not to notice that unlike her, his chest rose and fell rhythmically, evenly. She had to stand her ground. She knew Shane well. Suspected he would pounce at even the smallest slip in her facade.
That was her fault. She was the one who’d put that tightrope between them. The cute-banter idea had seemed safe when she’d first arrived at the ranch and felt the tingle when he’d shaken her hand. Now it was a flimsy cover barely protecting her from the intensity of his gaze. The longing churning in her belly. The need building day by day, hour by hour, second by second.
He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, making her shiver. “You could stay here. I’ll draw some inkblots and you can analyze me.”
She slapped his hand away. “Pass, thanks. I don’t have time to play games with boys in men’s clothing.” She checked her watch, using that as an excuse to divert her eyes from the tractor beam of his gaze.
“Chicken?” His tone was low and far too sexy for her comfort level.
“No, thanks, I’ve eaten.” She inched past him. “Good night, Shane.”
“Have a good time.” His voice was now laced with something that managed to be seductive and taunting all at the same, confusing time. She was glad to be making an escape and even happier to have an excuse to do it quickly.
The man was annoying. He was impossible. “He does have a great butt,” she murmured as she opened her car door. That small confession brought a smile to her lips.
A smile that vanished the instant she saw the threatening note attached to her seat by the glistening blade of a knife.
Chapter Three
Knife in one hand, Taylor read the note. Dread settled in the pit of her stomach. The block printing made it impossible for her to identify the writer, but the contents and the knife made the message frighteningly clear: “SHANE DID IT. THE PROOF IS IN THE ATTIC.”
OhGodohGodohGod! This wasn’t possible. Shane was a lot of things, but not a killer. Sure, they had their tense moments, but she knew with absolute certainty that he was incapable of hurting anyone. Especially not the mother he worshiped and the father he revered.
Why accuse him?
Oh, God. Who could have delivered this?
Maybe it was a joke. A sick, perverted and cruel one, but some fool’s idea of humor. She couldn’t show Shane. Not now.
Observing him these last few weeks, she knew where he was on the bereavement scale. The initial denial stage had passed the second he’d identified his mother’s wedding ring. The anger stage had passed as well, probably because he’d transferred those emotions to the fantasies of what he’d do when the killer was caught. The funeral ritual had been an outlet for the bargaining and depression stages.
Shane had now reached the final phase—acceptance. Yes, she knew it had been a sudden, unwelcome and painful journey, but she wasn’t about to let some weasel with a warped sense of humor set him back to square one. Crumpling the note, she decided when and if she ever found the prankster, she’d kick him, then charge him for repairing the puncture left by the knife. “Jackass,” she muttered.
Taylor heard the sound of an approaching car and hurriedly put the knife and crumpled note inside her purse. Tossing her bag on the passenger seat, she slipped behind the wheel.
Seth’s marked SUV pulled alongside her sedan just as Taylor turned the key, starting the engine. With a wave of her hand, she rushed off before he noticed anything was amiss. Amiss? She almost choked. That wasn’t the word for it. Amiss didn’t come close to describing the protective surge of anger churning her insides.
SHANE WAS IN THE PROCESS of grabbing another beer when he heard the front door open and close. For a split second, he let himself hope that it might be Taylor coming back inside. Maybe she’d decided to abandon her class in favor of spending the evening with him. Yeah, sure. That was about as likely as fish learning to dance. Acknowledging that reality made him scowl.
Seth strolled into the kitchen. “Hey,” he said by way of greeting. “What’s with Taylor?”
Shane shrugged. “Don’t know. I never know, which probably explains why we’ve lived under the same roof for five years and I still don’t know her middle name.”
“Sophia,” Seth replied with a brotherly sneer as he weaved toward the kitchen. “Put us all out of our misery and make your move. Get proactive, will you?”
“Proactive? Is that from your word-of-the-day calendar? You weren’t here a few minutes ago. If you were, you’d rethink your belief that she’s hot for me. She thinks I’m a moron.”
“You can be a moron, but that’s beside the point,” Seth teased. “Trust me on this, Shane. Time’s a-wastin’.”
“Why do you think she’s interested in me?”
“My exceptional talents for deduction.”
“Really?” Shane asked, smacking Seth’s Stetson off his head. “Maybe you should put those skills of yours to good use by trying to figure out why the woman can barely keep a civil tone in my presence. She hates me.”
“You’re so wrong,” Seth stated, tossing his hat onto the table. “Men are such jerks.”
“First you quote movies, now this?” Shane demanded. “You are such a girl.”
“No, I’m insightful,” his brother said easily. “One of the many advantages of age and experience, bro.”
“Do you have a valid reason for being here?” Shane asked as he watched his brother help himself to a bottle of water, tucking it into the utility belt clipped at his waist. “By valid I mean something more than a roadie of water and an opportunity to rag on me? Has there been a development in the investigation?”
Seth flopped into his chair. “Nothing so far. But after our chat this morning, I thought I’d come by to see if you asked her out. Everyone is very interested in your progress with Taylor. We voted and decided it was more fun to focus on that than champing at the bit because we can’t get involved in solving Mom and Dad’s murder.”
Shane and his brother shared a moment of reflective silence.
“Everyone?” Shane asked. “What did you do, take a poll?”
“Actually, I did.” Seth smiled. “With Sam, Callie and the kids out of the house, we all think it’s time you stopped dragging your heels. I swear, Shane, it took less time for Michelangelo to paint the Sistine Chapel, for chrissake.”
“He had divine inspiration. I have Taylor’s verbal missile defense system. By the way, I know she’d be thrilled to hear my brothers are so concerned about our love life—the one we don’t have—that they felt it necessary to gossip and send an emissary.”
“Whatever,” Seth remarked dismissively before taking a long swallow of beer. “So, what’s the holdup? How much longer do we all have to stay away?”
“You call this staying away?” Shane flicked a bottle cap at Seth, which he deflected easily. “Besides, what do you care?”
“We’re
