He smiled at his own irony, then continued. “It was lucky for them that the rain didn’t come till after they were long gone, or there would’ve been footprints, tire tracks. Now an inch of sleet is covering any they might have left. If they’re eventually found, they’ll be so compromised, any punch they might have given a prosecutor’s case will be diluted.

“Lucky for you the production people returned when they did. If the perps had had time, they would’ve searched till they found you. You would have made an easy target from the drop-off above the creek bed.”

“I thought of that while I was lying there.”

“Did you see them, Kerra?”

She had been absorbed in recollections of the harrowing experience, but his abrupt question brought her head up. “No.”

“You were holding something back last night? What?”

“The fact that someone tried to open that door before the gunshot.”

“So you do think there were three would-be assassins? Two came to the front door where The Major was shot. Another came in through the back and saw you go into the powder room? He knew you were in there, but his buddies didn’t until after The Major was down? Is that what you think?”

“Honestly, I don’t know what to think any more.”

They lapsed into silence, but as he looked her over, his grim expression relaxed. “Well, honestly, what I think is that before going on TV you may want to change that outfit.”

Gracie had purchased the fleece tracksuit and sneakers for her to wear as she left the hospital. She looked down at herself. “Good advice. It’s ugly.”

He didn’t echo her self-deprecating laugh. All seriousness, he said, “Better yet, Kerra, change your mind. Don’t do the interview.”

“No one in law enforcement is keen on the idea, so the interview could be scrubbed. If it is, all your ranting over it will have been for nothing. You didn’t give me an opportunity to tell you that before blazing in here and drinking my beer.”

“I was pissed.”

“I gathered that.”

“I’m also a real jerk for not even asking how you’re feeling.”

“I told you. Weary, achy, dizzy. But I was exaggerating a little bit,” she admitted with a sheepish smile. She stood up and walked toward him. “I am sorry that you were taken in for questioning. But I don’t regret telling them about the earring. I had to, and I know you understand that, Trapper.”

“I do. Of course I do. I admire you for it. It’s just that I have issues with authority.”

“I’ve gathered that, too.”

They exchanged smiles. He moved to the door, but stopped and turned back before opening it. “Say, I’ve been catching up on my Kerra Bailey–watching and—”

“You have?”

“On my laptop. Helps kill time in the waiting room.”

“I hope I’m at least as engrossing as white-tail deer.”

“I don’t know,” he said, giving her a lazy grin. “Tell me about your mating rituals.” At her look, he shrugged. “Worth a try. Anyway, I saw an interview you did with Thomas Wilcox.”

“It was one of the first feature stories I did here in Texas.”

“Why’d you choose him to focus on?”

“He’s mega successful.”

“That’s the only reason?”

“Why do you ask? Do you know him?”

“By reputation only. Everything I’ve read about him says he’s secretive. Keeps his business private. Shuns media attention.”

“All true. I had to finagle him.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “That sounds like really dirty foreplay.”

She laughed, but stopped laughing when he slid his hand under her hair at the nape of her neck and turned them until her back was to the door. Leaning in, his lips skimmed her beauty mark on their way to her ear, where he whispered, “I’d like for you to finagle me.”

She didn’t speak a word, didn’t move, didn’t do anything except give herself over to his body heat and largeness and maleness and sexiness, the blend of which seeped into her like a potent restorative. He had made her fearful, had bullied her, lied to her, tricked her. But now, all she wanted was to be against his skin. She arched her throat, giving access to his nibbling lips.

“I bother you?”

She responded with a sound that could have gone either way, but he took it as a yes.

“Good,” he said in a near growl as he used his knee to nudge hers apart. “’Cause you sure as hell have kept me bothered.”

His inner thigh rubbed against hers, creating a different kind of achiness that made her forget all her other twinges and pains. This ache was a feverish yearning that felt good, that made pleasure points throb.

He moved his hand up from her nape to cup the back of her head and held it in place while their mouths opened to each other. During the deep and greedy kiss he worked his free hand under her top and into the elastic waistband of the baggy pants. He lightly ground the heel of his hand against her hipbone while his fingers curved around the slope below her waist. He drew her hips forward. She gladly went along with his subtle invitation, and their parts fit together perfectly on the first attempted connection.

He groaned, “Christ, Kerra. Please tell me I’m gonna get to fuck you.”

The knock sounded loudly directly behind her head.

Her body, bowing tautly against his, went slack. Trapper blistered the wall paint with his raspy swearing as he dropped his hand from the back of her head and pulled the other from her waistband.

She smoothed her hair, turned, and opened the door.

Sheriff Addison was standing just the other side of the threshold, scowling, not at her but looking above her head at Trapper.

Trapper scowled back. “What now? You’re missing a spoon from the family silver chest?”

“It’s The Major.”

Chapter 12

Major Franklin Trapper listened to them discussing his condition.

He couldn’t have picked the doctor out of a crowd, because he’d never actually seen him, but he recognized his voice from having heard him talking to the nurses earlier. He was saying, “He’s been responding to commands. Wiggle your toes. Raise your index finger. I realize that doesn’t sound like much, but believe me, it is.”

John asked, “Can he hear us now?”

“Major Trapper,” the doctor said, raising his volume a notch. “If you can hear us, open your eyes.”

The Major did as commanded, and you would have thought he’d summited Everest without supplemental oxygen. The doctor was a blur in a white lab coat, his face a smudge of flesh with nostrils and eyeholes, but The Major made out his wide smile. He even chuckled. “Welcome back. Your son is here and anxious to see you.”

He stepped aside, and John moved into view. He dwarfed the doctor by half a foot. He was wearing a shearling coat that added breadth to his shoulders and blocked everything else from The Major’s field of vision.

“Hey. It’s good to see you awake. You had everybody worried sick.”

The Major didn’t so much note what John had said as the way he’d said it: like he meant it. His usual insolence was missing.

“You’ve had a rough go,” he continued, then turned his head aside to address the doctor. “Will he have any memory of it?”

“With head injuries, the patient rarely remembers the event itself. He may be able to tell you what he ate for breakfast that morning, but—”

“Oatmeal,” The Major croaked.

That was the first time he’d spoken. It surprised John and the doctor, who shuttled John aside and asked, “You ate oatmeal that morning?”

“Every morning.”

“Oh, I see,” the doctor said. “What year is it?”

He answered.

“Can you tell me your birthday?”

He mumbled the date. The doctor looked to John for verification, and when he gave a curt nod, the doctor beamed again. “Excellent.”

John asked, “How’s he doing with the chest wound?”

“No complications from the surgery. He’s breathing on his own, so we were able to take out the tube. It’s remarkable, really.”