Texas Stakeout. Virna DePaul

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       Chapter 6

      “Tell me.” The deepness of Rachel’s own tone sent a vibrato through her throat. What did the marshal know that he hadn’t told her? What was her best friend keeping from her?

      In front of her, Julia shifted from foot to foot, her laptop slung under one arm, the other arm crossed in front of her chest. As if she was on guard. From Rachel? Or from what they were about to tell her?

      Dylan had risen to his feet, as well. Unlike with Julia, his arms were wide—hands fisted and placed on his hips. With his feet apart, he reminded her of some top-notch official in the military. Or a bully.

      Neither spoke.

      Rachel fought back a swearword. “I said tell me. Tell me what’s happened to Jax.”

      Julia took a tentative step forward. “You know what? Maybe I was wrong. You’re dealing with too much, Rachel. Maybe you should focus on Peter right now. Let your concerns about Jax go for a bit. You’ve had a shock, with Josiah passing away and Peter running off. I’ll handle Jax’s situation.”

      Rachel turned on her. “I handle Jax. Me. You’re his lawyer, not his mom.”

      “And you’re not his mom, either,” Julia pointed out. She’d used a soft tone, but the words pinpricked Rachel’s heart. “Your son needs you. Be there for Peter. Let me and the marshal handle Jax.”

      Rachel fought for control. “How did you get my best friend to suddenly be on Team U.S. Marshals?” she snapped out at Dylan. “I know my son needs me. And I know my brother needs me. He’s alone out there, scared.”

      “Who are you talking about, Rachel?” Dylan asked, his voice low. “Peter or Jax?”

      She slumped. Both, she thought. How was she supposed to be a mother to two boys who needed her—one who was her biological son and still a kid, and the other whom she’d parented for the past eleven years and who could barely be considered an adult?

      Tightening her spine, she stood straight, then stalked out of the kitchen and onto the wooden porch, letting the screen door slam behind her. The wind, light and gentle but stronger than a breeze, ruffled the tops of the grass in front of her. Peter needed to run the mower over the lawn. The alpacas needed feeding, the babies needed worming, the chickens and pheasants needed to be fed and watered and to have their cages cleaned. The horses needed to be turned out into the pasture. And it was just her. No ranch hand. No son. No brother.

      Tears pricked her eyes. She ached to hold her son in her arms. To rock him and tell him Josiah’s death was not his fault. But the days when she could rock her son were long over. He’d be home soon. He always came home—either willingly or yanked by the ear by one of the deputies. But he wouldn’t want a hug. Would deny comfort, both for himself and for her.

      And what of her brother? How could Rachel fix things for him this time?

      The squeak of the screen door and the heavy thud of boots on the porch let her know Dylan had joined her. She remained standing, staring into the distance at the faraway creek, at the brush that rose on either side, and at Peter’s favorite cottonwood.

      “Julia’s headed back to her office. She said she has some paperwork to file on your brother’s behalf.” Dylan stepped closer, his heat emanating off his chest and meeting her back. It made her feel as if a warm blanket of comfort and care had been placed on her.

      Although he didn’t touch her, her hair was up in a high ponytail and the hairs on her neck quivered. She shivered involuntarily as she imagined him touching her—massaging the back of her neck with his strong fingers, his warm palm pressed against her skin.

      And her body responded.

      Aching in long-forgotten places that emphasized how different they were. How strong and masculine he was. How perfect he was made to press against and inside her softer more feminine parts.

      God, how she wanted to lean back and rest her weight on this СКАЧАТЬ