Bind Me Close: 3 (Knights in Black Leather) Page 4

  Another sign declared the city line, and shops appeared on either side of Main Street. Wade’s blinker flashed again and he turned left onto a circular drive. The cute bungalow of adobe and cedar bore a sign that said it was the Breakaway Bed and Breakfast. Willow prayed Wade would just wave goodbye and return home.

  No such luck. She heard him put on the brake and saw him climb down out of his cab to open her door before she had a chance to do it for herself.

  “This chivalry could get addictive,” she told him, kicking herself for the inference that he could continue and that it would have an effect on her.

  “Works for me,” he said, his Stetson firmly back on his head as he handed her out and led her up the sidewalk to the entrance.

  “Really, Wade, you do not have to baby me.”

  With a cockeyed grin he winked at her. “Enjoying it. Go on inside. Let’s get you fixed up.”

  Shaking her head, Willow marched right up to counter. “Hi, I’m Willow Turner. You have a reservation for me.”

  “So glad you got here!” An older woman, thin and eager as a puppy, reached across the desk and shook her hand. “Glad you took such good care of her, Sheriff.”

  “I gather you heard what happened out on Bandera road, Miz Sykes?” He tipped up the brim of his huge white cowboy hat.

  “Yes sir. That robbery was a fright. Mary Taylor said when he ran into the jewelry store he was so nervous and so wild with that gun that he almost shot her.”

  “That’s what I hear she told my deputy too.”

  “But he’s in the hospital now? Do you have police watching him?”

  “We do, Miz Sykes. We do. The San Antonio Police Department is helping us out with shifts.”

  “And you’ll prosecute him?”

  “We will. Never you fear. Now, Miss Turner has had a tough day and would like to go to her casita. Are you ready for her?”

  “I am. I surely am. Sorry to keep you waiting, Miz Turner. We got you all set up in the corner casita where it is nice and quiet. No music from the honky-tonk on Main Street will hit your ears and keep you awake at night. I wonder, Sheriff, if you would keep a good eye out for those boys. They tell me they keep it real peaceful, but you know, our guests still do complain.”

  “I know.” Wade took Willow’s elbow and reached for the key the lady offered. “We monitor the noise every weekend.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff. Miz Turner, you do enjoy and if there is anything you need, you just call us here and we’ll get it for you.”

  “Thank you. I will.”

  Wade bid the lady goodbye and steered Willow toward the front door. Outside he said, “She’s sweet, but the older she gets, she’s becoming a busybody. Do not let her into your casita or she’ll talk your ears off.”

  “Got it. Thanks for the heads-up.” They walked along the paving stones that wended between several small one-story casitas, but Willow halted. “You know, Wade, you don’t need to escort me to my rooms. I am capable.”

  “See. There you go again, Miss Boston.” He tugged her toward the far casita. “How would you know where to go without me?”

  She gritted her teeth and let him see her do it. “She could have given me directions.”

  “Yes, and you could’ve asked.” He grinned like a very pleased Cheshire cat. “But you didn’t.”

  “Too busy listening to the police rap sheet for Bravado on Friday and Saturday nights!” But they got to her door and he plugged the key in and turned.

  The roughly burnished door swung wide and a blast of cool lemon-scented air rushed out. Willow stepped inside the house and though the afternoon sun had set and the heat of the day still burned outside, in there the cool neutral beiges and rusts beckoned.

  “Wow, this is lovely.”

  “The owner does a nice job. She recently had all the casitas remodeled. A mix of early Tejano with old-world Spanish colonia, wouldn’t you say?”

  She smiled at him. “You know architectural styles?”

  “I do. A man is more than his work.” He stared at her, his eyes verdant and mysterious in the brassy-red rays of sunset streaming in through the front door.

  “I hear you. I’m glad I got to know the sheriff and his work today,” she said with a lump in her throat and gratitude, “firsthand.”

  “Feeling’s mutual. You were a cool customer. I’m grateful you came along like you did. Everything went more smoothly since I didn’t have to come back for you at the ice house.”

  “You were helping me.”

  He sauntered forward, stepping right up to her. He was so marvelously huge that she had to tip back her head to see him fully. He loomed over her, so many thrilling inches taller than she. He filled her vision with the virile power of him. He cupped her elbows, ran his fingers up to her shoulders and pulled her against him. “You’re going to be fine here.”

  In the town? In the casita? In his arms? She nodded, a quivering mess of jam. “I…I think so.”

  He drifted nearer, his lips parting, his breath branding her with fervent need, and she couldn’t resist the temptation. She lifted up on her toes, headed straight for his mouth, his kiss and—

  “Oh, Miss Turner! Miss Turner…oh my, I…am sorry.”

  Through the tinted lenses of his sunglasses Wade’s gaze never left Willow’s as they widened in surprise and disappointment. Then he set Willow back on her heels and pouted.

  Willow gulped…and turned to face the receptionist, Wade pressing right up against her back. “Miss Sykes, hello.”

  Behind Willow, Wade had settled one thigh against the crack of her ass. As if he wished to let her know he was still here, still warm and big and within reach, he also declared that he was her support and oh, yeah, was he interested in her…for more than kisses. Willow bit her lower lip, hoping her brain defogged.

  Miss Sykes held two shopping bags in her hand. One pink with loads of white tissue sticking out the top. The other was cream and beige. “These came for you. One’s from Cara MacRae. She runs the lingerie store in town. And this is from her aunt who owns the clothing store. They said you had no duds, you poor thing.”

  “Miz Turner,” Wade said as he wrapped one firm hand around Willow’s waist, “lost her belongings when the burglar stole her car.”

  The heat of his hand, the strength of his grip on her body told Willow he didn’t want to part from her despite the intrusion of the persistent Miss Sykes.

  “Yes. So I heard. Terrible thing.” The lady eyed Wade’s hold of Willow, and the way her eyes fluttered told Willow she delighted in the fact that she’d be able to tell all of Bravado how the sheriff had his hands on the new woman in town.

  Willow stepped forward, loathe to leave Wade’s grasp but knowing she shouldn’t remain there. Not if she wanted to think straight. Not if she wanted to stay in town and get her work done without scandal. She would not moon over the sheriff. “Thank you, Miss Sykes. I will be sure to thank them.”

  “You’ll be seeing them tonight, won’t you?” The woman simply stood there and ogled them both.

  “I will.” Gossip traveled faster than brushfire in Bravado, clearly. Willow walked to the door, took hold of the handle and awaited the lady’s departure. “Thank you.”

  Their guest took no hint that she should leave. “Would you stay longer than a few weeks, do you think?”

  “What?” Willow didn’t understand what she meant.

  “We do need women, don’t we, Sheriff?” She said it in such a way that implied something extraordinary, almost salacious.

  Wade scowled at her.

  Sykes fidgeted. “Oh, yes, I am meddling, aren’t I? Well, I’ll be off! Bye, y’all.” She departed in a flurry of goodbyes and apologies.

  Willow shut the door behind her, chuckling. But when she turned, Wade looked fit to be tied. Not smiling. Not happy. Closed. Stern. The sheriff. In control.

  “I’ll be going too.” Wade strode to the door.

  But her hand was still on the handle and a part of her wanted t
o keep it there. Make him stay. Make him kiss her.

  “Come on, Willow.” He pleaded with her, looking rather trapped. “Be a good girl. Let me go.”

  She got the message loud and clear. A few hours with the Bravado County Sheriff was no basis for a relationship or a courtship or even a fast fuck. She could have predicted it. She was a tourist in this town. Here to work. Alone and in trouble she’d been a fool to be deluded into contemplating an affair—or even a tiny kiss—with the man who had rescued her. Wade Saxon had been the sheriff and a gentleman in that order. Now he had reverted to the local lawman. Kissing cousins be damned. She’d live.

  She pulled the door open and waited for him to walk through it.

  He stopped to speak but halted, thinking better of whatever he intended to say.

  “Please, Sheriff, do leave. In the South you men like to open doors. In the North we Yankee women like to shut them. Tight.”

  Chapter Three

  Hours later, as she drove Wade’s Chevy convertible up the private drive to the MacRaes’ ranch, Willow still fumed from his rejection. Oh, she understood men on the make. She’d met enough of them. Men who made conquering the Big Girl a goal. Tall men who saw her as a challenge. Short men who saw her as a prize. Drunk men who took bets to charm her. Crazy men who tried to get her naked or rush her into bed. Boys, all of them.

  “I thought more of Wade Saxon,” she groused as she pulled up to the huge ranch house, parked under the limbs of a few live oaks and killed the ignition. Instead she would focus on the evening and the task ahead of her. This was the home of one set of her relatives. Okay, so they were distant cousins, but they were strangers, every one. When she first discovered her great-grandfather Blade’s journal a year ago, Willow had warmed to the idea of recreating his story. As a Comanche he recounted a vital piece of the country’s history between those pages. As a native Texan by birth and blood Blade also told a rare tale of how the Anglo settlers and the Comanche lived together—and fought each other.

  “Maybe that conflict has DNA roots,” she told herself bitterly. Wade Saxon had wanted to kiss her. In his garage and in her hotel room. But for some reason after listening to that chatty receptionist, he’d destroyed the chemistry between him and her. “And I am not going to moon over him but get on with my life!”

  She slid out of the car and shut the door, smoothing the front of the sleek black cocktail dress that miraculously hugged her like a second skin. So did the sheer black lace demi-bra and thong panties. Cara MacRae and her Aunt Bree had performed a miracle to send over the right sizes for her to the B&B. Even the strappy heels were a winner. Thanks to the sheriff.

  She wrinkled her nose. Was Wade Saxon that good at estimating a woman’s size? Just how many women had he provided clothes for in his lifetime? If she could have predicted anything at all for him, it would have been that he was an expert in removing female garments, not obtaining them.

  Besides, she hated that she owed him for the favor of getting her measurements right. He’d saved her ass in so many ways today. Those were quite enough. Too much, in fact, for comfort.

  Now, now. Temper, temper. Let no one here accuse you of being a hot-headed Comanche. These folks are helping you, big-time.

  She smiled, swirling her waist-length straight black hair over one shoulder. Then she halted, plastering the pleasant look on her face purposely when she noted one of the other four cars in the drive was one of the snazzy older ones in Wade’s garage.

  He was here before her? Well, fine. She slid the car key into her little purse, also a gift from Cara and her aunt. She took the steps up to the wraparound porch and the MacRaes’ front door.

  Inside, laughter and conversation filled the air. As the door opened and a fabulous-looking cowboy beamed down at her, the noise spilled out around her like a benediction.

  “You must be Willow,” said the man with long ebony hair and dreamy pale-blue eyes. “My name’s Harry and you belong inside with us.”

  He reached for her with both hands and dragged her into a huge hall, past a home office and into a spacious family room and kitchen. There, with drinks in their hands and grins as wide as Texas skies, stood more than twenty people.

  “Welcome, Willow! I’m Cara MacRae.” A platinum blonde with sparkling eyes and a very pregnant figure rushed to her side, arms wide to embrace her. “We are so happy you’re here. We’ve waited a long time to have a member of Blade’s family come home to us.”

  Willow grinned at the sweet, warm welcome. “Thank you. I am delighted to be here.”

  “I guess even more so tonight,” said a tall man who resembled the one who had answered the front door. “This afternoon when that rabbit jacked your car was no picnic. Hi,” he said, taking her hand and bringing her into a bear hug. “I’m Jed MacRae. Another cousin.”

  “Hi, Jed MacRae.” She let him enfold her and was shocked to be presented with yet another man, blond this time, who also looked like him. “And you are?”

  “Will MacRae. Brother to these two cowpokes you just met.”

  “Yeah,” said Harry, “but we don’t spread that word around too much. Got to keep up appearances.”

  “Hell,” said Will. “Do not listen to him. He wouldn’t recognize anyone with an IQ over sixty.”

  She chuckled as Cara hooked her arm through Willow’s. “Listen to none of them. They’ve had too much sun today. It makes them dopey. Let me introduce you to a few of your other relatives.”

  Willow let Cara do her hostess duties, not daring to let her gaze wander the room for Wade. Wherever he was he certainly was not stepping forward. But then he didn’t have to, did he? They had already met.

  “My Aunt Bree who owns the boutique in town,” Cara introduced her to a tall, svelte fortysomething woman with such perfect features and poise she might have won a few beauty pageants in her time.

  “Thank you so much for this wonderful outfit. The long summer dress too. I want to come in to the shop soon and buy more.”

  “I’ll be happy to help you.”

  “May I call you Bree?”

  “Yes, do. And you are so welcome, Willow. I’m pleased to see my selections on a woman who has a figure that does them proud.”

  “You are very kind.” Willow ran her palm down her hip over the soft, formfitting jersey. “The material of this feels wonderful.”

  “Fits you to a T. Wade,” Bree called over her shoulder, “come here and admire your skill.”

  Willow stiffened as a dark figure at the back of the room pushed away from the wall and emerged into the brighter light. God help her. In body-hugging denim and a crisp white Western shirt, collar open to reveal the cords of his strong ,tanned throat, Wade Saxon walked toward her. His eyes were brilliant jewels. Wary and sultry. Why did he have to look good enough to lick?

  It took all her concentration not to salivate.

  “Hi, Willow,” he said as if they were acquaintances, which of course was what they were. Nothing more, if she didn’t count that he’d made a move on her. “You do look nice. Good to see you.”

  Nice. Good.

  His bland words riled her. How could he be so indifferent?

  “Thanks, Sheriff.”

  The title pricked him. Made him wince. Good.

  Triumphant, she turned away. But as she did she heard the proverbial pin drop in the room. The silence shouted loud and clear that something stood between the lady and the sheriff and it was definitely not right.

  Shit. No way to start my visit here.

  “Drink?” Cara steered her away from Wade, who simply stood there staring at Willow.

  “Yes. Gin and tonic.”

  “Okay, then. Jed, get Willow a G and T, will you? And you need to meet a few more people. All related to the Turners or MacRaes.” Cara led her around the room from group to group, introducing her and stopping to talk. One was a jovial fellow with laughing brown eyes named Giles Benedict, the town’s newest doctor. Another was the owner of the local honky-tonk, Kyle Miller. Another
man, a striking George Clooney clone, was Garrett Scanlon but Willow didn’t catch what he did for a living. “We have a few in town who lay claim to being related, but couldn’t come tonight.”

  “Are all of them men too?” Willow glanced around.

  “Half and half,” Cara said. “We do have fewer females than we’d like living here.”

  “We’re trying to fix that.” Will joined them and put his hand around the back of Cara’s neck to give her a small, but evidently much-appreciated, massage. When she thanked him he pulled her to his side and kissed her ear. The affection between them astonished Willow, having seen the same in Jed’s manner with her.

  Cara grinned at Willow. “Don’t mind me. It’s my pregnancy. I get kinks and Will knows just how to work them out of me.”

  Willow smiled at her but inside her envy grew. Why such a novel need for affection erupted in her, she had no idea. But to have a man like that who cared so much for her that across a crowded room he saw she needed a massage would be heaven. Willow nodded, clearing her head as Cara continued.

  “And then we have two more very close relatives whom you really must meet. Case Turner and his wife Samantha.”

  “Samantha and Case.” Willow extended her hand to the tall blond man with the redhead on his arm. It struck her that Case and Wade looked remarkably alike. “Hello. I’m looking forward to talking with you both and learning all you know.”

  “Happy to do it, Willow.” Case leaned in to give her a hug. “Sam here has a fondness for Texas history, so she’ll be more help to you than I when it comes to putting things in some kind of historical perspective. I know about personalities, colorful and dastardly. Period.”

  “Don’t let him fool you, Willow,” added his wife as she wrapped her arms around Willow. “Case knows who fought in what war, who came back and who didn’t.”

  “I want to know it all. See all the buildings or anything that still stands.”

  “Well, there isn’t much of the original homestead of the Turners,” Case told her. “North of town and the creek, a shell of a house still stands. It’s got a few limestone walls that remain.”