Intimate Secrets Page 9

  She sat down. “I didn’t see anyone but Raymond, and I didn’t even know it was him until he fell out on the ground when I opened the door. He was bleeding, the front of his shirt was soaked.” She looked down at her jeans. They had blood on them. “He fell against me.”

  “Who fired the shot?” Clay asked.

  She shook her head. “I guess he did.”

  “Then he had the pistol in his hand when you opened the door?”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes. “It happened so fast.”

  Didn’t she realize the cops would grill her a lot worse than this? “Try to remember exactly what happened.”

  She opened her eyes and looked over at him. “Can’t you just leave me alone for a minute?”

  What did he have to do to get this woman to tell him what was going on?

  “The cops are going to want to know why you came looking for Raymond,” he said, losing his temper. “Someone murdered him. It’s all going to come out. Everything that you thought you’d left behind in Texas is now coming after you. You can’t escape it. Can’t you see that?”

  More than he knew. She felt herself shiver. She looked away. In the distance she could hear the sirens and see a string of flashing red-and-blue lights headed this way.

  Clay was right about one thing. She needed help. She could no longer pretend that she could handle this alone. Not after finding Raymond the way she had. Not after what he’d whispered to her.

  “I want to help you, Josie,” Clay said softly, urgently. “I know you’re in trouble, and it’s getting worse. I heard Raymond tell you something. You have to trust someone. Why not me, Josie?”

  Something in his voice tugged at her heart-strings. Tears rushed her eyes, her throat closing over the lump lodged there.

  She pushed up off the bench and walked a few feet away, her back to him. She didn’t want him to see her tears. Nor could she face him right now.

  Why not Clay Jackson? At one time she could have thought of a half-dozen reasons. But right now, she could think of only one. But didn’t that make him the last man she should trust with this?

  She turned to look back at him, knowing she had little other choice. He wouldn’t give up. Eventually he’d find out everything.

  She only wished she could have trusted him with the truth in Texas. How different would things have turned out?

  “The man who ransacked my cabin, the one I saw coming down the deck stairs—” She could hear the sheriff’s department sirens coming nearer. They would be here soon. She dreaded facing the cops, but not more than she did Clay’s reaction to what she had to tell him.

  She thought of the fear she’d seen in Raymond’s eyes. They now shared a common enemy. She had to tell Clay. Warn him.

  He seemed to brace himself. She just hoped he could take the truth, because this was only the beginning and she feared it was going to get a whole lot worse.

  “It was Odell Burton.”

  Chapter Nine

  Clay stared at her as the sheriff’s cars screamed around the turn headed for them, lights flashing, sirens blaring.

  “Odell? Odell’s dead,” he said, as if he had to remind her.

  She said nothing.

  “You couldn’t have seen Odell. It was dark and…” He focused on her. “You said he wore a mask.”

  “It was dark,” she admitted. “And he did wear a mask, but I saw his eyes and he was wearing his class ring.” She looked up, expecting to see the same doubt on his face that she’d heard in his voice. The same doubts she’d had herself. Until she’d found Raymond shot and dying.

  Clay was frowning, his brows furrowed, his gaze hard. She thought he might remember that ring. It had left a tiny scar at Clay’s hairline after Odell had blindsided him in the stables two years ago.

  Few people knew about the scar because it was hidden by Clay’s hair. But she knew it was there because she’d been the reason Odell had hit him. The tiny scar was a reminder for her of the mistakes she’d made with not one man but two.

  Clay said nothing. Couldn’t think of anything to say. He remembered that ring, all right. Just as well as he did Odell’s lazy, arrogant smile. It had been the smile of a man who had something Clay wanted. Josie.

  The assault of memories dug up dark and ugly reminders. Odell was dead. Clay had been at the morgue when Odell’s father came in to identify Odell’s effects. The ring had been one of them.

  “Do you know how many class rings like Odell’s there are in the world?” He shook his head and looked away from Josie to the group of uniformed men approaching fast. She was mistaken.

  But he couldn’t shake the memory of her at the bottom of the deck stairs, her fingers locked on the can of pepper spray, her eyes filled with shock. And terror.

  “I know you’ve never taken my advice in the past,” he said under his breath. “But I wouldn’t mention this to the cops. At least not yet.”

  She shot him a look that clearly said “What? The let’s-be-honest Clay Jackson suggesting she lie?”

  “But of course you’ll do as you please. You always have,” he added, then stepped forward to introduce himself to the Gallatin County sheriff’s deputy.

  FOR THE NEXT COUPLE of hours, Clay found himself lost in the surreal activity around the Lincoln. Cop-car lights flashing. Camera bulbs going off. Questions and more questions. The scream of sirens as the coroner arrived. Then the ambulance.

  A crowd had gathered and stood barricaded back by the motel. Clay took it all in, never letting Josie out of his sight. Or out of earshot if he could help it.

  The instant he’d gotten the chance, he called Judge Branson in San Antonio and, cashing in an old debt, asked the judge to have Odell Burton’s body exhumed immediately. Judge Branson wasn’t happy about being awakened in the middle of the night, let alone about the urgent request, but he’d grudgingly agreed to do it.

  “You’d better be right about this, Clay,” he’d said just before he hung up.

  Clay would be quite happy to hear that he was wrong. That Odell Burton was six feet under and had been for almost two years. Then maybe both he and Josie could put the man to rest.

  “I really need to get back to my daughter,” he heard her tell the deputy in charge.

  “I understand,” the officer said. “Just a couple more questions. Why were you looking for Mr. Degas?”

  “I thought I saw him on two occasions at the ranch where I work, the Buffalo Jump Ranch.”

  “I know Ruth Slocum well,” the deputy said, nodding and smiling.

  “Both times I didn’t get a chance to talk to him,” Josie continued. “I thought maybe Raymond had some news from my family.”

  “You’re from Texas, right?”

  As if her accent wasn’t a dead giveaway.

  “The hill country. My family still lives around San Antonio.”

  The deputy nodded and scribbled in his notebook. “Neither of you is planning to leave town, right?” he asked, looking up at Clay.

  “No,” Clay assured him. He wasn’t leaving until he got the truth out of Josie, and God only knew how long that would take.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said, but she had that wild look in her eyes again like a horse about to take off over the next hill.

  Clay put his arm around her shoulders as he walked her to her pickup.

  “You didn’t tell him about the break-ins—or about Odell,” he said. “I’m not used to you taking my advice. Are you all right?”

  They’d reached her pickup, but she didn’t want the warmth and weight of his arm and fingers to leave her shoulders. Not yet. It had been too long since she’d felt the weight of a man’s arm around her.

  She didn’t move for a few moments, didn’t even look at him for fear he’d see how much she needed him. It didn’t matter that she had no right.

  “I’m serious,” he said quietly. “Are you all right?”

  She glanced toward the Lincoln. The ambulance had taken Raymond’s body away, but uniformed men st
ill swarmed the area around it. Looking for a murderer.

  The night had turned darker, colder. The landscape more lonely. More malevolent. She felt spooked, on edge, nervous. But why wouldn’t she? She’d just seen a dead man for the second time today.

  She reached into her pocket to dig for her keys. He took his arm back. She could feel his gaze searching her face. She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t look at him.

  Her fingers closed over her keys. She couldn’t keep running. Not from the truth. Not from Clay.

  “No, I’m not all right,” she said, surprising herself. She looked up at him.

  A chill seemed to move through her like a restless spirit. Odell. Dead or alive, he and Raymond had brought Clay back into her life. “I know who killed Raymond,” she said, her throat hoarse with unshed tears. “He told me.”

  Clay’s jaw dropped. “You aren’t going to say—”

  “Odell. It was the last thing Raymond said. ‘Odell did it.”’ Her voice broke. “He’s alive, and I’m scared to death that he’ll come for me and Ivy next.”

  He’d been afraid that was what she was going to say.

  “Why, Josie? I can understand that Odell didn’t want you to have the baby because he didn’t want to be responsible for it, but why would he want to hurt the two of you now? Even if he were alive, that doesn’t make any sense.”

  He watched her look again at the Lincoln, her eyes filled with terror, but she said nothing.

  “I can help you,” he pressed. “What is it I did that you think you can’t trust me?”

  Her gaze jerked back to him.

  He looked into the blue depths of her eyes, trying to understand the sadness, the regret. Was it more than getting involved with Odell? More than her fear of the man?

  “I have to tell you what happened two years ago,” she said, her voice soft as the night breeze.

  He felt a jolt. A flash of memory that filled him with fear.

  “But I need to be sure Ivy is all right first,” she said. She’d already called the cabin. All three times, Mildred had assured her that Ivy was fine. “I need to hold her, Clay.”

  Clay. Not Jackson. He reached over and took Josie’s keys from her hand. “I’ll take you home.”

  HE DROVE TOWARD the ranch, the moon high, the night dark. His head hurt. Too much had happened tonight. Too much remained unresolved. Thoughts flashed in and out like signs caught along the road in the headlights.

  Why did Josie have reason to fear Odell? There wasn’t any way Odell could have survived the car accident. He’d seen the demolished, burned-out car. He’d also seen Odell’s remains at the morgue.

  No, Josie was wrong. Odell Burton was dead. But why was she so afraid he wasn’t?

  They rode in silence, his gaze on the narrow road ahead. Josie’s staring out into the darkness.

  The sandstone bluffs of the old buffalo jump shone pale tan in the moonlight, making them appear closer as he turned off the paved two-lane highway and onto the gravel road that ran to the ranch. The headlights cut a path through the darkness along the river, making the night seem more empty and the two of them more alone.

  Josie looked exhausted, her face ghostly in the jade glow from the dash lights. She let out a long sigh and looked over at him. “I hated Odell.”

  He raised a brow.

  “I’ve always hated Odell,” she said, spitting out the words.

  He almost drove in the ditch. “Then why in God’s name did you…date him?”

  “Date him?” she asked, narrowing her gaze as she glared over at him. “You were the one who thought I was dating him. The truth is, the more I rejected him, the more obsessed he became with having me.”

  It took him a moment to let that sink in. “But I saw you kissing him—”

  “You saw him kissing me, and he only did it to get a rise out of you, and it worked,” she said, disgusted. “Odell thought you wanted me and he couldn’t bear it. Everything with Odell was about winning and losing. He hated to lose. Refused to lose.”

  He drove in silence the last couple of miles, his hands gripping the wheel, his heart pounding. He didn’t dare speak for fear of what he’d say.

  He parked between Mildred’s car and a pickup he didn’t recognize but that he assumed belonged to the Charley Josie had told him about. A single light glowed inside the cabin. Mildred waved from the front window. He saw the relief on Josie’s face, heard her breathe a sigh as she got out of the truck and headed for the cabin.

  He followed her, feeling shell-shocked. How long had he believed that Josie had feelings for Odell? Or at least that she’d dated Odell because he was wild and dangerous and she was rebelling against her family—and against Clay himself.

  But if that hadn’t been the case— It made him more than doubt himself. If he’d been this wrong about Josie and Odell, could he be wrong about everything else? But Josie had gotten pregnant with Odell’s child. How did she explain that?

  He followed Josie into the cabin and thanked Mildred and Charley for watching Ivy while she went up to see her daughter. “I’ll take care of them now.”

  Mildred introduced him to Charley and seemed to hesitate. She studied him, obviously sizing him up.

  “I’m worried about Josie,” she said.

  “Me, too.” He walked Mildred and Charley out to their cars. She opened the door of her Honda but stopped short of getting in.

  “Josie told me that the father of her baby wasn’t good for her or Ivy and that’s why she left Texas, left him.” Her gaze locked on him in the light coming from the car. “You seem to care for her and Ivy.” She waited as if needing an answer.

  “More than you know.”

  She nodded, her expression stern. “Whatever happened in Texas, it’s not too late to make it up to her.”

  “I hope you’re right about that.”

  Without another word, she got into the car and closed the door. As she pulled out, Charley fell in behind her. The two vehicles disappeared down the road.

  Clay turned back to the cabin. He found Josie sitting upstairs next to the crib in an antique oak rocker, her gaze on her sleeping toddler. He couldn’t remember Josie ever looking more appealing. Her love for her daughter shone in her eyes and seemed to soften and illuminate her face, making her all the more beautiful.

  But he could see the exhaustion in the slope of her shoulders, in the deep blue reaches of her eyes, in the desperation he glimpsed there.

  “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  She looked up at him, not appearing surprised to see him. “Clay.”

  She made it sound like an endearment, her voice soft, breathy. He could get used to her calling him that instead of Jackson.

  “I need to tell you the rest.”

  He nodded. “But not tonight, Josie. In the morning will be soon enough. We can talk then. You need to get some rest.”

  “You’re staying?” she asked, sounding hopeful.

  He smiled. “I’ll be on the couch if you need me. Don’t worry.”

  “Thank you.” Her gaze met his and held it as tenderly as an embrace.

  He felt a shock of current run between them. He cupped her cheek in his palm. Her skin felt warm and soft, her gaze almost inviting. He bent closer. She tilted her face up, an open invitation.

  His lips grazed hers. Lightly. He wanted to devour her, to taste and probe and take and give back. But he kissed her gently, their breaths mingling.

  Her hand suddenly clutched his shoulder. Her fingers dug in as she pulled him down to her. She deepened the kiss, her mouth hot and wet and demanding.

  A flash of memory raced through him, teasing his senses. Taunting him. She had kissed him like this before. Not by her barn. But by the creek. In the flickering campfire light. In the dream.

  He pulled her into his arms, shoving away the fantasy of Josie for the real thing. Only this moment mattered. Only the feel of her lips. The promise in her eyes. Both so strong he felt empowered, as if this had always b
een their destiny and nothing on earth could stop it.

  Passion, as hot and bright as sunlight, filled him. Heat sizzled over his skin. He lost himself in her eyes, her lips, her taste, her touch, the incredible erotic scent of her. He’d never wanted her more than he did now.

  She tugged at his shirt, pulling the tail from his jeans, then ran her hands up under it over his chest. Her cool touch ignited his flesh as her fingertips skimmed over him like a chill.

  In the haze of desire, he looked down at her. He saw his own desire reflected in her eyes.

  She moaned softly. “Please.”

  All reason escaped him as she pressed her lips to his, her body, soft and full and ripe, against his.

  He swept her up into his arms and headed across the hall to her bedroom. She looped her arms around his neck, her gaze locked on his. He shoved open the door and strode to the bed. As he carefully laid her down, she pulled him on top of her, pulled him into a kiss.

  He could think of nothing but her now, his need for her, her need for him as they both struggled to rid themselves of each other’s clothing.

  Fumbling, he unbuttoned her shirt, drawing it back to reveal the plain white bra against her lightly freckled skin. So prim. So proper. So virginal. The thought shocked him, jarring a memory as he slipped one strap from her shoulder. Then the other. Then peeled away the bra.

  Her breasts swelled. Her nipples, hard nubs against his palm.

  He bent to suck at her breast. Josie groaned and cradled his face in her hands.

  “Clay, oh, Clay.”

  She pulled away the rest of his clothing and he slowly drew down her panties.

  Now, his hardness against her softness, bare skin against bare skin, they locked their arms around each other, bodies melding together with heat and longing.

  Josie heard Ivy’s cry first. She pulled her lips back from his, her eyes molten steel. “It’s Ivy,” she whispered. “She’s probably wet.”

  They both listened to see if the toddler would fall back to sleep. The cries grew louder.