His Defender. Stella Bagwell

hung up the telephone and leaned back in the chair to wait. Hardly enough time had passed to twiddle his thumbs before Isabella entered the room.

      The moment Ross laid eyes on her, he felt a swift, hard blow to his gut. He’d thought she was beautiful yesterday, but today she was even more lovely. A powder-blue dress of some soft, gauzy material draped her breasts and hips, while the hem fluttered against her slim calves. Her glossy black hair was braided into a thick coronet atop her head. Hammered silver in the shape of small crescent moons swung from her ears, while dusky pink hues on her cheeks and lips added to her already vibrant face.

      As he rose to his feet to greet her, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach worsened.

      “Good afternoon, Bella,” he said as he extended his hand to hers.

      The contact of his callused hand was like grabbing hold of a hot branding iron. Isabella tried to hide the sudden jolt with a wide smile.

      “I’m glad you decided to meet with me today,” she said warmly.

      He smiled back at her and Isabella struggled not to be charmed by the dimples in his cheeks or the sparkle in his green eyes.

      “I’d never be guilty of standing up a lady twice in a row,” he said, then gestured to the opposite side of the long room where a burgundy chesterfield couch and matching chair were positioned for a view of the mountains. “Have a seat.”

      Isabella took a seat on the couch, while across from her Ross sank into the armchair, stretched out his long legs and crossed his boots at the ankles.

      She drew in a long breath and told herself to relax. He was only a man. It didn’t matter that he was rich and sexy and could charm a bird out of a tree.

      “I understand you’re a busy man and you value your time,” Isabella began. “But as I told you yesterday, it’s important that you be prepared. Just in case the D.A. decides to arrest you.”

      His narrowed eyes surveyed her in one slow, sweeping motion. “Before we go any further, I’d like to know one thing.”

      Her brows lifted warily. “What?”

      “Do you think I’m innocent? Or do you even give a damn about that?”

      A knowing smile tilted her lips and Ross felt something stir deep in his gut.

      “Does what I think make any difference to you?” she asked.

      “You answered my question with a question,” he pointed out.

      She shifted slightly on the leather couch, thinking that the cost of this one piece of furniture would probably pay for every stick of furnishings in her mother’s entire house. And the lizard boots on Ross’s feet would certainly buy several air-conditioning units. The man had money, all right. But he also had troubles.

      “Okay,” she said. “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe you tried to kill your brother-in-law.”

      He grimaced. “Why? You don’t even know me.”

      Shrugging, she allowed her eyes to meander over him. This afternoon he was without a hat. His thick dark hair waved back from his forehead and tickled the back of his collar. If she were to get closer, she expected she would see a few threads of gray at the temple. But then, she didn’t have any business getting that close.

      “I don’t know much about the incident, either,” she told him. “At least, not yet. But I like to think I’m a good judge of character. And besides, Neal assured me that even though you’re hot-headed, you’re not a killer.”

      His lips twitched. “And you believe whatever Neal tells you?”

      “I know from experience that he’s an honest man.”

      Jealousy waltzed in from nowhere and kicked him in the midsection. “You’ve known Neal a long time?”

      She smiled and Ross could see genuine fondness in her eyes. The next time he saw Neal, he promised himself that he was going to sock his friend in the jaw.

      “Long enough.”

      She was as smooth and cool as gourmet ice cream, he thought. But he’d bet the whole T Bar K that underneath her poised exterior, he’d find a wicked hot streak.

      “What did he tell you about the shooting?”

      “Very little. That’s what I want you to do.”

      He rubbed a restless hand against his thigh. “Jess is the person you need to talk to. He’s the one who was shot.”

      “I plan to talk to your brother-in-law and your sister,” she assured him. “But before I do, I want to hear what you have to say.”

      He started to respond, but Marina chose that moment to enter the study. He waited until the older woman had left a tray holding an insulated carafe of coffee and a plate of thick, golden-brown cookies on his desk before he rose to his feet. He walked over to the tray and quickly filled two cups with coffee.

      He glanced at her. “Cream or sugar?”

      She shook her head and he carried the cup over to her. As she leaned up to take it from him, he caught the sweet scent of lilac on her skin. The last time he could remember having smelled the old-fashioned fragrance was when his mother, Amelia, had been alive. She’d been serene and beautiful, too. Just like Isabella Corrales.

      “What about a cookie?” he asked. “They’re full of coconut and chocolate chips. Marina makes them herself. And trust me, they’re delicious.”

      A dimple appeared to the left of her mouth. “I’ll have to try one now. Just to test your honesty.”

      The teasing lilt in her voice got to him more than her beauty, more than the sensual lure of her body, more than anything. It was an invitation for friendship, something that Ross Ketchum valued far above that sentimental notion called love.

      He fetched her a cookie and a napkin. After he’d helped himself to a couple of the sweet desserts, he returned to his seat in the armchair.

      “So,” he said after biting off a hunk of one of the cookies. “What do you want to know?”

      She wanted to know lots of things about Ross Ketchum, she realized. Things that had nothing to do with him needing an attorney, or his brother-in-law being shot.

      Disgusted with her own weakness, she said, “Just start with the day of the shooting. What were you doing that day?”

      “First of all, I’d been away on a business trip,” he said, “and I didn’t get here to the ranch until noon. After I ate lunch, I got a call from an acquaintance about a stallion he wanted to sell, so I drove over to his place to take a look at the horse.”

      “Where?”

      “About twenty minutes west of Aztec,” he answered quickly.

      “Will this person verify that you were at his place?”

      “No doubt about it.”

      Isabella put herself back into prosecutor mode. “And when did you leave there?”

      “Around four,” he told her, then grinned impishly. “And I didn’t buy the stallion. He had a big ankle. He might have gone lame later on.”

      “Four,” Isabella repeated thoughtfully. “The shooting took place when?”

      Ross shrugged. “Victoria wasn’t sure. She said dusk was falling.”

      “Hmm,” she mused aloud. “If that’s the case, you had plenty of time to drive back here and get out to the arroyo where the shooting occurred.”

      “That’s right.”

      She sipped her coffee and tried a bite of the cookie. As Ross had promised, it was delicious.

      “You don’t seem a bit concerned about that,” she accused.

      The