Too Sexy for his Stetson (7 page)

Rambo led out and headed for the path behind the house. Blade jogged to the SUV to grab his Stetson while Brandy followed the canine leader, who pranced ahead, setting the pace. After a half hour’s climb, with little need or breath for conversation, they reached a lookout point.

“Breathtaking.” Brandy took in a gulp of air and studied the view. Below, like a Lincoln Log house, Blade’s cabin sat nestled near a swath of the Little Chute River that cut through his property. Whitewater bubbled in the stream as it undulated through a fringe of evergreens. And beyond the forest, a field dotted with wildflowers met a craggy backdrop of snowcapped mountains. On the horizon, a ribbon of silver glinted where Cascade Falls danced down the side of Thunder Mountain.

A ninety–degree summer day had never been more beautiful. Heaven. Why would she want to go and spoil it by bringing up Skip Coogan?

****

Blade reveled in watching Brandy as she hunkered on a boulder and ran her slender fingers through the fur on Rambo’s neck. She looked across the valley, then turned to him. What little makeup she’d started the day with was long gone. Wind scattered her hair and blew it around her face.

Blade’s breath hitched. Plain and simple, this woman with the unusual purplish eyes spoke to his libido. Stirred up something inside him, something he preferred not to name.

When he moved closer to her, Rambo horned in, sidling between him and Brandy, nuzzling Brandy’s hand. Probably saving Blade from doing something stupid, like kissing her.

“Rambo,
zitzen.”

“Dutch now?” Brandy asked, grinning, as the dog dropped his hind quarters and plunked down beside her. “So which is it? Does he speak German or Dutch? When we were introduced, I was sure it was English…”

“He was trained in Belgium, but he’s fluent in Dutch, as well as German and English. It doesn’t hurt that the majority of bad guys don’t know the foreign commands.”

“
Parley vous François?”
she asked Rambo.

The multi–lingual canine barked and focused across the valley.

Brandy laughed and stretched out her legs, turning to face the panoramic view of the Black Mountains.

“See that smoke at one o–clock to the falls?” Blade asked.

Shielding her eyes with one hand, she locked in on the plumes of gray. “It’s a campfire.”

“In a section of forest that is supposedly No Man’s Land. There’re no designated campsites at that elevation, nor any trails on the Idaho side of the mountain leading up there.”

“You’re right. But there’s an old logging trail that starts in Montana on the other side and goes to the top of Thunder Mountain.”

“How do you know that?”

“Homework.” She grinned.

Impressed with her extra efforts, he nodded. “It’d be a nice quiet place for an NNFF gathering. Sheriff Noble thinks we should check it out. Are you up for a backpacking expedition?”

“Of course.” She all but chomped at the bit.

“Roundtrip, it could be a two–day trek.”
As in an overnighter
. The thought toyed with his delinquent hormones.

“No problem.” But the glance she shot his way bounced back toward the mountain view as pink rose on her cheeks.

Blade’s rising heat manifested in an entirely different location.
Get a grip, Lieutenant. Concentrate on something that doesn’t give you a hard–on.
“The forest is so thick, our chopper is useless for surveillance or detecting an encampment.”

“So when are we scheduled for Operation Rocky Mountain High?” She’d tamed the blush and turned all professional.

“Later this week.”

“Wow, we might actually have an up–close and personal glimpse of the elusive NNFF headquarters.” Enthusiasm lit up her face and sparkled in her eyes.

Damn. After spending two days with her, Blade’s attraction was in no way dwindling. His thoughts hurdled the elusive personal relationship line and landed amidst a tangle of sheets and tousled blond hair.

Warning bells pealed in his chest.

Try a different subject.
Like, for instance, the reason behind Brandy’s problem with Skip Coogan, a subject that had hung elusively between them all day. But did he really want to know what she had against his mentor? Blade’s jaw muscles twitched. What if she were to accuse Coogan of something like molesting her?
Jesus.

But in order to create a solid professional relationship and build a base of trust and friendship, he really had to find out what the problem was.

As though she could read his thoughts and wanted to avoid the conversation, she glanced at her watch and pushed off the boulder. “I think it’s time I started back.”

For now, he was more than content to avoid the subject.

“You’re welcome to stay and have a bite to eat.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“We’d enjoy the company,” he said and turned to Rambo. “Wouldn’t we boy?”

Rambo woofed.

“You’re probably a better cook than I am,” Blade added. “I could let you supervise.”

She laughed. “I’m not very good in the kitchen.”

He bit his tongue before he asked what room she was good in and jammed the leash into her hand. Rambo took off, forcing them to start down the trail.

Twenty minutes later, Blade stood at the island that divided his kitchen from the dining area, watching Brandy wander through the open–concept first floor of his new domain. Mouth agape, she studied the overhead log beams and the natural stone fireplace that spanned floor to ceiling.

“This is fantastic,” she said, swooning.

“The kitchen needs some updating. But you have to check out the spa upstairs. That’s what sold me. The previous owners were on the right track. They started improvements by enlarging the bathroom and installing a whirlpool tub big enough for a party. Stone tile on the walls and floor. And there’s a spigot near the ceiling that gives a waterfall effect.”

“Wow, someday I’d like to own a place like this.”

“I’m sure you will.” Blade had a clear–shot view of her standing in the center of the great room. She slowly turned around, taking it all in—his well–used leather sofa and loveseat, the natural hickory flooring, the view out the wall of windows overlooking the mountains. And the stacks of boxes he had yet to unpack.

“The boards on the deck need replacing. And I intend to install new countertops in the kitchen.” Eventually, he’d get rid of the olive green appliances, but for now they served their purpose.

“If you want to earn your supper, you could win some points with Rambo by taking over the daily brushing ritual. The brush is over by the door.”

****

Her canine buddy shadowed her while she retrieved his brush, and when she sat on the floor, he stood next to her, statue still, and all but purred with the first stroke over his thick fur. As she continued brushing, Brandy thought about all the dingy days at the shelter for homeless juveniles, the grim walls and cramped space in her room at the state boarding school. She felt the familiar empty hollow sensation in her chest… would she ever feel like she belonged in a place like this?

“So you like this, huh, big guy?”

Rambo nuzzled her hand, an impatient nudge meant to keep the action going. She continued stroking his silky coat, finally working her way around to his chest.

He sang a little song, and his crooning kept her hand stroking until her stomach started to growl from the aroma of food wafting through the house.
This is what home feels like.
Warmth spread through her chest, erasing the hollow feeling. But
home
was a place that belonged to others, and she’d never felt anything like the sensations bombarding her at the moment as she sat in her FTO’s great room. Brushing his dog. Blade cooking for her.

Rambo lavished the back of her hand with a barrage of wet kisses.

“What a handsome brute you are.” Admiring his shiny coat, she set the brush aside and swiped at hairs that had collected on her uniform trousers.

Rambo stood posed beside her, a soldier at attention.

“What?”

He woofed and tipped his head.

“You are a mooch. That’s it for now, boy.”

Still, he worked it and nestled on his belly beside her, his big dark eyes entreating her.

“Hey, you two, break it up. Soup’s on.” Blade set down two plates of spaghetti buried in a thick sauce. “I’ll get the garlic bread out of the oven.”

She moved to the kitchen sink and helped herself to the bottle of liquid soap. “You really know how to spoil a girl.” Lathering up, she noted that Blade had changed into jeans and a T–shirt, which clung to the honed muscles of his chest.

The man was total eye candy. How was a women supposed to control her craving for something that sweet?

“Would you like a beer or a glass of wine?” he asked.

“No thanks, I don’t drink.” Not anymore. The school of self–survival had taught her to stay away from alcohol. “I saw too many kids progress from booze to weed and then cocaine, heroin, and God only knows what.”

He nodded and hesitated. “Do you mind if I have a beer? If it’s a problem I won’t—”

“Go ahead.”

He opened the green refrigerator, pulled out a cool one, and turned to study her. “You’re a tough one to figure out.”

She swallowed and looked away. “Not really.”

“Um, about your mom… If you want to talk about…”

“I don’t”

“I think there’s stuff buried inside, and if you’d let it out, it’d help.”

She shrugged.

“You know, Brandy, baggage can affect a person in a lot of ways. I don’t want to see that load on your back keep you from becoming the best deputy you can be.”

“My history won’t keep me from doing my job.” She strode to the table. “Hey, I’m starving, and this looks good enough to eat.”

Blade followed, and she sat, immediately digging into the mountain of pasta. “Ummm.”

After a couple of minutes, she glanced up, and to her mortification found Blade leaning against the back of his chair, still studying her, making her feel like she was the star of
Oliver.

“This is excellent.” She set down her fork and pretended to chew the food she’d already inhaled. Great, what next? Would she break out into a chorus of
Food, Glorious Food?
“Sorry. You’d think this was the first square meal of my life.”
Sup, sup, suppertime.

“It’s been a long time since lunch,” Blade jabbed his fork into his pasta.

“Yeah, mountain air… gives you an appetite.” The truth was, attorney fees had left her food allowance on the slim side. Until her next paycheck, her cupboard was down to Ramen noodles and canned tuna.

But food lost its priority when Blade brought the amber bottle to his mouth and closed his lips over the rim. Her mouth tingled from the mere thought of those lips closing on hers. She got lost watching the way the muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed.

FTO. FTO. FTO.
Her brain scrolled the no–fraternizing rules across the screen in her head, the ticker–tape message loud and clear.

Fraternizing—a novel way of describing what she wanted to do with Blade Beringer. She pried her gaze away from
her field training officer
as Rambo settled at her feet and let out a soft contented whimper.

“Looks like you’ve got my dog wrapped around your finger.”

“What? I think it’s the other way around.”

“No kidding, he’s never taken to anyone like this before.”

“Smart dog.”

“He’s an excellent judge of character.”

“Or a pushover for anyone who lavishes him with attention.”

“He knows a good woman when he sees one.”

Brandy tamped down the warm feeling Blade’s comment induced and tried to ignore the way his hair played in curls across his forehead as she shoved the last forkful of spaghetti into her mouth.

“More garlic bread?” He held out the plate.

“If you insist.”

He laughed. “Knock yourself out.”

Once she’d polished off her food, she blotted her lips with a napkin. “Thanks, that was great.” She glanced toward the sink. “I’ll do the dishes.”

“No need to. Believe it or not, that green machine over there actually works.” He jumped up and grabbed their plates. At the sink rinsing dishes, Blade said over his shoulder, “Sorry, I don’t have anything planned for dessert.”

She clamped her mouth shut. Not touching that one. Not even with a long–handled spoon… Really, why did she have to twist everything he said? Because he’s hot, and sometimes, like ninety percent of the time, the look in his eyes filled her with molten lust.

But you’re stronger than that.

She stood and grabbed her silverware, spun around, and collided face to shoulder with the object of her frustration. A reflex backward jerk sent her stumbling over Rambo’s tail. And oh, Lord in heaven, the next instant she was in Blade’s arms, her nose pressed against his pulsing throat, her breasts tight against the hard wall of muscle that was his chest. A warm, earthy, fragrance like mountain pine filled her lungs.

Heat shot through her, heat that the air conditioning hadn’t a prayer against. With her heart hammering in rhythm with his, with his body welded to hers, the man in the slim–cut jeans sent her willpower wheeling. Her body mutinied as her pulse throbbed low in her groin.

For a second, she considered exploring what lay beneath the denim. Teeny little briefs. She’d bet money on it. Probably fire engine red.

Rookies can get their asses kicked out of this department for a lot less then exploring what’s under their FTO’s jeans.

Aw, hell. Get out of my head already, Christiansen.

But the message struck and stuck. She broke loose. Took a breath and stepped backward, reeling from the close encounter.

“Skip Coogan… we really should talk about him.”

As a mood breaker, her stepfather’s name worked wonders. Blade stiffened and stepped back, stuffing his hands into his pockets, expanding the distance between them until they were suddenly miles apart. “What about him?” His expression couldn’t have been more unnerving, his eyes suddenly focused in a defensive glower.

Brandy wished she’d kept her mouth shut and that she was still on the receiving end of Blade’s usual warm expression rather than the stone cold threat darkening his face. But when it came to justice or righting an injustice, nothing and no one could intimidate her. She’d already put off the Skip Coogan discussion far too long. “I don’t think you know him as well as I do.”