The Expectant Secretary. Leanna Wilson
thought it was the other way around. Didn’t you have something you wanted me to do for you while we were all here in Texas? Or has your new assistant made you forget about that woman from college you wanted me to find?”
Brody’s shoulders tightened. He cleared his throat. “It’s not important anymore. I have too much work to do. No time to think about sheilas.”
Only Jillian.
Griff took a long, contemplative gulp of his black coffee, his brown eyes watching Brody over the rim. “How is the merger going?”
“All right,” he answered, ignoring the double entendre behind Griff’s words. “I’m thinking of doing some research in a couple of weeks. There’s a piece of real estate that’s recently come on the market. It borders the north side of the ranch. Could be a good investment. Unless you think I should stick closer to the family and the Double Crown.”
Griff frowned, obviously understanding Brody’s silent question. “I’ve got my eye on things.”
Brody felt the tension in the back of his neck compress on his spine. “Any word on Clint Lockhart’s whereabouts?”
“No.”
Shoving back his chair, full of restless energy, Brody rounded his desk and settled one hip on the edge. “I don’t like the idea of this criminal on the loose.”
“Neither do I. He seems to have disappeared.”
“What does the sheriff think?” Brody asked.
“That he’s still around. Don’t worry. I’m on top of things.”
Brody leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee. “I’m not worried about you, sport.”
Griffin nodded. “I know what you’re thinking—Matilda.”
Shaking his head, Brody pictured his rambunctious, too trusting, younger sister. “She’s trouble looking for a spot to happen.”
“I’ve been thinking we need to schedule some activities, keep her busy, so she can’t run into the wrong kind of people.”
“You mean, men.”
“Yes.”
“Not a bad idea,” Brody agreed. “She should be fine at the ranch.”
Griffin scowled. “Have you seen the way she looks at the cowboys out there?”
He nodded. “When I get back from my one-day trip to check out this property, I’ll invite her to San Antonio for dinner or sight-seeing or something.”
“You can’t let her out of your sight,” Griffin warned.
“I don’t plan on it.”
Setting his coffee cup on the tray, Griffin stood. “Think I’ll take in a few sights myself before I head back to the ranch.”
“Going souvenir shopping?” Brody asked, knowing his brother had other things in mind.
“More like checking out the cop shop. To see if I can find out any more about this Lockhart fellow.”
Brody walked his brother to the door. With his hand on the knob, he said, “Watch your back. Lockhart’s dangerous.”
“I’d say murdering Uncle Ryan’s second wife Sophia put him in that category.”
“Now he’s desperate.”
“I’ll be careful.” Griffin turned. “If you want, I could have someone do a search in the computer for that woman you were looking for.”
“It’s not necessary.”
Griffin’s brow creased. “You already found her?”
“I did.” And damn if he knew what to do about Jillian now.
“Hi, honey!” Betsy Keene pulled the door shut behind her as she raced into her trailer home, juggling two sacks of groceries. Breathless, she gave Clint her best smile, hoping he’d be in a good mood, wishing he’d greet her with a kiss.
“You’re late.” He swigged a gulp from his bottle of beer. From the collection of empty bottles on the table, she knew he’d started drinking earlier than usual. His bare feet were propped on the kitchen table, and he wore only a pair of faded jeans that hugged his narrow hips. “Where you been?”
Betsy flushed as she found herself staring at his lean, muscular chest. Clint’s virility made her as jittery as a young schoolgirl. She squashed her disappointment at his sharp greeting and knew she shouldn’t have taken the time to redo her hair and makeup in the car.
Hiding her disappointment, she set the sacks on the cracked Formica-topped counter. “The girl taking over my station at the diner was late. Then I needed gas for the car. Stopped off at the grocery store and I had to wait for Annelle Grayson to write her check. She’s as old as the hills and it takes her an eternity to sign her name. She has arthritis something awful—”
He slammed his bottle on the table. His blue eyes flashed like heat lightning. “Goddammit!”
She froze. “I’m sorry, honey. Here I am babbling on and you’re probably starving. It won’t take me but a few minutes to get dinner ready. How does fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy sound?”
“I don’t care about dinner.” He shoved his fingers through his auburn hair, which almost reached his shoulders. He was hard and dangerous. He made her feel wild and careless.
“And I didn’t even ask how you were feeling.” She pulled a package of chicken out of the grocery sack along with potatoes and enough Granny Smith apples to make a pie. “Is your leg paining you?”
“Hell, yes.”
She winced at his gruff tone but maintained a pleasant expression. “I’ll fix you a bath after dinner so you can soak.”
Her gaze snagged on the wad of cash sitting in the middle of the kitchen table. Her heart jackhammered in her chest, just as it had when she’d snuck onto the Double Crown Ranch and into Clint’s cabin almost a month ago. He’d asked her to locate his stash of cash as well as an ID from beneath the floorboard of his old cabin. Now, when he drank too much, he pulled it out of his new hiding place. It gave her a panicky feeling deep in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t bear it if he left her. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Eventually.” He grabbed the cash and, lifting his hip off the chair, stuffed the wad into his pocket. His mouth quirked upward on one side and sent her stomach to fluttering. “But not without you, sugar. I’ll let you know when it’s time.”
Again she flushed from head to toe, this time with pure, undiluted pleasure. While she readied the chicken for frying, she imagined a life with Clint, traveling from place to place, making love early in the morning, cuddling in front of a crackling fire on a cold wintry night.
“I got you the San Antonio newspaper you asked for. It’s there in one of those sacks.” She rolled a chicken leg in flour mixed with seasoning salt.
“Can’t you get it for me?” He tipped the bottle against his mouth for a long pull. “I’m laid up here.”
“Of course, honey, I’m sorry.” She rinsed her hands and dried them on her apron. “Here you go.”
He took the folded paper from her. His tanned, calloused fingers brushed hers, and her spine tingled with anticipation. Longing welled up inside her, but he dismissed her with a wink. As she turned back to her raw chicken, he pinched her on the backside. She jumped with surprise and giggled with delight. Maybe tonight he’d be feeling good enough to get frisky.
While she washed and cut the potatoes and set them on the stove to boil, he read the paper, rustling the pages every few seconds.
“Well, now, this is interesting,” he muttered.
“What’s