The Littlest Cowboy (8 page)

The office consisted of only one sparsely furnished room, and two cells at the far back. That was it. She looked at him in surprise.

“Not much happens around here,” he explained, reading her expression. He left the door wide open after coming in behind her.

“Obviously.”

He shrugged and moved past her to the file cabinet, which wasn’t even locked. After riffling through a drawer, he pulled out a folder, tossed it onto his desk and took a seat in the big hardwood chair behind it. As he began flipping pages, Chelsea felt restless. She prowled the office, examining some photos on the wall, and paused at one that had been taken right in front of the ranch house. A huge family. Five boys and a little baby girl. Two proud parents standing behind the group of smiling kids.

The oldest of the boys, she knew without a doubt, was Garrett. He stood taller than his father, with shoulders that seemed too big for his body. He’d been a gangly teen, she thought a little smugly. Long limbed and awkward.

Her gaze stole to him as he sat behind that desk, dwarfing the big antique. He certainly had grown into his body. His proportions were perfect now. He ought to be a centerfold.

She drew a little gasp at her uncharacteristic thought.

He looked up, caught her staring at him. He held her gaze with his for a long moment, and finally he smiled. His smile was a killer.

“That’s a pretty suit, by the way.”

Confusion made her blink. She glanced down at the forest green silk skirt and the sleeveless blouse that matched it. “It’s too hot here for silk. I should have known better.”

“It’s the same color as your eyes.”

Her head came up fast.

A deep red color crept up his neck into his face, and he looked for all the world as if his blurted compliment had been as surprising to him as it had been to her. “I mean…you know. Green and all.” He quickly lowered his gaze to the papers in front of him again, shuffling madly.

“Yeah,” she said in a voice just above a whisper. “Green and all.”

“Muchacho,
what
are
you doing here on a holiday?”

Chelsea turned, surprised by the frail, heavily accented voice coming through the open door.

“Hey, Marisella,” Garrett said, and he rose, went to the door and took both of the deeply tanned, wrinkled hands in his. “How’s my best girl?”

“Oh, now, Garrett…” The elderly woman—who wore jeans and a Travis Tritt T-shirt of all things—gazed up into the big man’s eyes much like little Ethan had done earlier. Her black eyes beamed adoration.

“How’s the arthritis, Marisella?” His tone was more serious now.

“No worse than usual.”

“And ol’ Pedro?”

She shook her head slowly, her dark eyes going sad. “He doesn’t eat, Garrett. Pedro, he is turning his nose up at everything I offer. Doc Ramone is away at that veterinary convention, and I am sick with worry.” Marisella glanced over Garrett’s shoulder at Chelsea, then smiled. “And who is the
chica?”

Garrett turned to her. “Marisella, I’d like you to meet Chelsea Brennan. She’s staying out at the ranch with us for a few days.”

A few days?

“Chelsea, Marisella del Carmen Jalisco. Prettiest widow lady either side of the Rio Grande.”

Marisella’s sun-bronzed face crinkled when she smiled, and she waved a dismissive hand at Garrett’s compliments, nodding to Chelsea. “Good to meet you, Senorita Brennan. You are from the east, yes?”

“New York.”

Silvery brows went up. “And which of the Brands is it you’ve come to…see?”

Chelsea frowned. “I’m not sure what—”

“None of them, Marisella,” Garrett interrupted. “She’s a friend. That’s all. Now listen, I’ll bring Jessi by this evening to have a look at that old cat of yours, all right? Maybe we can doctor him up for you.”

“It will be a relief to me if you do! When Pedro is not well, I feel as bad as he does.”

“We’ll be there.”

She reached up to pat Garrett’s cheek: “You do your papa proud,
hombre.
Never a time anyone in Quinn has trouble, but that you offer a hand. I do believe the woman who captures your heart will have her hands on a diamond.” After the last pointed statement, she aimed a wink in Chelsea’s direction, then turned to go.

Garrett hurried to grip her elbow and ease her down the steps, his hands touching her as if she might break.

He really did
seem
gentle.

As he stepped outside with Marisella, a breeze wafted in through the door, lifting the papers from the desk and scattering them. And then it died, leaving the air as still and muggy as before. Chelsea automatically went to pick the papers up, gathering them into a stack, one by one. But she paused with one sheet in hand because the date across the top caught her eye. April 1.

She froze, then hurriedly scanned the sheet, certain she was about to find a record of a return trip from N.Y. detailed there somewhere. But instead, she found the opposite.

Each sheet in the stack was a typewritten record of the day’s events. Only they didn’t read like dry, technical police reports. More like a journal or a diary. This particular page began with a single paragraph that took all the wind out of her sails.

Nine a.m.—Career Day at Quinn Elementary. Talked until 10:00 and answered questions till 10:40. Lord, but we have some characters in this town! Almost made me wish I had my own little brood at home.

Below that, marked with two stars, a postscript: “Note—check in on Brian Muldoon’s mamma.”

“Those are personal notes you’re reading, Chelsea, not official records.”

She looked up with a start to see Garrett lounging in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, looking at her. She swallowed hard, shook her head, added the sheet to the top of the stack and crossed the room to hand it to him.

He took the papers, glancing down at what she’d been reading, and nodded. “Career Day,” he said. “How could I have forgotten that one?”

Chelsea tried to drag her gaze away from him, but couldn’t. Had she been all wrong about him? She cleared her throat, searching for something to say, before latching onto the first thing that came to mind. “What was wrong with Brian Muldoon’s mother?”

Garrett frowned down at the paper, then lifted his head and focused his big, soft brown eyes on her face. His voice more gentle than she’d heard up to now, he said, “Brian’s daddy liked to hit her.”

Pain sparked to life, though she slammed the door on her emotions before they could show. She fixed her face into an iron mask, refusing to flinch. “And what did you do about it?”

“Oh, the usual. We arrested him a couple of times, tried to talk her into pressing charges. She was too afraid of him to do it, though. And we couldn’t blame her. We all knew he wouldn’t serve enough time to do him any good.”

“So he’s still here in Quinn, beating the hell out of his wife?”

Garrett shook his head slowly. “We don’t take to that kind of thing around here, Chelsea.”

“Right. But your hands are tied, isn’t that it?”

“Not by a long shot. I warned the worthless fool to stop…or else. He hurt her again. So my brothers and I went over there and…had a little talk with him.”

Chelsea tilted her head, staring at him in disbelief.

“We made him see that the best thing for all concerned would be for him to get out of Quinn and never set foot here again.”

“And he did? Just like that?”

“Well, we can be pretty convincing when we set our minds to it.”

“You…you beat him up, didn’t you?”

He drew a breath that lifted his shoulders and slowly let it all out again. Then he came forward and placed both his hands on her shoulders. She automatically shrugged away from his touch. She didn’t like men putting their hands on her.

He frowned, but let his hands fall to his sides. “Chelsea Brennan, I’d rather be shot than lift a violent hand to anyone…or anything, for that matter.”

“Oh?” He was too close to her. She could feel his warm breath on her lips. “Thing is, I’d have rather been drawn and quartered than to stand by and do nothing. So I told him to leave her alone in the only language he could understand. The way I see it, I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“And he never came back?”

“Nope. He never did.”

“You violated his civil rights,” she observed, but it was a weak argument. “You could lose your job and go to prison for that.”

He nodded slowly. “No man has the right to lift a hand to a woman, Chelsea. Nor to a child. If you’d been in my shoes, would you have done anything different?”

She met his gaze head-on, and for just a moment the pain got the best of her. “If I’d been in your shoes,” she said softly, “I’d have shot the bastard.”

He narrowed his eyes as he studied her. “You’re one angry woman, Chelsea Brennan.”

She nodded. “You might want to take back your offer to help me find the man who murdered my sister, Garrett Brand. Because when I do, I’ll probably kill him.”

He smiled a little, and for a second she wondered why.

“I take that to mean you’re finally convinced it wasn’t me,” he explained when she frowned at him.

She lowered her head, remembering her accusations, the way she’d hit him. If she’d been wrong…But it was pretty obvious she
had
been wrong, wasn’t it?

“I probably owe you an apology.”

“Probably.”

He stood there, and his hands rose as if to touch her shoulders again. She stiffened, and he stopped himself, lowering them again with a thoughtful expression on his face. He was waiting.

“I apologize.”

“I accept,” he said with an abbreviated bow, really no more than a dip of his head and shoulders, but he never broke eye contact.

“Then you’re more forgiving than I’d be.” There was an invisible beam running between her eyes and his. Something that held her captive.

“Must be those green eyes of yours, making me feel generous.” He moved a little closer.

Warmth curled in the pit of her stomach before she reminded herself he’d just given similarly effusive compliments to Marisella. “Then you won’t object to my taking my nephew home anymore?”

Garrett stiffened and the smile left his face. “I’m afraid I have to.”

Shock sent her backward. “Why?”

“I still have some unanswered questions, Chelsea.”

“Your
unanswered questions don’t mean squat to me, Sheriff. We’re talking about
my
nephew here. You can’t keep him.”

Garrett pushed a hand through his thick hair and turned to pace away from her. Then he came back again. “Will you just use your head for a minute, woman? Suppose you’re right, and this no-account your sister was with
did
kill her. Don’t you suppose he’s looking for his son about now?”

“I’m sure of it, you big, dense
redneck.
That’s why I want to get Ethan the hell out of here.”

“And you think this guy doesn’t know about you? You think in more than a year with him your sister never once told him about you? Legally, he could still take his son from you, Chelsea. You wouldn’t have a leg to stand on in court. Not unless you can prove your suspicions about him are true.”

“He can’t take Ethan from me if he can’t find me,” she argued, no longer sure why she was in such a hurry to get out of Texas and away from Garrett Brand. The man shook her in ways she’d never been shaken before.

“Hell, you said yourself you’d seen him from your apartment window. It kind of follows that he knows where you live!”

She opened her mouth, but lost the power of speech.

He knows where I live.

A gut-deep fear engulfed her–one she hadn’t felt since she was a little girl lying in bed late at night, listening to the thudding sounds of fists against flesh and the guttural groans of her mother. A man like that one knew where she lived.

She’d sworn she would never be afraid again. But she was afraid now.

Two hesitant backward steps put her up against a wall. One she needed, or she’d collapse. She was trembling. God, she hated this kind of fear.

“Chelsea?”

He was there in front of her, looking worried and scared.

“I’ll kill him,” she whispered, and for a second she wasn’t even sure if she was talking about her own father or Ethan’s.

“Damn, your face is as white as a lily, woman.” And a moment later, he lifted his hands, hesitated and awkwardly gathered her close to him. He held her to his chest and ran one hand up and down her back the way he might do with the baby. Trying to comfort her. “I didn’t say that to scare you, Chelsea. I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m not afraid of that bastard,” she muttered.

“No, of course you’re not. Hell, any woman who’d march right up to a fella my size and deliver a right hook isn’t afraid of anything.”

One of his hands ran over her hair, and she closed her eyes. Then, realizing how very safe she felt in his arms, she went stiff as a board. “I don’t need any
man
to protect me.

He stilled. Then slowly, his hands fell away and he stepped back. “I didn’t say you did. But let’s just be practical. If you go home to New York, he’ll know where to find you and Ethan. But right now, he has no idea where you are.”

“Assuming he’s even looking for us. He might not care any more about his son than he did Michele.”

“Maybe not. But why risk it?”

She searched his face as if the answer was there.

“Just stay for a day or two, Chelsea. Long enough for me to try to find out who this man is and what he’s capable of. I have resources you don’t have. Please. Do it for Ethan.”

She lifted her chin a little. It galled her to admit Ethan was safer here with Garrett than he would be back in New York with her, but dammit, the man had a point. And she couldn’t very well risk the baby for the sake of her pride.

“All right,” she said at last. “All right, we’ll stay. But only for a day or two.”

Garrett smiled fully, and just for an instant, Chelsea forgot how to breathe. Now that she knew he hadn’t killed her sister, she noticed that this man was attractive. Incredibly attractive. And that was something Chelsea had stopped noticing about
any
man a very long time ago. Maybe Garrett Brand wasn’t physically dangerous to her after all. But she was only now beginning to realize how emotionally dangerous it might be to spend much time around him.