Tangled With A Texan. Yvonne Lindsay

named the motel.

      “How about seven?” he asked, beginning to wonder what in hell he was letting himself in for.

      “Seven is good.”

      Then, without another word, she got into her car and swung it around the circular driveway and back toward the main road. Cord watched until she went out of sight, then slowly closed the door to his house. His grandmother would have said he’d gone totally loco. Even he didn’t understand fully what had prompted him to make the offer to Detective Warren, aside from the need to protect his best friend from her questioning. He flicked a look at his watch. Jesse said he’d be at the hospital until the nurses kicked him out. It would take the detective about forty minutes to get to town from here, then no doubt she’d want to fluff a bit like women did. She wouldn’t have time to go to the hospital and bother Jesse, but just in case, Cord dragged his cell phone from his back pocket and thumbed a text to his friend.

      How’s Janet doing?

      She’s holding her own. They’re talking about removing the breathing tube later tonight.

      Cord felt a pang for his friend. Janet was the only family he had left, and to say he was protective of his younger sibling was an understatement. This hiccup with what should have been a routine procedure today had surely devastated him.

      Good to hear. BTW, Houston detective in town asking questions about Hamm. I’m taking her out for a drink so she doesn’t bother you.

      Jesse’s reply was swift.

      LOL, taking one for the team? Such hardship. Is she pretty?

      Trust his friend to ask the hard questions.

      Yeah.

      But she’s a cop.

      Yeah.

      Do you know what you’re doing?

      Keeping her away from you, remember.

      There was a pause, and Cord began to wonder if that was an end to their conversation, but then his phone pinged again.

      Are you sure that’s all?

      You know my rules.

      Okay. Don’t do anything dumb.

      As if. Hey, give Janet my love.

      Will do. And let me know how your date goes.

      It’s not a date.

      She’s pretty. It’s a date.

      Cord rolled his eyes before texting his reply.

      She’s a cop. It’s not a date. End of story.

      He pocketed his phone and went to his room to get ready to head into town. But even as he changed into a good pair of jeans and a fitted shirt and splashed on a little cologne, he couldn’t help but wonder why he was going to so much effort for the woman. Was it because he was trying to keep her distracted and away from Jesse, or was there something more? He snagged his car keys in one hand and headed toward the garage. There was only one way to find out.

       Three

      Zoe paced the confines of her motel room, wondering why the hell she’d agreed to this—whatever this was—with Cord Galicia. The man exuded pheromones like body odor. Both were equally unwelcome in her book. Galicia had been far too cagey about Stevens, and her own experience had shown that people don’t generally hide something that doesn’t need to be hidden. And even though he had said she could ask him anything she wanted, she doubted that would extend to more information about his neighbor.

      She flicked a glance at the digital clock next to the bed. He’d be here any minute. As if she’d conjured him up merely by thinking about him, there was a firm knock at her door. She swung around and checked the peephole. Yup, just as sexy as the first time, she thought. She forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath before unlatching the chain and opening the door.

      Even with the distance of a couple of hours, he still packed the same punch. She’d never met a man before who had made her feel so darn feminine. She wanted to say she didn’t like it, but there was something about the way the blood in her veins fizzed when he was around that she had to admit wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

      “Good evening,” Galicia said, then bowed with a flourish. “Your chariot awaits.”

      “We’re not walking?” she asked, stepping through the door and carefully locking it behind her.

      “Nah, the place I’m taking you is on the other side of town.”

      “If you’d have said, I’d have met you there.”

      “What’s the matter, Detective? Don’t you trust me?”

      She snorted. “I can handle you.”

      He gave her a sharp look that made her draw in a hasty breath. It was clear his mind had gone straight below the waist. Come to think of it, so had hers. Instead of giving in to the sudden roar of heat that flamed from deep inside her, she narrowed her gaze at him.

      “Well, where’s this chariot?”

      He laughed, the sound a deep rumble that hit straight to her solar plexus. A delicious, lazy sound better suited to a bedroom than a parking lot beside a B-grade motel.

      “Over here.”

      He gestured toward a classic F-150, and as they drew nearer, he opened the passenger door for her. She eyed the antique surface of the truck. Clearly left to go to rack and ruin at some point, the vehicle had been restored, but the paintwork remained aged and patchy—almost as if the rust was a badge of honor.

      “Ranching not going so well?” she asked, casting an obvious eye over the multicolored hood.

      “Let’s just say I appreciate the patina of time. It’s been treated and clear coated. A testament to the age and longevity of the beast.”

      Zoe cast him a sideways glance. A somewhat romantic statement from a man who made his living from the land and the animals upon it. Eschewing further comment, she climbed up onto the front seat and waited while he closed her door and stepped around to the driver’s side. The cab had seemed so spacious until he swung up beside her. Then his shoulders were suddenly too close to hers and the cologne he wore wove around her on subtle waves of body heat. She turned her head to the window, but it was no good. Her senses were powerfully attuned to him. She didn’t need to see him to know that his leather jacket was so soft and worn that it fitted his shoulders like a second skin, or that the crisp denim of his jeans pulled across his hips when he sat at the wheel.

      She also knew that no matter where she was, she’d never again smell that scent and not think of him. Of the raw masculinity he exuded in his simple stance, or the latent power in his hands, the teasing in his eyes, the sardonic curl of his lip. She gave herself a mental shake. What the hell was she doing, thinking of him in these terms? Right now, he was someone of interest in her inquiries. Someone to question, not drool over. She was not that weak nor that vulnerable.

      But it had been a while since she’d been intimate with anyone, and, she reminded herself bluntly, a woman had needs. Needs, it seemed, that were hell-bent on distracting her from her job. Well, she owed it to her victim to get to the bottom of who was behind his murder—and to bring them to justice.

      They hadn’t driven long before Galicia pulled up the truck outside a small hotel.

      “This is us,” he said, getting out of the truck and walking around to her side.

      To preempt him opening her door, she did it herself and dropped down onto the pavement. She’d keep her distance from him, get whatever information she needed and then she’d be on her way. She didn’t want to stay here in Royal any longer than necessary. It might be a thriving town, it might even be civilized, but it wasn’t her city. These weren’t her people. Especially not the tall,