Beneath the Stetson

Cade’s father nodded. “I’ll let you know when we’re done.”

In Cade’s absence an uncomfortable silence reigned. The little boy’s exuberant personality had served to soften the edges of Gil’s aggressive displeasure.

Bailey hesitated, searching for a way to break the ice.

Gil did it for her. He held out an arm. “Since Cade is in my office, we might as well step onto the back porch. If that’s okay with you,” he added stiffly.

Bailey nodded. “Of course.” The January weather was picture-perfect, and as was often the case during the winter, a bit erratic, as well. Last week Royal had endured storms and temperatures in the mid-fifties. Today the thermometer was forecast to hit eighty, almost a record.

As they stepped outside, Bailey had to smile. The Straight Arrow was an enormous, thriving cattle operation. In addition to its efficiency and profitability, every aspect of the ranch’s physical appearance was neat and aesthetically pleasing to the eye. It took money to carry out such attention to detail. But Gil had money. Lots of it. Which was a good thing, because his wealth meant he had the luxury of spending time with his son.

Watching and listening to Cade, Bailey understood how very well Gil had managed to give his son emotional security. The child was bright, friendly and well adjusted. Growing up without a mother was no picnic. But Gil’s parenting had mitigated Cade’s loss as much as was possible.

Gil remained standing, so Bailey followed suit. If she had made herself comfortable in one of the cushioned wicker chairs, he would have towered over her. She suspected he would like that.

Bailey, however, had a job to do. She wouldn’t be cowed by Gil’s fiercely masculine personality. She worked in a world where men still dominated the profession. Self-preservation demanded she be tough on the outside, even if she sometimes felt as if she was playing a part.

Gil fired the first shot. “I thought you went back to Dallas.”

She shrugged. “Only for a week. The case is still open. After I finished the earlier interviews, my boss pulled me to work briefly on another project. But we’re in a lull now, and they want me to do some more digging.”

“You didn’t do so well the last time,” he mocked.

Bailey met his hot gaze with composure. “Investigations take time. And just so you know...I get it, Gil.”

“Get what?”

“You were insulted to be on the suspect list. I impugned your honor, and you’re pissed. Have I hit the nail on the head?” She challenged him deliberately, not willing to play the bad guy indefinitely.

His jaw was granite. “I’d think your time would be better spent questioning the criminal element instead of harassing upstanding members of the community.”

Her lips twitched. Hurt masculine pride was a tricky thing. “I have extensive training in psychological evaluation. And you know very well that you were never a suspect. It was my job to speak to anyone and everyone who knew Alex...to look for clues, for any shred of information, no matter how minute, that might help solve the kidnapping.”

“And yet you came up with nothing.”

She tensed, tired of being under attack. “Alex is back in Royal,” she pointed out.

“No thanks to you.”

His mockery lit the fuse of her temper. She could take what he was dishing out, but she didn’t have to like it. “You have no idea what goes on behind the scenes. And I don’t have to justify myself to you. Can we please get back to the matter at hand?”

“And that would be?”

As they had exited the house, Gil had scooped up a well-worn Stetson and dropped it on his head with one smooth motion that bespoke the love of a cowboy for his hat. Now the brim shadowed his eyes.

Bailey was not immune to the picture he made. In well-washed denims that rode low on his hips and molded to his long, muscular legs, he was a walking, talking ad for testosterone. His chamois shirt must have been hand-tailored, because it managed to accommodate his broad shoulders nicely. Gil Addison was the real deal, right down to his expensive, though scuffed, leather boots.

Bailey felt the physical pull. Acknowledged it. Experienced a pang of regret for something that would never be. It had been a long time since she had met a man so appealing. But Gil didn’t much like her, and her newest assignment was not going to improve matters.

With an inward sigh for her barren love life, she cut to the chase. “I need access to the membership files at the Texas Cattleman’s Club.”

“Absolutely not.” He bowed up almost visibly.

Bailey leaned against the porch railing, her hands behind her. It was either that or fasten them around Gil’s tanned neck and squeeze. The man was infuriating. “I have all the necessary warrants and paperwork,” she said mildly. “But I’d prefer not to go in guns blazing. Why don’t you be a gentleman for once and politely invite me to the club as your guest?”

The word he muttered made her wince. “I’m the president of the TCC,” he pointed out...as if she didn’t already know. His scowl was black. “People trust me with their secrets. How is it going to look if I turn all that over to an outsider?”

That last jab hurt, but Bailey held her ground. “You don’t really have a choice...even if you do have a judge or two tucked away in your back pocket. These orders come down from on high. I’m going to comb through those files one way or another. You can either make my life miserable or you can cooperate. Your choice. But I will get the information I need.”

Two

Gil ripped his hat from his head and ran a hand across his damp brow. It was January, damn it. No reason in the world the heat and humidity should be this bad.

Bailey, on the other hand, despite wearing an unflattering suit jacket, seemed cool and collected. She watched him warily, as if he were a dangerous rattlesnake about to bite.

What she didn’t know was that he had fantasized about nibbling her...all the way from her delicate jawline to the vulnerable place where her throat disappeared inside that boring blouse. His body tightened. The woman probably had no idea that her no-nonsense clothing revved his engine. Instead of focusing on the government-employee quasi uniform, he imagined stripping it off her and baring that long, lean body to his gaze.

His sex thickened and lifted, making his jeans uncomfortably tight. With a silent curse, he stared out across the acres of land that belonged to him as far as the eye could see. Searching desperately for a diversion, he fell back on the universal topic of weather.

“Are you familiar with the Civil War general Philip Sheridan?” he asked, keeping his body half-turned to avoid embarrassing them both.

Bailey wrinkled her nose. “History wasn’t my strong suit in school, but yes...I’ve heard of him.”

“After the war, Sheridan was assigned to a post in south Texas. It’s reported he said that if he owned Texas and hell, he would rent out Texas and live in hell.”

“I’m surprised you would mention it. I thought it was heresy to insult the mother ship. All you native Texans are pretty arrogant.”

“We have reason to be...despite the heat,” he added ruefully, replacing his hat and wanting desperately to wrap this up before he pounced on her.

“So I’m to believe that everything in Texas is bigger and better?”

Shock immobilized him. Was Bailey flirting with him? Surely not. He glanced over his shoulder at her. As far as he could tell, nothing in her demeanor was the least bit sexual. Too bad. “Yes,” he said curtly. “I thought you would know that, being from Dallas.”

“I’m not from Dallas. My dad was in the army. We lived all over the world. Dallas is where I’m assigned at the moment.”

“So where do you call home?”

Seconds passed. Two, maybe three. For a brief moment he saw bleak regret in her brown-eyed gaze. “Not anywhere, really.”

Such rootlessness was hard for him to imagine. Texas was as much a part of his lifeblood as breathing. Sensing her unease with the topic, he turned to face her, at last somewhat in control of himself. “Well,” he said laconically, “at least if you weren’t born here, you came as soon as you could.”

Bailey, arms wrapped around her waist, smiled. “I guess you could say that.”

He pursed his lips. “Apparently, I have no choice about your interference. Is that what you’re telling me?” The facts of the matter still stuck in his craw.

“You’ve got it.” Though seeing him admit defeat must have pleased her, Bailey’s expression remained neutral.

“Very well. Meet me at the club at ten in the morning. I’ll show you where to get started.”