Brash (6 page)

“Yeah, I got that.”

“But I'll be back by eleven. We can continue what we started before the unfortunate accident. Brainstorm on how we could locate Sweet. Maybe we can bring the boxes in here—”

“I can't stay, Doc,” he cut in mildly. “I have to get to Austin. I've got training at noon.”

She looked confused. “At noon? You can't possibly get there—”

“Deac's flyin' me in on his chopper. He's got some business there today.”

“But your ankle is still inflamed.”

He shrugged. “It's nothing.” He'd trained on worse. Broken ribs, broken toe. Shit, the latter hurt worse than anything.

Her hands went to her hips. “How important is this fight next week?”

Cole exhaled. The fight. The goddamned fight with Fred Omega Fontana—the one bastard he'd never beaten. There was something about this fight, coming right now, when things were unsettled at the ranch and questions were being raised about Cass's murder. Before Everett's passing, beating Fontana was like beating anyone. A need
to win, a need to feel strong and capable and feared. But now . . . it was as if Fred Fontana represented that faceless piece of shit who'd stolen his girl, his twin, his other half all those years ago. And every time he beat Cole, it was like letting Cass down again and again.

But next week, he'd make Cass proud.

He'd find a whisper of peace within his guilty, pained soul.

His eyes caught and held Grace's. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just wondering,” she said lightly. “Because training on that ankle could easily make it worse. Give your opponent the advantage. So if this fight is as important as I'm guessing it is, you're better off resting another day.” She shrugged. “Then hitting it hard tomorrow.”

He raised a brow. “Hitting it hard, Doc?”

She shrugged. “Isn't that fighter speak? Hit it hard? Pound it in? Oh, I don't know. I saw
Rocky
once . . .” Her voice trailed off as she laughed softly at herself.

“You just want to keep me here, don't you?” he asked.

“Well . . .” she stammered.

“In your bed, I mean.”

Her cheeks flushed again. Yep, pink was growing on him. And there it went, into his mind . . . wondering what else on her was flushing pink.

“I have to go,” she said, backing up away from
him, like he was a bomb about to detonate. And maybe he was. “Clearly Belle has decided to stay with you instead of coming to work with me,” she added, glancing at the still snoring dog, one long ear draped over her eyes.

“Puttin' her on guard duty?” he asked.

“I don't think you need a guard,” she said, her back coming to rest against the door. “I think you'll always do what you want. No matter the consequences.”

Some of the heat building inside him cooled. What did she mean by that? And why did she think she knew him? She didn't know him. Not even close. And she never would.

“It's up to you, of course,” she concluded. “But I hope to see you when I get home.”

When she was gone, down the hall, and out the front door, Cole swung his legs over the side of the bed. Granted, the woman had been good to him, setting him up, feeding him, doctoring as well as an animal doc could. But she didn't understand how things went in his world. You worked with and through injury.

He ignored the heaviness in his ankle as his feet touched down on wood. But what he couldn't ignore, as he stood up and walked around the side of the bed, was the pounding of blood and the ache. Sure, he could train on it. But the vet was right. If he injured it further, he was giving the advantage to Fontana. Anyone else and he'd go
through with it—but he couldn't risk losing this match.

“Shit,” he cursed. His eyes lifted. Belle was awake, though her head still rested on the blanket, and she was staring at him. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

He'd been bedbound only once in his life. After a three-week run of back-to-back fights. It's how he'd done things long ago when he was fighting underground. How he'd made his money—how he'd secured his rep. Hell, he'd slept for two days after that, waking up with one of his eyes fused shut.

Risking himself had been part of the fun. Going out there, seeing what he was made of, on one leg, hand messed up, eye blackened. But this was different. This was not about fun. It was about her. Cass. Fighting for her. He had to crush Fontana, and to do that he had to be in top form.

He was going back to bed. Grace's bed. Her warm and very pink world. But first he needed to pee.

He gritted his teeth and stood up, then headed for the bathroom.

“Just admit it,” Mac accused in between bites of scrambled eggs with extra jalapeños. “You've been avoiding me.”

Blue drained his glass of tomato juice, then set it back on the table. Mornings at Mirabelle's had been few and far between for him and Mac lately. He'd missed it. Hell, he'd missed her.

“Just giving a married woman her space, is all,” he said with a shrug.

“Is that right?” she chided disbelievingly.

He picked up his fork, stabbed at his potatoes. “Yup.”

“At work too?”

“What do you mean?” he asked before stuffing the three crispy spheres into his mouth.

“Just seems to me, cowboy, that not only are you avoiding your friend off the ranch, when you're on the ranch, you're ignoring your foreman too?”

“I do my job, Mac.” He noticed his voice changed with his words. Grew a hair irritated.

“'Course you do,” she agreed, glancing around the diner. “That ain't what I'm getting at.” The place was packed. People stacked at the counter. She leaned in, her expression concerned. “Come on, Blue. Talk to me.”

He knew what she wanted. He was no dope. She'd been after him for a while—to talk, share his feelings. Damn, why were women always after that? Then, once they had it, didn't much like how vulnerable it made the guy seem. “All right.” He placed his fork down and grabbed his napkin. He swiped at his mouth. “I'd like to bring on another fifty head of cattle. Longhorns.”

Her brow furrowed. That was not what she expected or wanted to hear from him. She shook her head and shrugged. “Okay. Sure. Fine. Whatever. You don't need my say-so for that.”

He sat back in the booth. “Don't I?”

Her expression went positively clueless. “'Course not. What the hell is going on with you? I know it ain't got to do with your job. Are you pissed at me or something?”

“No.”

“I don't believe you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And for the record, if anyone should be pissed, it's me.”

“How you figure, Foreman?”

“Well, for one thing, you never told me where
you went when you up and left town, or what you did—or what you're thinking now that you're back. You cut me out of your life.” She chewed her lip for a sec, then huffed out a breath. “I didn't write that will, Blue. I didn't have an affair or lie to you about who your daddy was—”

“Quit it, Mac,” he ground out, glancing around. The whole damn town looked at him funny as it was. Everett Cavanaugh's bastard.

But she was on a roll, and once she started she couldn't be stopped.

“I didn't threaten your place at the Triple, or offer you money to sell your share in it.”

His gut went vise tight and his nostrils flared with anger. “You can tell your husband I haven't decided anything yet.”

“This isn't coming from Deacon,” she returned hotly. She tossed her napkin over her unfinished food. “Shit, Blue. Why can't you see me here? See your friend? Best friend once upon a time. Have I ever done anything to hurt you or topple your trust?”

For the first time since he'd been back in town, Blue really studied the woman sitting before him. She may have been married, living elsewhere, but she was Mac. Still crazy foreman of the Triple C Mac. The girl he'd known and befriended and counted on for a long damn time.
Shit 
. . . What was it, then, that had him pulling away? Had him feeling distrustful? Couldn't just be who she was married to.

“Listen, Mac,” he began. He took a deep breath,
let it out. “Something changed in me the day of Everett's funeral. And it had nothing to do with my sparkly brand-new last name.”

“What?” She pushed him gently. “Whatever it is, I want to help. Listen, be there for you, whatever . . .”

He smiled, but he knew it wasn't rising up to his eyes. The smile was because he felt Mac in that moment. How things used to be. “I don't think I rightly know what it is,” he said. “Just feels like one day I was living a good life, my dream, simple and real, you know?”

She nodded.

“And the next, it was gone. Dead as my new daddy.”

“Oh, Blue . . .”

“I have an edge to me now, Mac. That wasn't there before. When I look in folks' eyes, I don't see the good like I used to. I see secrets and lies.” He inhaled again. He hadn't meant to come here and talk about this shit. “I love my work here, love the Triple—love you, girl.” When she gave him a smile, he tried one of his own. Still didn't work all that well. “Just know I feel like I don't belong.”

Blue expected her to come back at him with something like,
'Course you do. You always will. It's your home
. But she surprised him by sighing and saying, “It was all so damn simple until that day, wasn't it?” Before he could respond, she laughed. “Remember when we had a few too many beers that Fourth of July back in 2010?”

“Dozen cows got loose?”

“Yep.” She grinned. “For some reason we thought it was a good idea to not only bring 'em in and fix the fence, but paint the thing as well.”

He snorted. “And you painted the cows instead.”

“I painted
one
cow,” she clarified. “Clearly, you were just too sauced to remember that you painted the other eleven.”

Blue could not stop the smile that spread across his features. It was genuine and it filled his chest with something that felt like sunshine. She was right. Those days had been simple. In the best way.

He was about to tell her so, let her know he'd try to remember that as the gray cloud that followed along behind him most days opened up and battered him with cold-ass rain. But Mac was looking past him now, giving someone at the counter a friendly wave. Blue glanced over his shoulder. Stevie, Mirabelle's number one server, was handing a petite dark-haired woman some coffee in a to-go cup. Town vet, he believed. She'd had her practice up and running for only about a year.

“Hey, Grace,” Mac called out. “Come on over.”

The young woman's face split into a pretty smile, and she headed their way. Blue watched her progression between tables appreciatively. He may've been in a state of emotional torment, but that didn't
stop him from looking. Woman was all curves and there was nothing a cowboy liked more.

“Morning,” she said, coming to stand beside their table.

“Morning,” Blue returned.

“Headed to work?” Mac asked.

She nodded. She looked nervous or pensive. Biting her lower lip.

“Don't worry,” Mac said. “Cole isn't here. Can't believe what he did.”

“What did he do?” Blue asked.

“Broke into her desk at the clinic,” Mac told him.

“Those Cavanaugh brothers,” Blue muttered dryly.

Mac shot him a look and he shrugged as if to say,
Trouble is as trouble does, darlin'
.

“Actually, Cole was over at my house last night,” the vet said, heat surging into her cheeks.

Blue didn't think Mac could ever be stunned into silence, but there it was. Eyes wide, lips pressed together. Didn't last long, though.

“So that's where he went when he left the Bull's Eye.” Mac shook her head, looked grim. “I am so sorry if he bothered you or pushed you or pressured you. It's true we're all looking for answers about Cass, but going to your house late at night uninvited—”

“He didn't,” she said. Stumbled, really. “I mean . . . I asked him to come.”

Bombshell number two,
Blue thought, glancing at Mac for her reaction. This time all she did was whisper the word,
“Oh.”

An awkward moment passed. The vet sipped her coffee and looked around for anyone who might be listening but pretending not to listen. Lot of that going on around River Black. Big ears. Bigger mouths.

“Truth is,” she began, “I want to—”

But it was all she got out before Mac's phone started making all sorts of noise against the tabletop. She stared at it, then promptly snatched it up. “So sorry,” she said to both Blue and Grace. “It's Deacon. He's heading to Austin today. I just need to ask him one thing about the house.”

Grace's expression dimmed and she glanced at her watch. “No problem. I need to get going anyway. I have a patient in ten minutes.”

“Okay.” Mac seemed torn. But finally she nodded. “It was good to see you.”

“You too.” The woman gave Blue a smile. “Nice to see you again.”

He touched the brim of his hat. “Likewise.”

When she was gone and Mac had finished up with her texting back and forth, Blue felt the urge to inquire, “What was that all about?”

Her hand curled around her coffee cup and she lowered her voice. “Last night, we were all having dinner at the Bull's Eye, and Cole gets a text. Next
thing I know he jumps up and leaves. None of us had a clue where he was going or why. Turns out he went over to the vet's house. Invited, mind you.” She gazed at the door. “Very interesting.”

“Who's ‘we'?” Blue asked.

“What?” she answered distractedly.

“Who was all having dinner at the Bull's Eye?”

She shifted her gaze back to him. “Oh. Me, Sheridan, and all three of the Cavanaugh broth . . .” Her voice trailed off. She looked guilty. What she had to be guilty of, he didn't know. But it pissed him off nonetheless.

“Don't worry your pretty little head, darlin',” he said easily, pulling out his wallet. “I don't need to hang out with them to know who I am.”

“Blue—”

He cut her off. Not because he was mad, but because there was something rumbling around inside him that needed to get out. A yearning. Or a deep sadness. He didn't want to study it hard.

“We should be getting back to the Triple.” He stood up, tossed some cash on the table. “Even though no one's decided what to do with the place, some of us still have to run it.”

*   *   *

At lunchtime, when Grace pulled into her long driveway and neared the house, she wasn't sure what to expect. A truck she recognized? An empty space where a truck had been because the fool
owner had decided to do something stupid and head out to Austin for a training session that could injure him further? But a very sleek silver Mercedes parked just behind the truck? Hell, nearly kissing its bumper? Well, that was a shock and a mystery all wrapped up into one.

Who was here? And why? Sure wasn't a car she recognized.

She parked behind the Mercedes and hurried inside. The front door wasn't locked, but she didn't have time to question it as laughter nearly assaulted her. Male and female laughter.

Grace hated that her mind instantly went where it went. Granted, she was making assumptions. Cole Cavanaugh was a gorgeous, sexy, tattooed cowboy/fighter hybrid who seemed like a gigantic rogue. Loved women. Chased women—or maybe they chased him. Which accounted for the extreme confidence.

Point: He'd made a goddamn booty call while she'd been at work.

And worse? He hadn't even been considerate enough to get her out before Grace came home.

Red-hot fury rushed through her blood.
Guys are so predictable,
she thought as she headed down the hall. From high school to old age and everything in between. All they did was think with their—

“Well, there she is,” Cole said as she entered the room prepared to do battle. And kick some naked female flesh out of his bed. Strike that:
her
bed.

But that wasn't the case. Wasn't the case at all.

“My savior,” Cole continued, his dark eyes glittering with that ever present mischief.

He was still lying in her bed, propped up with pillows, wearing only his boxers, every superdefined muscle on display.
Except for maybe one,
she thought, then felt instantly disgusted with herself.

The woman who stood beside the bed had turned and was staring at her with interest. She matched her car perfectly. Tall, toned, and tan, she wore workout gear that clung to her amazing body and her short blond hair was tied back in a cute small ponytail. Grace had always held a secret hatred for tall girls. They could usually eat whatever they wanted and it would go to their boobs instead of their butt. Their legs looked amazing in heels. And . . . well, probably because she wanted to be one.

“You must be Grace,” the woman said, extending her hand.

As she shook it, Grace snorted inwardly. Manicured nails too. Who was this broad?

As if hearing her thoughts, the woman offered, “I'm Katherine Vanderfield.”

“One of my personal docs, Doc,” Cole informed Grace with a grin.

Grace narrowed her eyes on him. Was he enjoying this? Watching the two women interact? Watching Grace's discomfort, and her cluelessness as to why Katherine Vander-whatever was in her house?

“It's nice to meet you,” Grace said. “Welcome to my house. And presumably to River Black as well.”

The woman smiled. Her teeth were very white and straight. “You caught me. I'm not from around here. My practice is in Dallas.”

“You came all the way from Dallas?” Grace asked, surprised at the three-and-a-half- or four-hour-drive, while simultaneously wishing she didn't have all sorts of animal-related stains on her scrubs.

“Of course,” Katherine said, turning back to the bed. “Anything for Cole.”

Cole.

It wasn't that she'd called him by his first name that annoyed Grace. And frankly, Grace knew she shouldn't be annoyed by anything related to him. But if she was going to be annoyed, it would be by the very intimate tone the lovely doctor had used.

“I'm not throwing the fight for you, Kathy,” Cole chided with that oh-so-charming grin of his. “By the way, how much are you putting on Fontana?”

Kathy
looked shocked and appalled. Her hands went to her teeny-tiny waist. “I would never bet against you, Cole, and you know that.”