Bind Me Close: 3 (Knights in Black Leather) Page 2

  He squinted at the road. “For that, you need to learn what happened to his mother.”

  “I do.” She saw a truck approaching in the other lane and prayed the sheriff got over to his own side pronto.

  “Fancy Turner left the Comanche tribe about a year after the chief, Bull Elk, captured her.”

  “I want to know how she managed that.”

  “We have the facts. Loosen up there, kiddo. Your fingers will fall off if you clutch the seat any tighter.”

  “Yeah, well, lemme just say I don’t trust your driving.” She scrunched her whole face up at the car barreling toward them as it attempted to pass another truck. “Blowing that horn doesn’t help.”

  “He needs to get out of my way. Relax. I’m good at my job.”

  “It’s not your job that takes my breath away.” Truer words had never left her lips. He was too much man to ignore. Meanwhile his determination to get this thief was as exciting as his driving was frightening.

  He slid her another one of his scorching looks. This time he focused for oh so long on her eyes. Then he drawled, “Told you we’d get him—and we will. Just hang on a bit here as the road curves.”

  While I simmer with the heat in your eyes. Tearing her attention away from him and his wild driving, she scowled out her window. The man was incorrigible.

  “See. Not bad. We’re nearing the point where my deputy will close in on him.” He reached over and clamped her hand with a reassuring grip. “Glad you’re here. We have lots of stories to tell you about Fancy.”

  She gulped. His hand was twice the size of hers. Hot and comforting. She tried to focus on what he was saying. “Fancy. Yes. How she was stolen by the Comanche Bull Elk.”

  “Got that right.” He checked his rearview mirror then stepped on the gas. “How he married her, Indian style.”

  “And gave birth to Blade. Then left the tribe and came back home to Bravado.”

  “No one else in the family helped except for my great-grandmother who was Fancy’s oldest sister. And Wyatt and Cole MacRae, of course.”

  “You talk about this as easily as if these people were alive now,” she managed. “As if all this were town gossip.”

  “Surprised we know so much about the past?”

  “Shocked I’m not upchucking on your spotless upholstery. But yeah. Few people know their parents let alone further back.”

  “We’re proud.” He grinned at the road before him. “We like our family stories. Most of them are about Fancy marrying two men.”

  “Right. Chief Bull Elk and Wyatt.”

  He went round another corner so quickly that Willow thought her skin peeled off.

  “What do you mean? They were—oh, my god.” She gulped as they approached a tiny town and a light that was—oh boy—red. Automatically she put her right foot to the floorboard, compressing an imaginary brake.

  “Fancy married both Wyatt and Cole.” He said it as if he were relating the weather—and thankfully slowed the truck as they drew nearer and nearer to the traffic light, his horn blaring.

  She winced. “Both? That’s not possible.”

  “Says you.” He eased off his brake as the light went green, then grinned at her.

  She breathed once more, licking her lips and fighting for sanity. “Two men? Oh now really, Sheriff Saxon, that is not even legal.”

  “Here in Bravado we have different rules. Even back then we did.”

  She stared at him, well-aware his words held more meanings than she could unravel as they chased a thief at a disgusting speed. “I guess I’ve got a lot to learn.”

  His smile was broad, bold and perfunctory. “Welcome home.”

  Bravado had been the childhood home to her great-grandfather, son of a Comanche chief, and his wife Francine Turner. “At eighteen Blade left Texas. Took his mother’s maiden name. He never said much about his departure.”

  “But you told Case and Samantha Turner you had his diaries.”

  “I do.” Amazing what this man could talk about while driving like a roadrunner. She clutched the door handle as he skidded around a corner. “He didn’t write about everything. That’s why I’m here. To learn more.”

  “We’ll give you that for certain.”

  “I’ll start with this belief you have that Fancy Turner married two men. I mean, how does a woman do that?”

  “Yeah. Well, you need to ask Cara MacRae that one.”

  “She knows?” Willow tried to match his casual tone. “How’s that? I thought she married into the MacRaes. That her maiden name was Ford.”

  “It was. She comes from one of the few families in town who were not related to us.”

  “Us? You really are a distant relative then?”

  “Not so distant. Cousins. All of us. MacRaes-Turners-Saxons.”

  “So how does Cara know about Fancy?”

  He chuckled, eyes straight ahead as he took the two-lane road like a jackrabbit. “She’s not only read Fancy’s letters but Cara knows a lot about being married to more than one man.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shot her a curious look. “You don’t know? Hmm. Guess Cara and Samantha Turner figured you’d learn a lot when you got here. Well. Okay.” He took another one of those two-wheel turns that made her wince. “Cara is married to the three MacRae brothers.”

  Willow blinked. “You’re kidding.”

  “No.”

  She scowled at him. “You are! You’re pulling my leg.”

  “No.”

  “How can that be?”

  When Maureen started to chatter at him again, Willow hung on tight to her seat. Her mind whirled with the facts of Cara MacRae’s marital state. God. Married to three men. That had to be heaven or hell.

  His dispatcher chatted at him about the problems his deputy was having.

  “Okay, Mo. Okay. I’m coming up on the intersection with Route 46. Where is Harris? Yeah. Okay. I hear you. Hang with me here while I see who’s on this iddy biddy road—oh, hell! There’s the Honda!”

  Streaking past them going in the opposite direction was a white flash.

  Saxon did a hand-over-hand circle of the steering wheel.

  Willow grabbed at the dashboard and caught no traction. Jesus.

  They fishtailed, then off they zoomed. Right on the trail of her hijacked Honda. Then, as if the thief had put wings on her car, it sped ahead and disappeared over a hill.

  The crash they heard was mind-jarring.

  Saxon rammed on the brakes. “Grab the roof handle!” he yelled at her as they crested the hill.

  As they cleared the rise, Willow spotted her car to one side.

  Tumbling over and sliding, it crumpled like an old tin can. It teetered on its passenger side, slammed into a tree, the roof crushed. Smoke rose from the wreckage.

  Willow clamped her hands over her mouth. “Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.”

  Saxon screeched his truck to a stop, tail-spinning in the rocky soil. He put a hand to hers and crushed it tight. “Stay here!”

  As he ran toward the Honda he yelled into his dispatch radio and Willow could imagine what he said. Come. Get an ambulance. Where’s Harris?

  Willow just sat where she was and shook. The adrenalin rushing through her was the wildest blast she’d experienced in years.

  * * * * *

  By his dashboard clock Willow knew she waited for the wreck to clear for over three hours. Rapt, she’d just watched Saxon and his team of emergency responders as they tried to ply the driver from the front seat of her car with the ugly Jaws of Life. Firemen came too, in two different trucks to put out a blaze that began in the engine. Willow sat, numb, figuring her suitcase and her laptop were either burned or waterlogged. She counted her blessings. She really did, happy the thief had stolen only her car and hadn’t tried to take it with her in it. But she was at a loss for what to do without transportation, clothing or her security blanket, also known as her laptop.

  Shit. Damn. Hell!

  Drained like an old dishc
loth after so many hours of tension, she stopped cursing in self-pity. She watched Sheriff Saxon talk on his cell to god knew who. Finally he returned to his truck and climbed in beside her. Tossing his Stetson to the rear seat, he smoothed his unruly hair then reached for her hand and held tight.

  “I know this is quite a blow to you.”

  “Yeah. A big one.”

  “Sorry it took so long.”

  “No, no. I’m grateful he got some help. He looked alive when they put him in the ambulance. Is he?”

  “At the moment. But he’s a mess.”

  I am too. Tears scalded her eyes.

  “Hey,” he said so softly that she was shocked a man with so much timbre in his voice could speak so low. “Cry if you have to but please don’t worry.”

  “Worry?” she blurted, sad and appalled and angry. A serrated knife was sawing at her insides. “I’m…just so…stunned! I’ve got no car and no clothes and—oh, hell. I never blubber.”

  But she did. Her eyes shed crocodile tears. Her nose ran. Her lips quivered.

  And he slid over to her and wrapped her so close in those big, bulging biceps that she wilted like a picked flower in the midday sun.

  He dug a handkerchief from his pocket and put it to her nose. “Blow.”

  She honked right into it and sniveled her thanks. Male comfort was such a rare benefit for any of her troubles that she wound her arms around his torso and loved the feel of his rock-hard abs. She wondered how to stay there in his arms. Keep crying? Jump his bones? Worry about a Mrs. Sheriff Saxon?

  Hell, how could she think of such things after she had just lost everything?

  She groaned.

  He cuddled her closer and ran his hands over her hair. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Crazy,” she agreed, roping in her jumpy emotions and pushing away to reclaim her dignity.

  “Look at me.” He caught her chin between two fingers and made her glance up at him. And god, up close and very personal, he was the most fabulous male creature she had seen since she’d watched Bradley Cooper get a hangover in Bangkok. But this man was not on a silver screen. He breathed. He grinned. He filled her view. Broad shoulders, sun-bleached hair, sea-green eyes that caressed and consoled. “I’m gonna fix you up, best I can. I just talked with Cara MacRae and Samantha Turner. Told them what happened to you.”

  “Oh. That’s so good of you. Thank you. They were expecting me tonight.”

  “And they still are.”

  “Oh, I can’t. I don’t have any—”

  “Yes, you can go.”

  “How? I have nothing! No clothes even. Look at me, Sheriff.”

  His gaze flicked over her but it was no cursory exam. It was long, lingering and—could she be right?—lusty. Her breasts beaded. Her pussy pulsed. Her panties got wet. And every nerve in her body sang a Hallelujah Chorus. When he caught her gaze he said, “My name is Wade and you are going tonight.”

  Why? Will you be there? How can I care if you are? What the hell is wrong with my logic meter? She ran a hand over her hair. “Sorry. Stolen cars and high-speed chases and fires are not part of my usual day. Believe me. I can’t go.”

  “You will. Cara and Samantha are seeing to it you have clothes. Cara owns a women’s shop in town and—”

  “I’m hard to fit.”

  “Not from where I sit.” His extraordinary dulcet green eyes danced over her once more.

  If he didn’t stop that, she’d leave a wet spot on his fine leather seat from her soaked panties. Jazzed by his looks and his sweetness, she had to be logical. “I am not your average—”

  “Size 4?” He arched a wicked brow. “No, thank god, you definitely are not.”

  “I’m more like—”

  “Size 16. Breasts a good forty? D?”

  She stared straight ahead. “I will not ask you how you can estimate that.”

  “So I’m right?”

  “You have a good eye.”

  He smacked his lips. “Hips, forty. The rest of you, all nice and tight in all the right places.”

  Wow, he was such a player, but was she complaining? Only if he has a wife. “Thanks, Sheriff, but—”

  “Wade. The name is Wade and you are provided for, Willow Turner. I told Cara what sizes.”

  “Gee. Did you pick out colors too?”

  “I did. Black. Hot pink too.”

  She blushed, betting the shade of her skin matched his last selection.

  He laughed. “Meanwhile, Samantha called over to the B&B where you’re booked and told them what happened.”

  “That was kind of her. But,” she said, her mind whirring with remedies for this afternoon’s losses, “I’ll have to rent another car. That is, if they’ll let me, considering I’ve not been a model customer for this one.” She pointed her thumb at the charred wreckage of the Honda.

  “No worries. Bravado Rent-a-Car is closed for the day. Too late to get one. So I am going to take you to my house where—”

  “Oh, no. Thank you.”

  He grimaced. “You know, lady, you’re a hard nut. Do you always say no to folks who want to help you?”

  “Well. Now that you mention it. I do.”

  “Why? Afraid you’ll be beholden?”

  “Yes.”

  “Too bad. Being alive means you’ve got to connect. People in Bravado lend a hand to others. Tonight you are in need. And my ranch is only about five miles back toward Bravado.”

  She sighed and shook her head. Why argue? Her only alternative was to walk away…and since she had no idea where she was, she was his to command. “So it’s on the way?”

  He nodded. “It is. And besides, you need what I’ve got for you.”

  Really? Like what might that be? Something big and brawny and blond. She licked her lips. Am I seduced by this guy much?

  He gave her a sideways glance, as if—oh Christ—he knew she’d been thinking about what she’d really love to have him give her. His marvelous body. Inside her. All around her. On top of her.

  Stop that, Willow.

  “I’ll give you my car.”

  She struggled with that concept. “Your…car.”

  “You need one. I have one.”

  He had this shit-eating grin as if he had just given her a birthday present. But it was better than that. I am fortunate. “I’m grateful.”

  “Say thank you.”

  She grinned. “Thank you.”

  “Now buckle up.” He turned the ignition. “We’re going to set you right.”

  She hadn’t had any man tell her that. Not since her daddy died more than ten years ago. And the comfort of this man’s thoughtfulness swam through her bloodstream like warm maple syrup. So she buckled up, ready for the ride.

  Chapter Two

  He drove onto his ranch road ten minutes later, questioning his sanity. The lady beside him had grown quiet as he’d talked to his deputy and his dispatcher for most of the ride home. Fine by him. He needed to button his lip. He’d already made a damn fool of himself, offering her comfort, one of his cars and a bear hug or two.

  Christ, man. Haven’t been over to see Leanne in more than a month and my balls are so blue I’m cattin’ after this lady. She’s come to town to do historical research, for godssakes. Not to grace your bed.

  Nice looking filly though. Too young for me. Too innocent of Bravado as well.

  And that, he was shocked to say, was one reason why he liked her.

  What’s wrong with me? I like my women willing. Eager for me…and any of my friends I bring to the party.

  Lately, though, he’d grown plumb tired of women in the Hill Country who assumed a Bravado man was game for sex, morning, noon or night. Still, just to look at this one cranked up images of what he’d like to do to her. Cuff those wrists. Strap those toned thighs, spreading them wide. And the ass? Man, the glimpse he’d had of the curve of her butt in those white shorts played over and over in his brain like a video. Her gluts were tight. Strong. I could have her from behind, long and sl
ow, giving her every inch of me.

  “Gee, that is big,” she said, leaning forward to compliment his two-story home.

  He gave her half a laugh. “Yeah, and empty.” Hell. What’s wrong with me? Telling her I’m a father of two is no way to interest her. If I could. Or should. “The kids are in college.”

  “You have children?”

  Was she disappointed? Glancing at her, he confirmed his suspicion. But he also felt a little tickle in his groin. If she thought because he had kids that he also had a wife to go with, she was dead wrong.

  “I do. One son. One daughter. Twins. This summer they’re on a church mission in Guatemala.”

  “Good stuff. How old are they?”

  About to answer, he stopped when she added an apology. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be nosy. I teach high school and just…am…interested.”

  And flustered about it too. “No foul. I get it.” He pulled up to the front veranda and stopped the truck. “They’re twenty-one next month. Going to throw a birthday party for their big day. You’ll come, I hope.”

  “Thanks. I will if I’m still here. I like parties. Big ones.” She wiggled her brows. “Hope it’s okay with your wife that you invited me.”

  “No wife,” he told her with satisfaction oozing from his pores that she’d mentioned a spouse.

  “Oh. I’m sorry—”

  He chuckled. “Well, I’m not. And do stop apologizing. Come inside and let me get you a sweet tea. You look like you’re parched as a buzzard. I know I am.”

  “Sounds great. I am drying out. Thanks.” She put her hand to her door handle.

  “Ah-ah-ah.” He clamped a big paw over her wrist. “Where do you hail from? No lady opens her own door here in Texas.”

  She grinned. “All right. I’m from—”

  He put up a finger to have her hold that thought then jumped out of the cab. After he opened her door for her he reached in and took her hand to help her down. “Where?”

  “Boston.”

  “That explains it. Land of the Pilgrims.” He lifted his chin in the direction of the front door. “Uptight and nervous.”