In Bed with the Wrangler Read online

  Katie emphatically shook her head. “No. The dress is fine.”

  “Then what are you so worried about?”

  Katie picked up a china horse figurine from the top of the bureau, stroking her fingertip across its glossy surface. She looked at Amber then drew a breath.

  “Katie?”

  “He saw me in it.”

  “Who saw you in what?”

  “Hargrove. He saw me in the wedding dress.”

  Amber didn’t exactly understand why that was a problem.

  Katie set down the figurine, her words speeding up, hands clasping together. “After it was delivered, and I had it on and was prancing around my apartment, he knocked on the door. I didn’t know it was him. And, well, when I opened it…” She stopped talking.

  “That’s when Hargrove saw you in the wedding dress?”

  Katie nodded miserably.

  Amber fought an urge to smile. “I don’t think that’s bad luck or anything.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “Seriously, Katie. I can imagine he was annoyed.” Hargrove was nothing if not mired in propriety. “But we’re selling the damn thing anyway.”

  Katie drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Thing is, he really, uh, liked the dress.”

  “Well, at that price, he’d better have liked it.”

  “I mean, well…” Katie gazed down at her front, picking a dark speck from the terry-cloth pile of the robe. “He really liked me in it.”

  Amber blinked. “So?” It was probably a good fit. She and Katie were pretty close to the same size.

  “And—” Katie buried her face in her hands “—turns out, he liked me out of it, too.”

  Amber was silent for a full ten seconds. “You’re going to have to repeat that.”

  Katie spread her fingers, peeking out as if she was looking at a horror movie. “I am the worst friend ever.”

  Amber gave her head a little shake. “What are you saying?”

  Katie just stared at her.

  “Are you saying you slept with Hargrove?” It wasn’t possible. Nothing made less sense than that.

  But Katie nodded. “It happened so fast. One minute he was staring at me. Then he was kissing me. Then the dress came off, and well, yeah, there might have been a bit of a tear around the buttonholes—”

  Amber shook her head. “You’re not making any sense.”

  “I am so sorry,” Katie wailed, pressing a fist against her mouth. “You must hate me.”

  “No. No, it’s not that.”

  “I had to come and tell you in person.”

  “I’m confused, not mad.” Amber tried to make her point. “Hargrove doesn’t get overcome with passion and tear off dresses.” Not the Hargrove she knew.

  Katie blinked like an owl.

  “He’s staid, proper, controlled.”

  Katie blinked once more. A flush rose up from the base of her throat, coloring her face. “Actually…”

  Amber rose from the bed. “Actually, what?”

  “Sexually speaking, I wouldn’t call him staid, and I definitely wouldn’t call him proper.”

  “Are you telling me…?”

  Katie gave a meaningful nod.

  “You had wild, impulsive sex with Hargrove?”

  Something deep and warm flared in Katie’s eyes, and she nodded.

  “And…it was…good?” Amber asked in disbelief.

  “It was fantastic.”

  Amber tried to wrap her head around that. “But…What…” She gripped the bedpost to steady herself. “Sorry. We can’t get technical about this.” She paused. “Can we?”

  Katie cocked her head. “I take it it wasn’t always good for you?”

  “It was, um…” How did she say this? “Kind of boring.”

  “No way. You mean he didn’t—” Katie’s blush deepened.

  Amber was forced to stifle a laugh. “Whatever it is you’re not saying, I’m pretty sure he didn’t do it with me.”

  Katie fought a grin and lost. “So, you’re not mad?”

  Amber shook her head, sitting back down on the bed. “I broke up with him.”

  Katie crossed the room to sit beside her, relieved amusement coloring her tone. “You’re probably not going to want the wedding dress back.”

  “Keep it. Maybe you should keep Hargrove, too. Think of them as a set.”

  “Maybe I will,” Katie said softly.

  Amber turned to gaze at her friend and saw the glow in Katie’s eyes. She raised her brows in a question, and Katie nodded, wiping a single tear with the back of her hand.

  Surprised, but not the least bit unhappy, Amber wrapped her arm around Katie’s shoulders. “You do realize what this means, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “I get to wear the maid of honor’s dress.” Amber paused. “You know, I always liked that one better anyway.”

  “Take it,” said Katie. “It’s yours.”

  Amber drew a deep sigh. “Wow. Does Hargrove know?”

  “That I slept with him?” There was a strengthening thread of laughter in Katie’s voice.

  “That you came here to confess.”

  Katie shook her head. “He thinks…Wait. I almost forgot.” She bounced off the bed to her small suitcase. “I found something for you.”

  Hunting through her things, she extracted a manila envelope. “Pictures of Norman Stanton. And his brother, Frank. Also a sister and parents—the three of them died quite a few years back.”

  Amber accepted the envelope, her thoughts going to Royce. Now it was her turn to feel guilty.

  “What?” Katie asked, gauging Amber’s expression.

  “There’s something you don’t know.”

  “About the investigation?”

  Amber shook her head. “About me.” She shut her eyes for a second. “Oh, hell. I’m sleeping with Royce.”

  Katie drew back. “Whoa. You cheated on Hargrove?”

  “No.” Amber swatted Katie with the envelope. “I did not cheat on Hargrove. I broke up with Hargrove. Lucky for you.”

  “True,” Katie agreed. Then she sobered. “This cowboy dude? He rocks your world?”

  “And how.”

  “So.” Katie cocked her head toward the bedroom door. “What are you waiting for?”

  “I didn’t want to be rude.”

  “Unlike me who slept with your fiancé.”

  “Ex.”

  “Whatever. Go see your cowboy. I’ll catch you at breakfast.”

  “You sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I don’t want to sleep with you.”

  Amber grinned, came to her feet and headed out the door.

  On the way across the hall, she slit the envelope open, sliding out some eight-by-ten photos.

  First one was labeled Norman. He had receding hair, dark, beady eyes and a little goatee. Yeah, she could see him as a blackmailer.

  The next was Frank, an older picture. This was the guy who’d broken up Royce’s family. He wasn’t bad-looking, but not fantastic, either. He seemed a little on the thin side. But maybe that was a generational thing.

  She flipped to the next picture, raising her hand to rap on Royce’s door. But she froze, hand in midair, the picture of Frank and Norman’s sister stopping her cold.

  The young girl had a trophy in her hand and a broad smile on her face. Amber stared for a long minute, then slowly turned to the next picture. It was the parents, and the next one was a thirty-year-old family portrait. The final picture was another headshot of Norman.

  Amber paged back to the picture of the sister for a final look. Then, stomach twisting around nothing, she rapped on Royce’s bedroom door.

  His voice was muffled and incomprehensible, but she opened the door anyway. He was lying in bed, a hardcover book in his hands, the bedside lamp glowing yellow against his natural wood walls.

  “Hey.” He smiled, letting the book fall to his lap.

  “Hi.” She clicked the door shut behind her.
/>   “Something wrong?”

  She nodded.

  His smile immediately faded. “Katie?”

  “Kind of.” Amber moved across the room.

  His eyes cooled. “News from…home?”

  Amber sat down on the bed. “We have a problem.”

  He tossed the book aside. “You’re reconciling with Hargrove.”

  “What? No. How could you say that?”

  Royce didn’t answer.

  “This has nothing to do with Hargrove.” She wanted to be annoyed with Royce for even thinking that it might have been Hargrove, but there wasn’t time for that. Instead, she covered his hand, trying to prepare him. “I have pictures of the Stantons. And it’s not what we think.”

  “What do we think?”

  She slipped the pictures out of the envelope and spread them on the bed. “Look.”

  Royce clenched his jaw as he leafed through them. “I’ve seen Frank Stanton before. He lived on the ranch for a while. Worked with the horses. That’s how they met.”

  “Look at the sister,” Amber whispered.

  Royce shifted his gaze. “She was into horses, too,” he surmised. The trophy was obviously equestrian.

  “Look at her chin,” said Amber. “Her eyes, the hairline.”

  Royce glanced from the picture to Amber, brows furrowing.

  “Stephanie, Royce.”

  “What about Stephanie?”

  “Stephanie is the spitting image of…” Amber flipped the picture over to read the handwriting on the back. “Clara Stanton, Frank and Norman’s sister.”

  “No.” He glanced back down. “She doesn’t look anything like…” Royce’s breathing went deep.

  “He’s not blackmailing you over murder.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  She didn’t want to say it out loud.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  “Shh.”

  Royce turned to her with haunted eyes. “This can’t be right.”

  There was nothing she could say to cushion the blow.

  “It can’t be real.”

  It was real all right. Stephanie was Frank Stanton’s daughter.

  “Who else knows?” he demanded.

  “No one.”

  “Katie?”

  Amber shook her head. “Not even Katie. I only figured it out in the hallway thirty seconds ago.”

  He glanced back down at the picture. “We can’t tell Stephanie. It’ll kill her. She was two years old when they died. She doesn’t even know about the affair.”

  “I won’t tell Stephanie.” But Amber realized that meant paying off Norman again.

  Royce rolled out of bed, pacing across the floor, photo still gripped in his hand. He was stark naked, but the fact didn’t seem to register.

  He strode past the bay window, raking a hand through his hair. “We…”

  Then he turned at the wall, glanced at the picture and threw it down on a dresser. “I…”

  He stopped dead, fisted both hands and glared at Amber. “There’s got to be a way out.”

  “I’m sure there is,” she agreed in the most soothing voice she could muster.

  He crossed back over to the bed, sat down and uttered a crude cuss. “That bastard’s got us by the balls.”

  Amber didn’t know how to answer. It was true, but agreeing seemed counterproductive.

  “We can’t tell Stephanie,” he reaffirmed.

  Amber nodded.

  Royce snagged his phone from the table. He punched a couple of numbers and put it to his ear.

  “Who—” Amber stopped herself.

  “Jared.”

  She knew Jared had been out of touch for several days now.

  It appeared he still was.

  Royce’s voice was terse as he left the voice-mail message. “Jared. Royce. Call me now. Right now.” He punched the off button then leaned back against the headboard.

  She dared to reach out and touch his bare shoulder. It was hot, hard as a rock. “Anything I can do?”

  “Short of fixing a deal with the Chinese, finding a sailboat in the middle of the South Pacific or giving Norman Stanton a fatal disease? Not really.”

  “Right.” She slipped across the bed to sit close beside him, curling her arm around his tense back. “Moral support doesn’t really cut it at the moment, does it?”

  He wrapped one of his arms around her and then the other. Then he bent to kiss the top of her head. “Moral support is better than nothing.”

  She struggled to find a smile. “That’s always been a dream of mine. To be better than nothing.”

  He gave her a gentle squeeze and whispered above her head. “Will you stay?”

  She nodded against his neck, knowing she was falling fast and hard. His troubles were her troubles, and she’d be by his side just as long as he needed her.

  In the morning, when Katie asked for a tour of Stephanie’s jumping ranch, Royce resisted the temptation to tag along. Much as he’d love to spend the time with Amber, he was afraid he’d end up studying his sister’s expressions, movements and mannerisms for traces of the man he’d hated for twenty long years.

  She was still his baby sister. He loved her, and he’d move heaven and earth to protect her. But he needed some time to come to terms with the knowledge she was also Frank Stanton’s daughter.

  What the hell had his mother been thinking?

  Had she known which man fathered Stephanie? What was her plan? Was she going to take Stephanie with her and Stanton? Would she have destroyed that many lives for her own selfish happiness?

  The knowledge crept like a cold snake into his belly.

  He smacked open the front door, marching onto the porch to take a deep breath of fresh air. He didn’t wish anybody dead, not even Frank Stanton. But he wasn’t sorry his mother’s plan had failed. He couldn’t imagine his life without Stephanie.

  An engine roared in the distance, dust wafting up at the crest of the drive. Royce squinted against the midmorning sunshine. He knew it was too early for Amber and Katie to return, but he couldn’t help hoping.

  Amber had been amazing last night. First she’d let him rail in anger. Then she’d offered practical advice. She seemed to have an uncanny knack for knowing when to stay quiet and when to talk. Finally, against all odds, she helped him find a touch of humor in the face of catastrophe.

  Afterward, he’d stayed awake for hours, simply holding her in his arms, letting the feel of her body make his troubles seem less daunting.

  It was a car that appeared over the rise. A dark sedan, dusty from the long road in, but unmistakably new, and undeniably expensive. The windows were tinted, and the driver moved tentatively around the potholes dotting dirt and sparse gravel.

  Not a local, that was for sure.

  Royce made his way down the front stairs, wondering if this could be the mysterious Alec Creighton, or perhaps someone from the Ryder Chicago office.

  The car eased to a halt. The engine went silent. And the driver’s door swung open wide.

  Royce didn’t recognize the tall man who emerged. He looked to be in his late thirties. He was clean shaven, his hair nearly black. He wore a Savile Row suit and an expensive pair of loafers. His white shirt was pressed, the patterned silk tie classic and understated.

  To his credit, he didn’t flinch at the dust, simply slammed the car door shut and gave Royce a genuine smile, stepping forward to offer his hand. “Hargrove Alston.”

  Royce faltered midreach but quickly recovered. “Royce Ryder.”

  He resisted the urge to grip too hard, though he squared his shoulders and straightened his spine, watching Hargrove’s expression closely for signs that there was going to be a fight.

  “Good to meet you,” Hargrove offered. There wasn’t a trace of anger or resentment in the man’s eyes. Either he didn’t know about Royce and Amber, or the man had one hell of a poker face.

  “What brings you to Montana?” Royce opened.

  A split second of annoyance narrowed the
man’s eyes. “For starters, I understand you’re harboring my fiancée.”

  Royce resented the accusation. “It was at her request.”

  Hargrove’s smile flattened. “I’m sure it was. I’d like to speak with her if you don’t mind.”

  “She’s not here.” The statement was true enough. Amber might be close by, she wasn’t specifically on the ranch this very moment.

  Hargrove glanced to the house then back to Royce. “You have a reason to lie to me?”

  “I have no reason to lie.”

  Hargrove regarded him with obvious impatience.

  “I can try to pass along a message,” Royce offered, folding his arms over his chest and planting his feet apart on the dusty drive.

  “You do know who I am, right?”

  “You said you were Hargrove Alston.”

  “I’m not accustomed to being stonewalled, Mr. Ryder.”

  “And I’m not accustomed to uninvited guests on my land, Mr. Alston.”

  Hargrove’s expression went hard. “I know she’s here.”

  “I told you she wasn’t.”

  There was a pause while the entire ranch seemed to hold its breath.

  “But you do know where she is.”

  Royce did. Since he preferred not to lie, he didn’t answer.

  Hargrove gave a cool, knowing smile. “She does bring out the protective instincts.”

  The assessment rang true. And it reminded Royce how well Hargrove knew Amber. She had been bringing out Royce’s protective instincts from the moment they’d met.

  He decided it was time to stop the pretense. “I assume you’re here to drag her back to Chicago.”

  The shot of pain that flitted through Hargrove’s eyes was quickly masked by anger. “I’m here to tell her she can’t solve her problems by running away from them.”

  Guilt hit Royce square in the solar plexus. Amber had, in fact, run away from Hargrove. And Royce had helped her.

  His thoughts went to his father, and an unwelcome chill rippled up his spine. His mother had written a letter. Amber had settled for a text.

  Not that Royce was anything like Frank Stanton. Looking back to his teenage memories, Frank had deliberately and methodically lured a woman away from her husband and children.

  “Do you have any idea why she left?” he found himself asking.