Stonebrook Cottage (2 page)

He'd agreed to hire her the previous fall on a one-year contract because, he said, he thought she brought skills and a way of thinking to the firm that it needed. At the end of the year, if the fit between her and Carter, Smith and Rodriguez worked, she'd become a full partner. If not, she'd be looking for work.

"Damn, it's freezing in here." He gave an exaggerated shiver. "I'm getting goose bumps. What's the air-conditioning on?"

"Sixty-eight. I'm still acclimating to August in Texas."

"You're wasting energy and running up the electric bill."

He was six feet tall, his hair just beginning to turn gray, an impressive figure in court with his deceptively understated suits and manner—but Kara didn't believe for a second he was cold. He had on a coat and tie. She just had on slacks and a simple top, and
she
wasn't cold.

She felt her stomach roll over. Maybe she'd developed an allergy to seafood.

She thought again of Sam Temple. She was accustomed to men who preferred to love her from afar. Romantics. Nothing about Sam Temple was from afar— it was up close and personal, immediate. And crazy, inexplicable, totally unforgettable. She pushed him out of her mind because thinking about him was insanity. Having a Texas Ranger for a brother was one thing— sleeping with one was another. George
would
hold that against her.

He shook his head. "A born-and-bred Texan like you, fussing about the heat."

"When I first went up to New England, I was always complaining about the cold. I thought I'd never get used to it, but I did. It's like that now with the heat."

"There's no end in sight to this heat wave, you know."

She'd seen the long-range forecast on the news that morning. It was August in south-central Texas. What did she expect? She pushed back her chair slightly from her desk. Her office was small, with standard furnishings. She hadn't bothered adding pictures and her own artwork, the lack of personal touches giving it a temporary feel, as if she was stuck between the kid she'd been here and the woman she'd become up north.

She smiled at George. "You didn't come here to listen to me complain about the heat."

"No, I didn't. Kara—" He sighed, obviously not thrilled with what he had to say. "You've had a rough couple of weeks. I can see they're taking their toll on you."

She knew what he was talking about. "Mike Parisi was a good friend."

His warm, dark eyes settled on her. "Nothing more?"

"No."

But Big Mike had wanted more. He admitted as much after she'd decided to move back to Texas. He was half in love with her, he'd said, and had been since his wife had died, but didn't want to ruin their friendship by saying anything. Now that she was leaving, he wanted her to know. When she met a man in Texas, he'd told her, don't hold back. Go for it. Life was too short, his own missed opportunities too numerous, too bitter, to contemplate.

Would it have made any difference if he'd told her sooner?

No, she thought. She'd never been in love with Big Mike. Nor had he been in love with her—not really. He knew it that day in Connecticut and so did she.

Kara smiled, picturing him in his cluttered office, a fat cigar stuck in his mouth. "He liked to tell me bad Texas jokes," she told George Carter. "He thinks—he thought we were all hard-asses down here."

"The new governor, Allyson Stockwell, is a friend of yours, as well?"

Kara nodded. Allyson's husband, Lawrence Stock-well, had died ten years ago, now Big Mike. Two strong, powerful men in her life. Lawrence's half brother, Hatch Corrigan, didn't have that kind of magnetism or influence, but he was all Allyson had left.

Allyson had insisted for months Hatch was another one who loved Kara from afar. Kara, who never noticed such things, refused to believe it until Hatch decided to tell her at Big Mike's funeral.
We were both in love with you, Kara. Stupid as hell, huh?

No wonder she had a sick stomach.

"Worried about her?" George asked.

"I don't know. Allyson's only thirty-seven—she let Big Mike talk her into running as his lieutenant governor. But she's devoted to public service…"

Kara trailed off, remembering her friend's panicked voice the night of Big Mike's death, not long after she was sworn in as governor.
I'm not ready, Kara. I'm just not.
She'd called on her cell phone to give Kara the terrible news. Kara had just arrived at the Dunning Gallery in Austin for the opening of the Gordon Temple exhibit. Temple was a prominent Cherokee artist, raised in Oklahoma, a former teacher in Texas who was now based in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Getting him for their gallery was a coup for Kevin and Eva Dunning, whose daughter Susanna was married to Kara's brother Jack.

That Gordon Temple and Sam Temple, a Texas Ranger, shared the same last name was, Sam said, just one of those things. Kara didn't believe it.

Every second of that surreal evening was etched in her mind.

"Big Mike was a larger-than-life kind of guy," she went on, aware of George's scrutiny. "He won't be an easy act to follow, but people shouldn't underestimate Allyson. Once she gets over the shock of his death, she'll do fine."

Kara blamed her own shock for her subsequent behavior that night at the gallery. She'd turned off her cell phone after Allyson's call and slipped it into her handbag so she wouldn't have to hear more, know more, and when she swept up a glass of champagne off a passing tray, Sam Temple was there. He was not unfamiliar to her. They'd met a few times at her brother's house in San Antonio—she was not as oblivious to Sergeant Temple's black-eyed charm as Lieutenant Jack Galway no doubt would have hoped.

But she never thought she was crazy enough to go to bed with him. He was so dark and sexy and irresistible, and when he suggested they sneak out for coffee, she'd seized the moment.

They ended up at her house a few blocks away. He stayed all night and all the next morning, and never once did Kara mention Big Mike's death.

She'd had no contact with Sam since. She left that afternoon for Mike Parisi's funeral in Connecticut. She talked to the state detectives about his death and how she'd come to know he couldn't swim, that she'd never told anyone his secret. Although not specifically assigned to the case, Zoe West, Bluefield's sole detective, asked Kara about Big Mike's interest in bluebirds and exactly who knew he couldn't swim. When she questioned Kara on her whereabouts the night of Mike's death, Kara ended up giving her Sam's name and number. It had seemed like the thing to do at the time. She thought Zoe West would be satisfied once Kara offered up a Texas Ranger to corroborate her story.

"It was an accidental drowning," she said half to herself. "Big Mike's death."

"You really called him that?" George's voice was unexpectedly soft, and he tapped the far edge of her desk, not looking at her. "Take tomorrow off," he said abruptly.

Kara was instantly suspicious. "Why? It's been two weeks. I can do my job."

George headed for the door. "You've been putting in ridiculous hours, even for an attorney. You're going to crack." He glanced back at her, none of his usual doubts about her apparent now. "Trust me on this, Kara. I know from experience. Take a day or two off, all right?"

"I'll look over my workload and see what I can do."

He didn't push—at least not yet. After he left, Kara took out the compact mirror she kept in her tote bag and checked her reflection. Pale, definitely on the green side. No wonder George was concerned about her. She looked awful.

It had to be the seafood tacos. A touch of food poisoning—she'd be fine tomorrow.

Morning sickness…

She snapped the mirror shut and shoved it back in her tote bag, but she noticed the white opaque bag she'd stuck in there after an impulsive side trip to the pharmacy at lunch. She'd bought two different home pregnancy test kits. Pure drama. She wasn't pregnant. It had only been two weeks since her craziness with Sam. Surely she wouldn't have morning sickness this early.

She'd throw the pregnancy test kits in a garbage can on her way home tonight. Get rid of the evidence of her hysteria. She was thirty-four years old and had never had a pregnancy scare.

Of course, there were commonsense, biological reasons for that, one being that she'd have had to have sex once in a while. She didn't have blazing, short-lived affairs like her weekend with Sam—she didn't have affairs, period.

Big Mike had often teased her about her love life, or lack thereof. "Kara, a tough-minded attorney like you—what's the matter, are you deliberately practicing abstinence? Or do you just not like Yankee men? Jesus, go home. Take yourself a Texas lover. I know you're not afraid of men."

If she should have been afraid of anyone, it was dark, handsome, black-eyed Sam Temple. There wasn't a woman in Texas who didn't feel sparks flying when he was around. Her brother had told her as much, to the point that Kara had felt compelled to assure him she had no intention of falling for any Texas Ranger, never mind Sam.

"Good," Jack had said. "Don't."

At least Sam didn't know she had limited experience, sex and romance the one area in her life that always made her want to run.

For damn good reason, it turned out. She hadn't run two weeks ago, and she'd ended up in bed with Sam Temple.

Better she should have run.

* * *

Sam Temple was driving back to San Antonio after nearly two grueling weeks working on the Mexican border when he checked his voice mail and discovered that a detective from Bluefield, Connecticut, was trying to reach him. "Call me back as soon as possible," she said, then left her name and number.

He pulled into a filling station and dialed Zoe West on his cell phone. He'd heard about the death of the governor of Connecticut not long after he'd left Kara Galway's house—and bed—in Austin. Not one thing about it sat well with him, starting with why she hadn't mentioned the governor's death to him before they'd slept together. She'd known. It was in the papers.
The first call Allyson Lourdes Stockwell made after learning of Parisi's death was to her law school classmate and friend, Kara Galway, in Austin, Texas.

Sam had checked the times and decided Allyson Stockwell must have called just before Kara had grabbed her glass of champagne at the Dunning Gallery.

At least that explained why she'd slept with him. She'd been distraught. Out of her head with shock and grief at the news and looking to put it out of her mind.

Sam had no such excuse. He'd made love to a woman—his friend's sister—without even realizing she was damn near a virgin. He remembered his shock at her tightness when he entered her. He'd seen her wince and bite down on her lower lip. He'd asked if she was okay, and she told him oh, yes, fine, don't stop, as if she regularly met men for coffee and took them back to her house for sex.

He knew she was lying, but he hadn't stopped.

No excuses.

Even with the air-conditioning blasting, he could feel the August heat, see it rising off the pavement. A half-dozen eighteen-wheelers idled in the parking lot. He'd had less than eight hours' sleep in three days. He needed a long shower, a dark room and cool sheets.

He didn't need Kara Galway. She was a complication. A mistake. Making love to her had been damn stupid, even if he couldn't bring himself to regret it—not for one second, no matter how hard he tried.

Zoe West answered on the first ring. "West."

"Detective West, it's Sam Temple. I'm returning your call."

"Oh, right—thanks. Just a couple questions. Kara Galway said you were with her at a gallery opening in Austin when she heard about Governor Parisi's death. I'm just following up."

"You've talked to her?"

"Briefly."

Sam frowned. "Why are you following up?"

"Routine."

He doubted it. There was nothing routine about the death of a governor or Zoe West's call. "Isn't this a state investigation?"

"Big Mike died in my town. I'm assisting."

In other words, she was sticking her nose in the investigation, whether the state cops wanted it there or not. Sam said nothing. He had his white Stetson on the seat beside him, his tie loosened, his badge still pinned to his shirt pocket. Two weeks on a serial murder investigation in an impoverished area in near-hundred-de-gree heat, and here he was on the phone talking about a rich man who'd drowned trying to save a damn bird.

"When did Ms. Galway arrive at the gallery?" Zoe West asked. "Did you see her?"

"She was already there when I arrived around seven o'clock."

"That's eight in the east. We figure Parisi drowned sometime around seven."

Sam could see Kara now in her little black dress, her dark hair pulled back with a turquoise comb that he'd tugged out later, threading his fingers into her thick waves of hair even as he warned himself to leave while he still could.

"Aren't you from San Antonio?" Zoe West asked.

"Detective West, I'm not seeing the point here."

She made a clicking sound, as if she was thinking. "San Antonio's about ninety miles from Austin, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What?"

"I said, ‘Yes, ma'am.'"

"Are you being sarcastic, Sergeant Temple?"

"No, ma'am."

"People only call me ma'am when they're being sarcastic."

He almost smiled. "All right, Detective West. I won't call you ma'am."

"It's a southern thing, right? The ma'am?"

Sam realized she was serious. "I like to think of it as a manners thing."

"Oh. Well, yeah, I guess. Okay, back to this gallery. It's in Austin, which is about ninety miles from San Antonio. It has reduced hours during the summer while the owners—Kevin and Eva Dunning—are at their summer place on Lake Champlain, but they came back special because this was the only time they could get Gordon Temple. Right so far?"

"Right so far," Sam said, careful to avoid any hint of sarcasm. He'd let Detective West ask her questions. Why not? He might learn something about Kara and why she'd acted the way she had that night.

"The Dunnings are the in-laws of another Texas Ranger, a lieutenant, Jack Galway. He's Kara Galway's brother. Your superior, right?" West paused, adding, matter-of-fact, "This was all pretty easy to find out on the Internet. I read a couple articles about that business in the Adirondacks last winter. You got shot, didn't you, Sergeant?"