Brash (7 page)

“Better not,” he growled. He was flirting with her. His doctor.

“So you're a fan of the fights?” Grace asked. “UFC and all that?”

The woman's pale blue eyes were kind, almost
pitying as she shifted them onto Grace. “I'm a fan of Cole's. He's got quite a large following.”

They were probably sleeping together. “Mostly women, I'm guessing,” Grace replied.

Those eyes turned to steel instantly. “I'm afraid I don't know the ratio.”

Cole laughed. “I'm just glad someone out there is bettin' on me. Not that I don't like a challenge, mind. But it's nice to have the support.”

“I'm sure,” Grace agreed, then turned to regard the doctor. “Dr. Vander—” What was it again?
Vander-whatever
might not be the most polite way to address a guest, she thought.

“Field,” the woman supplied with forced patience. “Katherine Vanderfield.”

“Of course,” Grace said. “I'm going to start on some lunch. Will you be staying?”

No.
Say no
. Of course, she'd had to ask. Good manners dictated it. But there was nothing Grace wanted less in that moment than to play hostess to Cole Cavanaugh's doctor/lover.

Thankfully, Katherine Vanderfield had other commitments. “I appreciate the offer, but I should be getting back.”

“Thanks again for coming out, Kathy,” Cole said.

“Anytime,” she returned, flashing him that brilliant smile once again. Then she turned to Grace. “He should stay off the leg until tomorrow. Keep taking the anti-inflammatories. Then I think he'll
be ready to get out of your hair and return to training.”

Grace nearly rolled her eyes. “Sounds logical and reasonable.”

Cole chuckled. “Grace here told me the same thing.”

“Ahhh,” Katherine said as sagely as humanly possible. “You were lucky to have such an intuitive veterinarian on hand when this occurred.”

The image of brilliant white teeth cracking under the pressure of a tightly balled fist entered Grace's brain. She smiled, and felt Cole's eyes on her.

“Are you training at the same place, Cole?” the woman asked as she packed up her medical bag.

“Yup.”

“I'll come out and check on you . . . say, Monday?”

The slow grin was back. “You don't have to—”

“I want to,” she cut in passionately. “If I'm putting my money on you, I expect results.” She gave him a wink, then turned and addressed Grace. “It was lovely to meet you, Grace. And thank you for taking such good care of our Cole.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Grace replied through tightly clenched teeth.
Our Cole
.

Before walking out the door, the woman glanced around. “This is a . . . sweet room. Yours?”

“It is.”

“Love the pink.” The words were kind, but the delivery was anything but.

As Grace followed her out of the room, she felt Cole's humor-filled gaze on her back. She wasn't sure why the situation she'd just found herself in bothered her as much as it did. Instead of leaving, going off to train, Cole had called his doctor to come and check his ankle. It was exactly the right thing to do. So what was her problem? Couldn't be the hot doctor who was walking out her front door and heading to her hot car with her perfectly proportioned hips swaying. She was around beautiful women all the time, like Mac and Sheridan. And it absolutely wasn't the fact that Doctor Hottie and Cole were probably more than just doctor/patient. Because that would be none of her business. So what was it?

She closed the door, headed back down the hallway. When she looked inside her room and spied Cole sitting up on the bed reading the newspaper, Belle beside him, the muscles in her belly tightened. He looked ridiculously hot. Yards of tan skin pulled tight around thick muscle. And then there were the tattoos. Intricate lines and symbols moving up both arms like curious fingers. Good God, what was she doing? Thinking? Had this territorial, jealous chick arisen inside her because of Cole Cavanaugh? As in . . . she was interested in the man? As in, she wanted to demand to know if Dr. Vander-whatever had not only brought that spare pair of boxer shorts he was wearing, but helped him put them on?

Heat surged into her cheeks and she wanted to melt into the woodwork around the door frame. Of course Cole took that opportunity to glance up. His eyes assessed her, and whatever he saw there made his brow furrow.

“You all right?” he asked.

Of course she was. Right as rain. Never better. Not at all confused about what had just happened or the strange bout of jealousy she'd just experienced over a man she was not and could not be interested in.

He was a fighter.

Virtually a criminal—he'd broken into her desk at her office.

An overly charming, oversexed flirt who would destroy her father in an instant if it got him what he wanted.

Look but don't touch, Doc,
she warned herself.
Better yet, don't look. It'll just make you nuts.
Just get to the work. To why he's here.
The serious, important, life-altering work.

She forced a calm expression and a light smile and walked into the room. “I'm fine, Mr. Cavanaugh.”

He didn't look at all convinced. Maybe she should've left off the Mr. Cavanaugh part. “You're not angry that I called my doctor, are you? With the match coming up, I needed to make sure—”

“No, no,” she assured him. Doctor? Lover? She wasn't mad. Couldn't be mad. “Of course not.”

He nodded. “All right.”

“So . . . have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“The good doctor didn't bring you anything?” She just couldn't help herself. It was like the words were just bleeding from her mouth and she didn't know how to cauterize.

“Just some hard-core pain meds,” he said, still studying her expression. “I took the anti-inflammatories, but that's it. Don't want anything messin' up my focus. Even when I'm feet-up.”

“Well, how about some chicken salad?” she offered. “I think I have chips too. Maybe some lemonade.”

He brought one knee up near his chest. “Grace, you don't have to do anything. Shit, you've done enough. I should be calling my brothers to come pick me up. Make them take care of my broken ass.”

It was strange and a little frightening how quickly the urge to say no landed on her dry tongue. Maybe she should support that suggestion. Maybe, given how she was reacting, she needed to push Cole Cavanaugh away. “Why didn't you go with her?”

His brow lifted. “Who? Kathy?”

She nodded.
Pathetic
.
Seriously, Hunter
.
PATHETIC
.

For a moment, his eyes probed hers. Then a slow smile crept over his face and he shrugged. “She doesn't have a pink room.”

Warmth seeped into her like honey. “Or access to the answers you seek,” she added.

Truly, she hadn't meant the words as a dig. Or maybe unconsciously she had. But as soon as they were out of her mouth, she saw a hardness cross Cole's black eyes, turning them into two impervious stones.

She didn't like this Cole. He made her feel uneasy. As if she was standing on a small boat out to sea without a life preserver.

“I'll get the sandwich,” she said, cutting off their eye contact and turning away. “Then I'll bring the boxes in here and we can get back to work. Back to the real reason you're here.”

“It's funny,” Cole remarked, placing another file on top of the stack to his right. “We all thought Cass would be in college before she even looked at a guy.”

Grace glanced up from her own pile. “Really?”

They were both on the bed. Cole in his same spot, Grace across from him, near the foot. Belle on the floor, chewing on a stuffed cheeseburger dog toy.

He shrugged. “You know, no brother wants to think that about his sister. Especially his little sister.”

“
Little
sister?”

“By a couple of minutes.”

Her lips twitched with humor. “So she never mentioned the name Sweet? Not necessarily related to a guy?”

“No. Or not that I remember.”

“But to Mac?”

“Yeah. He was mentioned. But not in detail.”

“How is it possible that this young girl could be having a relationship—or meeting up with this stranger—and no one knows about it?”

The knot that had been forming inside Cole's stomach ever since they started going through Sheriff Hunter's paperwork twisted. “It isn't. That's why everyone thought she'd just made him up.”

Grace was quiet for a moment sifting through papers, and Cole went back to his work. When he heard her laugh softly, he glanced up.

“What is it?” he asked.

“One of my essays from junior high. It's all about my love for Tex-Mex. Queso dip, specifically. It's a miracle I graduated, I swear.”

“You didn't go local, right?” he asked. “I don't remember you. And I'm sure I would've remembered you.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she shook her head at him. “You're such a flirt, Cole Cavanaugh.”

“Wasn't flirtin', Doc. Least not that I'm aware of.” His eyes moved over her. “Just telling the truth. If you went to school with me, I would've had a crush of my own to deal with.”

She stared at the papers before her. “I went to a boarding school a few hours away from here.”

“Why is that? Your family didn't think the River Black schools were good enough?”

“Wasn't my family. It was my dad.” A sad look
crept over her face. “I went to River Black Elementary, but after my mom died I started acting out. Getting in fights at school—yep, badass Grace Hunter—stealing stuff from the store and from my friends. I wouldn't speak to my dad for days at a time.” She shrugged. “I think he felt like I was falling apart. That maybe I needed time away from this town for a while.”

If there was one thing Cole understood, it was loss. “Sorry about your mom,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“It sucks, doesn't it?”

Her eyes lifted again and connected with his. “Losing someone you love? Oh yeah. But I had my dad, and he was amazing.” She laughed softly. “You know, when I finally let him be amazing. He worked so hard to keep me happy and engaged. After the debacle of junior high, he pushed me. Wouldn't let me turn my back on my goals even when things got hard.”

Cole didn't say anything. What could he say? He wasn't going to be an asshole right now. Not when she was reliving her grief.

Her eyes implored him then. “I know you don't think so, but he's a good man, Cole.”

“I'm not going to argue you that, Doc,” he said, dropping back against the pillows. “I only come to this from what I know. What you've told me. What he's told me.”

She paled. “He wouldn't have hurt your sister.
He isn't built like that. It's not in his DNA. I know it. And I will prove it.”

Again he didn't answer.

“What?” she demanded, an ache in her voice he'd never heard before.

“Just don't want you feelin' disappointed, let down, is all. My daddy was no saint, but I didn't think he was capable of steppin' out on my mom, making a baby . . .” His jaw went tight. “Lying his ass off about it—and letting us all find out at his funeral.”

She dropped her gaze, pretending to look through the contents of a faded red folder, but Cole had seen tears prick her eyes. She wasn't being honest, with herself or with him. She was worried—real worried. Maybe even suspected him, her pops. No doubt that was why she'd agreed to working together. Being close to Cole, seeing what he knew, intercepting information.

They all had shit they didn't want to face. But it was coming for them anyway. Best be prepared, and harden the heart. It had worked for him, he mused as he picked up another file. This one was thinner than the others, and the only thing inside was a faded newspaper. Cole eased it out and started thumbing through the yellowed pages. Community stuff, school sports . . . He was about to close it up and put it back when he spotted something on the lifestyle page. His family. His heart kicked inside his chest. There they were. At the River Black Fair. Mom was eating an ice-cream cone; Dad had his hand on
her shoulder. All four kids were around them, eating ice cream too. Cole stared, entranced. He remembered that day. It had been a good day.

His eyes dropped to another picture below it. This one was of Barry Pickens and one of the Lansing kids, both atop horses in town. And to the right, sitting on the steps of the library, waving at the person taking the photograph, was Cass. Cole ran his fingers over the shot. Goddamn, he missed that girl. Would do anything to have her back. He'd failed her something awful.

Something caught his eye then and he drew the paper closer. What was that? Behind Cass on the steps, in the shadows? Or better yet, who was it? Didn't look like a guy . . . Cole turned back at the picture of his family, stared hard. His heart jumped in his ribs. What was going on here?

“What's wrong?”

Grace's concerned tone didn't pull him from the photographs. He brought the image even closer, wishing it was on the computer so he could enhance it. Fuzzy as it was, he could just make out a female shape . . . a skirt under the knees. He looked back and forth. He didn't recognize what he could see of the face.

He felt Grace beside him, camped out over his left shoulder. “You found something.” It wasn't a question.

“A newspaper. Only thing in one of your daddy's folders.”

She paled slightly.

“You recognize this person?” he asked, pointing.

Grace drew in close, studied it for a second. “No. Who is it?”

“Not a clue. But she's in the background of both pictures. Why would that be?”

“Were they taken on the same day?”

“No. We were at the fair in this one. And this one's out in front of the library steps. Besides, she's wearing different clothes. Hair's different too.”

“It's a small town, Cole,” she said. “Odds are you're going to be running into the same people . . .”

He knew that. He knew what he was seeing might be nothing at all. But it wasn't just what he was seeing. It was what he was feeling too. Wasn't right. Wasn't the guy they were looking for, true. But it wasn't right.

His eyes found hers. “Why do you think your daddy had this, Grace? And all by its lonesome in the file?”

She looked uncomfortable. Her face tense. “I don't know.”

Christ. “We're gonna need to ask him.”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He didn't say anything for a moment. What could he say? Your pops was in on this? Kept something hidden? Shit . . . she already knew that. It's why she'd suggested they work together.

He placed the newspaper flat on his thighs and
reached for his iPhone. He snapped a couple of pictures at different angles and ranges, then started texting.

“Who are you sending those to?” she asked, her voice sounding thin, worried.

“My brothers and Mac,” he told her. “We'll see if any of them recognize her.”

“But we're not looking for a girl, Cole,” she said. “We're looking for a guy. The Sweet character.”

“I know. And we'll continue to do that. But who's to say what will ultimately get us there? Cass's things, your daddy's things, whoever this is in the photograph. Everything's got to be on the table. Everything's got to be examined.”

*   *   *

I wish I was there with you.

You could be. Can be.

Rules are rules.

I thought rules were made to be broken, Cowgirl.

Don't you like what we have? You can tell me anything.

Blue hesitated, his fingers over the keys. He did appreciate the mystery of his online relationship
with Cowgirl. Since they'd “met” on a chat site for new, heat-tolerant breeds of cattle about a year earlier, it had been fun, exciting, comforting even. But things had changed so drastically in his life as of late. Now he wasn't content with texting or the mystery. He wanted to know her. No, he
needed
to know her—see her, touch her, talk to the one person on earth he felt he could trust.

Have I ever seen you? Have you ever seen me?

He waited on that one. Ten seconds. Thirty seconds. But there was no reply. Shit, what was he doing? Pushing her? They'd agreed to this relationship as is, and he was royally screwing it up. His gut contracted. He didn't want to lose her. His fingers hovered over the keys. He needed to undo this before it was too late. But then her one-word answer came.

Yes.