Timing (299 page)

against his side.

I licked behind his ear, breathing out, making him shiver before

kissing a wet trail down the side of his neck. The taste of the man’s

skin was intoxicating.

“Jesus, Stef,” he grumbled, and I felt the truck swerve on the

highway. “Are you tryin’ to get us both killed?”

“No, just never mind me, watch where you’re going.”

“It won’t matter if somebody saw us,” he chuckled. “Gettin’ in an

accident ain’t the only thing that’ll get us killed out on this road.”

He meant it to be funny, but the thought was a sobering one, and I

retreated to my side of the cab. Sitting there with the wind on my face,

my brain finally kicked in, and I remembered where I was. This was

Texas, and I was in cattle-country, and I had actually thought, for a half

a second, that living with Rand Holloway on his ranch would be fun

and without repercussions. I had forgotten that being gay could get him

forced off the road and shot.

“I just didn’t wanna wreck,” he told me, his voice deep and sultry.

“I didn’t mean you should take your hands of me. C’mon back.”

“I’m an idiot,” I said without turning to look at him. “What would

your neighbors do if they found out about me?”

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“I dunno,” he grunted. “I expect some would call me a lot of

things behind my back as well as to my face. There might even be a

few who come after me or my place or my men.”

“Jesus.”

“I already had some questions ’bout why you was stayin’ with

me, and Declan Crawford don’t wanna sell me no more feed.”

“Holy shit,” I breathed out, turning to look at him. “Rand, you—”

He put up his hand. “Here’s the thing about all that, Stef—my

ranch ain’t small. A long time ago, I changed things up so that I don’t

do all my business in one place. I only buy what I need in emergencies

from anybody in town. Most of what I need gets trucked in from

Lubbock.”

“What—what’re you—”

“Listen here, I have a very lucrative hunting business and got me

two guides that take people out. That girl I was talkin’ to the other

night—the one you was jealous over—”

“I was so not—”

“That girl is gonna start bringin’ people out from Dallas to do

some huntin’ on my land. I already got ’em comin’ from Lubbock and

Amarillo, and now, with her bringin’ folks from Dallas… I might need

me another guide.”

“Rand, you—”

“You should take a look at the website my publicist came up

with.”

I squinted at him. “You have a publicist?”

His smile was wicked. “Yessir, Endo Masami, helluva nice guy—

works out of Amarillo, but he comes up and sees me once a month or

so.”

“Rand—”

“You can hunt deer or quail or dove—though I don’t really get

that, but—”

“Rand—”

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163

“And turkey, of course, and geese, and wild boar, and—”

“Rand, what does this have to do with—”

“Some people bring their own dogs, but they can use mine if they

like. I don’t let people hunt coyote or bobcat on my land ’cause I figure

those critters been hunted enough.”

“I don’t understand what—”

“I told all the fellas that I was fixin’ to ask you to come stay with

me, and I told them they was all free to do whatever they felt was right.

JC McGraw, he spit in my face and cleared out, but all the others don’t

mind none, and Chris even said that I didn’t seem to be my usual

asshole self since you been ’round. I take that as a good sign.”

Jesus Christ.

“My ranch is different from a lot of others, Stef. We sell cattle on

the Internet, I have the huntin’ business like I told you, and I supply a

lot of restaurants all over Texas with their beef. You know as well as

anybody that after my father died that me and the ranch both went

through a rough spell. What I come to when I decided that the ranch

was mine to save was that I had to sell the ranch as a brand and make it

marketable and known for quality. It’s only been ten years, but I got

that done.”

I knew the ranch was profitable; I just had no idea how profitable.

“So you’re saying that what the people in town think or don’t think…

you couldn’t give a shit.”

“Yessir.”

“Because what they do or don’t doesn’t impact you.”

“It don’t bother my wallet none, but if they go about spittin’ on

you like they did Tom Hutchins the other day… I might be a bit

chafed.”

“Shit, is Tom mad at you?”

“Why would Tom be mad at me?”

“Because of me.”

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“Tom heard that when you went out to see Mrs. Freeman that you

didn’t push her to sell, instead you told her that she had to decide what

to do, since she knew what was best for the community and not you.”

I just stared at him.

He arched an eyebrow for me. “That sounds like a man that wants

what’s best who ain’t concerned about his own wallet.”

I had no idea what to say.

“You know Tom Hutchins was born on a ranch in Oklahoma that

his father threw him off of when he was eighteen.”

“Why?”

“Well, when Tom turned eighteen that was when he married the

sweetest little Mexican gal you ever met. She and Tom got three kids,

and now he has a house on my land where his boys can grow up. I’m

missin’ two hands with Pete and JC gone, but Tom’s got a brother

comin’ out in another day to fill one of the spots, and you heard Tyler

say that Chase has got a cousin to take the other. Both men, Chase an’

Tom, are thankful for my ranch and the job and the roof I put over their

heads. When all you know about is bein’ a cowboy, you need a ranch to

work.”

“So Tom and Chase and everyone, they’re all happy to be here

with you.”

“I expect so.”

“And they don’t care that you’re sleeping with me?”

“What I do in my bed ain’t their concern, just like what they do in

theirs ain’t none of mine. We all got us an understanding.”

“What about your foreman, Mac?”

“Mac’s more worried that you’ll be bored out here with nothin’

and no one to see. He don’t like you ’cause you’re from the city, he

don’t give a damn who fucks you.”

“That was lovely.”

He shrugged. “Had to be said.”

“So when were you going to tell me all this?”

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165

“I just did.”

“Rand—”

“This is it, ain’t it?” he asked, slowing the truck, taking a turn

down the long dirt road that led up to the house. He made a noise like a

derisive sort of half-grunt, half-click in the back of his throat.

“What?”

“Her cows look lean. This here’s the growing season from April

to October, and my cows are twice as big already as hers.”

I had no idea; I just climbed down out of the truck and headed

toward the house.

“I’ll wait here,” he called after me. “I don’t wanna make her feel

bad since you said she’s decided to sell.”

The screen door was unlocked, so I went inside. It took me

several long minutes to realize what I was looking at. Mrs. Grace

Freeman was lying face-up in a puddle of blood. Her sightless eyes

were trained on the ceiling, her body frail and broken. In death, she

looked small, whereas in life, her vitality had filled the air around her. I

could barely breathe, and I had no idea what to do. But I knew who

would.

“Rand!” I yelled loudly. “Rand!”

“Stef!” I heard him call back at the same time as the sound of the

truck door slamming shut.

It was too much. I bolted for the door, and there was a popping

sound behind me and shattering glass. There was a yell as I dove for the

screen door. It collapsed under my weight, and I scrambled up, feet

sliding around for a few seconds before I regained my balance and shot

off the porch.

My heartbeat was like a freight train in my ears, a roar of sound

as I ran toward the safety of the pick-up truck. Rand was almost to me,

running to reach me, but I was terrified that whoever had just shot at

me would hit him. I didn’t want him to get hurt. He could not get hurt.

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I was aware of a motor revving behind me. I heard Rand yell my

name, his hands gesturing me out of the way. I leaped sideways as the

car flew by me, fishtailing in the dirt before barreling down the road

toward the highway. I saw the cloud of dust as I got to my feet. Rand

was there seconds later, grabbing me tight, crushing me to him as I

trembled in his embrace. Seconds later, I realized that I was not the

only one shaking. Rand was too.

“What the fuck was that?” he yelled, shoving me out to arm’s

length to look me over. “Jesus Christ, Stef!”

“She’s dead,” I told him, looking up into his eyes. “Mrs.

Freeman’s dead.”

“And from the looks of things, you were gonna be next.”

Someone had just tried to kill me.

“What the hell is going on?”

His guess was as good as mine.

IT WAS the way Rand was touching me. If he could have kept from

squeezing the back of my neck, brushing the hair out of my face, or

sliding his hand over my thigh, the deputies would not have given me a

second look. But the second Rand started showing everyone that I

belonged to him, their attitudes changed. I heard the whispers and

snickering, I saw the smirking glances, and normally I would have not

cared at all, but this was where Rand lived. The deputies, the sheriff,

they were responsible for his safety, so I didn’t simply tell them all to

go to hell.

I had been helpful; I had answered every question I was asked for

three solid hours. I explained what I was doing there. I told the Sheriff

about the deal with Armor South, and it came down to basically two

choices. Either Grace Freeman was killed because she was going to sell

or because she wasn’t. I told Sheriff Colter that she told me she was

selling.

“Then I’m confused,” he told me. “All her neighbors wanted her

to sell. They all wanted the payout from the developer.”

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167

“Maybe somebody wanted her to keep the land so they didn’t

have to sell. Maybe someone got cold feet after but didn’t want to be

the one spoiling the deal for everyone else.”

“That’s possible.” The Sheriff looked at me. “I can’t think why

someone on the developer’s side would want her dead, especially if,

like you said, Mr. Joss, you had told ’em that she was going to sell.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“So it’s gotta be someone here,” he said to both Rand and me.

“Have you had anybody following you around, Mr. Joss, or threatening

you?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Rand chimed in. “The other day while he was running,

someone nearly ran him off the road.”

“That was you.” Sheriff Colter pointed at me before turning to

look at Rand. “I hauled your stupid ass cousin in here the other night on

a DUI—and by the way, Rand, his license is gone, so if I see him

behind the wheel, he’s goin’ to jail.”

“Why’re you tellin’ me?”

“’Cause you’re the head of your annoying family, and I told you

months ago to put that boy to work on your ranch.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“Don’t I know it!” Sheriff Colter raised his voice, looking back at

me. “I threw Bran in a cell to let him sleep off his drunk and he starts

runnin’ his mouth about savin’ some boy from bein’ hit by a truck. He

says that if he hadn’t’a blown his horn that you would be lyin’ dead at

the bottom of Hatter’s Gulch—is that right, Mr. Joss?”

“He was drunk,” I told the older man. “I think he nearly hit me.”

“No, sir,” the Sheriff shook his head. “I don’t think so. There was

another truck, ’cause I been out there and saw the two different sets of

tracks myself. I just didn’t know who you were, and Bran couldn’t

rightly remember.”

Rand let out of huff of breath.

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“He’s your cousin—why wasn’t he invited to Char’s wedding?”

“Because he tried to cripple the groom,” Rand told him. “So what

the hell are you gonna do, Ed?”

“I don’t think I like your tone, Rand. I—”

“I don’t give a good goddamn what you like. I wanna know what

the fuck you’re gonna do about finding the person who’s trying to kill

Stef.”

“Well, for starters, Mr. Joss,” he snarled, turning back to me,

“until further notice, I’m afraid that you will not be traveling back

home to Chicago. We have us an open murder investigation that you

are smack dab in the middle of, and I cannot think of a safer place for

you than out there on that ranch with Rand Holloway and the criminals