Beneath the Stetson(4)

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.