Jenna Kernan - Black Rock Guardian

“Yeah. First lab is in production up on Deer Kill Meadow Road. Old hay barn up there.”

“Won’t someone see the smoke?”

“Nights only. You gonna start transport next week.”

The hell he was. “Sure.”

Chino returned with the beer. Ty left his on the table, went to the bar and sat beside Quinton. Ty was sitting facing the taps when Quinton’s foot dropped heavily off the bar stool as he sat forward. He did not reach for his gun, but his eyes widened and he looked as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water in his face.

Ty spun on the swivel stool toward the door. A woman paused on the Budweiser floor runner and glanced about. Ty thought her attention paused on him, but that might have been wishful thinking.

“Damn,” said Quinton. “Why I have to be working when something like that shows up?”

Ty thought it was a someone , not a something . But he agreed with Quinton that the woman was spectacular. She was tall with a confident stride and an economy of movement that spoke of power. Ty waited a beat for her partner to arrive and then it settled over him that this woman had come by herself to an unfamiliar watering hole, one with at least eight Harleys parked out front, and she had walked in with a self-assurance that showed either foolishness or strength.

Strength, he decided. That to him was more appealing than beauty because it took grit to survive up here. Both fortitude and compromise.

The tilt of her head and the way she scanned her surroundings gave her the air of a woman who knew what she was doing. There was no hesitation or wariness as she took in her surroundings. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she owned the place.

The conversation lulled as one after another of both the single and married men considered their chances. Several of the men turned back to their beers, taking themselves out of the race by fidelity to their mates, or just by judging themselves to be farm-league players in a major league game.

Ty leaned forward and drank her in like water. High brown suede boots, with silver studs around each ankle, hugged her well-defined calves. Her jeans were dark, new-looking and tight, showing legs that went on and on. The cropped leather jacket seemed to have lived a long, interesting life as a favorite garment, and Ty resented the way it hugged her upper body and breasts. Below the bottom of the jacket was a wide silver rodeo buckle, the kind that was won, not purchased. From here, it looked like the lady was a world-class barrel racer. Oh, how he would love to see her ride.

Her fawn-brown skin held the luster of gold undertones, catching the light on her high cheekbones. She seemed multiracial. He thought he recognized the Native American lineage in her distinctive facial structure. Her pale eyes hinted at European roots, and she had full lips, light brown skin and a curl of her brown shoulder-length hair. A natural beauty.

Women, sitting beside their men, placed proprietary hands on their companions, claiming them as she again swept the room with a slow scan. Her gaze fell on him. Her mouth quirked and he saw trouble coming his way, again. Only this time he felt like walking out to meet it.

She raised her voice to be heard above the jukebox as she kept her eyes fixed on his. “I’m looking for Ty Redhorse.”

Chapter Four

In Beth’s opinion, the photos of Ty Redhorse did not do him justice. They didn’t capture his roguish grin or his speculative stare. His mug shot, taken when he was just seventeen, showed a scared kid, and the one furnished by his brother pictured a man posing with his family as if he was uncomfortable in his own skin.

Maybe he was just uncomfortable with his family. Must be awkward at Sunday supper with his two remaining brothers. Comparisons were inevitable.

This man was broad-shouldered with a slim athletic frame. He also had the devil-may-care smile of a pirate. His forehead was broad and smooth, making him look more like twenty-one instead of twenty-eight. There was a slight, shallow cleft in his chin. One of his eyebrows lifted in conjecture. Dark eyes met hers and set off a flutter low and deep inside her.

She ignored the warning and continued on. Nerves, she told herself as she moved toward him. She might find Ty physically attractive, but he was just her admission ticket to the Wolf Posse, a means to an end. So it didn’t matter how appealing she found his face and body. Beth liked bad boys, just not this one.

Still, there was something about him that made her regret the missed opportunity he presented. In another time and place she might have acted on impulse. But not now with so much on the line.

Beth had met his brother, Jake Redhorse, a rookie tribal officer, and had none of this immediate attraction. His younger brother had a look that she would describe as brooding. From the family photo, she thought the oldest brother, Kee, radiated the stability of a professional man with none of the indescribable edge of danger she found tempting. Unlike his oldest brother, this Redhorse man had none of that serious, stable aura. She knew of his youngest brother, Colt, only via computer records. Colt shared some of the defiant disregard she read in Ty’s expression. But he also had PTSD and had given up speaking for months. That was way too much for her to ever want to take on. She met Ty’s inquisitive stare. Everything about Ty seemed to broadcast mischief and the invitation to forget the rules and play.

“I’m Ty,” he said.

All heads turned in his direction and then boomeranged back to her.

Beth had not anticipated the relaxed confidence of his physical self. He sat neither at attention nor slumped. Instead, he looked like he knew she was a problem heading toward him and he welcomed the diversion.

She used her thumb to adjust one of the rings on her right hand, breaking the steady stare. The man to his left was Quinton Ford, one of the Wolf Posse’s higher-ups. Ty sat right beside the gang’s right-hand man.

How cozy, she thought.

He rose to his feet in an easy glide, his movements as relaxed as his expression. But his eyes glittered a warning that belied the ready smile. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve got bike trouble. The owner of the diner said you were the man to see and he told me that I would find you here.” She extended her hand. “I’m Beth.”

He looked at her hand as if inspecting it and then his gaze flicked to her left hand. Was he searching for a ring on that all-important finger? Or the indentation and lighter skin that showed there had been one there recently? She wasn’t sure, but there was a hesitation before his palm slid along hers in a sensual glide that made her skin pucker all over. His hand was clean, calloused. His nails showed the stain of stubborn motor oil. He gripped her hand and did not shake so much as stroke, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin on the back of her hand. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch and her lungs suddenly demanded more oxygen.

“Nice to meet you, Beth.”

She drew back her hand, but it continued to tingle as if she’d just touched an electrified livestock fence.

“If you need a bike fixed,” said Quinton Ford, interrupting, “you should ask Chino.” He thumbed at the mountainous man sitting with the leader of the Wolf Posse.

“That so?” said Beth. “Why’s that?”

“It’s his specialty. Ty’s is cars.”

“A motor is a motor,” said Beth. “And I don’t think that Nathan would steer me wrong. What do you say, Ty?”

His smile relayed anticipation and mischief. “Let’s have a look.”

The whole point of coming here was to have everyone on his home turf see her leave with Ty and make the obvious conclusions. Her story to her supervisor, Luke Forrest, about getting a read on Ty was nonsense. She didn’t need a read. All she ever wanted or needed to know about Ty Redhorse she’d found in his FBI file. What she desired was traction, an inescapable hook to get him on board, because he’d already turned down the Bureau’s offer presented by his tribe.