Convictions (20 page)

Olivia intentionally kept herself from glancing at Hank, but she could sense his rising anger. Her own temper wasn't far behind. "My father carefully screens every prisoner who comes into the program."

"Mistakes can be made."

And you just made one.
Olivia bristled at the slight against her father. She deliberately looked past Brenda to her children, who were racing between the tables and drawing disapproving looks from the other customers. "Aren't those your boys, Brenda?" she asked in a sugary sweet tone.

Olivia felt more than a twinge of satisfaction at the woman's red face. Without a word, Brenda scurried off to grab her sons and talk to them in a low voice. The boys didn't appear fazed by the scolding.

"Are you done eating?" Hank asked curtly.

She nodded.

Hank reached for the check, but Olivia nabbed it.

"My treat," she said, knowing he had very little money. "You can get it next time."

"Next time."

Olivia shivered under his smoldering gaze, and her body reminded her how long it'd been since a man had looked at her as a woman. And how long since she'd looked at a man with something other than fear or indifference.

She scooped up her purse and carried the bill to the register by the door. Hank shifted his weight from one foot to the other as she paid. Leaving the tip with the cashier, Olivia joined him, and they left the restaurant.

"She didn't mean anything," Olivia said, guessing at Hank's preoccupation.

"It wasn't just her." Hank made an irate motion toward the restaurant and said with a heavy dose of sarcasm, "She isn't the only one who disapproves of having us cons around decent folks."

"Did you hear other people talking?"

"I didn't have to. I saw the way they were looking at us."

Olivia waved aside his concern. "They were just staring at me because of that article in the paper."

"It was more than that, Olivia. In prison, I learned how to recognize anger and fear, and most of those people were filled with both."

They arrived at the SUV, and Hank opened Olivia's door for her, then went around and slid in the driver's side.

"Even if you're right, they're not going to do anything. People in small towns love to gossip. That'll be the extent of their actions," Olivia said, putting on her seat belt.

"I'm not so sure of that. When people get scared, they do stupid things." He stuck the key in the ignition but didn't turn it.

"You think they'll come out to the ranch in hooded robes and demand that Dad turn you and the other convicts over to them?" She was being facetious, but Hank's worry seemed over the top.

He turned, laying his right arm across her seat back. "All I'm saying is that the pressure will be on your father until the murderer is caught."

"All the more reason for us to investigate on our own." She crossed her arms stubbornly.

Hank took a deep breath, and his features softened. "Are you sure you're up to this, Olivia? You still have a hard time being around people."

Trepidation made her heart skip a beat, but there was a new certainty budding within her. Although only a splinter of her past self-assurance, her confidence was growing slowly. She'd proven that by simply eating in a restaurant.

"I appreciate your concern, Hank. I really do. But I'm starting to feel something else besides fear." Her clenched hands pressed into her thighs. "I need to do this, for Dad and for you, but even more for myself. Can you understand that?"

"Yeah," he said with reluctant acceptance. "But I don't want you taking chances. You were badly hurt once. I don't want you hurt again."

The concern in his voice made Olivia blink against unexpected tears. She'd never leaned on a man before, had prided herself on her independence, but she found herself wanting to lean on Hank's strength. He was the first man, other than her father, whom she trusted enough to support her. Ironic that he was a felon, the type of man whom she spent most of her life loathing and taking pleasure in prosecuting.

"I'll be careful," she promised.

"Good."

The word was a bare whisper that sent a tendril of heat curling through Olivia.

She expected Hank to start the car and head back to the ranch. Instead, he continued to gaze intently at her. His attention sparked a fire in her belly that expanded, threatening to melt her muscles.

Deliberately, she lifted her hand and laid it against his cheek. The rasp of his whiskers against her palm shocked her with its eroticism, and her breath grew shallow. She was gratified to hear Hank's labored breathing, as if he'd been running for miles.

"It's been a long time, Olivia."

She heard the evidence of his passion in his husky voice.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispered.

Olivia's breath stumbled in her lungs. Her vision narrowed to Hank's rugged, tanned face and the smoldering hunger in his hazel eyes. "I hope so," she managed to say above the thundering of her heart.

A tiny smile twitched Hank's sexy lips, and Olivia couldn't wait a second longer. She leaned close and tilted her face upward. Unerringly, her mouth found his, and his lips slid with a sensuous glide over hers. After seeing the burning desire in his eyes, she was surprised by his exquisite gentleness. He made her feel treasured, protected, cherished—all the things an independent woman should disdain. So why didn't she?

She groaned and increased the pressure, her tongue tentatively brushing his lips. He opened to her without hesitation and swept in to taste her. She sighed into the kiss as he wrapped his hands within her hair, holding her, guiding her. Hank became more insistent, kissing her with more intensity and gentling it a moment later. He nibbled at her lower lip before deepening the kiss once more.

A car horn sounded, and Hank pulled away.

Olivia gasped at his abrupt retreat as her lips tingled and burned.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their harsh breathing, each raspy breath a counterpoint to the other.

Without a word, Hank started the engine and pulled out onto the street. Stunned by her reaction to the kiss, Olivia sat rigidly as he turned around and got onto the highway headed southeast, back to the ranch.

Her body throbbed and hummed in a way she hadn't experienced in years, if ever. And even if Hank was wrongly imprisoned, he was still a convict and she was an ADA. There were a hundred reasons why the kiss had been a mistake, but at the moment she couldn't give a rat's ass about any of them.

Cool it, girl.

As long as the suspicion of murder hung over Hank, there was no way she could let herself get too close to him. Though never would she have imagined she could feel this way about a convict, Hank Elliott was a decent man—a man who had six years of his life stolen away because he'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And she'd be damned if she let circumstantial evidence steal the rest of his life.

Not long after returning to the ranch, Hank carried a bulging cloth sack into the laundry room of the bunkhouse. He'd hoped it would be empty, but as usual, his luck had skipped town. Rollie, the ranch hand who went out of his way to make Hank's life miserable, sat in one of the old chairs looking at a magazine with a scantily clad woman on the cover.

Rollie glanced up at Hank and smiled without warmth. "If it ain't the boss's favorite con."

Hank ignored the jibe as he started up one of the three washers and added some detergent. After the tense scenes at the sheriff's office and in the restaurant, Hank didn't need Rollie's shit.

"I seen you leave with little Miss Priss. I don't know what you're selling, but you sure got both Kincaids buying it," the stocky man said.

Hank closed the washer lid and leaned against the machine, facing the hired hand. "What's your problem, Rollie?"

The man set his girlie magazine aside and stood, using his bulk to try to intimidate Hank. "My problem is you, Elliott. The way you got the judge wrapped around your finger, you
could
get away with murder." He tilted his head and squinted at Hank. "And maybe you did."

Anger seethed in Hank, but he said flatly, "Seems to me the person pointing the finger is more likely the one trying to hide something."

Rollie narrowed his eyes. "You calling me a killer?"

Hank shrugged deliberately. "It wasn't me."

The hired man curled his hands into fists. "You son of a—"

"Something going on here?" Buck stood in the doorway, and his jaundiced gaze moved between the two men.

Rollie kept his glare aimed at Hank. "Nope."

Hank crossed his arms over his chest and lazily slid his gaze to the foreman. "Nothing at all, Buck."

A dryer's timer buzzed, breaking the tension.

Rollie grabbed his laundry bag and stuffed his dry clothes in it. He slung the pack over his shoulder and swaggered to the door. Buck remained blocking the doorway for a moment longer, then stepped aside. Rollie's footfalls grew fainter as he strode away.

Buck strolled into the laundry room and leaned against a dryer. "Rollie ain't a bad sort. He's just had a run of bad luck."

"And that makes it okay for him to be an asshole?" Hank asked, rolling his shoulders to dispel the tightness.

Buck glanced down. "No, but maybe if you'd stop pushing him, he wouldn't be itching for a fight."

Hank laughed without humor. "He's the one who's pushing, Buck. All I want to do is keep my nose clean and do my job."

"Seems to me trouble finds you. Two women dead and you in the middle of it."

Hank frowned, wondering how Buck had learned he was the main suspect in the two murders.

But before he could ask, the foreman explained. "The sheriff called not long ago and talked to the judge. Told him his suspicions about you." Buck took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "From what I've seen, you're not a bad guy, Elliott. But I swear you've got the worst case of hard luck I've ever seen."

Hank couldn't help but chuckle. "Sure seems that way, doesn't it?" He sobered. "If I get arrested and convicted for something I didn't do, this time I won't be coming out except in a pine box."

Buck slapped Hank's arm. "Don't worry, son. You got the judge behind you and from what I seen, Ms. Olivia, too." The foreman started to leave, but paused. "Oh, I seen your sister with Barton earlier today."

Hank stiffened. "How'd you find out she was my sister?"

"Ms. Olivia told me." Buck paused. "Far as I know, no one but me, the judge, and Ms. Olivia know you two are related. Might be best if it stays that way."

As Hank watched Buck leave with his usual rolling gait, he digested the information. He'd noticed Dawn's interest in the youngest prisoner but had hoped it was merely an infatuation. She deserved better than a convicted felon.

Especially if it was Barton who'd strangled the Holcomb woman. It was doubtful he'd killed Sandra Hubbard, though. Barton would've been only thirteen or fourteen at the time. As much as he wanted to find the real killer, Hank knew it probably wasn't him. He wasn't the type to kill a woman in cold blood. Hell, Hank even kind of liked the kid. If it'd been Dawn who'd overdosed on drugs, Hank might have done the same as Barton.

He sank onto one of the folding chairs and propped his elbows on his thighs. His life was galloping out of control like a runaway horse... again. It was about time he reined in that horse. Olivia was right. In order to clear himself, he had to find the real killer.

But he wouldn't allow Olivia to risk her life to help him. If something happened to her, the price of his freedom would be too damned high.

That evening Olivia finished cleaning up the kitchen after a light dinner with her father. Feeling stifled in the house that had been her sanctuary for weeks, she stepped out onto the porch. The ringing of horseshoes against a metal stake caught her attention, and she turned to watch four of the men playing a lively game.

Two of the convicts—Lopez and Reger—were pitted against Buck and another hired hand. She crossed her arms and studied Lopez and Reger. Could one of them have killed Melinda?

Lopez had beaten his wife and her boyfriend after he'd found them in bed together—a crime of passion, which made it statistically unlikely that he'd killed Melinda. Reger had been convicted of bilking elderly widows out of their savings. Although Olivia thought he was a despicable human being, it was rare that a con man committed murder, so he went to the bottom of her suspect list, too.

The door opened behind her, and she knew without looking it was her father. He joined her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I see Ted is back."

Olivia followed bis gaze and noticed the farrier's familiar truck and trailer. "I thought he was done."

"John Nestler had a couple of horses come up lame, so Ted said he'd finish trimming and reshoeing our stock after he took care of John's."

The sound of whooping drew Olivia's attention back to the horseshoe match. It appeared the game was over as the four men ambled away. Once they were gone, Hank and Ted took their places.

"What do you say we challenge them?" her father asked her with a wink.

Although Olivia knew they didn't have a snowball's chance in hell against the two men, the temptation to be near Hank was compelling. Besides, her natural competitiveness was returning, which she took as a positive sign in her recovery.

She smiled. "Let's show 'em how it's done."

Olivia limped slightly, but her leg felt better than it had since the assault. She wasn't certain how well she could toss the shoes, but she was game to give it a shot.

"Glad to see you're back," her father said, shaking Ted's hand. "Any trouble at the Nestlers?"

Shandler's ham-sized hand swallowed up her father's, and he grinned. "Turned out to be not as bad as John made it out."

"Glad to hear it." Her father motioned toward the horseshoes. "Care to take on the Kincaids?"

Aware of Hank's gaze on her, Olivia smiled. "I have to warn you, it's been a few years since I've played."

"When she did play, she was a formidable opponent. Take it from someone she's trounced more than once." Her father winked at her.