Jill Shalvis - The Detective’s Undoing

The one closest to her nickered softly, and Delia nearly parted company with her skin. “Okay, I can do this,” she whispered. “Hey…you guys hungry?”

Another nicker, this one not so soft and from the big guy at the end of the line. “No problem,” she said, mostly to herself. She even added a smile as she cautiously moved to where the supplies were. “Just between you and me,” she said conversationally, “Zoe is dead meat.”

She had all the horses watching her now, some more vocal than others. “You guys are a great audience.” Gaining a bit more confidence, she looked into Betsy’s eyes, the mare she’d ridden. “Give me a clue here, could you? Zoe’s told me a million times how much feed to give you, not that I listened.”

Betsy tossed her head.

“Hey, I’m trying.” She pulled on a pair of leather gloves, because having to do chores didn’t mean she had to ruin her manicure. Then, because it was there, she added a full-chested leather apron. “No sense in ruining perfectly perfect clothes,” she told Betsy. “Handmade, you know.” She pointed to her black linen trousers and soft angora sweater. With a resigned sigh, she hefted a pitchfork. “Wow, this sucker’s heavy. I’m going to have to rethink kicking Zoe’s butt if she can do this twice a day.”

The big horse at the end of the row snorted, and Delia looked at him. “You got something to say?”

He just stared at her, and she could have sworn his eyes were laughing at her. Laughing.

Like Cade’s.

“Men,” she muttered. “You’re all alike. You all think you can bat those long lashes and we’ll melt at your feet.” If she realized she was talking about Cade’s eyes, it didn’t matter, no one could hear her. “And please, don’t get me started on the smile thing. I swear, you all think a simple smile will leave us boneless and panting.”

“We can hope.” It was Cade’s voice that had her boneless now. “And there’s a frown that will scare away guests.”

Jerked out of her thoughts, her heart ricocheting madly off her ribs, Delia slowly turned around and managed to look cool. “You have a thing for sneaking up on me. Stop it.” She ran a hand down the apron, ostensibly to smooth it, but she was really pressing her hand to her racing heart to keep it from galloping away. “And for the record, I never frown.”

“Of course not. It’d give you wrinkles.”

“Bite your tongue.” She lifted her chin, and though she felt oddly weak when she wanted to be strong, she leaned on the pitchfork and studied him.

It wasn’t a hardship. He was definitely a sight that would have made a weaker female than she sigh with longing. His long lean legs were lovingly encased in soft worn denim. He wore a flannel shirt, unbuttoned over a T-shirt. Plain clothes, but they somehow took on a life of their own when stretched over his big tough body. He looked rugged…and sinful.

And the way her body tightened, almost as if in anticipation, really annoyed her.

Since when had she lost control of herself when it came to this man? “What do you want?”

Cade pondered the question as if she seriously wanted an answer. What did he want? Lots of things, most of which would probably send her screaming from the barn if she knew.

He wanted her to drop her guard around him.

He wanted to haul her close.

He wanted to be far away so that he could stop thinking about her night and day.

But mostly he wanted…her. He wanted Delia Scanlon, the woman.

Telling her that would only give her the ammunition she needed to further retreat and hide from him. “Do you always talk to the animals?” he asked. “Or is it a full moon?”

“Were you eavesdropping on me?”

“No.”

Relief flickered across her features until he spoke again. “Does my smile leave you as boneless as my horse’s?”

Now those eyes that so fascinated him flashed with anger and a good amount of embarrassment. “You were eavesdropping on me. How dare you?”

He’d dare anything for her. He was certain she had no idea how sexy she looked with the gloves too large for her hands, the leather apron dwarfing her lovely body, her eyes filled with confusion. She had no idea what she was doing out here, but heaven forbid she admit that, or admit she needed his help. She was adorable. Irresistible. Dammit.

“I came right through the open door, Delia.” He gestured and she tossed an angry glare over her shoulder to see for herself.

Indeed the door was wide open, revealing the dark night and starlit sky. It was a sight that never failed to stab directly into his heart, because when he was here, on this mountain out in the middle of nowhere, he felt safe. He felt as though he were home. He felt warm and fuzzy, even happy.

Not that he wanted to feel safe. Or at home. He sure as hell didn’t want to feel warm and fuzzy. These were emotions and feelings he didn’t allow himself.

“Just so you don’t stroke that ego any more than necessary,” Delia said. “It wasn’t your smile I was talking about.”

Good. That was good. It would help during those dark hours of the night when he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t do anything but think about how she felt in his arms. “I’ll remember that,” he said, moving farther into the barn.

Her eyes widened slightly at his proximity, the only sign she gave that he did indeed affect her every bit as much as she affected him.

And as much as he might like to explore the physical aspect of that, he couldn’t. Delia was different. He couldn’t imagine her taking any part of a relationship lightly, especially sex. No, she wouldn’t give herself without love, and since he didn’t do love, not anymore, they were destined to do this strange emotional two-step around each other.

Maybe it was to be his own personal penance for what he’d lost, but he would have thought just being alive when his wife and son were not was enough. Whatever it was, it was his hell, not hers, and he needed to remember that.

As if that would help keep his hands and mind off her.

“And I can resist you,” she said coolly as she took a step back, dropping the pitchfork she obviously had no idea how to use. “Just in case you were wondering.”

He came closer because he had to. “Because we aren’t suited.”

“Exactly,” she said, taking another step back.

Which he, of course, ignored as he came closer still. She smelled like heaven-sweet yet unbearably sexy. “And again, why is it we’re not suited?”

“Because you’re…you’re, you know. Wild. Rowdy. Uncontrollable.”

She said the last as if it was an unforgivable sin.

“Ah, that’s it,” he said. “Misbehaving, rough, ungroomed Cade McKnight. Dangerous. Edgy. Unsuitable. Right?”

A flicker of regret crossed her face. “I can’t be telling you anything you don’t know.” She was right. He did know.

So why was he pushing her?

“Why are you here?” she asked again, watching him with that slight vulnerability through her cool veneer, one that never failed to tug directly on the heart he wanted to be dead.

“I have something on the inheritance case,” he said, cursing himself for forgetting, even for one moment, how important this would be to her.

“What?” She took a step toward him and grabbed his shirt in her fists. “Tell me! What did you find?”

Her eyes were wide. Eager. And his heart ached again. “I finally got my hands on a copy of your mother’s death certificate. There’s an address listed.”

“Okay.” She processed this, then, still holding on to him, gave him a little shake. “What else?”

“I was able to locate the owner of the property, who told me an old friend of your mother’s still lives in the building. Dottie Owens. I’m going to go see her-maybe she’ll know something about your father.”