stared at the picture. His green eyes looked nearly black. The only thing that gave away his fear over heading to jail was the slight quirk of his lip. He always looked like he was about to smile when he was nervous. Reaching up, he touched his lip and realized he was making the same face now—except, unlike in the photo, a new set of fine lines surrounded his mouth, thanks to his years of hard living.
“Is this you?” she asked, flipping the phone so she, too, could look at the picture.
“Did Wyatt send you to be my welcoming committee? If he did, I’m going to have to thank him.” The words came out wrong, sounding far more crass than he had intended.
“Excuse me?” she asked. “I don’t know what you’re implying, Mr. Fitzgerald. And while I’m sure you would love a warm welcome, I’m far from being someone who is available or willing to supply you with such a thing. Plus, it might be in your best interest to steer clear of women who would be interested in welcoming you.”
He hadn’t been out of prison for five minutes and he was already in trouble with a woman and, in an upper-crust way, being told exactly where he could stuff his feelings for the opposite sex.
About right.
“Hey, I’m sorry for thinking maybe you were here to welcome me to the real world. I guess I just hoped, you being as beautiful as you are and all...”
It could have been the cold, but her cheeks seemed to take on a darker shade of pink as she readjusted her suit jacket and cleared her throat again. “Mr. Fitzgerald—”
“Call me Rainier.”
“Let me guess, Mr. Fitzgerald is your father?” she asked, her tone laced with distaste, as though she had heard that failed line more than a time or two.
“Actually, I wasn’t thinking that at all. No one calls my father that, either.” He motioned toward his hot pink Hawaiian shirt the prison had given him, one he was sure they had gotten for pennies on the dollar at the nearest thrift shop. “Does it look like I’m the kind of guy who should be called mister?”
There it was, her elusive smile flickering over her features. He was breaking through her icy exterior.
“Mister or not, Rainier, you need to watch yourself. I’m your parole officer. The name’s Laura Blade.”
He instinctively glanced down at the packet of papers he’d been given on the inside. Now her cool attitude made all kinds of sense. Of course she was from the other side of the law. “I thought I was supposed to report to your office tomorrow?”
“Your brother is a friend of mine. He requested we meet and you hear the terms and conditions of your release as soon as possible.”
“Are you kidding me? My brother sent you to meet me at the door? Did he really think I was going to find myself in trouble so fast that I needed you to come here and warn me to toe the line?”
She tapped at her phone as though she was texting. “Actually, I had other errands to attend to, as well. You are hardly the only parolee I get the pleasure of seeing. Plus I’m always there for my brothers in blue.”
“I bet Wyatt laughed his ass off when he set this up. Is he going to leave me here to figure out my own way home, too?”
“You must think little of your brother.” She waved him off as he opened his mouth to argue. “Don’t worry, I offered to escort you. I need to perform a home visit, anyway, so I can make sure you will not find yourself returning to Montana’s famous legal system.”
“You mean infamous?” he said, snorting.
“It’s hardly as infamous as you,” she said, motioning for him to get into her car.
He stared at her. “Are you serious?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, swinging her car keys around her finger.
“Are you really offering to take me—a convicted felon—on a road trip all the way to Mystery?”
“I’m not your father, so I think I’m safe driving you home,” she said. “Now hurry up and get in. It’s not getting any warmer out here.” She walked around to her door and the reindeer antlers jiggled as she sat down. She continued to tap on her phone as she waited for him.
He stood still for a moment, staring at the blonde before he got in next to her. She had done her research about him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. When it came to her, he could think of several things that he wanted to do—most of which involved kissing her pink lips and hearing her moan his name.
Then again, he’d always been the kind of guy to want what he could never have.
Maybe this tightly wound woman was more like him than he’d assumed. Maybe she liked to live life on the wild side.
Laura had always thought it was just some stupid saying, but it was true that no good deed went unpunished. She’d thought Wyatt’s request to help his brother would be easy and quick, and yet it had turned into her sitting next to a far-too-handsome convict for one painfully long and awkward road trip.
She glanced over at Rainier. His hair was flecked with bits of auburn and copper, and when the sunshine struck it just right it almost glowed like precious metal. His eyes were the color of emerald sea glass, their hue dulled and muted by the many years he’d spent behind bars. She wondered if, with time, their color would brighten and energy and light would return.
Her palms were sweaty as she gripped the steering wheel. The Dunrovin Ranch wasn’t that much farther. She tried to nonchalantly glance at the clock on the dashboard to get an idea of how much more time she would be trapped in the car, but she noticed Rainier watching her and so she reached over and flipped on the radio. An old country song by George Jones filled the space between them, telling of broken hearts and destroyed lives. It was a bit ironic—the two of them were far too much like the song, she being the keeper of a broken heart, and his life destroyed.
She slipped Rainier a smile, trying to hide her thoughts before he could read them upon her face. Maybe she had it all wrong, or at least backward—her life had been destroyed in just a matter of minutes, as well.
Maybe the song was really just about her.
The country singer’s twang grated on her nerves and she flicked off the radio.
“Do I need to go back over the rules and conditions of your parole, or do you think you understand them?” Laura asked, pushing a wayward strand of hair back into the tight bun on her head.
Rainier answered with a chuckle and lifted the manila envelope for her to see. “Between this ream of paper, and instructions you’ve been going over for the last hour, I think I’ve got it.”
“I just want to make sure you fully understand that at any point we can revoke your parole, and you can be sent back to prison. Under no circumstances are you to violate any of the conditions I’ve given you.”
“All right, there will be no drinking in excess, no hanging out where drugs
