Bucking Bronc Lodge 04(28)

Jordan stared at him for another moment, then sighed. “Please—”

“Just go,” Miles said. “It’s late.”

Jordan gripped the porch rail and sighed. “All right, but call me if Timmy needs me.”

Pain stabbed at his chest. Jordan was supposed to take care of Timmy, not him.

He wouldn’t forget it and touch her again.

* * *

HIS PULSE POUNDED as he watched McGregor paw at the blonde on the porch. So McGregor wasn’t the saint he wanted the world to think he was. His lover girl had only been dead a few weeks, and he was already rubbing himself all over another woman.

Hell, maybe he’d had this piece on the side for a while. Maybe the kid’s mother had even known about it and that was one reason she’d strayed.

Did McGregor know about her secret rendezvous?

Would he have cared?

He remembered the way Marie had looked naked in bed and smiled. He had pictures he could torment McGregor with when the time came.

But for now, he’d follow the blonde.

He climbed on his horse and rode toward her cabin, his body stirring with heat. He’d wanted to draw this out, but after watching her grabbing at McGregor, his blood was hot with lust.

Maybe he’d take her tonight. Have a little fun.

Then leave her for McGregor to find in the morning. Marked and scarred with his touch just like the woman Marie...





Chapter Eight




Jordan silently chided herself as she drove back to her cabin. How could she have made such a mess of things?

She’d only meant to help Timmy and console Miles, but the moment his lips had touched hers, a heat had lit up inside her.

She hadn’t felt this intense an attraction to a man in ages.

Maybe never.

What was she going to do?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing except remember that she was a professional and that once Timmy healed and Miles caught Marie’s killer, they’d go back to their own ranch and she’d have to move on.

Without them in her life.

She climbed from her car, then headed toward the front door. Suddenly the hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she turned and scanned the property. For a millisecond, she thought she saw something move behind a rock.

Shaking off her paranoia, she unlocked the cabin door. The fake Christmas tree she’d boxed up but hadn’t yet stowed in the attic mocked her. She had dragged the blasted thing out this year in an attempt to celebrate the holidays. Like others who’d lost loved ones, the holidays always triggered sad memories and depression, but she had been determined to fight it and win the battle this year.

Still, she hadn’t had the energy to decorate the damn thing. It had stood bare in the corner, a reminder of how empty her personal life had become since she’d lost her brother.

She shut the door and locked it, then glanced at the clock. 4:00 a.m. Two hours until she needed to start the day.

She threw off her clothes again, crawled into bed in her T-shirt and pajama pants.

By the time her head hit the pillow, she was dozing off.

But seconds later, a squeaking sound jarred her. She bolted upright, listening. She had to have imagined it. She was dreaming or paranoid from all that had happened the past few days.

Suddenly a shadow moved in front of her and a hand clamped down over her mouth.

Jordan tried to scream but the pressure cut off her breath. Dear God, she’d seen what Dugan had done to those other women.

If this was him, she was going to die.

* * *

MILES BERATED HIMSELF for mauling Jordan. She had come in the middle of the night to help his son, yet he’d taken advantage of her compassion and thrown himself at her.

Fool. He’d made a total fool out of himself.

Too wired and disgusted to sleep, he stood and watched the clouds roll in. The howl of the wind mimicked the howl of a lone coyote out in the wilderness and hammered home the fact that he was alone now, too.

He and Marie hadn’t exactly had a great relationship, but he hated that she’d died because of him.

Stomach knotted, he strode back inside, made a pot of coffee, then sat down and studied the files on the Slasher case again.

Dammit, what had he missed?

He combed through the notes on Dugan’s family, frowning as he reread the interviews. Something Dugan had said once that had seemed insignificant at the time suddenly jumped out at him, and he studied the interview more closely.

Detective: Tell us about your family.

Dugan, with a sardonic chuckle: Which one?

Detective: Come on, Dugan. It says here your parents are both dead. What happened to them?

Dugan: How the hell should I know?

Miles stewed over the wording, then realized that Dugan had asked “which one” as if he had more than one family. But there was no record of an adoption, of a second marriage with either parent, or any stepfathers, stepmothers or siblings.