Return to Oak Valley (24 page)

Having only gotten a glimpse of him once that day with Jeb, she wouldn't have recognized Milo Scott if Sloan hadn't given her a clue. And she didn't know that she was exactly thrilled to find the local drug dealer on her doorstep. And yet supposedly, he'd been a friend of her brother's and, if Jeb was correct, might even have had something to do with Josh's death…. It gave her a shock and a small thrill of horror to know she might be facing a murderer. Her brother's murderer. Her throat closed up, and for a second her mind went blank. With an effort she focused on Milo Scott, wondering if he had indeed played a part in Josh's death. She could hardly ask him about it, and even Jeb admitted that the evidence surrounding Josh's death was consistent with suicide. She pushed further speculation away and since she'd never been officially introduced to him she stepped forward, and, extending her hand, said, “Hello. I don't believe that we've met. I'm Shelly Granger, Josh's sister. And you are?”

“Milo Scott,” he said easily, smiling at her as he took her hand and shook it. “Sorry if I intruded, but I, er, wanted to, um, have a word with…ah, Acey.”

Ignoring the soft snort Sloan gave behind her, she said, “Oh, I'm sorry but you've missed him. He rode in the parade this morning and isn't home yet.” Deliberately she'd left out that he'd be gone all afternoon helping at the rodeo. She'd just as soon that Mr. Scott didn't know she'd be here alone. “If you leave a message, I'll see that he gets it. Unless there's something I can do for you?”

“No. I appreciate it, but this is something I need to talk to Acey about. Guess I'll catch up with him at the rodeo.” He hesitated. “Sorry about Josh. He was a friend of mine. A lot of people will miss him.”

Shelly made a polite reply, wondering what Milo Scott needed to talk to Acey about—if that had been his real reason for being here. She doubted it and even if she hadn't known about his drug connection or the possibility that he'd had something to do with Josh's suicide—if it had been suicide—she wouldn't have liked him. There was something furtive and sinister about him, something that made her happy she was confronting him in daylight and not alone—maybe Sloan did have his uses. Milo Scott wasn't a big man. He was slim and not much taller than she; with his even features and a mop of sandy blond hair, he could be called handsome. Certainly there was nothing overtly intimidating about him, and many people would have found him attractive. She did not. She was wary and mistrustful of him. Jeb's influence, she thought wryly. Whatever the reason, there was no denying that there was something about the man, something in his flat blue eyes that made her increasingly thankful that Sloan was very big, very tough, and standing right behind her.

“Uh, guess I'll be on my way,” Scott said awkwardly. “It was nice meeting you. See you around, Sloan.”

He turned and walked back to his truck. His hand on the roof of the cab, he paused and looked across at her. His fingers tapping on the cab, he said, “Don't know if anybody has mentioned it or not, but Josh and I did business together. We, um, had some agricultural ventures we were partners in—when you have time, I'd like to discuss them with you.”

“Now I find that very interesting, Mr. Scott,” Shelly murmured, Jeb's suspicions and those large deposits uppermost in her mind. “In going through Josh's papers, business or otherwise, I've seen no reference to you or any, ah, agricultural ventures that Josh was involved in. Perhaps you're mistaken?”

Scott's mouth thinned. “No mistake. Josh and I were good friends, very good friends. Buddies you could say. Mostly we did business the old-fashioned way: We decided on the terms and sealed it with a handshake.”

Sloan stepped closer to Shelly, his hands falling onto her shoulders. There was possessiveness and something distinctively territorial about his stance. His eyes on Scott's, he said, “That's really too bad, Scott. Verbal agreements are really a bitch to prove in court. Of course, if you feel strongly about it, I suggest you see a lawyer about your chances of making any, ah, agricultural agreements with Josh stick.”

“Yeah. I'll do that,” he snapped, wrenching open the door to his pickup. He sent Shelly a hard look. “This isn't over. I'll be getting in touch in with you.” A sneer entered his voice. “When your boyfriend isn't around.”

“Well, that was certainly entertaining,” Shelly said, as she and Sloan watched Scott's pickup disappear down the gravel road.

“You could say that,” he agreed. “But before I leave I want to check things out and make certain that he didn't leave any surprises around.”

Shelly turned and looked at him. “What sort of surprises?”

He shrugged. “With Scott you never know.” No reason to frighten her unnecessarily. And it would frighten her, he thought grimly, if he mentioned the trashing of Cleo's place, the prized colt of his he'd found with a smashed foreleg, or the young bull that Nick had lost under suspicious circumstances. Just before her house was broken into and vandalized last summer, Cleo had caught Milo sneaking around on her property and had had him arrested for trespassing. The other two incidents had happened a couple of years ago—just after he had pithily refused to lease some remote land to Scott and Nick's cattle had accidentally wandered into a marijuana patch being cultivated in a far corner of the Mendocino National Forest. Coincidence? Neither he nor Nick thought so—and Cleo had always been certain—and vocal about Scott being pond scum. Having his own ideas of the extent of Scott's vi-ciousness, he'd feel better once he knew that Scott hadn't left an ugly scene for Shelly to find.

Shelly stared at him. His expression might be bland, but she sensed that he was holding something back. “What aren't you telling me? I hate it when I'm treated like a child. If there's something I should know, tell me,” she demanded. “I'm a big girl now.”

Sloan grinned, his eyes traveling appreciatively over her. “I'd sort of noticed that. Be hard not to with those butt-hugging jeans of yours and that slinky blouse you're wearing…but that was the whole point, wasn't it, honey? To make me notice?”

Shelly's cheeks flamed, and she spun around. Damn him! Suddenly wishing that she'd worn a burlap sack this morning, she stalked to the house.

Still grinning, Sloan ambled after her, his mouth watering at the view presented by those same butt-hugging jeans.

Just as she reached the first step, he caught her arm, and said, “We'll save the house for last. He came from behind the house, so let's start there.”

She threw off his hand and glared at him. “And what makes you think that I'm going to help you? Why should I?”

“Because you're curious?”

Muttering under her breath, she led the way to the back of the house. Hands on her hips, Shelly watched with growing irritation as Sloan walked around the new construction, glanced at the huge stack of hay under the bright blue tarp and examined the interior of the barn.

Satisfied that Milo hadn't wreaked any obvious havoc in this area, as he walked out of the dim interior of the barn, Sloan said, “All those new corrals and pens and chutes, for the cattle operation?”

“Not that it's any business of yours, but yes.” Pride and excitement had her blurting out, “I'm expecting a shipment of heifers sometime tomorrow that carry some of the old Granger bloodlines. We'll be using Granger's Ideal Beau on them—which gives us a head start on rebuilding. Beau's our linchpin.”

Sloan glanced to the pen where the big black bull was drinking from the water trough. “He's a great-looking animal—he should do well for you. I always thought it was a shame that Josh had pretty much dispersed the herd. Granger's had some good Angus at one time.”

“And will again.”

Sloan smiled at her confident tone. Walking over to the new kennel where the dogs barked and wiggled when he stopped in front of them, he asked, “Acey's dogs?”

“Yes. I told you Acey is living here. In the apartment up-stairs—the apartment you insisted upon seeing. Remember?”

He shrugged. They went through the other outbuildings and, convinced that Milo hadn't done any damage here, Sloan turned his attention to the house.

Entering through the back door, after passing through the spacious mudroom, they walked into the big kitchen. Shelly forced herself to be polite. After all, she told herself, Sloan was just making sure everything was OK—she'd figured that much out all by herself—and she should be grateful, not crabby and annoyed. Attempting to make amends, she crossed to the refrigerator, opened it, and asked, “Do you want something to drink? There's soft drinks and beer.”

“A beer'll be fine,” he answered, his gaze traveling around the pleasant kitchen. He might have detested Josh, but he had to admit the man had good taste, liking the cheerful colors and layout. Sipping from the cold bottle of beer Shelly had handed him, he continued his inspection of the house, feeling more and more like a voyeur as time went by. It was obvious that whatever reasons Scott had had for being here, it hadn't been to deface or destroy. Maybe Scott really had been looking for Acey? Sloan frowned. Didn't seem likely. Acey had no use for a man who didn't put in an honest day's work and Scott had never done an honest day of anything in his life.

Shelly found it unsettling to have Sloan roaming through the house. Watching him prowling through it like a tiger on the hunt made her feel vulnerable and resentful. Resentful because she hadn't flatly refused to let him do so and vulnerable simply because it was Sloan invading her privacy. He was low-key about it, so damned polite, for Sloan, that she wanted to smack him.

“Next floor?” he asked after he'd finished a cursory glance at the main floor. His original reasons for conducting the search had vanished. There was no sign that Scott had ever been inside the house, or if he had, he hadn't left a trace of it, but Sloan was loath to leave. He was, to his irritated amusement, enjoying her presence—even if her body language told him she wished him in Hades. He grinned. If he'd been a decent sort, he'd have apologized and left. Problem was, when it came to Shelly, there wasn't one damned decent bone in his entire body. Everything's fair in love or war, he thought. So which was it? Love or war? He couldn't wait to find out.

“Look,” Shelly said bluntly, “this has gone on long enough. Whatever you were searching for, it's apparent you're not finding it.”

Having him in the house was bad enough, but just the thought of Sloan sauntering around her bedroom made her breath catch and her knees go weak. Feeling as she did, being in the same room alone with Sloan and a bed was just plain dangerous. And foolish. And dammit! Oh so tempting.

“There's absolutely no reason for you to see any more of the house,” she said.

“What's up there?” he asked, waving a hand toward the staircase.

“There's nothing,” she said between gritted teeth. “Just bedrooms and bathrooms and on the third floor, my studio.”

“Ah, the place where the famous artist creates, huh? Don't want it contaminated by the prying eyes of the philistines.”

“Precisely!” Turning away, she added, “Now if you'll follow me, I'll show you out.”

“Afraid to show me?” he taunted softly.

She spun around, her hands fisted at her sides. He hadn't moved. He was still standing at the base of the stairs, challenge in his gaze. “Fear has nothing to do with it,” she snapped, aware that fear had everything to do with it. “There's just no reason for us to continue.”

He shook his head, his expression marveling. “Never thought I'd see the day. A Granger running from a Ballinger.”

She rose to the bait, just as he had known she would. “Fine! I'll show you the whole damned place.” Brushing past him, she started up the stairs. “You know, I really hate you sometimes,” she snarled. “And after this you're leaving. Do you hear me? You're gone. Outta here.”

Grinning, Sloan followed, his fascinated gaze on those lovely pumping buttocks only inches in front of him.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Shelly stopped in the wide hallway. She flung out a hand and, with an exaggerated bow, said, “Please, be my guest.”

Sloan smothered a chuckle and entered the first room he came to. It was huge, probably Josh's, he thought, glancing at the sable suede bedspread on the king-size bed and the comfortable, distinctly masculine furniture scattered about the room. Since he'd insisted upon seeing this floor, he made himself go through the motions, but he didn't expect to find anything. And he didn't.

By the time they reached her bedroom, Shelly was all nerves and apprehension. If he just gave her room the same sort of swift look he'd given everything else, she'd be fine. She could keep her composure, politely escort him from the house, then faint with relief that he, and all the temptation he offered, were finally gone. But if he lingered…if he dared to kiss her as he had at his cabin…She swallowed. He hadn't even touched her, but she wanted him to—and would have died before admitting it.

Sloan sensed the moment he entered the room that it was Shelly's. Looking back over his shoulder at her where she stood in the doorway, he asked, “Yours?”

She nodded, her mouth dry, her body tense. It might seem silly to hover uneasily in the doorway to her own bedroom, but she wasn't, she told herself, stepping one foot inside it until Sloan was safely out of the damned house.

He took his time wandering around the room, peeking into the closet and bathroom before he sat down on the side of her bed. “Nice room.”

The sight of him on her bed was thoroughly unnerving; images of the two of them making love popped instantly into her head. Hastily pushing the image aside, she said tightly, “If you've satisfied yourself, I suggest you leave. Now.”

“Honey, I haven't even begun to be satisfied,” he muttered. “And if you'll just bring that sexy little body of yours over here, we can see about changing that.”

Across the width of the room they stared at each other, the sudden, stark hunger in Sloan's eyes making her nipples swell and damp heat flood her lower body. “Don't!” she cried out in a tortured voice. “Don't start, Sloan. Get out.”

He hesitated, then, with a shrug, stood up and began to walk toward her. A lopsided grin on his face, he said, “You don't know what you're missing.”