Lone Star Bachelor

Her refusal was a bad sign that he was causing her to react like a woman instead of an investigator. That simply would not do.

“On second thought, I might as well conserve fuel and ride with you.” Nice save, Jade. And Dale would appreciate her sacrifice.

Sawyer spun back, boots grinding the gravel. He still didn’t look happy, but Jade was certain she saw a triumphant gleam in his disturbingly attractive eyes.

Saying nothing, she grabbed her mini backpack containing camera, notebook, phone and wallet, and followed him to his truck. He opened the door, took her backpack and tossed it into the back of the double cab, and was about to help her up into the high passenger seat. She stared at his outstretched hand.

“I can do it.”

His hand didn’t budge.

She flashed a quick glance at his face. Mistake. Though he neither smiled nor spoke, he stood watching her, serene and easy, as if he helped women into his truck all the time. Which he probably did.

Ignoring him, if such a thing was possible, as well as his offered hand Jade grabbed the side of the door and started to boost herself up. She was woefully short.

Strong, masculine fingers steadied her elbow with exactly the right amount of pressure. Gentle. Steady. Dependable.

Pulse clattering, which annoyed her no end, Jade managed a terse “Thank you.”

“No problem. It’s the Buchanon way.”

Whatever that meant.

These high cabs were a pain, but she was perfectly capable of helping herself. However, being treated with courtesy and respect was not a bad thing. She wanted that. Courtesy. Respect. But not the warm fuzzies Sawyer seemed to generate in her nerve endings.

As she settled into the oversize vehicle, Sawyer slammed the door, jogged around the front and hopped inside.

“Nice truck.” Might as well start with his vehicle, always a good way to get a man talking about himself.

“I like it.” He started the engine. A diesel rumble bubbled around them. “You want music?”

“I’m good. Whatever you usually do. Don’t let me get in the way.” Let me observe you in your natural habitat, like a lion or a grizzly.

He flipped on the radio, and contemporary Christian music came through the speakers. He turned the volume to low. “You can change channels if you want.”

She said nothing, but made a point to notice everything about the vehicle, jotting notes in her spiral book. The interior smelled like him—woodsy and male—and except for a pair of brown leather work gloves in the seat between them it was devoid of clutter. Unusual for a work vehicle.

She craned her head toward the truck bed. “Where are your tools?”

He kept his eyes on the road. “We pull a trailer onto the job site.”

Somewhere between his house and now he’d lost his jaunty attitude and gift of gab. He was none too happy with her, and she was fine with that. He was, however, surprisingly polite about it.

They rode along in silence for a couple more minutes, through pleasant neighborhoods and into the heart of Gabriel’s Crossing. The pretty little Texas town had been built near the Red River and, judging by the attention to curb appeal, probably belonged to one of those Main Street America organizations.

Large pots of geraniums and pansies decorated each corner with splashes of color, and brightly painted storefronts were well tended to show off everything from the latest boots and jeans to lawn mowers and lava lamps. A very good artist had painted a pioneer mural down the outside walls depicting a ferry crossing the river while men on horseback and families in wagons waited their turns.

“I don’t know what good this will do.”

She turned her attention toward him. Even though he stared straight ahead at the street, Jade’s stomach did that ridiculously annoying flutter thing. “Excuse me?”

“Visiting the damaged houses.” He flicked a glance her way and then looked back at the road. Long, strong fingers lightly sprinkled with dark hair curled around the steering wheel at eight and two. Manly hands devoid of jewelry. A carpenter’s hands. “All of them are repaired now and Abby’s home is rebuilt. She and Brady put it up for sale.”

Since their earlier meeting he’d shaved, a shame from a purely aesthetic perspective, but his smooth profile remained square-jawed perfection. A man ought not to look that good.

She swallowed and watched the passing town instead of Sawyer Buchanon, though her thoughts remained on him. Purely for professional reasons. He was her job.

“It’s a new home. Why don’t they live there?” she asked.

“Brady already had his own place out in the country when he and Abby realized they couldn’t live without each other. They’ll live in his house when they get back from Italy.” He flipped on the signal light and slowed to turn. “You should see that place. It’s spectacular. All kinds of golden wood and native rock. The house is huge, but then, so’s my brother.”

“I’ve heard that. He played football at Tech. Linebacker.” She wasn’t that much of a football fan but no one lived in Texas without being aware of the game.

Sawyer’s gaze swung toward her, flashing lightning. He spoke easily but with a bite. “I’ve no doubt you know where all of us went to college, with info right down to our GPAs.”

As a matter of fact, she did. She did not, however, think he would appreciate that information and since she wanted him to talk, she skipped right on past the comment.

“The police ruled out one suspect, Jake Hamilton. He’s now your brother-in-law.”

“Yeah. Pointing fingers at Jake was a mistake. He’s all right. He treats my sister like a princess, and that’s good enough for me.”

“Then why did you suspect him as the vandal?”

He glanced over, eyebrow jacked. “Don’t you already know this information?”

She flipped a page in her notebook. “I want to hear the story from your perspective.”

With a button push, he silenced the radio. “Okay, then. In a nutshell. A hunting accident. Jake and Quinn were stupid kids, Quinn in college making a big splash as a pro-bound quarterback.”

She knew all that, too, but let him talk. Everybody in Texas and most of America knew about the superstar football player. He’d been in the news, ESPN, Sports Illustrated and attended charity benefits constantly until the accident.

“He was up for the Heisman Trophy his freshman year.”

“Sophomore, too. Quinn was the man with the golden arm and the big future until he and Jake decided beer and guns were a good mix. Mistaking him for a deer, Jake accidently shot Quinn.”

Jade watched his profile, saw the tightening of his mouth and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. He still ached for his brother.

“Destroying his golden arm.”

“Right. Quinn’s had years of surgeries, rehab, physical therapy. He’ll never be the same, but he’s doing okay.”

“I can see where that would generate some animosity, but why blame Jake for the vandalism?”

“My brothers weren’t exactly excited when Jake and Allison reconnected and fell in love. I think maybe Quinn and Brady were looking for a reason to blame Jake.”

“Payback?”

“I suppose, but payback’s not usually the Buchanon way.” He lifted a finger and motioned toward a housing complex. “There’s the Huckleberry Addition up ahead.”

“Most of the vandalism has occurred here?”

“All except the time at Abby’s house.”

“Hmm.” She scribbled in her book. “Her place was an anomaly, which may indicate a personal connection in that instance.”

“Yes. Maybe. But if that’s true, why are all the other crimes here in the Huckleberry Addition? We have other projects going on all the time. And why isn’t Brady the focus of your investigation, considering the property was his makeover and the owner was his fiancée?” He pulled alongside a curb and stopped the truck.

“Fair question. My focus is on all areas, not you only.” Definitely not. Not with the way her blood pressure spiked every time he beamed those electric eyes in her direction.

“Brady will get his share of attention when he returns from that honeymoon.” She slid the backpack over her shoulder. “Unless I’ve already solved the case.”

“I hope you can.”

So did she. “Can we talk a minute before I see the homes?”

He paused, one hand on the door lever. “What about?”

“You.”

His head dropped back and he groaned. “Dad won’t be satisfied until you do, so go ahead. I have all day.”

“Does that bother you?”

He hiked an eyebrow. “Does what bother me?”

“Spending the day with me.”

Sawyer studied her for several uncomfortable seconds, his expression serious. She expected some flirtatious remark, a come-on.

Instead, he said, “The jury is still out on that.”

“Fair enough.” She was disappointed and the reaction ruffled her. Why should she care one way or the other whether he enjoyed her company? He was a client, not a friend. “I’ll need a list of all your friends, particularly women you’ve dated recently, along with their contact information.”

“That’s a bit invasive, isn’t it?”

“Part of the investigation. Jilted girlfriends can sometimes harbor anger for a long time. You know the old adage. There is no fury like a woman scorned.”

“Scorned?” He frowned and his eyebrows dipped as if she’d insulted him. “I’m not that kind of guy.”

She’d be the judge of that. “Are you seeing anyone now?”

“Not anyone special, if that’s what you mean. Are you?”

His tone was relaxed and conversational but Jade stiffened anyway. Her traitorous pulse jumped higher than a kangaroo on a trampoline.

With self-protecting snarkiness, she crossed her arms tightly and glared. “I’m asking the questions, if you don’t mind. Who have you dated in the last month?”

Sawyer shifted in his bucket seat, bounced a fist against the steering wheel and, with a sigh, reluctantly mentioned two names.

He had to be lying. While assuring herself her interest was purely professional, she pressed. “That’s all? Two?”

He gave her a puzzled look. “Clare and I are work pals, though, nothing serious there. We work together sometimes, so occasionally we grab dinner or watch a ball game. She’s fun. Knows how to laugh and have a good time.”

Was there something pointed in his remark? Did he think she was as dull as used dishwater?

With a sniff and an internal reminder that he was one of the subjects in this investigation, she tapped the other name on the too-short list.

“And Lacy?”

“Great girl. She golfs on the course near my house. We’ve played a few rounds. Gone out a few times.”

The tension returned to her shoulders. “Are you still seeing her?”

“Not lately. Both of us have been too busy.” He folded his arms over the steering wheel. “Is this really necessary? The women I know are good people. And I’m not all that. They aren’t breaking into houses over me.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

He made a derisive hiss, like a tire going flat.

She asked a few more questions but Sawyer refused to say much about the women he dated beyond their names, even when she pushed back into his college days. He was popular. She knew that from his social media, but he didn’t brag. If he’d had conquests or left a trail of angry broken hearts, he wasn’t going to tell her. Jade found that both admirable and frustrating.

“I’m sure I’ll have more questions later.” She closed her notebook with a businesslike snap. “But for now, let’s have a look at those houses.”

“The interrogation is over. Big yea.”

She hitched an eyebrow at him. “For now.”

He exhaled a gusty breath, tilted his head back and looked toward the sky. “Great.”

With a pinch of satisfaction at ruffling him, Jade pushed open the heavy door.

Sawyer came around to her side of the pickup but she’d already slid to the pavement, hitting with a jarring thud.

He noticed the abrupt landing but didn’t say anything.

Her pride was getting the best of her. She should have waited for him. It was a long way down in these high-rise pickup trucks. Especially for a small person.

She straightened her blazer and her shoulders, but even with her best posture she struck Sawyer only about halfway up on his blue T-shirt. Right in that muscular bow of pecs and biceps.

“This was the first house hit,” he said, “about a year and a half ago.”

Jerking her attention to the house, Jade lifted her camera and snapped photos. The home he indicated, now occupied, was a beautiful modern brick with a double garage and bright red front door.

The other homes around the neighborhood were similar in style but unique enough to avoid the cookie-cutter look of some housing developments. Different colors or shutters, a few different designs. And the landscaping was the perfect blend of trees, small shrubs and smooth grass.

“The police report said the damage at this address was all cosmetic.” She snapped more photos.

“Mostly paint and graffiti.”

“Damage escalated with each attack. That has to be significant.”

“I never gave it much thought, but I guess it did.”

“One of the first things I looked at when I received the police reports.” She’d laid them out end to end and created a spreadsheet, chronicling every bit of reported damage. “I graphed the escalation.”

He flashed that smile. “Brainy woman. I like it.”

She was, and she was also smart enough not to be led astray by a handsome face, blue eyes and a compliment. Even if he affected her blood pressure and didn’t kiss and tell.

“Which other houses in this neighborhood were hit?”

“Come on. If you’re up for a walk, I’ll show you around.”

“Of course.” As a former cop, she stayed in top shape. A walk, even in the Texas heat, would not deter her.

Leaving the truck parked along the curb, they walked the area, four square blocks of beautiful Buchanon Built homes. Signs heralding their construction company stabbed the ground in front of several yet to be sold.

Sawyer’s long legs outpaced her but when he realized she trailed him by several yards, he slowed, adjusting his speed to hers. In his relaxed manner, he chatted about the area, pointing out the attractive features like a real estate salesman.

He was easy in his skin, a confident man.

Across the street, a home owner with a toddler in tow exited one house and waved. Jade’s thoughts zoomed to the young mother at the motel. She wasn’t in Gabriel’s Crossing to babysit teenage mothers but it wouldn’t hurt to check on the pair after work, to make sure Bailey and Ashton had something to eat.

Sawyer lifted a hand and greeted the home owner by name.

“How are you doing, Maggie? Enjoying your new home?”

“Loving it. You guys do great work.” She lifted the toddler into a car seat.

“Thanks. I’ll pass along the compliment.”

The woman waved again as she drove away.

Friendly. Attractive to women. Was Sawyer truly a nice guy? Or was his smile and friendliness a facade to get what he wanted? Like Cam’s?

Troubled at the line of thought and the way she couldn’t stop noticing Sawyer as a man, Jade forced her attention back to the houses. Do the job. Do it right. Focus on the investigation.

She asked questions, took photos, made notes and considered the location of this particular housing complex. They’d built on the edge of a rural area but close enough to town for convenience, a perfect location for those wanting expansive lawns and a little privacy without all those board fences. The kind of neighborhood where kids could safely play outside, roller-skate and ride bikes.

She’d love to live in a family-friendly place like this.

“Why this housing addition? Was there a problem with any of the nearby landowners? Did someone object to the city pushing out this far into the countryside?”

“Dad wrangled with the owner for a while over the price but in the end both parties approved of the agreement.”

“Maybe. I’ll need the previous owner’s name and contact info.”

“I think Leroy’s already checked that out.”

“Leroy?” She jacked a doubtful eyebrow. “The local police officer?”

Sawyer’s easygoing nature disappeared. He bristled, eyes narrowed. “Leroy’s a good cop and a great friend. He’s done his best on this.”

Here was another new side to Mr. Charm. Loyalty, willing to stand up for a friend.

“I didn’t mean that as an insult. Leroy does a good job, but he’s short-staffed, and a growing town stretches him to the limit. He could have missed something.”

She raised the camera and snapped. A line of woods and a small creek flowed to the south of the houses. “This location is beautiful. I see the appeal. Do kids play in that creek?”

“Sure. It’s very shallow. Perfect for tadpole fishing.” He paused. “Ever been?”

She glanced at the sky, a pretty blue dabbled with cotton-ball clouds and with an egg-yolk sun perched halfway between morning and noon.

She wouldn’t play his game. They were not friends having a chitchat.

“The only thing I’m fishing for is clues.”

“You don’t like to fish? To cast a lure in the water and get mocked by big, fat bass that swim around your line and laugh?” He made a casting motion and began to reel. With his left hand, she noticed. “And maybe, just maybe, if you hold your mouth right, you catch one off guard and—” He yanked back on his imaginary rod, pretending to battle a fighting fish. Suddenly his shoulders dipped and he relaxed. “Rats. Lost him.”

She bit back a laugh.

Sawyer Buchanon was fun. No wonder women loved him. Caution would be her friend around this man.

“I haven’t been fishing in years,” she said. “Not since my brothers and I used to go to the lake on weekends. We’d rent a boat at the marina and play all day.” Just the three of them, away from the stress of home. She smiled a little at the memory.

“Good memories, huh?” Sawyer’s focus was on her face, interested. And she liked the feeling. “Do you water-ski?”

“I haven’t in a long time. Do you?”

He tapped his chest. “King of the waves. Until Brady decides to make a sharp U-turn and dump me in the brink.”

“That’s mean.”

“No, that’s fun. The trick is to pay close attention so he can’t lose me and, of course, to maneuver with my mad skills and precision—” He laughed to lessen the brag. “Challenge is the Buchanon way.”

“I see what you mean. It sounds like fun.” And she’d not allowed herself much fun in a long time. Oh, she went out with friends, had dinner and saw movies, but the outdoors had been her love as a kid. “You and your family spend a lot of time together? All of you?”

“Lots of time. We’re our favorite people.” His gaze slid over her. “I imagine you were good. At water-skiing, I mean.”

“As a matter of fact, I was. Light and quick.” She twitched an eyebrow and crossed her arms in a teasing challenge. “I think I could handle Brady’s devious moves.”

“I think you could, too.” He grinned, his eyes all happy dancing. “Next time Brady takes the boat out, you should come with us. Two masters competing with the boat-rocking Brady.”

The invitation was like ice water. What was she doing? Flirting with a client? With the kind of man she couldn’t afford to like? And during an investigation, of all the inappropriate times.

She dropped her friendly stance and stiffened. “I think we should concentrate on the investigation. Which of these homes is next on our list?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but a tiny pucker appeared between his onyx eyebrows. After a long, thoughtful pause, he pointed to a pretty cream-colored brick. “That one.”

They walked toward the house in silence. She was annoyed with herself. She was here to pry into his life, not let him pry into hers. At least she’d learned some useful information during the conversation. Nothing earth shattering but his family was close, he adored his brothers and he liked to fish and ski. He was an outdoors person. Like her.

She shut that line of thinking off so fast, she got a headache. Knowing more about him was a means to an end and part of her job. Nothing personal. Nothing personal at all.

Chapter Four

Much later, when they’d made the rounds of the Huckleberry Addition, Sawyer drove them back toward town. The private investigator intrigued him. One minute, when they’d discussed fishing and he’d done his best to be his usual enchanting self, she’d actually smiled. A second later, she’d bristled like a feral tomcat.

She didn’t want to like him. He’d figured out that much, but he didn’t know why. He wasn’t the bad guy here.

He opened the pickup door for her and helped her up into the high cab. She didn’t like that either, but his mama had raised him with manners, especially around ladies. Most women ate it up like a hot fudge sundae. Jade looked as if she wanted to throat punch him.

As he drove, he answered questions all the way. She was the most inquisitive woman he’d ever encountered. But every time he’d tried to ask about her, she’d shut him down.

The sun had moved to high overhead and his belly reminded him of the long gone popcorn and doughnut. He aimed the truck down First Street and pulled in front of the Buttered Biscuit Café.

Jade leaned forward, glaring out the windshield as if he’d driven her to a nudie bar. “What are you doing?”

“Eating. Private investigators eat, don’t they?”

“I can grab something later.”

He got out of the truck and went around, opening her door anyway. “You won’t find a better lunch than the Biscuit’s. Come on. I’ll buy.”

“I don’t need anyone to pay for my meal.”

A grin twitched his lips. “We’ll fight over the check after you taste Jan’s coconut cream pie.”

She hesitated. “Homemade?”

He had her now. “With meringue three inches tall.”

She didn’t smile but she did capitulate. “Sold.”

Score one for his team.

She let him help her down, another victory of sorts, though Sawyer didn’t understand why they were in a battle.

He led the way inside, nodding to friends and a cousin as he found an open table. The café, as usual, was jammed and noisy with townspeople, most of whom he knew by their first names.

Jade walked alongside him, gazing around the small space with her usual intensity.

“Memorizing Jan’s signs and slogans?” Every inch of wall space was crammed with signs or plaques, most of them snarky and clever.

She pointed at one. Plenty of people have eaten here and gone on to live nearly normal lives. “Pretty funny.”

Then why didn’t she laugh? “Jan’s got sass but she sure can cook.”

He pulled out a chair for her and stood, patient as Job himself. She could be stubborn. He could be patient.

Her full mouth flattened but she didn’t yank away the chair and make a scene. Satisfied, Sawyer took the seat across from her and folded his arms on the laminated tabletop. He enjoyed seeing her straight on. She was nice to look at.

“Anything in particular sound good to you?” he asked.

Jade took a paper napkin from the metal container and shook it onto her lap. “You have recommendations?”

Sawyer studied the tiny mole—just one—to the left of her nose. He’d never noticed how appealing one single little beauty mark could be. “Plate lunch special.”

She blinked. “What is it?”

“I didn’t read the sign, but whatever it is will be good.”

“Okay by me.”

Nice. A woman who wasn’t picky about her food, though Jade Warren was picky about everything else. Well, maybe not everything and maybe the word was prickly instead of picky.

Charla, an African American waitress with every bit as much sass as Jan, slapped two plastic menus on the table. “Hiya, Sawyer.”

“Hey, Charla.” He waved the menus away. “Don’t need those. We’ll have the special.”

“Good choice. Roast beef and mashed potatoes. Jan’s recipe.” She retrieved the unused menus. “Drinks?”