She’d get over a damn fool of a man who didn’t have enough sense to know that he could not take chances with his life for the sake of an adrenaline rush. A damn stupid man who did not know that she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

  Eleven

  Jake waited five days. Five long, frustrating days.

  Then he drove to Chrissie’s apartment.

  Stupid.

  Par for his course lately. He’d pulled a stupid stunt when he’d suited up to fight the oil fire at Odessa. Okay. Water under the bridge. He hadn’t intended to compound a gross error in judgment by going to see Chrissie.

  So much for what he hadn’t intended to do.

  Man. Why couldn’t he just stick to the plan? Even before Odessa he’d decided to cut off his relationship with her. He’d been worried that maybe she might be getting too attached to him. And he’d been right.

  He could still see her face when she’d found him. Relief, anger. Pain.

  Pain that he’d caused. See, this was exactly what he’d wanted to avoid. The possibility that she’d cry. The probability that she’d cling.

  He flipped his left-turn signal and headed down Western Avenue, then stopped at a red light.

  “Well, none of that has happened, has it, ace?” he muttered aloud. She hadn’t cried. She wasn’t clinging. Hell, the woman wouldn’t even return his calls.

  So why wasn’t he happy about that? It was a clean break. Exactly what he’d wanted.

  He scowled straight ahead. Five days had gone by since she’d charged onto the oil-fire site like an avenging angel, asked him what he’d say if she told him she loved him, then made herself as scarce as peace in the Middle East.

  Love. She didn’t love him. In the heat of the moment she’d just…hell, he didn’t know. She’d been overly emotional, that’s all. Clearly she didn’t even want to see him anymore.

  So why wasn’t he as pleased as spiked punch about that, either?

  For Pete’s sake, he should be relieved.

  The light changed and he punched it.

  He should be feeling mighty fine that he didn’t have to lie, make excuses or watch her cry. Or wonder if maybe she wasn’t crying. Wonder if maybe she’d already moved on—asked someone else to give her “lessons.”

  There’d be no shortage of guys lining up to take his place, that’s for sure. Since she’d quit hiding her beautiful assets, he’d seen the way other men looked at her.

  His jaw started aching at about the same time he realized he was clenching it so hard, he could have crushed his molars into powder.

  So, he didn’t like the thought of some other guy looking out for her. Watching over her. Teaching her. That didn’t mean anything except that he didn’t want to see her get hurt.

  That’s what tonight was about. He pulled to a stop in front of her apartment. He told himself he was going to make sure she was all right. Just check on her. Make sure she knew what she was getting into with some of these other creeps.

  But then she answered her door. Opened it a crack and frowned at him.

  And he knew why he wasn’t happy about anything.

  He’d missed her.

  He’d missed that sassy blond hair. Those crazy hazel eyes. Those whimsical freckles that drove him crazy with lust. He’d missed her spirit and he’d missed her spunk and he’d missed the way she looked at him.

  But most of all he’d missed the best opportunity to tell her that he needed her in his life.

  Since he’d figured that out just this moment—he’d never claimed to be the sharpest tack in the drawer—he cut himself a little slack.

  And then he set out to make things right.

  “We have to talk,” he said.

  “I, um, I don’t mean to be rude, Jake,” she said, clinging to the door, keeping it open only a crack so he couldn’t walk inside, “but now really isn’t a good time.”

  He froze as the light slowly dawned. She had a man in there.

  “Yeah, well, I’m real sorry about that, but I’m afraid this can’t wait.”

  He shouldered his way around her and stomped into her apartment. He stopped short just inside the door, ready to give whatever lowlife had moved in on his territory a real good reason to move on.

  What the hell?

  The place was a mess. There were newspapers spread on every inch of the floor. Plastic sheets were draped all over the furniture. And not a man in sight.

  “You’re painting,” he said, feeling a huge smile spread across his face.

  “I’m about to paint,” she said, sounding a little testy.

  That’s my girl, he thought and started rolling up his sleeves. “I love to paint. What’s this?”

  She gave him a long-suffering sigh. “A paint roller.”

  “Oh, yeah. I knew that. So, where do you want me to start?”

  “How about by heading back out the door?”

  He smiled, picked up a paint can and started shaking it.

  “This is ridiculous. I haven’t got time for your games. I need to get to the paint store before it closes and get some masking tape.”

  “You just run along and get what you need, sweet cheeks. I’ll start without you.”

  She stared at him for the longest time. Then she swallowed and her eyes got a little misty. “I really don’t think—”

  “Go to the store,” he said gently. “Before it closes.”

  After another long, searching look, she gave up and snagged her car keys. “If—if you ever cared anything about me,” she said in a faltering tone that he’d never heard before, “please be gone when I get back.”

  Then she left, shutting the door softly behind her.

  It was just like him, Christine thought when she pulled up in front of her apartment and saw that Jake’s car was still parked in front. Just like him to do what he darn well pleased, regardless that she’d asked him to leave.

  She cut the engine, let out a deep breath and told herself to just deal with it. Jake was Jake. He wasn’t mean. He wasn’t stupid. He knew she was hurting over him. And being who he was—Mr. Good Time, Everybody Likes Me—he simply couldn’t handle thinking she hated him.

  So his plan, evidently, was to make nice and put them back on friendly terms so he could live happily—and singly—ever after.

  Fine, she thought, slamming her car door. He clearly wasn’t going away tonight, so she’d have to play his game to get rid of him. She could survive it. As she so often reminded herself, she’d survived worse.

  Head down, she trudged up the walk, then let herself inside.

  And stopped cold when she walked into the room.

  Eyes wide with disbelief, she turned a slow circle trying to take it all in. Good to his word, Jake had started the painting without her—only it wasn’t the kind of painting she’d had in mind.

  On the wall directly in front of her he’d painted in big sloppy letters What would you say if I said I love you?

  She pressed her fingers to her mouth, walked farther into the room and felt her eyes fill with tears when she read the rest of his handiwork. Above the front window he’d painted a stick figure of a man with a huge, sad frown. He’d painted his name above it and the words: I’m such a jerk.

  On the wall where the entertainment center usually sat was Can you forgive me?

  Everywhere she looked, he’d painted a message. He’d painted a big, splashy heart with an arrow through it. Inside the heart were his initials and hers.

  But the kicker, the one that finally had the tears overflowing, were the two words she never, ever figured she’d have from him: Marry me.

  He walked through the kitchen doorway about that time, looking rugged and gorgeous and, God bless him, as uncertain as a skydiver on his virgin jump.

  “Told you I could paint,” he said, his gaze searching hers.

  “You are such a fool,” she said and launched herself into his arms.

  He hugged her hard against him, lowering his head to hers. “A fool for you,” he murmured, then picked her up, carried her to the wall that was foremost on both of their minds.

  “Yes,” she said, lifting her head long enough to kiss him. “Yes, yes, yes, I’ll marry you.”

  “I think I could get to love this bed,” Jake murmured into Chrissie’s ear as they lay side by side, snuggled together like sardines in a can on her double bed, tiny in comparison to his king.

  “You hate this bed,” she said on a soft chuckle and wrapped her bare leg around his hip.

  “But I love you and I love being close to you. This bed makes sure that happens.”

  She pulled back far enough to look into his eyes. “Say it again.”

  “I love you.”

  They’d made love. Then they’d talked. He’d told her about Rea, how she’d used him to get what she wanted, how she’d soured him on love and marriage. Christine had told him about her childhood and she’d fallen a little deeper in love when his eyes had misted with tears for her. He’d tenderly kissed the scar on her chin that her father had given her when she was six years old. That one tender kiss did more to ease the pain of abuse than years of trying to put it behind her.

  And Jake had made promises. “I’ll be good. I won’t give you reason to worry about me. My firefighting days are over. Hell, they’d been over. The only reason I went to Odessa was because of you. You had me running scared, sweet cheeks. So scared, I did the one thing I figured would push you away for good. I figured you’d never forgive me for doing something so stupid.”

  Of course, she forgave him. They snuggled even deeper into the bed.

  “You know,” he said, reflecting on the events that had led them together, “if it weren’t for Jess Golden’s things, we never would have found the new you and me.”

  “That’s right. We sort of forgot about that during the past few weeks, didn’t we? You made me forget my name half the time,” she confessed.

  “I did that to you?” He sounded pleased and just a little too cocky.

  She pinched him. “You know darn well what you did to me.”

  “Yeah. I do. Want to know something else? I never forgot about the lady outlaw’s things. I think maybe subconsciously I was holding them as my ace in the hole.”

  “How so?”

  He nuzzled her neck and kissed her there. “Well, why wouldn’t I have turned them over if I really wanted out of this hot little thing we had going on? I mean, duh. Could it be any more obvious that I knew deep down that as long as I had them, I had some hold on you?”

  “I don’t care what the reason was. You will always have a hold on me,” she confessed as he slipped lower and took her breast into his mouth. “Always.”

  Twelve

  Logan Voss stared at Jake as though he’d said he’d grown a tail. “You’re what?”

  “Getting married,” Jake said, grinning around a cigar similar to the ones he’d passed around to his buddies. Logan was late joining the poker game, so he was also late hearing the news Jake had shared first with Connor and then the other men at the table. “You gonna ante up or what?”

  Jake and Connor, along with Logan Voss and Mark Hartman, were winding down from a meeting finalizing plans for the anniversary ball, which would take place at the Cattleman’s Club on Saturday night.

  Still looking stunned, Logan tossed his chip into the pot in the middle of the table. “It’s almost too much to take. First you get respectable and run for mayor and now this. I’ve gotta think about this last piece of news for a while.”

  “Don’t we all,” Connor agreed. “I’ll see your bet and up it twenty.”

  “I fold,” Mark said and tossed his hand toward Connor, who had just dealt.

  “Well, I think I can see that,” Logan said. “Let’s see what you got.”

  “Three ladies,” Jake said, laying down his three queens.

  “Guess luck’s with you tonight, bud,” Mark said as Jake raked in the pot.

  “And don’t I just know it. Thank you, boys,” he said with a smile.

  “Hey, Gavin,” Jake said when the sheriff walked in. “You’re just the man I wanted to see. Damnedest thing happened. Chrissie and I took that box of stuff I bought at the auction to the museum yesterday.”

  “What things?” Mark asked.

  Jake explained about the saddlebags with the purse and six-guns and the map that Chrissie was so certain belonged to Jessamine Golden. “Looks like she was right, too,” he added. “According to the historian at the museum, they’re authentic. Those folks are as excited as kids on Christmas morning over what they called ‘an exceptional and significant find’ of Royal’s history.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “you know that display set up to honor old Edgar Halifax?”

  “The one your competitor, Gretchen, is so excited about?” Connor asked.

  “Yeah. But it seems someone isn’t as happy about the display as Gretchen because they vandalized the hell out of it. Sprayed paint mostly. Wrote, ‘It’s all lies!’ across the glass case.”

  “Already heard about that,” Gavin put in. “I was just going off shift when we got the call. I sent one of the boys out to check it out.”

  “What’s up with that?” Logan asked.

  Gavin shrugged. “Total mystery at this point. Got another mystery on my hands that’s taking priority at the moment. That’s why I stopped in. I need your help with something.”

  “What’s up?” Jake asked. “Or does this fall into the category of you’d tell us but then you’d have to kill us?”

  “Actually,” Gavin said, “I do have to ask for your pledge of confidentiality on this one.”

  Jake glanced at Connor, sensing something big was about to be revealed.

  “We got the autopsy results back on Jonathan Devlin today.”

  “Autopsy?”

  Gavin nodded. “Standard practice when there’s even a hint of a question as to cause of death.”

  “Didn’t know there was a question,” Mark said.

  “Yeah, well, like I said, there was enough of one. Long story short, the report got put on the back burner due to backlogs at the lab. Anyway, I just got it back today.”

  “Something tells me you’re going to tell us he didn’t die of natural causes,” Connor speculated soberly.

  Gavin cast a dark glance around the table. “Seems we’ve got a murder on our hands.”

  A stunned silence fell while the four of them absorbed Gavin’s news and waited for him to continue.

  “I had his house cordoned off this afternoon. For all the good it will probably do. It’s going to be hard as hell to pick up anything from a crime scene that old.”

  “Crime scene? I thought the old man died in the hospital,” Logan said.

  Again Gavin nodded. “Look, I can’t disclose any more information yet. Not until the state boys do their work. As it is, I’m sticking my neck out breaking this news to you, but I figure it’s only a matter of time before the media gets a hold of it.”

  Gavin was right, Jake thought. Jonathan Devlin was a prominent figure in Royal business and society. Word that he was murdered would make fodder for the media for months.

  “I just want you boys to keep your eyes and your ears open for me. If you see anything suspicious going on—”

  “Like that business at the museum and the Halifax exhibit,” Jake interjected.

  “Or what’s happening out at Nita Windcroft’s,” Mark put in soberly.

  Gavin shrugged. “Hell, I wouldn’t discount anything at this point. It’s been almost a month since Jonathan died, so we’ve got a cold trail and a big, high-profile murder. I’m shorthanded and will be for a while with Wilson out on extended disability and Smith transferring to Dallas. To make matters worse, we’ve got a budget issue and a hiring freeze, so I’m dying here.”

  “You know you can count on us,” Jake said. “And you can bet that Tom Devlin will want to lend a hand, too, when he gets back to Royal.”

  “Okay then,” Gavin said, looking and sounding weary. “I’ve gotta go. Let’s plan on getting together on a regular basis and I’ll fill you in on what I can when I can.”

  To a man, they watched the sheriff leave. And to a man, they knew they’d do everything in their power to help him.

  Royal’s one hundred and twenty-fifth anniversary ball was special for more than one reason. Besides the milestone event itself, for one of the few times in history, the private Texas Cattleman’s Club was open to the public. That in itself was enough to bring out the residents of Royal to the gala ball in droves.

  The posh club was renowned throughout Texas for its lavishly appointed bar, private rooms and extravagant ballroom. Those who attended that night and had never been inside the club were not disappointed in what they found.

  Polished walnut paneling graced the foyer, rare Oriental rugs covered the floors. Gleaming brass fixtures and chandeliers dripping with cut-crystal teardrops adorned the ballroom. Presiding over it all was the one thing all club member held sacred—a plain wooden plaque over the door heralding the club’s motto: Leadership, Justice and Peace.

  It was a night for celebration. A night for sumptuous evening gowns and tailored black tuxedos. And it was a night that Jake hadn’t even known he’d been looking forward to when he’d conned pretty Chrissie Travers into attending the ball with him.

  She looked amazing. Her gown was red and strapless, and he couldn’t get enough of looking at the contrast of all that vibrant crimson satin against her ivory skin.

  “You are the sexiest campaign manager I’ve ever slept with,” he said, grinning down at her as they waltzed around the room. He loved it that she’d thrown herself into the campaign, insisting that she handle his PR. Turned out she was a natural, too. He spotted any number of Thorne for Mayor—a Leader for Tomorrow pins on tuxedo lapels.

  Personally he liked the pin she wore on the waist of her dress—Thorne for Husband.

  “And you are the sexiest and the smartest and the best candidate for mayor I’ve ever agreed to marry. And unlike the other candidate, I haven’t seen you cast a single glaring sneer the entire night.”