The Gift (10 page)

“Did you recognize your daughter’s signature on that letter, Mr. Brubaker?”

“I didn’t pay close attention to it, but she signed her name, all right.”

“Did you have it analyzed?”

“Analyzed?” Brubaker glowered down at her now.
“Why in Sam Hill would I do that, Ms. Dearborn? My only child ran away, money was stolen from my operation that
she
had access to, and she’s never been seen again.” He squeezed his eyes closed, his pain palpable. “I’d say that pretty much tells the story.” He opened his eyes and pinned her with his gaze. “Wouldn’t you?”

“How do you know she took the money, Mr. Brubaker?” Beth asked cautiously. “Did you trace it somehow?”

His teeth clenched so hard she actually heard them, then he released his breath slowly. “I trusted my daughter. My flesh and blood. My
child.
” He swallowed audibly. “I was a fool. She had full access to my accounts. She always did.”

Without another word, he stomped away. Beth followed his path across the room to where his bouncing baby wife stood waiting in the foyer. She patted his cheek and offered all sorts of ridiculous comforting gestures while still managing to shoot arrows in Beth’s direction with the merest glance.

“Get anywhere with that?” Ty asked.

“Huh.” Beth scribbled a couple more notes down, then look straight at Ruby Brubaker. “How much do you know about the wife?”

“Ruby?” Ty turned in that direction as the couple disappeared into the foyer and left the house. “She showed up here as a medical assistant to the town doctor shortly after Lorilee and I got married. Bill had a dislocated shoulder. Next thing we knew, he’d eloped.”

“Wow.” Beth would definitely be running some background on Ruby Brubaker. “And what about
that lanky cowboy I saw earlier? He didn’t come all the way inside—just hung out by the door and glowered at me.”

“Bastard.”

“Uh-oh.” Beth made another note. “And the bastard’s name would be…?”

“Gary Harlan.” Ty spit the name out like battery acid.

“No love lost there, I take it.” Beth waited, recognizing by now that Ty did everything in his own time, including talk.

“Works for Bill.”

“Hmm. For how long?” Beth held her pen poised over the notepad, anticipating more. She didn’t know what, but instinct and training told her more than any dying empathic gift that there was a hell of a lot more to Gary Harlan—at least where Ty Malone was concerned.

With a sigh, Ty cocked his head and looked down at Beth. “Since he was born.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’d better help clean up some of this mess and make nice with the guests who are heading out now.”

“Hey, wait just a minute, buster.” Beth tugged on his shirt sleeve when he tried to walk away. “Are you saying Harlan’s parents worked for Brubaker? So he’s lived there his whole life?”

“Something like that.” Bitterness edged Ty’s words. “You’ll hear about this through the grapevine anyway.”

“So why don’t you save me the trouble?” Beth pulled her belle smile and batted her lashes. “Hmm?”

He arched an eyebrow and shook his head, letting her know the innocent ploy didn’t work on him. “I was born there, too.”

“I…see.”
The plot thickens.

Ty looked away, then faced her with what could only be described as a lifetime of pain etched across his handsome face. “Gary Harlan and I had the same mother.”

Whoa. Beth hadn’t seen that one coming. “Your last names are different.”

“Different fathers. I don’t rightly know how many times she married.” The smile on his face was more grimace than smirk. “Rumor has it Brubaker himself got to her more than once.”

“Oh…no.” Beth released a long, slow breath. “Are you telling me he’s Gary Harlan’s—”

“Daddy?” Ty tilted his head. “That’s the theory. The old man refused paternity testing, and Mom died back in ninety-seven.”

Beth waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, she asked, “So you two grew up as brothers?”

Ty snorted. “Not hardly. My dad got custody of me, thank God.” He nodded matter-of-factly. “He was a good man, a hard worker, and he recognized the trouble of staying around these parts.”

“Why did you come back?”

A muscle twitched in his jaw, and he actually reached out to touch her arm. There was no malice or anger in the contact—only sadness and a plea that matched the haunted expression in his eyes. “That’s a long story for another time,” he said. “Remember, today’s a birthday party.”

Beth’s throat clogged and convulsed. Her eyes burned. Damn. Tears were not her way. She couldn’t
trust her voice, so she reached out to touch his hand where it still rested on her opposite arm.

Their gazes met and held. Something foreign and powerful passed between them. She wasn’t prepared for this kind of connection.

“Thank you.” He gave her hand a squeeze, then walked away to fulfill his duties as birthday-party host.

Leaving Beth to stare and wonder.

And worry…

Despite the full day of activity, sleep eluded her. Abandoning all hope of sleep, Beth climbed out of bed and padded barefoot across the cool wood floor to the open window. Balmy spring air and moonlight spilled through lace curtains, and goose bumps dotted her bare skin. The mild weather was like a peace offering compared to the violent storm from last night.

What a difference a day makes.

Despite the clement temperature, a shiver skated down her spine. Probably lingering effects of the storm. Besides, it served her right for standing around naked, though that was certainly preferable to trying to sleep while being to being strangled by pink ruffles and lace.

But who was sleeping? She shook her head in frustration and ran the fingers of both hands through her wild mass of tangled curls. That blessed and coveted state of REM had been a total stranger tonight. She’d lain in bed listening to the regular chimes from the grandfather clock downstairs and the other nocturnal sounds of a century-plus-old house. In truth, Beth found the noises the Malone house made
charming. The place had real character—something lacking in most modern construction.

No, she knew damned good and well why she couldn’t sleep. Stubborn, independent, all-business Beth Dearborn was plain, old-fashioned horny. And that had
everything
to do with the sexy owner of this charming, creaky old farmhouse.

“Damn you, Ty Malone,” she muttered, leaning on the windowsill with a half smile playing at her lips.

She couldn’t remember the last time a man had insinuated himself into her thoughts, her emotions, or her hormones so quickly or completely. Beth pressed her forehead against the cool windowpane, giving that matter further thought.

Maybe the reason she couldn’t remember the last time was because there’d never been one—not to say she wasn’t experienced with men. Though her sexual encounters were selective and typically far between, she certainly didn’t consider herself inexperienced.

But in the past, she’d always maintained a certain emotional distance in her relationships that had allowed her to remain in control. Like last night’s storm, the thought of surrendering that control completely in the throes of passion was terrifying.

She couldn’t do that. She
wouldn’t
do that.

Drawing a long, slow breath, she straightened and stared down at the swath of moonlight strewn across the circle drive in front of the house. Her car still sat where she’d abandoned it the night before. She’d been so agitated by that electrical storm, she could barely remember driving from Heppel’s place to the Malone farm.

What was that? A dark shape shifted on the far
passenger side. A shadow? Some wild animal? If so, it was a damned tall one. It emerged from behind her car and then disappeared.

Now she wished she were fully clothed, so she could dash down the steps and out the front door—correction, the back door. Of course, by the time she got there, whoever or whatever it was might be gone. If it existed at all.

So, instead, she maintained her naked vigil from the second-story window, confident, at least, that she could see but not be seen behind the lace curtains. That was small comfort, considering…

A narrow beam of weak light suddenly appeared from beneath her car. “What the devil…?” Was someone vandalizing her car? But who would do it? And, more important,
why
?

The piece of junk sure as hell wasn’t worth stealing. Either it was a kid committing random vandalism—and somehow Beth seriously doubted that was as common here as on Chicago’s South Side—or something far more sinister was taking place right before her eyes. For what they were worth in the moonlight.

The shadow could have been an optical illusion, but the flashlight beam—or whatever it was—definitely existed. Well, it had. It disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared.

She narrowed her eyes, clutching the windowsill more tightly, leaning closer to the glass. Who was out there, and what were they doing to her car?

Didn’t the Malones have farm dogs running around that would bark at something like this? No, Beth remembered seeing a kennel by the barn, where
the dogs were kept. They weren’t roaming free, as Heppel’s old hound did.

There was the shadow again, standing beside her car.
Creep.
She waited. After a moment, the tall figure walked toward the far side of the house. Through her partially open window, she actually heard the faint crunch of boots on gravel.

What else would she hear? She waited, anticipating the start of an engine as the vandal fled the scene of his crime. But she heard nothing once the steps faded into the night.

Whoever had crawled beneath her car was on foot.

Which probably meant he didn’t have far to go.

Or he was already home…

Acid churned in her belly. Just because she wanted to sleep with the man didn’t make him a saint. For all she knew he was personally responsible for Lorilee’s disappearance.

“No…” She rubbed her eyes. Ty was good with the kids. He seemed so genuine. It just didn’t wash.

“Listen to yourself.” She’d dealt with true masters of deceit over the years. Until she knew for sure what had happened to Lorilee, anything was possible. Anything…

“Well, so much for sleeping.” Beth waited a few more seconds in case the vandal decided to return, then grabbed her freshly laundered T-shirt off the chair, where she’d left it with her jeans and undies for morning, and tugged it over her head. She pulled on the jeans, then slipped into her tennies without bothering to tie them. Before bed, she had managed to slip out to lock her Glock in the trunk of her car,
thinking she was relatively “safe” out here. Now she wasn’t so sure that had been wise. Still, she didn’t want to risk one of the Malone children getting their hands on it.

Was someone trying to harm
her,
or just inconvenience the annoying investigator by further screwing up an already screwed-up car?

She fully intended to find all the answers. Beth couldn’t discount the fact that—other than the less-than-stellar sperm donors at Gooch’s Garage—Ty Malone was the only living being besides Beth Dearborn who knew that it would only take one more flat tire to render her decrepit vehicle completely useless.

“Well…shit.”

After grabbing her key ring with the small penlight and shoving it into her pocket, she slipped out the door and down the stairs. On autopilot, she started across the parlor toward the foyer, but stopped just short of that dangerous area of the house. This time she actually detected the familiar sense of dread that commonly preceded her empathic encounters.

My God.
Her cursed, so-called gift really was attempting an all-out comeback. “Sam, hurry, dammit…”

Beth stood frozen for a few seconds, squeezed her eyes shut, then backed up and swung around to sneak out through the kitchen and mudroom. Except for the incessant ticking of that frigging clock, the house was quiet and still.

She stepped out the back door and winced when the screen squeaked far more loudly than she remembered it doing in broad daylight. Where was the
vandal now? Was he long gone or still lurking about nearby?

The barn, chicken yard, kennel, and any other structures housing potential animal aromas were—as Pearl had explained—wisely situated some distance from the main house. The only buildings close by were the garage, the bunkhouse—Ty had told her they were really stretching to call it that, with only three full-time hands occupying it—and the small house where Pearl and Cecil Montgomery lived.

Of course, there were many acres of forest along the creek where someone could hide. Beth would never find the culprit in the middle of the night, and she’d have to wait until morning to get a good look at her car.

She crept slowly along the side of the house toward the front, where her car was parked, continuously scanning her moonlit surroundings. This was probably a total waste of—

“Ooompf!” She ran smack into something tall, warm, and all male. The impact caught her by surprise, and she lost her balance in a very un-Beth-like manner.

Instinct and years of martial-arts training took over. Before he could draw another breath, the man was flat on his face with her knee in his spine.

“What the—”

“Malone?”

“Yeah, I think so.” He wheezed out a chuckle. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Police academy.”

“Back in Chicago?”

“Right.” What the hell was he doing out here now?
She didn’t want it to be him. Had he done something to her car?

“Do you suppose you could take your knee out of the middle of my back now?”

She cleared her throat and got to her feet, offering him a hand. “Sorry. Knee-jerk reaction.”

“Yeah. No kidding?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?” he asked as if reading her thoughts.

Beth knew better than to feed him answers, and Ty Malone’s proximity to her car in the wee hours of the morning did
not
bode well, no matter how good he felt. “Getting some air. I couldn’t sleep.”

“That’s what windows are for.” His tone didn’t sound accusatory, though his words bordered on it. Then, unexpectedly, he reached out to gently grip her upper arms. “But I’m sorry you can’t sleep.”

She stared at him, bathed in silver, still touching her. “What are
you
doing out here?” She kept her tone as casual as possible.

“Checking my mare.” He inclined his head toward the barn. “She’s due to drop a foal any day now.”

“Ah.” She really
wanted
to believe him. His thumbs traced warm circles against her bare arms, sending shockwaves of longing straight to her core. Her breath caught. “Um…how is she?”

“Beautiful.”

“The mare?”

“You.”

Was it her imagination, or had he stepped closer? His breath was warm against her cheek. Definitely closer. “What are you doing, Ty?” she asked, barely able to breathe, let alone speak.

His grip tightened, then eased as he slid his open
palms to her back. “Something I’ve wanted to do since I stopped to change your tire.”

Beth’s heart slammed mercilessly into her ribs, and she met him halfway. “I’m probably going to regret this, but the feeling is mutual,” she whispered. Without hesitation, she draped her hands behind his neck.

Just a taste,
she promised herself as he leaned toward her.
Just a taste…

Ty had lost what was left of his mind.

The minute she had thrown him to the ground and planted her knee in the small of his back, he was lost. Nothing mattered except getting closer.

A lot closer…

Cecil claimed Pearl called it sleep-deprivation psychosis when he came in after being up all night in the barn with a mare. Ty didn’t have a brain left to worry about right now. It was all physical. Blood, heart, bones, flesh, skin…

Yes, skin. He wanted more skin. His against hers. Bare and slick and hot. Everything heated, melted, ached, hardened. He tugged her more firmly against him, pleased when she didn’t protest. When her arms slipped around his neck, he took that as consent to move in for a good, old-fashioned lip-lock. If she had any other ideas, she’d sure as hell better say so now.

Their breaths mingled as he lowered his lips to hers. She smelled of mint toothpaste and woman. He drew a sampling breath through his nostrils, then another through his mouth, before he brushed his lips to hers.

“Mmm.”

He teased her lips with his tongue, and she
opened. She wasn’t shy, this one. She tilted her head and took his mouth with a hunger that left him breathless.

The flame in his loins burned hotter than Pearl’s blue-ribbon barbecue sauce. He pulled her still closer, devouring her mouth, tasting, exploring. Their tongues mated, imitating a much more intimate act.

He stroked her back, brought his hands to the slender curve of her waist, then the plump roundness of her butt. Cupping her, he backed her against the side of the house and urged her against him, showing her what she was doing to him, and what he wanted to do to her…

In response, she buried her hands in his hair, deepened their kiss, pulled his tongue deeply into her mouth. He encouraged her when she wrapped one of her achingly long legs around him to pull him closer to her feminine heat.

Damn jeans. He couldn’t remember ever being so aroused from a mere kiss. He braced her against the wall, so he could free one hand to explore her long, athletic body. He ached to bury himself inside her and match his strength to hers stroke for stroke.

Dragging his mouth from hers, he kissed his way down the long curve of her throat and tugged up her T-shirt to bare her breasts to the cool night air. She eased her other leg around his waist.

Ty urged her higher, marveling when she didn’t resist. Her breasts were right in front of him, her T-shirt shoved above, baring her flesh to his pleasure. He stared at dark nipples against milky flesh, bathed in the promise of moonlight.

Then he used his tongue to taste, to slowly, meticulously stroke and savor. She moaned. It had been so
long since he’d tasted such sweetness. Based on her response, maybe he hadn’t forgotten how to pleasure a woman. If he didn’t expire from his own hunger first…

“Oh, God.” The soft thud had to be the back of her head hitting the house.

He chuckled against her warmth, then drew a deep breath, all traces of humor gone. Gently, he nipped her with his teeth, then closed over her and drew her nipple deeply into his mouth.

Her pleasure was palpable. She clutched him to her and her legs tightened around him. She pressed her heat against him, and he had to use his hands to hold her in place again to keep from dropping her. He lowered her body to a spot that made him groan. Pure and simple, down and dirty, right here, right now—he wanted to bury his cock deep inside her.

She reached down to cup the sides of his face with both hands, dragging his mouth from her breast and back to hers. Spontaneous combustion was a distinct possibility.

“I want you,” she murmured against his lips. “Right here. Right now.”