The Heiress and the Sheriff (8 page)

Even if he'd given her time to resist, she wouldn't have. For the past three days she'd hungered for him. For this. It was crazy! Crazy to want him this much.

Her bones turned to mush, forcing her to grab onto his shoulders. His hands cupped her bottom and jerked her hips against the hard bulge in his jeans. She moaned at the intimate contact and dug her fingers tighter into his shoulders. Lifting his head, Wyatt sucked in a harsh breath. “Get in the house and tell them you're leaving with me.”

Gabrielle didn't question his hoarsely whispered order. She was in no condition to resist him.

In the entryway she smoothed her hair, pressed her fingers against her puffy lips, then drew in a steadying breath before heading into the great room.

Ryan still had Lily cornered in a big armchair. Thankfully, they were too deep in conversation to notice her return. Matthew, Zane and Dallas were watching some sort of news report on television. She didn't see Hannah any
where, but Maggie was wandering around the room, collecting empty glasses. Gabrielle hurried to intercept her as she started toward the kitchen.

Bending her head down to Maggie's, she whispered next to her ear. “It was Wyatt at the door. He's taking me somewhere.”

Maggie glanced at her sharply. “Where?”

“I don't know.”

The other woman released a troubled sigh. “Be careful. That's all I can say. As a sheriff, Wyatt is wonderful. As a man, he's downright dangerous.”

No one understood that better than Gabrielle. “I know.”

She discreetly made her way out of the great room and back out to the front entrance of the house.

Wyatt stepped out of the shadows and caught her by the elbow. The simple touch of his fingers left her trembling, and she wondered wildly why and how things between them had escalated into this.

Without speaking, he guided her out of the front yard and through the iron gate that separated the sandstone wall surrounding the house. In the dark shadows she could see his truck gleaming in the patches of moonlight filtering through the cottonwoods.

When they reached the vehicle, his body pressed hers back against the door, and once again his lips ground down on her mouth. The sudden, unexplained onslaught of his desire was in itself like a dizzying ride. She clung to him and kissed him hungrily. She could do nothing else.

But a voice in the back of her mind kept droning on and on, asking what it all meant and why it was happening now. Telling her she had to stop it…stop him before it was too late and she had no chance to turn back.

“Wyatt,” she whispered as she gasped for breath—and sanity. “What are you doing?”

His fingers touched her cheek, and she felt a part of her heart melt like warm chocolate. “Isn't it obvious?”

“Yes. No.” She sighed and the erotic scent of his skin filled her head, fired the longing that was already burning through her body like a bright flame. “You left here furious three days ago.”

One corner of his lips twisted upward. “You've been counting?”

“No.”

“You can lie better than that.”

Her nostrils flared with anger even as her lips trembled to kiss him again. “You would say that,” she whispered. “If you think I'm so bad, why do you have me here…like this?”

“Maybe I like bad girls.” His head bent closer and his hard lips brushed temptingly against hers. “And you are bad, Gabrielle. You've put some kind of spell on me, and I'm not going to be able to rest until you do something about it.”

She swallowed as a shiver of anticipation slid down her spine. “Like what?”

His white teeth gleamed against his dark skin as a goading grin spread across his face. “What do you think?”

Her knees threatened to buckle as his fingers stabbed through the holes in her lace top and stroked the tender flesh of the tops of her breasts.

“I think you're starved for sex.”

He was starved for
her.
But he couldn't tell her that. To admit he wanted only her would put a whip in her hand. It would let her own a part of him he wouldn't let any woman see, much less possess.

“Then you don't know anything about me.”

No. She didn't. But despite that she had let herself want him. Need him. When it came to desiring a man, how did
a woman stop herself? she wondered. Moreover, she wasn't at all sure she wanted to stop.

“I don't believe anyone knows you, Wyatt Grayhawk.”

He didn't reply. Instead he tugged her away from the door and opened it.

“Get in,” he said. “I'll take you for a drive.”

“Where?”

“Does it matter?”

It didn't. And somewhere in her mind a flicker of memory or feeling said that before her amnesia she had never met a man who treated her the way Wyatt was doing. She was sure she'd had pride and independence. Yet she was just as certain that if she'd met him before, she would be reacting the same way she was now. Not because he was a Texas sheriff who could deal her some misery. But because each time he was near, every feminine particle inside her surged and boiled, and—God help her—softened with need.

“No,” she whispered.

Something like triumph flickered in his eyes and then quickly faded as he reached to help her into the high cab. Gabrielle didn't have a clue what was going on in his head. But for tonight, she wasn't going to try to figure out the man, she was simply going to enjoy him.

He started the engine and headed the truck away from the ranch. Gabrielle recognized the inside of the cab as being the same vehicle she'd ridden in when he'd carried her to and from the hospital. Tonight he must have had the two-way radio turned off. They rode in silence for a while.

Since he was dressed in a blue chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled back against his forearms and his badge nowhere in sight, she wondered if he was off-duty, and asked him as much.

The question gave a wry twist to his lips. “A sheriff is never off-duty.”

“You're not wearing your badge,” she pointed out.

“It's on me. You just can't see it.”

She turned her head away from him and gazed out at the moonlit landscape slipping past her window. This was a night to make love, she thought, outside in the moist heat, with the stars shining down like diamonds. She breathed deeply and tried to shake away the erotic images dancing behind her eyes.

“Have you ever had to use these rifles?” she asked, glancing at the rack of weapons behind their shoulders.

“On a few occasions. There've been hostage situations. A bank robbery that ended in a high-speed chase. But with the exception of drunks and domestic fights, it's mostly quiet around here.”

“Then you've never been wounded?”

His head turned toward her. The lights on the panel illuminated his mocking expression. “Why do you ask? Think I might have some scars you'd like to see?”

Heat burned her cheeks. “Actually, I was wondering if your job was dangerous.”

“Any time you pin on a badge, you're putting yourself in danger. But I've never been shot. Just stabbed a couple of times.”

She gasped. “Stabbed! With what?”

“A knife. A switchblade.”

The mere thought of someone driving a steel blade into Wyatt's flesh tore at her. “How did that happen?”

“I was a deputy then. Trying to break up a fight.”

“Where were you stabbed?”

“In the shoulder and thigh.”

He said it as though it were an everyday occurrence. But
then, perhaps being stabbed wasn't the worst thing Wyatt had been through in his life.

“What happened to the person who did it?”

“He's in prison now. Serving time for a different crime.”

Thank God, she thought with a shiver.

“Are you going to worry about me now?” he asked in a goading tone.

Yet she got the impression that underneath, he really wanted to know how she felt about his job. “I think I will. A little. But,” she went on as her eyes roamed his strong profile, “I also think you're a man who can take care of himself.”

He liked her answer. Liked it too much. “I always have, Gabrielle.”

W
yatt pulled into a wide circled drive and parked in front of a large, split-level brick house.

“What are we doing here?” she asked.

He killed the engine and looked at her. “This is my house.”

Not his home or where he lived. Just his house. “Very impressive,” she said as she peered out the windshield.

He opened the door and helped her to the ground. “It's nothing like the Double Crown ranch house.”

She held on to his hand as they started up a short sidewalk. “I doubt anything around here is comparable to the Double Crown ranch house,” she told him.

At the covered entrance, he unlocked a wide oak door and ushered her inside to a small foyer. While he shut and locked the door behind them, she stood to one side and waited, expecting him to switch on a light. When he reached for her instead, her heart flipped, then raced into a mad gallop.

“You've hexed me,” he said as his tongue slid provocatively down her jawline, then up to the corner of her lips.

“Right now I'm acting like one hell of a fool.”

“For wanting a woman?” she asked, her head tilting back as his lips began to explore the smooth skin at the base of her neck.

He more than wanted Gabrielle. She was like a fever, scalding and tormenting his insides. Ever since he'd kissed
her three nights ago, he'd realized he had to have her. Not just once, but over and over.

“For wanting you,” he answered her. “You don't know who you are or what you are. You might have been planning to take the Fortunes for millions. You could even have Matthew and Claudia's baby son hidden away somewhere. But I don't give a damn. Maybe I will tomorrow. But not right now.”

She'd come with him knowing how he felt about her. She should be ashamed for allowing him to accuse her of such heinous things while touching her as if he owned her. But, God help her, she couldn't resist him. All she had to do was look at him and it was like a potent drug had been injected into her veins.

Yet deep down she kept telling herself he couldn't touch her this way if he truly believed she was a criminal. He just couldn't.

She sighed, and his lips returned to hers. He kissed her fiercely, hungrily until her knees gave way and he lifted her into his arms. He carried her out of the foyer and across a large area into what sort of room, she didn't know. The house was dark and silent except for her own shallow breaths and the roaring thuds of her heartbeat in her ears.

Seconds later he eased her down on a soft leather couch and reached for the twist of hair at the back of her head. One by one, he removed the pins, and her hair tumbled thick and heavy onto her shoulders. He slid his fingers through the silky brown strands, then buried his face in the waves.

“You smell like a flower,” he murmured. “Sweet. So sweet.”

“Lilac,” she whispered.

Slowly, he loosened the buttons on her top and pushed it off her shoulders. Then, bending his head, his tongue
lapped the soft skin exposed by the low neckline. She shivered with longing, and he lifted his eyes to her face.

“Are you frightened of me, Gabrielle?”

He was a fierce man, but oddly enough she felt utterly safe and protected in his arms. “No.”

“You've never made love with a man before.”

“I only know what you've told me,” she said. But deep inside she knew she had never been touched the way Wyatt had touched her. She had never felt this way before. Nor would she ever again, unless Wyatt was the man making love to her.

Wyatt hadn't expected her innocence to mean anything to him. Women had come and gone in his life. He hadn't really cared when or how they had entered womanhood. But as he looked into Gabrielle's eyes, he could see she trusted him; she was willing to give herself to him when, more than likely, she had turned many others down. The idea pierced something deep in his chest, a hidden spot he didn't want to acknowledge.

Shoving the unexpected emotion away, he reached for the single button at the back of her neck. When it opened, she lifted her arms, and he tugged the dress over her head, then tossed it onto a nearby coffee table.

When he turned back to her, what he found was enough to make him groan out loud. She was clad in two little wisps of scarlet lace. The lingerie was hardly enough to cover her nipples or the tempting
V
between her thighs.

His eyes lit with sensual pleasure, and he traced his fingertips along the edge of the lace molded to the mounds of her breasts. “If Maggie bought you these things, then I feel sorry for Dallas. The poor man probably never gets any rest.”

Gabrielle thought she would be embarrassed to let him see her this way. Yet she felt nothing close to it. Her body
was giving him pleasure, and it thrilled her to know how much the sight of her delighted him.

“She wanted me to feel sexy.”

“Who the hell did she think was going to be seeing you?”

“Myself,” she answered, then the corners of her lips tilted slyly upward. “Or maybe you.”

He snorted. “No one thinks I'm this gullible,” he said; even as he pushed her back against the leather couch.

Gabrielle trembled as his hand left her breasts and slid across her bare midriff, then down to her belly button and lower still.

“If you think this is a mistake, maybe we'd better stop,” she whispered.

He lifted his head and there was a feral gleam in his eyes as they searched her shadowed face. “Stop? How the hell do you think I can stop now? This started the moment I first saw you. It has to end sometime. Somewhere.”

End.
What a strange word. He believed making love to her would end things between them. Whereas Gabrielle thought of their coupling as a beginning. But then, she had to remind herself Wyatt wouldn't be making love. Sex was all he wanted from her.

“I'm not like the other women you've known,” she whispered, biting down on her lip to stop its quivering.

To her surprise his features suddenly softened and his hands lifted to cradle her cheeks. “No. You're not like them,” he whispered. “You are far more potent. More dangerous. But I have to have you.”

His lips settled over hers, and she sighed inside and slipped her arms around his neck. It didn't matter that he only wanted her body. Where he was concerned she had no shame or pride, just hungry need.

Seconds later, his tongue stabbed between her teeth and
plunged into the warm intimacy of her mouth. She embraced the connection, welcomed the weight of his body as it settled over hers.

Minutes later—Gabrielle was so lost in him that she couldn't be sure how many—he was suddenly easing away from her, then standing beside the couch.

“Damn it all to hell!”

She raised up and pushed her tousled hair off her face.

“What is it?”

He jammed his hand down into the front pocket of his jeans and dragged out a small black box—a pager.

“I'm needed.” He moved to the end of the couch and switched on a lamp. At the same time he reached for the telephone sitting beside it.

“Where?” she asked, her voice still husky with desire.

“I don't know yet.”

He punched in a number, and Gabrielle sat up and reached for her dress. Before she could get it over her head, he said, “Something has happened out at the Double Crown. We've got to go.”

Fear shot through her. “What? Is someone hurt?”

“I don't know. Ryan told the dispatcher it was urgent.”

She stood and wriggled the dress down over her hips, then looked around for her top. The piece of crocheted lace was buried beneath a throw pillow. She reached for it.

“Put it on in the truck,” he told her, then grabbed her by the hand and quickly led her out of the house.

As he gunned the truck out of the drive, Gabrielle fastened the seat belt across her lap and tried to ignore the pangs of regret slashing through her. Making love to Wyatt would have been a mistake, she told herself fiercely. It was probably all for the best that this emergency had intervened. But the practical reasoning didn't ease the empty ache inside her.

Wyatt broke the speed limit on the way to the ranch, but Gabrielle managed to twist her hair back in place and button her top before they entered the house. As for her bare lips, she had no purse or makeup with her to repair the ravages of Wyatt's kisses.

But as the two of them quickly entered the great room, she could see her disheveled appearance would never be noticed. Everyone was trying to talk at once, and Ryan looked grim and pale. Lily clung to his arm as if she were afraid both of them might collapse if she let go.

When the group spotted Wyatt, the room went instantly quiet. They all rushed toward him. Gabrielle stood by Wyatt's side, wondering what more could have happened to send this family into such an uproar.

“What's happened?” Wyatt asked, directing the question at Ryan, flanked on both sides by Matthew, Dallas and Zane.

Matthew handed a plain white envelope to Wyatt. “This was found on the front steps a few minutes ago.”

“Who found it?”

“Maggie,” Dallas said. “She thought she heard a cat meowing out in the front yard. When she went to investigate, she found the envelope.”

Wyatt searched the front and the back before he opened the flap. “Where are those damn bodyguards? Aren't they supposed to be watching the house?”

“There was only one on duty tonight,” Ryan told him.

“And he was in the courtyard. He didn't see anything. He thought he heard a vehicle, but he figured it was one of the wranglers or the foreman coming to see me. He didn't look.”

“Useless,” Wyatt muttered. “You'd be better off with a dog.”

“I've already fired him,” Ryan assured him.

That might prevent the next person down the road from being hurt, Wyatt thought, but it wasn't going to help the Fortunes tonight.

Inside the envelope was a small square of paper with a short message and a Polaroid snapshot taped to the bottom. “Is this Bryan?” Wyatt asked as he read the ransom note.

“It's been a year, but I know that's Bryan. The picture has to be recent,” Matthew added hopefully. “That can only mean he's alive!”

At least the child appeared safe and healthy in the photo, Wyatt had to agree, but what had taken place since the picture had been snapped was anyone's guess. “I think we all have to believe Bryan is safe. Has the FBI been notified?”

Dallas spoke up. “Yes. Right after we paged you.”

Wyatt read the message once again. The kidnapper was asking for several million dollars to be dropped off at midnight, five days from tonight. The money was to be in a brown paper bag. The location was not far from the ranch, where two county roads intersected. At the crossing there was a row of mailboxes facing east, and the money was to be deposited in the last one, marked Box 51.

“It's been a year, you know,” Ryan said weakly. “A year today that my grandson was taken from us. I should have been expecting something bad to happen today.”

Matthew turned to his father. “Dad, we can't look on this as bad. If we deliver the ransom, this might finally be our chance to get Bryan back!”

“I agree,” Dallas put in. “At least this is some sort of contact from the kidnapper.”

Ryan sighed and passed a hand over his forehead. “Yes. Yes, I know you're both right,” he told his sons. “It's just that I feel so damn helpless.” He looked to Wyatt for guid
ance. “What do you think, Wyatt? Should I start making arrangements for the cash?”

Wyatt let out a long breath. One minute he'd had Gabrielle in his arms and had been on his way to heaven. Now he was faced with a ransom note and a desperate family.

He glanced at Gabrielle. Her face was pale and pinched, her eyes full of dark shadows. She hadn't spoken one word since they'd returned to the ranch, and he wondered what was going through her mind. Was she thinking of what had almost happened between them? Or did she know something about this ransom note? God, he wished he knew.

Turning his attention back to Ryan, he said, “Let's take one thing at a time, Ryan. First of all, I'll need to see how the FBI wants to handle this. I expect they might advise you not to pay the ransom.”

“By God, I don't give a damn about the money!” Ryan exploded. “I want my grandson, my flesh-and-blood, back in this house where he belongs!”

Seeing how distraught Ryan was becoming, Lily patted his arm. “Darling, Wyatt understands that. He's simply saying the FBI will probably be against the idea.”

Zane nodded in agreement. “I remember them saying that once a ransom is picked up, there's no insurance the kidnapped victim will be turned over unharmed.”

Gabrielle felt chilled at the very idea of anyone hurting a baby. But she also realized anything could happen.

“Wyatt, are there any clues in the picture?” Gabrielle asked.

Wyatt carried the message into the kitchen where a bright light hung over a small breakfast area. Everyone followed and gathered around as he placed the photo in the middle of the table.

“There's a newspaper next to the baby. But I can't read
the date,” Wyatt said. “Is there a magnifying glass around here?”

“Mother has one in her mending basket. She keeps it in the kitchen,” Maggie said quickly. “I'll get it.”

Wyatt peered closer at the picture. The baby was sitting on a cheap couch that was ragged in places. Wedged under the edge appeared to be part of a woman's high heel shoe. The carpet—what little could be seen of it—was a garish red shag.

“The paneling and the carpet remind me of the sort you see in a trailer house.” Wyatt spoke his thoughts out loud.

“From the looks of that high heel, do you think the kidnapper is a woman?” Matthew asked.

“The shoe could have been put there purposely to make it appear that way. Or the kidnapper could be so stupid, he or she didn't even notice the shoe. But the paper was obviously put there to show the date.”