The Spanked Wives Club (3 page)

“Not on air, anyway. Just a producer.” Her slim throat worked as she swallowed. “Look, Sheriff. I’m trying to… impress my boss. I need this — something. Can you help me? A harmless producer girl here, asking for a tiny favor?”

Now she
was
charming, though he wasn’t sure she meant to be. Perhaps pity was an alternate tactic taught in J-school? It didn’t matter though. It wasn’t going to work either.

“There’s a very particular… way of life followed up here.” Ford tucked his hands in his back pockets, hoping to convey an ease he didn’t feel. “The people who live in White Valley love it, and they’re protective of it. They’re not particularly keen on strangers rolling in and asking questions about things they’ll never understand.”

“Who says I can’t understand the way of life up here? Try me.”

“I’m not here to try anything, Ms. Moore.” Ford grasped the radio handset at his shoulder, clicking the mic, his gaze still on the pretty blonde. “I’m here to tell you it has to be some other day. Take it or leave it.”

“Take it, of course,” Falon murmured, a frown creasing her lips for a fleeting moment. Reaching into her bag once more, she pulled out a white card, one of the corners creased as if it had spent too long swimming around in the Purgatory at the bottom of her purse. “I’ll be in town for a few days — probably until Friday.”

Thank, Christ.

“I’ve already got your number, Ms. Moore,” he said, holding the card out to her.

“On the back. Room Fifteen, if you decide to change your mind.”

He turned it over. The Redwood. She wasn’t the only stranger in town, though she was by far the least welcome.

The Walk was happening on Saturday, and snooping reporter or not, there was no way he’d be able to convince the Council to cancel it this close to the event. If she was done and gone before then, it would be one less thing for him to worry about.

Even Ford would have a tough time explaining away what she’d be witness to if she stuck around long enough for The Walk.

He keyed his mic again, looking off to his left as he spoke into the handset at his shoulder. “Unit One, returning. Eastbound White Valley.” He met Falon’s blue-eyed gaze. “Nothing found up here, dispatch.”

Chapter Three

H
unter pulled his truck into the steep asphalt driveway at the side of the house. He’d been warned it was a bit of a drive up to Keenan Wingate’s place, but with a day as beautiful as this one, he didn’t mind. Gave him a chance to think about what in God’s name he was doing here.

Might’ve been a better idea to think about that before you showed up, don’t you think?

The house was a modern, low-slung structure, the deep green siding, dark windows and huge conifers that surrounded it lending an air of a place that meant to share space with the wild, while still providing all the comforts of home. It must have cost an arm and a leg to build this far up into the canyon, several miles from the main town, but for a man like Wingate — who was reputed to have more money than God — it obviously wasn’t an issue.

The front door, all wrought iron and glass, opened the moment Hunter set foot on the steps leading up to the expansive covered porch. The crisp, pleasant smell of cedar drifted on the wind, the coolness of the shade provided by the towering trees a welcome relief from the unrelenting afternoon sun.

Keenan stepped out onto the porch, mirrored lens sunglasses perched on a strong nose, a shock of black hair streaked with gray waving in the wind. The man was tall, lean, a faded red button down and well-worn blue jeans over scuffed boots making him appear more like a grizzled ranch hand than the uber-successful writer he really was.

“Hunter?” Keenan asked, leaning a shoulder against one of the carved wood posts that flanked either side of the stairway leading up to the porch.

“That’s me, Mr. Wingate.” He took the steps two at a time, the stairs creaking, taking Keenan’s offered hand as he reached the top.

“Mind if we stand out here for a few? I have, uh, a little something to take care of first. Actually, might be good for you to see anyway.” Keenan cracked a grin. “See how the natives
really
live.”

“No problem. Hard to see how the day could be any more perfect than this.”

“We’ll see if we can make it even better,” Keenan murmured. He adjusted his glasses, lifting his chin toward the access road Hunter had followed that led up to the house from the highway. “She should be along in a minute or two — if she knows what’s good for her anyway.”

Not sure how to read that, Hunter spun slowly, taking in the impressive view down into the lower part of the canyon, the west side of town just visible, nestled along the banks of the White River.

“We know how to pick a site for a town, don’t we?” Keenan said, pride plain in his deep voice.

“You were around when this was built?” Hunter looked at him. “You don’t seem nearly old enough, Mr. Wingate.”

Keenan chuckled. “Grandfather. One of the founders, actually. Couldn’t get my Dad to set foot in the place.” Keenan shrugged. “Philosophical reasons. But once I was old enough, Grandpa explained the, uh, way of things. And no matter how much Dad tried to change my mind, I knew exactly where I wanted to live. Someday anyway.”

Hunter spotted the car, just as Keenan muttered an “about time” under his breath. The silver BMW followed the twisting access road as it coursed up the hill, the switchbacks slowing its pace to almost a crawl in places.

“Must be a bitch in the winter,” Hunter said, needing to fill the silence with something other than the sound of the cedar-scented breeze.

“We don’t even bother with cars after November. Snowmobiles work just fine.”

Finally, the car pulled into the driveway, next to Hunter’s truck. A slim woman got out, holding two bags of groceries, her bright auburn hair striking in the sunlight. She turned pale eyes up toward them as she closed the door, her brow charmingly furrowed as the wind caught a lock of her hair, whipping it across her forehead.

Keenan placed a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “Remember that this is… how we do things. And it’s something we all sign up for. I know Von and Troy have explained to you. Just watch, and listen. We can go over any questions you might have later.”

“Of course,” Hunter said, not really knowing
what
he was agreeing to. His heart had already begun to gallop though, especially as he watched the woman traverse the steps, her tight red short-sleeved top only emphasizing the clear paleness of her skin, the tops of creamy breasts plainly visible in the plunging neckline of the shirt, her jeans so tight, he wondered how she was even able to walk in them. Her heels clacked on the boards as she stepped onto the porch. She looked from Keenan to Hunter.

“This is my wife, Amy,” Keenan said, clapping Hunter on the back. “He’s going to be in White Valley for a few weeks, girl. I asked Von to send him up for a visit.”

Amy’s plump red lips moved soundlessly for a moment, then she smiled, stooping gracefully to set down one of the bags and offering her hand. “Nice to meet you, Hunter.” Her gaze flicked to Keenan for an instant, then her pale blue eyes returned to Hunter. “I’ll be making dinner in a bit. Will you be able to stay?”

Hunter looked to Keenan, who grinned. “I assumed you would.”

“I’d… love to.”

Something isn’t right here, Hunt. Be careful.

“Good!” Keenan’s grin faded so fast, Hunter almost took a step back at the abruptness of the change in the man’s mood. Keenan reached out and tapped a finger on the top edge of the paper bag Amy still held in one arm. “Why don’t you go put those away, and head back to your room?”

Her clear, pale skin lost what little color it had, her eyes going wide. “N-now? What about…?”

Keenan regarded Hunter for a moment. “It’s up to him how much he wants to see.” His gaze fell upon Amy then, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “And it’s up to
you
to decide how red that bottom’s going to be when I get done with it.”

“Sorry…Sir,” Amy murmured as she bent down to scoop up the second bag of groceries. She gave Hunter one last quick glance as she passed by, a warm, shy smile curving her lips for a moment.

The door closed behind her, Hunter trying but failing not to notice the roundness of the woman’s plump backside, the tight jeans lifting and separating each generous cheek.

“You ready for this?” Keenan asked, pushing his glasses down his nose to look at Hunter over the rims, the man’s eyes as dark as his hair. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to peel out of here. A lot to take in, I know.”

Hunter took a deep breath, slipping his hands into his pockets. “What the hell, right? I’m just visiting.”

Keenan clasped Hunter’s shoulder again, turning him back toward the house. “They all tell themselves that — right before they decide to stay for good.”

Chapter Four

F
ord never ceased to chuckle at the over-the-top interior of the Council Building, the understated lighting, the stark, yet luxurious furnishings, even the coolness of the air. All of it lent an odd sort of atmosphere to the place, the structure both an institution and a dark corner of the world few got to see — or even knew existed.

What should have been a small town city council building was something else entirely. Something
more
.

He took in the many paintings, some of them quite risqué, that adorned the walls of the inner chamber where the five-person council normally met. Today, there were only two council members though — the other three away on vacation. As was customary, Ford, as Sheriff, would serve as a vote-casting member if present council members dropped below the minimum threshold of three required to carry a motion.

“How certain are you of her intentions, Sheriff?” Leigh Bransfield said, her fingers dancing upon the keyboard of her open laptop as she gazed at him over the screen, the ghostly glow rendering her attractive features into stark relief in the shadowed confines of the inner chamber. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had reporters sniffing around — and we all remember what happened the last time one decided to dig a little too deeply.”

Ford set his wide-brimmed tan hat on the table in front of him, combing back his hair with his fingers. It was time for a haircut — he was getting a little shaggy. “I think this one might not be a problem. I talked to her on Tuesday, and stalled for a little more time. I’ve asked her to come in tomorrow for an interview. I’m hoping I can convince her that there’s nothing here for her to see. She’s looking to make a splash with her bosses, and if she feels this is a dead-end, I don’t think she’s going to stick around long.”

“What about The Walk?” Leigh turned to her lone companion seated at the Council table, Von Ellison. As the newest member, Ford would normally not have as good a read on the man, but fortunately the very reason Von was on the Council was because of the urging of one man.

And that man happened to be Sheriff Ford Mathis.

Von drummed fingers on the varnished wood of the table, glancing from Leigh down to Ford where he sat at the visitor’s dock. Normally, he’d have taken a seat at the Council table too, but honestly, he wanted to be able to clearly see both members as he spoke to them, rather than have to crane his head over and keep looking at them at the other end of the long table. Easier this way to gauge reaction, see hints of their agendas — and to determine what would be required if his assessment of little Miss Falon Moore was off even a little.

He knew what might have to be done, though he was loathe to do it unless left with no choice.

“I’ve got Hunter in town, so I haven’t been able to ask around to see what she’s been up to,” Von said. “Very cute though.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Leigh said, rolling her eyes.

Von shrugged, pointing at Ford. “It wouldn’t be me who’d get to partake anyway — if it came to that. It would be our upstanding lawman who’d need to do the dirty work.” Von raised his voice slightly. “Isn’t that right, Ford?”

“Unfortunately. With luck, this is all academic and I can make sure her cute little butt is headed out of town well before Saturday.”

“But can you be sure of that?” Leigh sat forward, her keen eyes flashing. “Are you prepared to do what needs to be done?”

“It won’t come to that.”

“Are you
prepared
?” The steel that crept into Leigh’s normally cultured voice set his teeth on edge, but he nodded reluctantly.

“If needed, it’ll be handled,” he said.

“Good.” Leigh sat back in her plush leather seat, a sly smile creasing her lips. “Glad to hear it, Sheriff. The Walk will be a good one — and we’ll all have a better time of it without… interference.”

“Who do we have on the docket for Saturday then?” Von asked, his rumbling voice rich with anticipation. Ford already knew one person who would be making The Walk. Someone very close to Von Ellison.

Ford wondered if he’d be as sanguine — or gleeful — if his own wife was sentenced to such a thing. Perhaps if he ever actually landed a wife, he’d find out. Someday.