The Texan's Tennessee Romance (3 page)

When he finished replacing the fan, he was going to hang the new mirror in the bathroom. He planned to accomplish both those tasks before he left today.

Listening to the unnerving noises coming from the back of the cabin, Natalie wondered if Kyle was investing too much confidence in his wife’s cousin.

She had offered to help, but Casey had politely declined. She suspected that he hadn’t wanted her watching him. At least he’d had the foresight to turn off the electricity to the back part of the cabin, so he was working in the sunlight streaming through the big bedroom window.

She’d just happened to observe, of course, that he looked very good standing in that sunlight, which brought out the gold strands in his blondish-brown hair.

Frowning, she turned her attention back to the monitor in front of her. It showed how frustrating this research was that she was so easily distracted by the sight of a young stud in a tool belt. Hadn’t she learned her lesson when Thad had been so eager to distance himself from her after the humiliating debacle at her law firm? Great-looking young guys were always on the prowl, hunting for a good time, but quick to disappear whenever any sign of trouble cropped up.

So maybe she’d noticed Casey looking at her when he thought she wouldn’t see, and maybe she was aware of a muted sizzle between them. Maybe she would have been intrigued by the possibility of a careful holiday flirtation if it hadn’t been for the cloud hanging over her head. As it was, she had neither the time nor the energy to give in to impulse now. Or at least she tried to convince herself of that, even as she savored another mental image of the way Casey looked in his soft work shirt and weathered jeans.

Maybe she had a
little
extra time…

A particularly loud thump from the back room made her start. After a momentary internal debate, she rose and moved that way, half expecting to find pieces of ceiling scattered across the floor of the bedroom.

Casey glanced around when she stopped in the doorway. The old ceiling fan sat on the floor at his feet, entirely in one piece as far as she could tell. Wires dangled from the fixture in the ceiling, but it seemed that everything was under control.

“Sorry,” he said. “I set it down a bit more heavily than I intended. I hope I didn’t distract you from anything important.”

Oh, he distracted her, all right. She just didn’t think it was a good idea to let him know that. “No, I was just checking to see if you need any assistance. Maybe I could help you hold the new fan while you install it?”

“Actually, Kyle showed me how to balance it while I connect everything. It’s just a small, fairly lightweight fan. But thanks for the offer.”

She nodded. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me for anything.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Back at the kitchen table, she stared again at the long list of names on her computer monitor. During the past thirty-six hours, she had shortened the list of suspects. By two names. Both of whom were dead. And she’d gotten to the point that she wasn’t even entirely sure of
their
innocence. She hoped Beecham would call her today. If not, she was going to try to reach him and ask if he’d made any further progress with his investigation. She was certainly making no headway with her own.

Disgusted with herself, with the entire situation, she pushed the computer away with a low growl. A beeping sound made her pull it back again.

I’m here, Natalie typed back. What’s up?

“Hi, Nat.”

“Don’t write anything down,” Natalie repeated firmly. “Especially on your computer. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I think I have some reason to be concerned.”

“I know you do,” Amber Keller, Natalie’s former assistant, sympathized. “I didn’t think about IMs leaving a paper trail.”

“They do. As I said, I’m probably being overly cautious, but still…what have you learned?”

“Not a lot,” her friend and former subordinate confessed. “Just one sort of interesting tidbit.”

“Which is?” Natalie prodded, even as a series of thumps sounded from the bedroom, making it hard to concentrate.

“Hang on a sec.” She stood and moved toward the kitchen doorway, thinking she would hear better if she went outside to the big wooden deck attached to the back of the vacation cabin. Closing the door behind her, she let a brisk, late-autumn breeze toss her hair as she sank into a green-painted Adirondack chair. “Okay. Now. What interesting tidbit?”

“Cathy Linski just bought a new car. A pretty fancy one. Convertible.”

Frowning, Natalie asked, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. What does that have to do with me?”

“Well, a month ago, Cathy was whining about not having any money and being on the brink of bankruptcy. Now all of a sudden she’s spending money like crazy. When someone asked her what’s going on, she just laughed and said she came into a windfall and she’s going to enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Oh. That
is
interesting,” Natalie murmured, following Amber’s line of thought. She wondered if Beecham knew about this development.

“Yeah. It’s not much to report—might have nothing at all to do with your situation—but I thought you’d want to know.”

“That’s all you have?”

“I’m afraid so. Everyone’s been pretty closemouthed around here for the past couple of weeks. Nobody mentions you at all.”

Natalie bit her lower lip, then released it with a slight sigh. “Okay. Thanks, Amber. Let me know if you hear anything else, okay?”

“You got it. I’d better get back to work. Steve’s not nearly as tolerant as you were about personal time during the workday.”

“Don’t risk your job because of me. You can always call me when you get home. It’s not like I’m doing anything else in the evenings.”

“You want my advice? Try to have a little fun while you’re there in the mountains. You’ve been working too hard for a couple of years. This is your first time off work in, like, forever. Surely there’s some interesting guy there who can help you work off some frustration, if you know what I mean.”

Natalie didn’t have to ask for clarification. Amber thought there were few problems that couldn’t be alleviated by a night of partying. A hard worker during the week, she was an equally zealous fun-seeker during the weekends. She’d nagged Natalie for months to join her at some of the wilder Nashville clubs on a Friday or Saturday night, promising a “hot time” that would make all the tension knots in her neck and shoulders mysteriously disappear. Amber couldn’t understand why Natalie had been at all hesitant to accept.

At the time, Natalie had been worried about damaging her image as a serious, hardworking, ambitious attorney. Little had she known then that her reputation would soon take a much harder hit than if she’d merely been seen partying in a few clubs.

As for “some interesting guy”…she glanced toward the back door of the cabin, thinking of Casey, and knowing exactly how Amber would react if she could see him. She’d be all over the sexy maintenance man like “white on rice,” as Aunt Jewel would say, and she’d think Natalie was crazy for not at least trying to flirt with the guy. But then, Amber wasn’t in the process of fighting for her professional life, either.

“You’d better get back to work,” she said, deciding not to address her friend’s advice. “Thanks for calling.”

“You bet. We’re going to figure out who set you up this way, Nat,” Amber said loyally. “And when we do, everybody’s going to know about it. I’ll make sure of that.”

As she disconnected the call, Natalie wished there was some way she could let Amber know how much that support meant to her. So many of the people she had considered friends had dropped her like a hot potato after she was summarily fired from her position with the firm. They had been all too willing to believe she’d let greed trump ethics and had engaged in behavior that they should have realized was utterly foreign to her.

Unable to appreciate the nice weather or the beautiful scenery surrounding her, she closed her cell phone. Her lips felt dry and she realized she was thirsty. She’d stocked the fridge with her favorite bottled water. Rising, she moved toward the door, wondering idly if Casey had finished installing the fan yet.

He was standing at the sink when she entered the kitchen. Though his back was turned to her, he seemed to be fumbling with the roll of paper towels on the counter.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked.

He started and turned toward her, his left hand cupped in front of him. Something about the way he held it made her study him more closely. Only then did she notice the blood that dripped from his palm.

Sighing lightly, she moved toward him. “What have you done now? Let me see.”

“It’s just a scratch,” he assured her, closing his fist before she could see the wound. “I’ll wash it off and wrap a paper towel around it until it scabs over and it’ll be fine.”

“You don’t get that much blood from ‘just a scratch,’” she argued, reaching for his wrist. “I think you should let me look at it.”

“What are you, a doctor?” he asked, reluctantly opening his fingers.

“No, but I played one on TV,” she answered absently, wincing as she looked at the ragged gash across his palm.

“Kidding,” she added with a glance up at his face. “I’m not an actor. Casey, this is more than a scratch. How did you do it?”

Amused by her automatic quip—so he wasn’t the only pop-culture fan in the room—he shrugged, having no intention of telling her exactly how he’d sliced himself. “Just carelessness. I really don’t think it’s all that bad.”

She studied his palm again and the sight of her bent over his hand, peering so closely he could feel her warm breath on his skin, made an odd feeling go down his spine. At least, he assumed it was her closeness and not blood loss causing that sensation. He was a healthy, red-blooded—hah—young man, after all.

She glanced up at him again. “You’re dripping blood all over my floor and you find it funny?” she asked a bit too politely.

He stifled his inappropriate grin, suspecting she wouldn’t share his humor in the situation. “Sorry. I’ll clean up the mess, of course.”

“First, we’re going to have to stop the bleeding.” She tugged him toward the table. “Sit down. There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom.”

“I don’t—”

She gave him a look that reminded him oddly of his mother’s famous don’t-argue-with-me expression. His libido effectively quashed, he sank into a chair.

She returned a few minutes later carrying a small, white plastic box which she set on the table and opened purposefully. He grimaced when he saw that the first item she removed was an alcohol pad. That was going to sting.

“When’s the last time you had a tetanus shot?” she asked, ripping open the packet containing the pad.

“Last year. I cut myself on some rusty barbed wire at my cousin’s ranch. Thought it was a good idea to have a tetanus shot after that.”

She dabbed the cut with the pad and he had to make an effort not to grunt. He’d anticipated correctly. It stung.

“Are you always so accident-prone?”

He frowned. “Not really.”

“Mmm.” She didn’t sound as if she entirely believed him.

He supposed he couldn’t blame her, really. He’d sprayed her with water fixing a pipe and sliced open his hand installing a fan. She’d probably expect him to break a leg or something if he had to climb a ladder.

“I don’t think you need stitches,” she said, studying the now-clean wound, which was still oozing blood, though the bleeding had slowed.

“Definitely don’t need stitches.”

She pulled out a tube of ointment and an adhesive bandage. “At least let me cover it so it will stay clean.”

He nodded, figuring that was a good idea.

Kneeling in front of him, she cradled his hand in hers as she carefully smoothed the ointment over his injury. She was wearing a thin, long-sleeved green sweater with a scoop neck. He realized that from this angle, he could see the creamy upper curves of her breasts. Any resemblance he’d seen in her to his mother disappeared. He lifted his gaze quickly to the window across the room before he embarrassed himself by visibly reacting to her crouching so close to him, looking like—well, like that, he thought with a fleeting glance back at her.

She looked up and met his eyes. “Am I hurting you?”

“No.” Aware that he’d spoken rather curtly, he looked out the window again. “Almost done?”

“Yes. Just let me—” She spread the bandage across his palm, centered the gauze part over the wound, then pressed down on the adhesive edges to secure it. “There. How does that feel?”

At that moment he didn’t feel a thing in his hand, though he was aware of plenty of sensations in other parts of him. Maybe the blood loss
had
affected him, he thought grimly, though he knew full well he hadn’t been injured badly enough for that to be an issue. “It feels fine. Thanks. I’d better wipe up in here and then get back to work. I still have to hang that mirror in the bathroom.”

“Are you sure you can work with that sore hand?”

“Oh, sure.” He flexed his fingers a few times in demonstration, managing not to wince with the movement. “It’s fine.”

“Did you finish installing the fan?”

“Yeah.” He had been cleaning up in there when he’d sliced himself with a box cutter while breaking down the fan’s cardboard box. Maybe he’d been a little distracted by the sight of a lacy nightgown peeking out of the top of a drawer. He had no intention of telling her either how—or why—he’d sustained the injury. “I’ll take care of this mess, and then I’ll hang the mirror and get out of your way.”

But she had already grabbed a paper towel and was scrubbing at the drops of blood on the countertop. “I’ve got this. You finish your work.”

It was obvious that she wasn’t one to be deterred once she’d made up her mind. Maybe she just wanted him to finish up and clear out quickly. Because it wasn’t worth an argument, he merely nodded. “All right. Thanks.”

She nodded in return, busily cleaning up the evidence of his latest act of clumsiness.

Shaking his head in self-reproof, he went back to her bedroom, suddenly wanting to be out of that cabin before his ego took an even harder hit. He seemed to feel that way every time he left Natalie, he thought with a rueful grimace.