Every Move You Make. Tori Carrington

grinned at her in a way that made her stomach leap higher than it should have. “Great.”

      “Good. Hold on.”

      Ten yards away from Claude’s white truck she stood on the brakes and pulled the steering wheel to the left, sending her own truck careening to a stop and blocking the road.

      “Here.” Mariah slid her revolver from her holster and tossed the firearm to the seat next to Zach. “If he comes running back this way without me, shoot him.”

      The expression on his face was priceless. “Shoot him?”

      “By shoot him, I don’t mean execute him. A simple nick to the arm should do the trick.”

      His expression didn’t change.

      Mariah opened her mouth to ask if he knew how to use a gun, but caught sight of Claude making a run for it.

      The question could wait for later. She had a horse thief to catch.

      HOLY SHIT.

      Zach stared at the firearm in his hand then at Mariah Clayborn’s retreating back. He’d never held a gun before, much less fired one. Okay, sure, he’d had a cap gun and a BB gun when he was a teenager. But this was no peashooter. This was a full octane Colt that weighed at least two pounds if not more.

      The longer he held it, the warmer the metal grew against his skin. He swallowed, excitement ricocheting through his bloodstream. Before he knew it he was grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. He had to shoulder the door to get it to open and he stood on the hard-packed dirt outside, squinting against the dust that remained from Mariah’s daredevil maneuvers. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes. There she was behind the shack. His brows rose. She was grabbing the mane of a sleek dark stallion and hauling herself up onto the horse’s bare back. He shifted a little to the right to find Claude Ray doing the same with less success some couple yards away, his caramel-colored stallion in a full run while Ray tried to pull himself up on top, completely graceless.

      Mariah, on the other hand, was as fluid as the animal she commandeered. The horse seemed immediately to sense she was the boss and held still while she hauled herself up, waiting until her toned thighs straddled him and her boot heels gently nudged his sides before shooting out after Ray. Mariah’s dark hair blew out behind her, her back straight, her fingers tangled in the horse’s dark mane as she bent over the back of his neck, using the power of her thighs to stay astride.

      Holy shit. Things did work differently down here.

      Sure, like most Americans, he was well-versed on the stories of Texas and the Southwest, cowboys and Indians and Clint Eastwood movies. But he’d never thought that that kind of stuff still went on down here.

      The two riders galloped out of sight. Zach stared at the truck with the tricky gearshift and scanned the landscape. The road ran out beside the shed. There was no way he could follow in the ancient vehicle.

      Instead, he undid the top couple of buttons on his shirt and leaned against the door to get just a bit out of the unrelenting sun. He grinned. He’d never met anyone quite like Mariah Clayborn before. He’d bet dollars to donuts that she ran Clayborn Investigations. And if what he’d seen so far was any indication, he suspected she was very good at what she did.

      He tried to tuck the gun into the waist of his dark slacks. The shear weight of the firearm bent the material back, nearly sending the weapon to the dirt at his feet. He fumbled for the gun then laid it on the hood of the truck instead, his gaze watchful, as if he was afraid the revolver would take on a life of its own.

      He rubbed the back of his neck. Okay, so he hadn’t given the gun part of the job that much thought before. He hadn’t thought there would be a reason to, what with the focus of Finders Keepers being the recovery of lost loved ones, rather than dangerous horse thieves. But while Finders Keepers knew Jennifer Madison because they subcontracted work from her, it didn’t mean Jennifer Madison’s agency was strictly a low-risk venture. And, so it appeared, neither was Mariah’s.

      He did have to admit to feeling a thrill as the truck hurled over the dirt road toward their quarry, though. And the gun…

      He heard the clump-clump of hooves hitting the earth before he spotted the horse. Given his thoughts on Mariah, he expected the rider to be her. Instead the caramel-colored horse shot out of the brush and straight by him.

      Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

      Zach fumbled for the gun, although he wasn’t entirely certain what he was going to do with it. He eyed the back of the horse, the gun, then aimed the muzzle skyward and pulled the trigger. Nothing.

      “The safety!” Mariah called, shooting past him moments after Claude. “Release the safety!”

      The safety. Zach hurriedly eyed the metal in his hands and pushed a button. The clip slid out and dropped onto the ground.

      Not the safety.

      Damn.

      Not that it mattered. He shielded his eyes and watched as Mariah caught up with Claude and yanked on the back of his shirt, pulling him from his horse and plopping him into the middle of a particularly prickly looking bush. Within minutes, Mariah shoved Claude in the direction of the truck, his hands bound behind his back with some sort of plastic tie, while the horses followed behind her.

      Zach smoothed down the front of his shirt. He’d never before witnessed such a sight. But given the high color in Mariah’s cheeks, the bounce to her gait, she was not only used to such events, she thrived on them. And Zach couldn’t take his eyes off her.

      Mariah paused in front of him and picked up the clip still on the ground. “Drop something?”

      Zach grimaced and accepted the ammunition pack, then stepped aside to let Mariah put Claude inside the cab of the truck.

      Claude spit on the ground near her boots. “Don’t think this is over, Clayborn. Because it’s not. Not by a long shot.”

      Mariah closed the truck door then pulled a cell phone out of her front pocket and placed two calls—one to the authorities to pick up Ray, another to what he thought must be the horse owner to pick up his animals.

      She clapped the phone closed and turned to look at him.

      “Handle a gun often, cowboy?”

      Zach grinned. “Not often.”

      “We’ll have to fix that if we’re going to work together.”

      The prospect of working with Mariah Clayborn took on a whole different sheen. Zach watched her round the truck and take a couple of leather leads from the bed, wondering what else the fiery Texas lass would have in store for him. And wondering how quickly he could see if she performed as well in bed as she did on the back of a horse.

      3

      NOW THAT’S MORE LIKE IT.

      Mariah drove back to the office feeling psyched and energized, mentally ready to deal with anything and everything, even the news about her latest ex and his wedding plans. Well, mostly ready, anyway. If the handsome man next to her made her think of hot and heavy honeymoons, it was solely because his case involved a missing wedding dress. And her reluctance to feel in any way attracted to him had nothing to do with his lack of skill with a gun in a state where it was almost a requirement that a person know how to handle one, and own at least one or two…or ten or twelve. Her reluctance was because, let’s face it, he was as far away from her type as it was for a man to get.

      If a little part of her mind reminded her that what she thought was her type appeared not to be her type…well, she was ignoring it.

      “Anything happen while I was away?” Mariah glided into the office on triumphant wings, holding the door open for Zach behind her.

      George looked up from where he was idly playing a game of Spider Solitaire on his computer, appearing not to have budged more than an inch since she’d left him a couple of hours ago. “Nope.”

      Mariah