wouldn’t do that,” he muttered.
But his eyes caught in the old mirror hanging on the wall. And there was uncertainty in his reflection.
Karen would have had to have been desperate to do it. If he hadn’t barred her from his life three years ago, she’d have come to him.
Just like she’d always come to him, expecting him to clean up the latest mess that she’d landed herself in.
Until that last, unforgiveable act, when she’d signed his name on the publishing contract he’d decided against accepting, he’d always been there for her.
She’d been crashing on his couch at the time, pitching the advantages of the contract as heavily as his publisher had been. It was his fault for leaving the unsigned contract right out on his desk where she’d had easy access to it. His fault for not even realizing the contract had disappeared, until he’d received it back, fully executed and with a handwritten note of “glad to see you came to your senses” attached. That’s what he got for having an ex-wife for his publisher. He’d known immediately what Karen had done, then. Signed his name on the dotted line. Same as she’d used to sign their parents’ names on school report cards.
It was easier to write the book than admit what she’d done. Courtesy of his ex-wife, Karen had walked away with a shopping spree for her part in “convincing” him to take the deal he’d admittedly been waffling over. She’d never known that writing the book had taken everything he had left out of him. Because he’d drawn the line with her by then. No more cleaning up. No more paying off. He didn’t want to hear from her. Didn’t want her phone calls. Her text messages. Her emails. Not even the postcards she always mailed from the places she ended up on her never-ending quest to find her “perfect” life.
Didn’t matter how many times Grant told her there was no such thing. His troubled sister was always on the hunt for it.
She’d even come to Wyoming, where she didn’t have any connections at all except for the one that he had.
And now there was a baby. Supposedly hers.
He looked in the mirror.
It wasn’t his reflection he saw, though. It was his sister’s face when he’d told her to stay out of his life for good.
He looked away from the mirror. Sighed deeply.
“Hell, Karen. What have you done?”
Grant didn’t recognize her at first.
Which wasn’t all that surprising, he supposed.
Instead of the shapeless navy blue police uniform covering her from neck to ankles, she wore a short red dress edged in black, which crossed tightly over her breasts to tie in a bow at her hip, and high-heeled black shoes. Her shapely legs peeked out below the snug hem that reached only a few inches past her butt.
He studied Officer Templeton over the rim of his beer as she made her way between tables, taking orders and picking up empties on her way toward the bar, where he was sitting in front of the taps. She didn’t even glance his way when she got to the end of the bar, delivered her orders to the bartender and picked up a fresh set of drinks.
“Thanks, Marty,” she said as she headed back out to the tables with her heavy tray balanced on one hand.
Grant’s gaze followed the sway of her hips longer than was probably polite before he managed to pull it away.
The bartender was back at the taps, filling more beer mugs. He smiled wryly as he caught Grant’s eyes. “Don’t waste your time on that one,” he advised. “The trips are hard to catch.”
“Trips?”
“There are two more, look just like her. Identical triplets. Except one of them got married a couple weeks ago.”
“I guess at least she got caught.”
Marty grinned. “Yeah, by the richest guy in town. Lincoln Swift. His brother, Jax, owns this place.”
Grant’s interest was piqued a little more. Officer Templeton hadn’t provided that particular piece of information. That her brother-in-law’s brother owned the bar where Karen had worked. Or that she herself worked there, too. Because the police department didn’t pay enough, or because of some other secret she harbored?
He glanced over his shoulder again. It was easy to follow Officer Templeton’s progress around the dimly lit room. For one, the dress was like a bright red beacon. Then there was her hair. She didn’t have it twisted back in a god-awful tight bun tonight; instead, it reached beyond her shoulders, a streaky mass of brown and blond waves that bounced as she walked.
Seymour would have taken one look at Officer Templeton and said she was sex on a stick.
If Seymour wasn’t six feet under.
Grant looked back into his beer. He didn’t want to think about Seymour Reid any more than he wanted to speculate about his sister and her baby. But Seymour had been on his mind ever since he’d gotten the invitation in the mail that afternoon.
It was for a ceremony a month from now, when Claudia, Seymour’s widow, would accept the Distinguished Service Cross for her deceased husband. She’d included a handwritten note for Grant, imploring him to attend. Grant had been Seymour’s best friend. He was godfather to their two children. Wouldn’t he please, please come to North Carolina, where the ceremony was being held?
He dug his fingertips into his pounding temples. Unlike Grant, who’d been a combat controller with the US Air Force, Seymour had been army all the way. A Green Beret. He’d been a few years older than Grant, a hothead with the need to be a hero running in his veins. Grant had been attached to Sey’s unit for more than half the time he’d served. When he’d gotten out of the air force nearly six years ago because he’d thought it would save his marriage, Seymour had warned him it wouldn’t. At the time, Grant had warned Seymour that his marriage wouldn’t survive him staying in.
But it turned out Seymour had been right.
As usual.
Grant and Chelsea had been divorced within a year.
At Seymour’s funeral last year, Claudia’s wedding ring had been firmly in place on her finger.
“Getcha another, bud?”
He realized Marty had spoken and looked at his now-empty mug. He hadn’t even realized he’d finished the beer.
Which was a pretty good reason not to have another. “No thanks.” He tossed enough cash on the bar to cover the drink and a tip, then pushed out of his seat and grabbed his coat from the empty bar stool next to him.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Officer Templeton bending over slightly as she cleared a table. How anyone as short as her could have legs that went on forever was beyond him. His ex-wife was nearly as tall as he was and her legs hadn’t seemed that long.
He was almost to the door when the pretty police officer
