efficiently as he delivered mail.

“Just keep it quiet for now,” Trent said, opening the back door. “It will make my job a lot easier.”

“No problem,” both of them announced eagerly, and he left them to continue speculating on why he had brought Miss King to town.

*   *   *

Natasha returned outside the same way she’d been led upstairs. When she came to the door leading to the closed-in back porch where the high counter was and where Matilda had checked her in, she hesitated when she heard voices.

“It’s got to be the only reason he brought her here, Mat,” a man said.

“Well, you know it wasn’t just for her good looks. The sheriff could have his pick of the county.”

Matilda and the man laughed at her comment. Natasha froze, her hand on the door, wondering if they would say more. They had to be talking about her. Trent was the sheriff, and how many other people had he brought here? She scowled, looking down, listening for something more revealing to be said.

“Do you think she knows about the murder?” the man asked.

“Of course she does. The sheriff said she didn’t hesitate in coming here. He’ll use her to flush out George King. You mark my words.”

“Are you a private dick now?”

Matilda found that question very funny and broke out into a deep, gut-clenching laugh.

Natasha was suddenly numb. Murder? Was her father somehow messed up in a murder investigation? She fought to swallow. It was the last thing she had expected to hear. Maybe he would have conned someone. There might have been people in this peaceful town incredibly outraged and believing George King had swindled them out of a lot of money. But murder?

There was no way her father would ever kill someone. These people had led a slow, uneventful life for too long if they were even considering her dad might have anything to do with a murder. It just wasn’t in his nature.

Natasha pushed the door open, knowing if she stood there a moment longer she’d hear something that would really piss her off. Besides, the sheriff was waiting for her outside. If she took too long, he’d come looking for her. She didn’t doubt he was a man on a mission and for some reason believed she could help him achieve his goal. But if his goal was connecting her father to a murder, she’d set him straight real fast.

Matilda and a mailman held coffee cups and looked as if they could be posing for a postcard when she pushed through the door. They stopped talking, and the mailman held his cup in front of him, as if he were bringing it to his lips and seeing Natasha made him forget what he was about to do.

“Hello,” she said, nodding, then headed past them out the back door. She heard her name whispered before the door closed behind her.

Natasha needed answers now. One man would have all the facts, or at least more than anyone else in Weaverville, and his gaze locked with hers when she stepped outside.

The crisp air was dropping in temperature quickly as the sun began setting. Natasha pushed the button on her key chain to unlock the Avalanche but focused on Trent Oakley. He leaned against the back of a black Suburban but pushed away and approached when she neared her uncle’s truck.

Trent wore a button-down plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Natasha had noticed upstairs how muscular he was. She now saw how his skin was sprinkled with coarse-looking black hair. Trent wore a T-shirt under the flannel shirt, which stretched over broad shoulders. He appeared not to have an ounce of fat on him. The mountain man sheriff kept in shape. If she had to guess, she’d put him in his thirties somewhere, which begged the next question: why was he single?

Not that she cared. At the moment, he was her adversary. So far he’d been very ambiguous about why he wanted her here. Now she understood it was because he had a murder of some sort on his hands. The sooner she cleared up any thoughts of her father having any involvement with it, the better. This backward town was starting to give her the creeps.

Trent moved silently across the parking lot, which was impressive given his black boots and the gravel. Her own shoes crunched over the fine white pebbles, but she didn’t care. Any more than she cared how Sheriff Oakley reminded her of a deadly predator, approaching with skills so fine-tuned and a body so virile she imagined every inch of him was hard packed under his rugged exterior. His faded jeans looked comfortable and hugged long, muscular legs. He was tall and his black wavy hair was as dark as a starless sky. He definitely didn’t fit the image of how a sheriff of such a small community like this would be.

He had a lazy stroll, moving as everyone else here seemed to do. She doubted there was anything lazy about Trent Oakley, though. The way he watched her gave her the impression he didn’t miss a thing that went on around him.

She was also acutely aware of how he seemed to be studying her, as if trying to understand something about her that he didn’t want to ask. Natasha was beginning to worry that the sheriff, and his town, had drawn a conclusion about some horrific crime and had named her father their primary suspect. It made her want to scream. She would bet they had no proof.

Just ask what you want to know and I’ll tell you, if it’s any of your business
, she wanted to say. His scrutinizing stare was about business, but Natasha didn’t miss the sizzling sexual undertones surrounding him as well.

Something in his eyes made her wary. They were a simple green, although the way they pierced through her made them seem anything other than ordinary. His thick black hair helped set off his sharp facial features, his straight nose, broad cheekbones, and mouth, which was currently pressed into a thin line. The man was beyond gorgeous, and as he moved closer he seemed to set the air around them into a charged state of anticipation. This was a guy who made things happen, took the bull by the horns, possibly literally, and controlled even the air she breathed when he paused next to her. Her skin prickled from all the sexual energy charged around her and she told herself it came completely from him.

“Need help carrying anything to your room?” he asked, his slow drawl sounding as dangerous as the rest of him appeared.

“No, but thanks.” She’d decided on impulse, as a way to avoid allowing the sheriff into her room, that she’d come downstairs and pull out of the dash the GPS system her uncle had installed in each truck. She was able to do the same with the CD player. Better safe than sorry and she didn’t want it stolen. “The room is nice by the way. Thanks for recommending this place.”

“Matilda will be thrilled to hear that.” Trent followed her around to her driver’s side and paused, resting his hand on the roof of the Avalanche. “This your truck?”

Natasha looked at him, but he was focused on the truck’s interior. “Why do I think you already know the answer to that question?” she asked. If it had been her, she would have already run the tags.

He didn’t answer her question, nor did his expression change when she slid into the driver’s seat and snapped the GPS out of the dash. She did the same with the CD player.

Trent glanced at both items in her hands when she slid out of the truck, and the corner of his mouth curved. “Is that what you came down here to get?”

“There’s no reason to invite someone to break into my truck,” she informed him, watching when those alert eyes of his lifted to her face.

“Nope. I agree.” He still looked amused.

“What?” she demanded. It was so incredibly tempting to flirt with him, or spar a bit. She was only here for a day, and he was one hell of a sexy man. A bit of exchange would help him show off his true nature.

“Nothing.” He dropped his attention to the GPS system and CD player, or maybe it was her breasts.

“Do you find it amusing when people lock everything and remove valuables from their cars?” she demanded. “Let me guess: no one around here locks anything.”

“Not until recently,” he said, his voice lowering a notch and his facial features turning harder than they were a moment before.

“And why is that?” she asked, lowering her voice as well and turning to face him. She hugged the two items against her as she squared off with the sheriff.

“Because up until recently, crime wasn’t something folks around here talked about.”

“What’s changed that?”

The sheriff didn’t answer right away. He searched her face, possibly looking for signs of deception. Natasha wasn’t sure why he believed she would know anything about what was going on in this small town when she lived in L.A. She had her own crimes and criminals to keep her busy. She didn’t break eye contact but wasn’t going to remain under his compelling gaze for long.

Natasha let another moment pass, then shrugged. “Tomorrow at two
P.M.
,” she said, shut the truck door, and started around the front of the truck, once again pushing the button on her key chain and making the truck beep as it locked.

Trent grabbed her arm.

Natasha froze, glancing down at where strong, long fingers wrapped around her biceps.

“If you’re hiding anything, Miss King, I will find out.” He barely whispered and his fingers tightened around her arm. “Don’t judge someone’s abilities because they come from a small town.”

“And I’m sure you aren’t judging someone’s abilities based on their gender,” she shot back at him. “Let go of my arm now, Sheriff,” she said, matching his low, dangerous tone.

Trent studied her, really studied her, holding her firmly and taking his time as his gaze traveled from her head to her feet and back up again. Natasha hated the fire that ignited inside her the longer he kept her pinned in front of him.

“Why did you agree to come up here?” he asked when he looked at her face once again.

There wasn’t any reason to lie. “If there is something wrong with my dad, I’m going to help him,” she said flatly.

“I see.”

“Wouldn’t you do the same?”

“Yup.”

“You’re still holding my arm.”

Trent lazily studied his fingers, moving them over the sleeve of her sweater, but not letting go. Natasha breathed in a cleansing breath, fighting to keep her cool when she ached to show this chauvinistic brute exactly what she thought of being manhandled.

“Let go of me, Sheriff. Unless you’d rather I make you let go of me.”

Trent’s gaze shot to hers. A fire ignited in his eyes that hadn’t been there a second ago.

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise,” she informed him.

“You could force me to let go of you?” He seriously sounded amused now.

But when the corner of his mouth twitched she knew he was fighting a grin. Nothing pissed her off more than a man who believed a woman wasn’t as competent or as good in every area as he was. Natasha’s blood boiled. He thought he could belittle her because she was a woman. Well, he asked for it.

She smiled. “Would you mind placing these on the hood of my truck, please?” she asked, handing him the GPS and CD player. “Gently. Don’t hurt my paint.”

Trent didn’t let go of her but took both with his free hand and placed them on the hood. The moment he gave her his attention, Natasha jumped into action, using a simple karate move that allowed her to lift more than her own body weight using her legs. With Trent holding firmly onto her arm, he gave her the leverage to carry the move through smoothly. Having a black belt in karate came in handy from time to time.

Trent went flying over her head to the ground, howling loudly and hitting the ground hard enough it shook under her feet as his body landed with a thud. He freed her arm and Natasha started to straighten, grabbing her hair and shoving it behind her shoulders. He had asked for it.

She barely had time to acknowledge the back door to the bed-and-breakfast swinging open when two large hands grabbed her with more force than he’d held her arm with a moment before. Trent yanked her down on top of him, flipped over, and in her next breath she lay flat on the hard parking lot ground with every inch of him pressing down on top of her.