Evidence of Trust Page 14

  She flinched with her whole body, then exploded. Head down, she lunged forward in a series of stiff-legged hops.

  “Pull her head up!” Joel called.

  But Brittany’s balance was off, and with the next forward plunge, the mare unseated her. Joel cringed as she flew off and landed on the ground. His heart lodged in his throat when she didn’t move.

  Chapter 22

  Britt blinked at the blue sky above her. Comprehension flooded in as a figure blocked out the light. Joel’s face wavered above her, then she blinked his concerned expression into focus. No more than she moved to get up, his hand shot out to hold her down.

  “Stay still. Does it hurt anywhere?”

  She drew in a deep breath and moved her arms and legs. Pain radiated throughout her body, but nothing excruciating enough to indicate a broken bone. “I’m fine.”

  The realization that his restraining hand rested on her chest just above her breasts sent a flood of heat all the way to the tips of her toes.

  “Let me up.” The demand came out as more of a breathless whisper. She lifted her arm to push him away, then gasped at an instant stab of pain.

  He frowned and took her hand, gently probing her wrist. “That hurt?”

  “Yes, but it’s not broke. See?” She rotated it in a circle, gritting her teeth all the while.

  His gaze locked on hers. “You got any blurred vision?”

  Nope. I can see every speck of gold in your gorgeous brown eyes. She swallowed hard and shook her head. Then she began to feel like an idiot lying on the ground with him kneeling beside her like some kind of knight. And with him staring at her, it was getting harder to breathe instead of easier.

  “I’d really like to get up.”

  He shifted and helped her to her feet with a hand at her back and one on her elbow. At her mumbled thank you, his palm rose to cup her face. She lifted her gaze to his as he gently brushed his thumb across the ridge of her cheekbone.

  “You got some dirt on your face,” he said softly.

  “Thanks.”

  That mesmerizing gaze dropped to her mouth. Anticipation pooled low in her belly and without even thinking, she wet her lips. His fingers flexed against her skin, then started a slow, deliberate slide into her hair.

  “No need to call an ambulance then?”

  Mark’s amused voice from over by the fence made Britt jerk away from Joel. She rubbed her hands over her burning face to get rid of any remaining dirt, then flashed him a smile while brushing off her dusty butt. “No, I’m fine,” she insisted. “It’s not like I’ve never fallen off a horse before.”

  His smirk intensified her embarrassment of almost kissing Joel right there in front of anyone who happened to be watching. She turned away while flexing her wrist. The pain had already begun to diminish, so she walked to where Gypsy stood about ten feet away.

  Neither Joel or Mark said a single word to stop her. They knew as well as her the riding session could not end with the mustang having bucked her off.

  “Need help getting back on?” Joel asked.

  She shook her head and laid her hand flat on the mare’s neck. A slight tremble vibrated against her palm. Soothing her with voice and hands, Britt took her time with the spooked mare. Mount, dismount, mount again. Couple rounds around the ring, and all the while she was hyper conscious of Joel watching every move she made from where he’d retreated back along the fence.

  Why was he still here? He’d given her the SD card and she’d already told him she didn’t want to talk. Was he really going to be stubborn enough to just wait her out?

  After the final uneventful dismount, she took off the saddle and hackamore before rewarding Gypsy with a sugar cube and a generous dose of praise.

  Joel appeared at her side to pick up the saddle one handed. She was quiet as they left the arena, but after she latched the gate, she leaned back against it. He glanced back, then halted and swung around to face her. His hesitant smile upped her curiosity, and she folded her arms to hold the tack against her middle, her head tilted in consideration.

  “You said you wanted to talk about last night.”

  A hint of a smile played about his lips. “Maybe not talk so much as ask you to dinner.”

  She dragged her gaze up from his sensuous mouth.

  What was this? Second thoughts? Her heart skipped right over her head at that possibility. “Dinner? As in…?”

  His smile widened. “You and me going out to eat a meal together.”

  The cocky grin helped her head catch up. She ignored the heat in her face and lifted her chin as if she hadn’t been thinking about sex and he knew she’d been thinking about sex. “I meant, as friends?”

  “No.” He propped the saddle against his hip and shifted his weight to one foot. “I still want to kiss you too much to be friends.”

  So did she, but she wasn’t going to tell him that as he stood there all full of himself and self-assured. She was thinking much more clearly now. He might be sorry he’d turned down a sure-thing last night, but that didn’t mean he could just change his mind and snap his fingers now.

  She smiled and stepped forward. He smiled back. Self-preservation forced her gaze to the top button of his shirt.

  “It’s a tempting offer, but I’m going to have to pass.”

  She reached for the saddle, but he held it between them as if it were a bargaining chip. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then say yes again and have dinner with me.”

  Her heart loved his soft, coaxing tone. She listened to her head. “My situation hasn’t changed any more than yours has. And as you so kindly reminded me last night, I’d regret it in the morning.”

  She pulled the saddle from his grip and left him standing there.

  “I was only offering dinner,” he called after her. “Scout’s honor.”

  He probably had been a scout—no, don’t look back.

  * * *

  Britt spent the next two days kicking herself. What would it have hurt to have dinner with him? It wasn’t like he was irresistible and she didn’t have her own mind.

  When Mark gave her the next couple days off, she gladly stayed away from the ranch and planned a nice long hike. Seven and a half miles one way. By the time she got home that night, she would have no problem sleeping. Hopefully she’d be too tired to even dream.

  After a late lunch break at Lawn Lake six miles in, she said goodbye to the couple who’d arrived shortly after her and shouldered her backpack for the remaining mile and a half to Crystal Lake. A night of camping would have been great, but she’d already pushed it by coming alone for the day. Joel would be pissed that she’d ignored his direct order, but everyone else was working, and it was a well-known trail in an area that hadn’t been closed to the public so there would be other hikers around. Besides, it wasn’t like he’d ever know—he hadn’t even tried to talk to her since Monday.

  The toe of her hiking boot nicked a rock and she stumbled. When she caught her balance and looked down, she spotted a shiny object a step ahead. Turned out to be a food wrapper, which she scooped up and stuffed in her backpack with irritation. People who littered were jerks.

  A second wrapper had her watching the ground more than the scenery, and a short while later, she noticed the dirt disturbed alongside the trail. Clearly someone had veered from the approved path to explore in the trees beyond. Her irritation spiked since there had been a crude outhouse just prior to reaching Lawn Lake, so she saw no reason to leave the trail.

  Then she noticed the disturbance was on both sides of the trail, like the person had crossed over the hiking trail rather than veered from it.

  Or more likely, she realized, it was from an animal, like an elk, or mule deer. She leaned over for closer examination on the left and distinguished footprints from animal tracks. She was about to straighten when a second shiny object in the dirt made her heart skip.

  A bullet shell.

  She picked it up and discovered it wa
sn’t the shell, but an actual bullet. As she glanced into the woods, then back to the ground, uneasiness settled in the pit of her stomach. Coupling the footprints with the bullet, her first thought was that Joel needed to see the scene. He’d know what was relevant. Heck, for all she knew, a ranger could’ve dropped the bullet while on patrol; some of them carried a weapon like Joel did.

  She looked at the bullet in her palm, then frowned. Damn. Fingerprints.

  Taking hold of it by thumb and forefinger on the very edge, she reached her other hand into her pack for something to place it in. All she came up with was the food wrapper.

  Voices behind her sent a jolt of alarm straight to her heart. When she whirled around to see the couple she’d spoken to earlier, relief released the air from her tight lungs. She stood in front of the tracks, guarding them as she pulled out her water bottle for a drink.

  “That looks like a good idea,” the guy said as they stopped alongside her.

  Britt had to bite her tongue to keep from pushing them along verbally. After they’d continued, she turned back to the prints. She’d left her cell in her truck due to lack of reception, and hadn’t even thought to bring a radio. If she had, she could’ve called Joel and waited for him. As it was, pictures would have to do. She snapped a number of shots from different angles, then started the long hike back to her truck.

  She reached the ranger station after nine p.m. only to find out Joel left an hour ago. When she drove past The Watering Hole and didn’t see his truck, she continued on to his duplex. She parked on the street, walked past his vehicle in the driveway, and climbed the steps to the front porch. The light was off, and inside was completely dark, but she rang the doorbell anyway.

  A long minute went by before she rang it again. And again. Then she followed up by pulling open the screen door and pounding her fist on the solid inside door. Still no answer. She didn’t want to wait until morning, but obviously, he wasn’t home. Disappointment swelled as she turned back toward her truck.

  She hadn’t even cleared the screen door when the porch light flared to life. Blinking at the sudden glare, she spun around as the inside door jerked open.

  “If it’s that gol-damned important, why the hell didn’t you just call?”

  Britt couldn’t quite find the words she needed to answer the irritated question. Clearly, she’d gotten him out of bed. Above the neck, he looked like shit. His hair stood on end, and he was squinting at her through bloodshot eyes.

  Below the neck…oh my god.

  Her gaze slowly took in broad shoulders, muscled chest, and a trail of dark hair that traversed a tight, trim stomach before disappearing into the only stitch of clothing he wore—a pair of black cotton boxer briefs that gave her imagination enough material to fuel her fantasies for years to come.

  Chapter 23

  He was dreaming. Had to be, right? Or she was an illusion. A figment of his delusional imagination. After more than forty-eight hours without sleep, there was no other explanation for the hallucination of Brittany Lucas on his doorstep at ten o’clock at night.

  Joel squinted in the bright overhead light, then scrubbed his hand across his face. Two days of whiskers scraped against his palm. He’d come home, showered and literally fallen into bed. Was probably asleep before his head hit the pillow. Maybe still was.

  He focused on the vision in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I…ah…” Her gaze rose back to his. “I found something while hiking.”

  He rubbed one eye with the heel of his hand, eyes scrunched tight. Opened his eyes again, and she was still there. She sounded pretty real for a hallucination—and she was frowning at him.

  What had she said…she’d gone hiking? So what?

  “May I come in?”

  At the polite request, he automatically stood aside. Once she walked by, he stepped forward to look outside. Yep, that was her truck. He shut the door and turned around, but she wasn’t there.

  Good God, he was tired.

  Closing his eyes, he let himself slump against the door and leaned his head back with a soft thump.

  “Where do you keep your coffee?”

  His eyebrows rose. Eyes opened. Joel pushed away from the door, toward the kitchen and the sound of cupboard doors opening and closing.

  “Coffee?” she repeated upon his entrance.

  “Freezer.” He watched her locate the container and start measuring grounds into a filter. His mind began to clear a bit. “You don’t drink coffee.” Not that he’d ever seen, anyway.

  “It’s not for me. I need you to sober up.”

  He noticed her gaze sweep down the length of him, then she whirled around to run water into the pot. Little warning bells went off in his head. Before she could empty the pot into the coffee maker, he stepped forward and took it from her.

  “I’m not drunk, and I’ve had enough damn coffee for today, thank you.”

  She moved aside and folded her arms across her chest. “You look awful.”

  She didn’t. He’d woken up enough to appreciate the way her forearms pushed her breasts toward the low neckline of her tank top beneath an unzipped sweatshirt. Frayed, cut-off jean shorts showed off her long, athletic legs above a pair of hiking boots.

  He averted his gaze to pour the water down the drain. “How about we see how you look after two days of work and no sleep.”

  “Did you finally catch the poacher?”

  Finally?

  His fingers tightened on the plastic handle of the pot as he shook his head. “We found another kill. I was tracking him, but lost the trail on the second day.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  So was he. Because this last time, the disturbed sonofabitch hadn’t even bothered with a trophy ram. When Joel found the mutilated ewe, a chill had run up his spine with the realization that it was different from the others. A thrill kill. It threw them into a whole new game, and raised the stakes infinitely higher. The sick person who could carve up an animal like that would have no qualms about killing a human being.

  He shrugged, even though at the time he’d wanted to slam his fist into a tree. Still did whenever he thought of the dead animals.

  He’d rather look at her. When he cast another glance toward Brittany, he noticed her assessing gaze take a slow slide south. It bounced back up a moment later as she straightened.

  “You know, maybe you could put some pants on so we can talk?”

  Considering his body was starting to respond to her perusal, that was probably a good idea. But he had a better one—a safer one. He jammed the empty pot back into place in the coffee maker and headed toward the living room. “I’m going back to bed.”

  “Wait…don’t you even want to know what I found?”

  He swung around with exasperation to find her right behind him. He fought the rest of the sleep cobwebs clinging to the edges of his mind. The ones tempting him to reach out and pull her against him and kiss her until she begged him to take her back to bed with him.

  “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, Brittany. What did you find? Where?”

  She dug in the pocket of her jean shorts and then stretched her arm toward him to offer a crumpled granola bar wrapper.

  He narrowed his eyes. “You woke me up to give me garbage?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Look what’s inside.” Taking hold of his hand, she placed the wrapper in his palm. Her soft, warm skin distracted him, until he saw the .22 caliber bullet nestled in the wrinkled cellophane and brought his other hand up to part the folds for a better look.

  “Don’t touch it! Well, I already did, but—”

  He flicked his gaze to hers without lifting his head.

  “I’m sorry,” she continued. “I wasn’t thinking. It was only after I’d picked it up and noticed footprints that I thought about fingerprints.”

  He set the wrapper on the dining room table, then went back into the kitchen. “Where’d you find that?” he asked while he started refilling the coffee
pot.

  “I thought you had enough coffee?” she asked from the doorway, a smug little smile on her face. When he threw her a dark look, the smile disappeared. She moved into the kitchen to lean back against the counter. “I found it on the Lawn Lake Trail. I was on my way to Crystal Lake, but when I saw the bullet, I figured you’d be able to check if it was a ranger or not.”

  The park’s armed enforcement rangers carried 9mms, not .22s. That was the caliber favored by the poacher. Unlike a more high-powered rifle, the report of a .22 didn’t travel as far, yet if the shooter was a good marksman, he could still make a kill shot from as far away as three hundred yards.

  On the flip side, the bullet could just as easily have been dropped by a visitor who’d been carrying their firearm in the park legally, but at this point, every lead was worth checking out.

  Joel leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his feet at the ankles as the coffee began to drip. “You said there were footprints?”

  “They looked identical to the ones up at the overnight camp.”

  “Some of the most popular hiking boots sold across this country have similar treads. Without comparing the prints, there’s no way to be sure.”

  “I took pictures.”

  “Good thinking. Let me get dressed and we’ll take a look on my computer. I’ll be right back.”

  In his room, he resisted the lure of his pillow, and pulled on a pair of black cotton shorts and a white T-shirt. His computer was on the dining room table, so he returned to the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee. “Can I get you anything?”

  She held up the glass of water she’d helped herself to, so he took a seat at the table as she pulled her SD card from her pocket. When she sat in the chair next to him, their bare knees brushed. He was immediately reminded of her blatant appraisal in the kitchen and covered his shift away from the flare of heat by reaching for his coffee cup.

  “I also noticed animal tracks near the footprints,” she told him as the computer booted up. “In fact, once I realized it looked more like something had crossed the hiking trail instead of veered off it, I figured it was probably just an animal trail. When I looked closer, that’s when I saw the footprints and found the bullet.”