Gambling on a Dream (9 page)

A soft sigh drifted to him, and she gestured toward the open door. “It’s late, and I’ve made some coffee. Mom sent over some of her bean bread, and I made a pot of corn soup before I went to Waco this afternoon.”

“You inviting me to supper?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah. But I do have a condition.”

“What is it?”

“We don’t talk about the case.”

What else did they have to discuss? Their past wasn’t an option, and they had nothing else in common anymore. He nodded. “All right. I always loved your mom’s Cherokee cooking.”

The knot in his lower belly tightened when she smiled. “Hey! How about mine? Besides I also know a few Comanche recipes, that if I remember correctly, you like.”

He glanced down at his hands. “You aren’t too bad. But nothing beats your momma’s cooking.”

She swatted him on his upper arm and laughed. “You’re a jerk.”

Tucking his hands into his pockets, he shrugged and grinned. “I try.”

Her smile slipped, and again their gazes caught and held. He was playing with fire. Despite all the pain of their past, he never stopped wanting Dawn. Working with her in September on the rustling case hadn’t been fun. He’d lain awake more than one night with a hard-on as he thought about her. This case was even worse, because he saw her desire for him shinning in her eyes.

She shattered the moment before he reached for her by stepping away toward the door. “Well…” The word came out husky and she cleared her throat. “C’mon. I’m hungry.”

Yeah, me too, but food isn’t what I want.

As he followed her, he hoped he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life.

They entered her trailer into the small living room. Homey scents of Dawn’s Cherokee corn soup filled the air with sweetness. Rich, earthy colors decorated the windows, walls, and creamy tan furniture. The eat-in kitchen was as neat and clean as the living room, but here, splotches of bright red joined the golds, browns, greens, and blues.

A deep bark had him looking toward the hallway, leading to the rest of the single-wide. The beagle lumbered toward him and bared her teeth as she growled. “Taco, you old hound dog, I see you still love me.”

The dog snarled in reply, and Wyatt laughed. She’d had the old beagle since high school. Amazing the old girl could still get around.

“Stop it, Taco. Go lay down.” Dawn pointed to the dog bed on the floor in the corner beside a bookshelf loaded with James Patterson and Clive Cussler novels. The dog gave one more disapproving bark and waddled over to the bed, circled around the soft fleece inside, then settled. “Sorry about that.”

He patted his hand against his thigh. “No problem. She’s just looking out for her mistress. Who knows, I could be a bad guy.”

Snorting, she headed into the kitchen.

“What?” He followed and came to a stop behind her in the tiny space. “You don’t agree?”

From a cabinet, she pulled down two bright red bowls and set them on the counter beside a Crockpot. Turning, she took a deep breath.

Only inches separated them, and her scent surrounded him. Her eyes dilated and heated his blood. He was lost. The ache in his cock shorted out his good sense, and he reached for her. She didn’t fight as she stepped into his arms, tilting her head back. With a swipe of her pink tongue, she moistened her lips. “I know you’re a bad boy.”

The husky words were like a mean sucker punch in the gut. He had to have her. Pulling her closer and backing her up to the edge of the counter, he pressed the evidence of his desire against her. A soft moan escaped her moist lips as he lifted her to settle his cock into the cradle of her hips, and she rubbed her thigh against his. He wasn’t sure if he damned the clothing between them or was thankful for the barrier.

He came down hard on her pliable lips, demanding to be fed. She resisted his entry for a moment, but then relaxed into him and opened her mouth under his. As he buried his fingers into her hair and held her to him, he plunged in, needing to conquer her. She tasted of sweet mint, coffee, and the nirvana of a woman’s desire.

Gripping the shirt over his chest, she moaned her surrender. But she demanded as much from him. As she slid her tongue against his, her body moved with each stroke against him.

He grabbed the bottom of her sweater and slipped his hand under to find the satin of her bra. Her breast was hot and heavy beneath the cloth. When he rolled his thumb over her nipple, it puckered instantly. She gasped and her hands flattened on his chest, trapped between their bodies.

Breaking the kiss, he nibbled his way along her jaw to her ear. “I want you,” he rasped between nips on her earlobe.

She shuddered and her breathing came in sharp, short spurts as she tilted her head, allowing him better access to the sweet spot under her ear. As he breathed in the musky scent of her desire, he sucked in her skin. Her salty-sweetness intoxicated him.

He took her moaning his name as his cue and flicked open the front clasp of her bra. As he reached for the bottom of her sweater, she shook her head and pushed on his chest.

“Wyatt.” This time his name came as a strangled pant. “Stop.”

Somehow, he found the sanity to back off. He looked into her eyes and the burn of her desire drained away, out-right fear replaced it.

She shook her head again as if to clear a fog from it, slipped away from him and entered the living room. As if she fought to catch her breath, she heaved her shoulders up and down. Hugging herself, she faced away from him. “I can’t do this. Not again.”

He ran his hand over his face. Goddamn, was he a total idiot? Was he that hard up? Having Dawn again would be like taking a hot knife in the gut and giving it a good twist. “I should go.”

At the door, he stopped but didn’t look at her. The best solution was to get the hell away from temptation. “I’m requesting to be taken off the case.”

“What?”

The strength in the word surprised him, but he didn’t turn. “I’m taking some time off. With my moving and…”

“I need you on the case.”

He hadn’t expected her to ask him to stay. Closing his eyes, he sucked in a breath and prayed for the strength to walk away. He faced her.

Her hair was messed from his fingers, and her lips puffy and bruised from his kiss. A small red mark discolored her neck over the sensitive spot under her ear where he’d sucked on her tan skin. She never looked more beautiful. Thank God she’d pushed him away. At the rate he was moving, he would have stripped her and been ready to bury himself deep inside about now. What the hell had he been thinking? He didn’t even have a condom. The last thing he wanted was to get her pregnant again. His heart couldn’t bear losing another child he’d never know about until it was too late.

“No. You’ll do fine. I can’t
just
work with you, Dawn. I never could.” With those words, he hurried out her door and off the small porch.

Ten minutes later, he had her garage cleaned up and was racing toward town. He needed a drink.

* * * *

Dawn stared at the closed door. Taco whimpered at her side, nudging Dawn’s leg with her muzzle as if she understood her mistress’s upset and wanted to comfort her. The dog obviously didn’t know she didn’t need comfort. She needed a damned good swift kick in the ass. How could she have let this happen? How stupid was she? She almost had sex with Wyatt McPherson!

Something she could never let happen. There could never be
just sex
between them--not for her anyway. And no amount of mind-blowing sex was worth the pain she’d feel in the morning.

The roar of his Harley, ripping out of her driveway, startled her. Taco barked and looked up at her. She knelt and rubbed over the dog’s floppy ears. “You’re such a smart puppy. You never fell for his charm. Lord knows I sure as hell have.”

She choked on a sob and bit down on her bottom lip, refusing to cry over Wyatt. Another strangled sob snuck out, and she lost it. Sliding to the floor and hugging the furry constant in her life, she cried like a baby. Hating herself for loving a man she would never be good enough for. And hating him for not loving her in return.

Dawn read the report. Hendricks and Tilly Kennedy had arrested two kids loitering outside the mall Monday night and found drugs on both of them. She looked at Hendricks pacing the length of her office, then turned to Kennedy who sat in front of her desk. “Are they still in lock-up?”

“Hell, no.” The older deputy crossed his arms over his paunch. “They’re a pair of those rich brats from Dallas who moved into those mansions Ferguson built over there on the Circle M. Parents got ’em out last night, spouting that bullshit about them being minors and can’t be locked up in an adult prison.”

“Figures.” She shook her head and tossed the sheet of paper onto her desk. “Did they confess any of their sins before their parents showed up?”

“Nope. Neither one of them knows how they got the drugs.”

“And I’m the queen of Sheba.” Needing coffee like an addict, she poured a cup from the pot in the corner. She dumped powdered creamer into it and stirred, then looked over her shoulder at the deputies. “The new Ranger hasn’t shown up yet?”

Chet scrunched his bloodshot eyes together and rested his hands above his service belt at his sides. “What about Wyatt?”

“He’s taking some vacation time.” She sat in her chair and sipped the strong brew. Just the way she liked it.

“That doesn’t sound like Wyatt.” Tilly shifted in his seat.

“He’s got other things on his mind.”
Like avoiding me.
Dawn picked up the report and leaned back in her chair. “Let’s get back to business. We need to talk to these two kids. Tyler Demello and Jordan Arthur.”

“Neither of them have been in trouble before,” Tilly chimed in. “At least not with us.”

She looked up at him. “That may be true, but Arthur had point five ounces of coke on him, and Demello had six ounces. That’s possession with the intent to sell, Tilly. And I won’t tolerate it in my county. Someone out there knows something.”

Chet sniffed and started pacing again. “What about Ella Larson’s girl? I have a witness who says the day before he was killed, she talked to Chris Larson.”

“They were cousins. I’m sure they talked all the time.” She didn’t think Annie Larson had anything to do with the killings, and she prayed the girl wasn’t using again. But Chris may have told her something. Damn, why hadn’t she thought of talking to her sooner?

Chet shrugged his shoulders. “She’s always been a troublemaker and a dopehead. I don’t believe for a second Quinn and that heiress he married can change her overnight. She’s still doing drugs if you ask me.”

Staring at the report, she remembered how much she hated the constant parade of kids strung out on drugs and hard living while on the vice squad. “I’ll call over to Butterfly Ranch and set something up for this afternoon after school. Tilly, I want you to talk to Jordan. His parents might own Super Shopper Market, but he’s not above the law. This Tyler Demello. I don’t recognize the name.”

“He’s from Dallas.” Chet leaned against a file cabinet by the door. “His father’s some bigwig doctor at the med center. His mother is remarried to a man damn near half her age.”

Raising a brow, she stared at the deputy. “You seem to know a lot about him.”

He shifted to his full height. “Not that much. My sister is friends with Audrey Cartwright. Demello is her doctor. I only know what Kristin has told me.” He ambled over toward the desk and sat in the chair beside Tilly. “But I did discover he’s in Colton because he was thrown out of the private school he went to in the Big D and refused to live with his father.”

She folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. “Let me guess. He was caught with drugs on school grounds.”

“Marijuana possession charges. But his mommy hired a hotshot lawyer and got the charges dropped on a technicality.”

“Looks like he’s graduated up a few notches.” Tilly leaned over his long legs and studied his steepled fingers. “Who the hell is the supplier? We have to cut the head off the snake if we want a snowball’s chance in Hades of curtailing the problem.”

“Damn, I’d do just about anything to get these punks off the street.” She’d taken a bullet in the chest over these shitheads. And lost everything in the process.

“You know who the dealer is,” Chet said.

She shifted forward and narrowed her eyes on Chet. “My brother may or may not be guilty, but let’s find the evidence that proves his guilt before we sign his death warrant. We need to do our job and stop playing jury and judge.”

Tilly glanced at Chet. “I agree with the sheriff. We don’t have any evidence that points to Talon Blackwell, except your brother-in-law’s statement.

Chet’s slender lips twisted and his dull eyes became indignant. “And the fact he flew the coop when he was told not to. We can’t ignore his past.”

Dawn stood and leaned over her desk. If she didn’t have her palms firmly planted on the papers strewn over the top, she would have closed her hands around his skinny chicken neck. “Interesting that you’d bring up the past, Hendricks.” Without taking her eyes off the pissant, she said, “Tilly, would you please call the Quinns for me and ask if I could speak with Annie this afternoon?”

From her peripheral vision, she saw him nod and leave his chair to do her bidding. When the door closed, she swallowed hard and let the bastard have both guns. “You know, Chet, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you where against my brother because he’s a Native American.”

He held her gaze and pursed his lips. “Not at all. We never had trouble until last spring when he moved back to town.”

She nodded once. “But a lot of new people have moved to town since spring. About fifty
families
, if I’m allowed to guess. Most of them from Dallas, Fort Worth, or Waco. So many that the school had to add four new teachers, and the school board is afraid they’ll have to add to the school buildings. Besides we’ve had a lot of trouble since spring that had nothing to do with my brother.” She stood and folded her arms in front of her. “No, I think this insistence that my brother is guilty has more to do with the very same reason you were thrown out of the Army.” When his buggy eyes got even bigger, she fought the smile. “I have to wonder how you would fair in the election if your dirty laundry were aired where everyone could see it. Sure, this town has a lot of whites, but about half the population consists of Hispanic and African-American citizens. Not to mention those few Native Americans who’ve lived here longer than your family has.”