Читать книгу Special Ops Cowboy - Addison Fox - Страница 13

Her mother had always said gossip was the devil’s work. That the idle prattle of small towns had no place in their lives. Of course, Reese Grantham thought reflectively, her mother had offered up those pearls of wisdom before her father had turned into the devil incarnate, doing far worse than some dismissive chatter over produce bins at the market.

Whatever disaster Serena Grantham had hoped to avert by diligently avoiding discussion of the misfortunes of others throughout her life had all been for naught.

That fact became abundantly clear to Reese two months earlier, when Russ Grantham was transported to the morgue due to a self-inflicted gunshot to the head. Officers from the precinct he’d served for thirty years had solemnly carried out the transfer. And it was only that self-inflicted gunshot that had kept those same officers from hauling him into the police station on murder charges stemming from Russ’s serial rampage killing drug dealers.

Some said Russ had snapped over the loss of his own son to drugs years before. Others whispered that it was bad blood, finally letting loose, hidden away all these years behind the noble facade of police captain. Still others—the ones who whispered in solemn tones—said it was a public service. Their small Texas border town, Midnight Pass, had been overrun by the drug trade and it was high time someone did something about it. So really, Reese acknowledged to herself as Tabasco Burns set down a beer and a whiskey chaser in front of her, what was a little gossip compared to all that?

“You sure you want this? I can still fix you a white wine spritzer like you usually order. Won’t charge you for this.” Tabasco waved a hand over the beer and whiskey, like a magician who could make it all go away.

Reese thought longingly of chardonnay but shook her head. She needed to forget and a watered-down glass of wine wasn’t going to get her where she needed to go. It was the very reason she’d come to The Border Line for the evening. “I’m good, but thanks.”

Tabasco looked about to argue but only nodded instead, his grizzled features going soft as he stared at her across the scarred bar. “I am glad to see you. It’s been too long.”

She nodded and reached for the beer, unable to acknowledge him with anything more for fear the lump in her throat would turn too swiftly to tears.

Tabasco took a few more beats to look at her before he moved on. He knew his customers well and had a keen sense for when they needed an open ear or a blind eye.

With the same determination that had her calling a car and heading to The Border Line bar on a hot summer Tuesday, Reese took a sip of her beer. No time like the present. She’d numb the pain while facing the gossip and maybe give half the damn town something to talk about other than her father’s crimes and subsequent suicide.

She was done with being the perfect daughter in a family that seemed functionally unable to be halfway normal. Or what she had left of one.

Even if that meant she now had a life she’d worked hard for, a job that she loved teaching high school English and a small house on the opposite end of town from her parents, decorated to her exact specifications and bearing the stamps of her own self-sufficiency. A lawn mown each week by her own hand. Address stamps that had no one’s name on them but hers. And a Christmas tree in her garage she’d put up the past two seasons all on her own.

Who knew it could feel so damn good to pay a mortgage each month?

And it did feel good. She wasn’t a woman who drowned her sorrows—she’d always found the mental fortitude to deal with what life tossed her way, reading, thinking of her students and their future, or finding new interests to explore—but for some reason the little whisper that tantalized her earlier that day, suggesting a night away from her cares was in order, had taken root.

With that thought in mind, she reached for her drinks. Although she preferred wine, the beer went down smooth enough, a cool respite from the heat outside and the perpetually ashy, bitter taste that had coated her tongue for the better part of two months. She’d nearly convinced herself the whiskey would be as good, only to shoot the glass and nearly fall off her barstool in a choking fit.

“Hey there.” A large hand covered her back while another steadied her arm. She jumped at the contact, even as a line of fire coated her throat, burning away anything that had been there.

Wide warm circles smoothed over her back and Reese accepted the gentle touch as one last racking cough shook her shoulders. The worst behind her, she lifted her gaze off the scarred wood and straight into the deep green eyes of Hoyt Reynolds.

Compelling, mysterious eyes, she thought, as their edges crinkled with a gentle smile. “You okay?”

“Sure.” Her voice was still strained from the coughing. “Wrong pipe.”

Hoyt’s gaze shifted to the empty shot glass. “Wrong drink, I’d say.”

Right drink, wrong drinker, her conscious taunted, but she kept it to herself, pushing bravado into her tone as her voice grew stronger. “It’s what I wanted. And I think I’ll have another.”

The smile faded, replaced with something she didn’t want to think about.

Pity.

She’d seen the same expression on the town’s faces more than once in her life and she refused to get comfortable with it. This was her battle to fight and her long walk to take. She would get through this.

And still, something inside of her persisted. If she could only understand the reasons for her father’s choices maybe she could push aside the awful well of sadness and anger and fury that came from the fact that Russ Grantham had thought it was acceptable to torture and kill others. Maybe she could push past the frustration that once again, her life had been thrown into chaos by the choices of her family and somehow, see her way past the wreckage.

Only she hadn’t seen past anything. Not for one single minute in all the minutes that had come since the day her father kidnapped Annabelle Granger, a fellow police officer, for getting too close to the truth. The fact that he’d ultimately done the right thing and let Belle go hadn’t mattered.

Nor had the gun he’d placed to his head.

In the blink of an eye, Reese was right back to those days in high school when all the effort in the world to do the right thing and get good grades and act perfect still couldn’t make up for her older brother’s drug addiction. When the sound of her mother’s crying could be heard late at night, muffled softly from the living room in their small ranch house at the edge of town. When her father’s stiff back and broad shoulders set beneath a uniform that bore captain’s bars still couldn’t keep Jamie Grantham out of trouble.

“You sure about that?” Hoyt asked, effectively cutting into her memories far better than her first shot.

“I am.”

Hoyt let out a long sigh before taking the empty seat next to her. “Then I can’t let you do it alone.”

“I don’t—” She broke off as Hoyt waved down Tabasco, circling his fingers in the signal for another round.

Undeterred by her protest and big enough that she knew he’d be immovable once he sat down, Reese took the opportunity to look at him instead. She knew Hoyt Reynolds—they’d grown up in the same town—but she’d never spent much time with him beyond an occasional night out with mutual friends or enough to say hi at town functions. He was a loner by nature and had a grumpy, affectionately surly personality that had become somewhat legendary in the Pass.

Even without her personal connection—her father’s last potential victim, Belle Granger, was engaged to Hoyt’s brother, Tate—she’d have known Hoyt anywhere.

Everyone knew the Reynolds boys. The trio—along with their sister, Arden—ran Reynolds Station, one of the largest working beef ranches in the state. They’d run free as young men, but all had quickly settled down after their father’s poor business practices had come to light about a decade before. Hoyt had been away in the service—marines, she thought—but had eventually come back, joining his family in the work of restoring the Reynolds name.

In the time since, the four of them had worked diligently to reclaim their role in the beef industry, all while carving a new path into the twenty-first century. They used sustainable practices, methods that were as humane as possible and focused on quality over quantity. She’d even taken a few of her high school classes to the ranch on field trips, pleased with the opportunity to both show off hardworking members of their town and help her students understand there were many paths available to them for their life’s work.

She’d heard more than one teenage girl sigh on those tours over the cowboys who worked the land, but few had garnered as many sighs as the stoic, grim-faced man who blended the best of bad boy with cowboy.

Which made the gentle eyes and insistence on keeping her company that much more surprising.

Hoyt didn’t do gentle. Or kind. Or congenial. He wasn’t nasty, per se. He was just aloof. Separate.

Alone.

Hoyt Reynolds kept to himself. He wasn’t a gossip and he wasn’t prone to nosing into anyone’s business.

Which, Reese figured, probably made him the perfect companion for her evening’s adventure.

* * *

Hoyt Reynolds ignored the small licks of attraction that sizzled through his nerve endings, willing himself to focus on the bigger picture. Reese Grantham might be a gorgeous companion over a few drinks, but she was clearly in pain and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the way she was managing it wasn’t the brightest idea.

Russ Grantham had surprised them all when his sins came to light this past spring. Hoyt’s future sister-in-law had almost paid the biggest price, but something of the good man they’d all believed Russ to be must have finally shown through. Russ had let Belle go, taking his own life, and the secrets he’d buried deep along with him.

Hoyt didn’t spent much time in town, but he’d seen Reese a few times, once at the gas station filling up her car and another over produce at the market. She’d been too many bays over at the gas station for him to say anything, but he hadn’t missed the vacant look in her eyes or the emptiness that seemed to hover around her. A fact that was reinforced when he’d attempted conversation over the oranges.

She’d been polite and pleasant, but the wariness in her eyes was hard to miss. Whether it was from personal grief or their connection over Belle, he wasn’t sure, but she’d hightailed it out of there with her cart as soon as she could politely flee.

Which brought them here. The drink she’d already had seemed to suppress the flight instinct, but there was a determination in her hazel gaze that was unmistakable.

Which meant he’d keep an eye on her, prevent her from drinking too much and see that she got home safe and sound.

Tabasco caught his eye as he set down two more beers along with two more whiskey chasers. Hoyt didn’t miss the clear warning in the man’s gaze, or the equally clear directive to watch out for her, and he simply nodded as Tabasco cleared Reese’s empties.

He wasn’t a hound dog. He might find her attractive but he hadn’t done anything about it up to now; he sure as hell wasn’t going to take advantage of her at a weak moment. He wasn’t particularly successful at relationships—he preferred his own company and no one prying into his most personal thoughts—so he kept his dating out of the Pass and far away from local acquaintances.

But damn, she looked good.

Her hair fell in long dark waves down her back, the color a rich sable. She’d lost weight and was edging toward too skinny, but it didn’t diminish the round swells of her breasts beneath a sleeveless tank or the lush curve of her hips beneath her jeans. Although she was seated, he knew the long, long legs that currently ended in sexy flip-flops that bared purple-painted toenails were a spectacular sight, whether she wore one of her conservative dresses for teaching or a pair of shorts for a town picnic.

Purple polish?

He had no idea why he found that cute since he could care less about nail polish or the varied colors it came in. Yet, on Reese Grantham it looked good. Everything looked good on her, from the outfit tonight to the more severe choices she wore while teaching. She was pretty and sexy, in a way that wasn’t garish or overdone and...

And he’d do well to cut off that train before it got a head of steam.

No matter how good she looked, it couldn’t erase the sadness that lingered in her eyes or the light smudges that filled in the hollows below them.

Nor could it erase the fact that one of her father’s crimes had been committed on Reynolds land the prior spring. In the crime that had begun his descent into capture, Russ Grantham had killed his quarry at the edge of Reynolds property, seeking to make it look like a drug deal gone bad.

“What are you doing out on a Tuesday night?” Reese asked, reaching for her beer. The question was enough to jar him from the bleak direction of his thoughts and he reached out and hung on to it with both hands.

“I could ask you the same.”

“I asked first.”

She had a spine, something that had always intrigued him, and with a small nod, he answered her. “Figured I’d get a beer or two. Snag a few games of pool off anyone who was interested.”

“Please don’t let me stop you.”

Although he heard no hint of the bum’s rush, he couldn’t resist teasing her a bit. “You trying to get rid of me?”

“No!” Those pretty hazel eyes widened as if she realized what she’d said. “I didn’t mean you had to go away. I just meant you don’t have to babysit me.”

“Why’s it babysitting?”

“Because I can already see the good cowboy routine. The nod to Tabasco that you’ll take care of me. The whole you-can’t-drink-alone stance. You feel sorry for me.”

Although he knew she didn’t have kids, it struck him in that moment that she spent her professional life around children and had clearly developed that legendary second set of eyes in the back of her head.

“You saw that?”

“What?” She inclined her head toward the opposite end of the bar. “The manly eye contact with Tabasco, ensuring you’d get me home?”

“Yeah. That one.”

“Yes, I saw it.”

He nearly laughed at the prim tone and the way her hands folded on the bar in front of her second round of beer and whiskey chasers, but held back. She was amusing, but he wasn’t trying to make fun of her and for reasons he couldn’t quite define, he wasn’t sure she would understand the difference tonight.

Hell, he didn’t even understand it. He’d headed in because he was restless and tired of his own company. A state that had become increasingly consistent over the past year. He hadn’t felt this way in a while. The last time he could remember was his final year in special ops, when even three major wins, removing several terrorists in power hadn’t settled his thoughts of home and the help he knew his family needed on the ranch. Before that, it had been the decision to enlist, escaping the confines of that same family and the sense that the world was bigger—and needed more of him—than simply raising cattle.

Oh, how things had changed.

Which had all brought him here.

A mindless night out had seemed like a good idea. He wasn’t big on having his business spread around Midnight Pass like manure, so he hadn’t put seducing a woman on the list of activities for the evening, but he’d be lying if he didn’t acknowledge—only to himself—that he was enjoying her company.

He’d be lying even harder if that thread of sadness he saw in her eyes didn’t pull him in.

“Well, I might be looking out for you but I’m not sitting here feeling sorry for you.”

Her head tilted slightly, just enough to send her hair falling over her shoulder in a just-so motion that made him want to reach out and run the tips of his fingers through the strands. “Well, that’s a surprise.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s exactly what I’m doing sitting here. Feeling sorry for myself.”

“Whiskey’s not the answer.”

“You mean there’s an answer?” Those pretty hazel eyes widened, her voice deadpan. “One that doesn’t begin with ‘you just have to take it day by day’ or ‘God has His plans, even if we can’t understand them’?”

Hoyt knew those answers. Had lived them himself and dealt with the endless comments designed to be helpful and supportive. First when his mother had died of cancer, and later, when his father’s bad business practices had come to light.

Instead of offering comfort, they’d been intrusive and taxing and designed to make the person saying them feel better, not the recipient.

He knew he had a reputation for being a cold, sullen jerk and he could hardly lay all that at his old man’s feet. But he had definitely honed those personality traits after his father’s actions had come to light.

Why talk to people when they really didn’t want the truth? Each person’s own version of events was far more interesting. And why make any effort to quell the gossip when the ones engaging in it were perfectly happy to keep whispering behind your back?

“No, I don’t think there is an answer,” he said. “And I know for a fact God’s plans and how you take your days are not answers to that question.”

“On that we are agreed.” She lifted her whiskey shot and clinked it against his glass where it sat waiting on the bar. Liquid sloshed to the edges but she was obviously still steady enough not to spill. “Let’s toast on it.”

He lifted his shot glass, tapping it gently to hers. “To a lack of answers.”

“Cheers.”

Hoyt took his shot and braced himself for a second round of coughing—and the opportunity to settle his hands once more on the slender arch of her shoulders—but she held her whiskey. Her eyes did narrow into a determined squint, but she held on.

And why did he think that was sexy as hell?

She was a mystery to him. A woman who he’d known most of his life, had always found pretty enough and interesting enough, yet he’d never ventured even one single step in the direction of those waters. He wasn’t the serious type in his relationships and he sure as hell didn’t want forever.

Hoyt’s own father had done a piss-poor job of convincing everyone he wanted forever and instead had done his level best to ruin whatever legacy his time on earth might have produced. Hoyt and his brothers and sister had lived with that truth, each learning to deal with it in their own way.

For Tate it was laughter. For Ace it was taking ownership of everything and everyone. And for Arden it was playing little mother and earth mother, all in one fell swoop.

He was the one who ran away. First with his emotions and later to his time in the service. When he’d come back, he’d settled on a single truth that had served him well: as a denizen of one of the smallest towns in the entire state of Texas, he knew better than to go peeing in the good, upstanding citizen pool of available women in Midnight Pass.

Reese Grantham was a high school teacher. She was the daughter of—up until recently—a well-respected, career police officer in Midnight Pass. And she was the surviving sibling of a drug addict gone very, very bad. She was a good girl and you simply didn’t mess with women in that category. Especially if you weren’t willing to see it all the way through with a ring, a promise and a lifelong commitment.

So why were those warm, wide-set eyes so compelling? And why did that restlessness that had dogged him all day—hell, all year—seem to have suddenly vanished in her presence?

“One more?” Her lips quirked into a smile as she tapped the bar.

“Not sure that’s a good idea. And I know it won’t be a good idea in the morning.”

“Spoilsport.” She stuck her tongue out but it was through smiling lips, a sure sign she wasn’t as annoyed as her comment suggested.

“You are one ahead of me.”

“Then maybe you need to catch up.” She leaned forward and pointed a finger into his chest. The move should have been invasive—would have been on anyone else and if he’d been in his right mind—but his right mind had gone missing the moment he’d walked into The Border Line and seen Reese Grantham sitting at the bar.

Hoyt closed a hand over her finger, gently closing it so he could press her hand against his heart. “Or what?”

Heat lit up his chest where her hand lay pressed against his T-shirt and he could have sworn sparks were shooting off the place where their hands joined. “That’s a very good question.”

* * *

Reese looked over and tried to avoid goggling at the strong profile and flexed biceps of Hoyt Reynolds. She’d realized pretty quickly that she had a prime view from the passenger seat of his truck and had been shooting him furtive glances on the ride back to her house ever since they’d left The Border Line.

She had no idea how she’d ended up here, but one minute they were sitting in the bar shooting the breeze—and whiskey—and the next he was bundling her up to take her home.

She wasn’t even very buzzed, although she could have sworn she’d seen a sort of glow around Hoyt as he ushered her out of The Border Line. Had her vision gone funny? Or was she simply trying to figure out how a man she’d known her whole life could suddenly look different?

Better, somehow.

And if she were honest, he’d always looked pretty damn fine before.

“Are you sure you can drive?” The words popped out, a nervous filler to the silence that had taken over the truck.

If he’d noticed her watching him, he hadn’t said anything, but did use the question to turn and look at her as they bumped over the two-lane road out of town toward her place. “I had one beer and one shot of whiskey. I’m good.”

“People who drive drunk say that.”

“Yes, they do. But there’s one big difference. I’m not drunk.”

“Oh.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I am not! I only had a beer and a half and two whiskey shots.”

“Which is why you’re going home.”

“Grumpy much?”

She had no idea why she was baiting him. He’d done her a favor—one she’d be fully prepared to acknowledge in the bright light of morning—but right now, all she wanted was...

To rile him up.

Which was ridiculous and childish and not at all like her. Yet, there you had it. There was just something about the way he’d swooped in and taken care of her that chafed. She was a grown woman, and she had a right to a night out to do whatever she wanted. She didn’t need permission. And she didn’t need anyone watching out for her. She was sick and tired of sitting in the home she loved day in and day out, feeling like a prisoner in the one place she’d created to be a haven. So she’d gone out, looking for a nice time and a fun evening and a few hours to forget about her life.

“I’m not grumpy. I’m just not interested in seeing Midnight Pass High School’s favorite English teacher end up in trouble for puking her guts out in the Border Line parking lot. Or worse.”

“My father’s already done worse. So has my brother. It’s a rather high bar.”

Those attractive lips of his—thick and lush—had tightened back to a straight line. “I’m sorry about that. About your father.”

“Why?”

“Some decisions—” Hoyt stopped and, after braking at a stop sign, turned toward her. “Some decisions can’t be changed or reconsidered or amended. But he was once a good man. I know that.”

“He killed someone on your property.”

“So?” He phrased that single syllable more as a question than anything else and Reese momentarily found herself at a loss for words.

Didn’t that bother him? Because it sure as hell bothered her.

Only she didn’t say that. Instead, she focused on his bigger point. The one she’d struggled with for the past two months since her father’s sins had come to light. “Well—”

From her vantage point, she watched as one lone eyebrow lifted as he eyed her from the driver’s seat. “Well what?”

“How can you say that about him? He broke, Hoyt. Broke in two and became a monster. That’s not my definition of a good man. It’s not my mother’s. It’s not even the expectations my father set for my brother and me from the time we were young.”

The anger spilled out, again a product of all those years of trying to be perfect. She’d done as she was told. Had worked hard to be a model daughter. And yet, where had it gotten her?

The object of ridicule and gossip, and, if the quiet suggestion earlier that day while she selected a cantaloupe at the market was any indication, questions from the PTA asking if she was fit to keep her teaching job.

When Hoyt said nothing in response, just accelerated through the intersection, Reese realized she’d overstepped. And goodness, why had she gone there? Here he was being nothing but nice and she’d tossed out those little bons mots like they were candy. Worse, they were the creeping, dissatisfying secrets of her life.

“This your street?” he asked.

At her acknowledgment, he turned down her road and followed her directions to the driveway. In moments, he was parked and was already around the car, opening her door for her like a gentleman.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she said, in a lame attempt to defuse this damned awareness of him.

“According to you, I don’t need to do a lot of things. Sit with you at The Border Line. Drive you home. Give a hand to someone who really needs one.” As if to prove his point, he took her hand and helped her out of the high seat.

It hadn’t seemed quite that high getting in, but the drop down to the ground was farther than she thought and she hit the driveway harder than expected, the backs of her heels thudding on concrete.

“Easy,” Hoyt said, shifting his grip to steady her with his large hands.

Working man hands.

Capable hands.

She settled her palms where each of his hands rested on her hips, the moment changing with all the finesse of a spring storm.

The attraction that had simmered all night, kept at bay with her frustrations and embarrassment over the public nature of her family’s downfall, suddenly had no place to go. Instead, all the pain and anger she’d bottled up for two long months—hell, for nearly a decade—needed a place to bubble up and land.

With his hands still cradling her hips and hers still pressed against the ridges of his knuckles, she ignored the little voice that always urged her to be careful and cautious and lifted her head toward his. It was a matter of inches that separated them and a quick reach on her tiptoes had their mouths meeting in the moonlight.

She expected resistance. Sexual tension had simmered between them all evening—she wasn’t imagining that—but he’d also maintained a gentlemanly distance. A maddening distance, if she were honest.

Which meant the quick brush of lips that exploded into an inferno of hot carnal passion caught her just enough off guard that she barely had time to catch her breath. Even less time when she realized that she was being consumed, body and soul, by the delectable form of Hoyt Reynolds.

His mouth was hot on hers, his tongue filling the small O of surprise between her lips with smooth, effortless grace. His tongue was strong and persuasive and welcome, she admitted to herself. What should have felt like an intrusion was the exact opposite and as heat flared through her nerve endings like lightning, it filled every last inch of her body with the most delicious electricity.

Was this what it felt like to be kissed? Really and truly kissed?

She’d been kissed before, obviously. She’d had sex, too. If she’d considered it even an hour before, she’d have said those experiences were good ones. On a grading curve, satisfactory moving on toward excellent.

Oh, how little she’d understood.

Especially as every one of those experiences seemed to wash away in a sea of dull memory as Hoyt filled in its place. Nothing had ever felt like this. It was as if a sensual live wire lit her up, sparking from the inside out.

It was glorious.

It was heavenly.

And in that moment, she’d have gladly given up all she possessed to keep on kissing him.

Suddenly realizing she was doing way more analyzing than enjoying, Reese quickly fixed that, giving into the impulse that had her kissing him in the first place.

The strong shoulders beneath her palms flexed as he shifted his position, deepening the kiss and taking them another level. She took what he gave, all the while using her fingertips to explore the thick muscle and rounded curves of his shoulders. This was a man in his prime, of that there was no doubt. He was a product of hard, daily physical labor and she could hardly argue with the results.

Nor was she quite ready to let go yet.

Which made the lift of his head and the grim line of his mouth, more than evident in the glow of her front door light, that much harder to accept.

“I should get you to your door.”

“Why?” That same tartness that had accompanied her comments on the ride home rose up to the fore. Which wasn’t like her, yet seemed right for the moment.

“For all the reasons we talked about at Border Line.”

“I thought we talked about answers.”

That grim line of his mouth quirked up into a wry smile. “I thought we said there were no answers.”

Reese wasn’t sure if it was the smile or the heady feeling that still rode her bloodstream from his excellent kisses or something else she couldn’t define or resist. The only thing she understood as the words tumbled past her lips, one after the other, was an overwhelming sense of rightness.

“Then why don’t you stay?”