Lone Star Bachelor. Linda Goodnight

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      “I like it.” He started the engine. A diesel rumble bubbled around them. “You want music?”

      “I’m good. Whatever you usually do. Don’t let me get in the way.” Let me observe you in your natural habitat, like a lion or a grizzly.

      He flipped on the radio, and contemporary Christian music came through the speakers. He turned the volume to low. “You can change channels if you want.”

      She said nothing, but made a point to notice everything about the vehicle, jotting notes in her spiral book. The interior smelled like him—woodsy and male—and except for a pair of brown leather work gloves in the seat between them it was devoid of clutter. Unusual for a work vehicle.

      She craned her head toward the truck bed. “Where are your tools?”

      He kept his eyes on the road. “We pull a trailer onto the job site.”

      Somewhere between his house and now he’d lost his jaunty attitude and gift of gab. He was none too happy with her, and she was fine with that. He was, however, surprisingly polite about it.

      They rode along in silence for a couple more minutes, through pleasant neighborhoods and into the heart of Gabriel’s Crossing. The pretty little Texas town had been built near the Red River and, judging by the attention to curb appeal, probably belonged to one of those Main Street America organizations.

      Large pots of geraniums and pansies decorated each corner with splashes of color, and brightly painted storefronts were well tended to show off everything from the latest boots and jeans to lawn mowers and lava lamps. A very good artist had painted a pioneer mural down the outside walls depicting a ferry crossing the river while men on horseback and families in wagons waited their turns.

      “I don’t know what good this will do.”

      She turned her attention toward him. Even though he stared straight ahead at the street, Jade’s stomach did that ridiculously annoying flutter thing. “Excuse me?”

      “Visiting the damaged houses.” He flicked a glance her way and then looked back at the road. Long, strong fingers lightly sprinkled with dark hair curled around the steering wheel at eight and two. Manly hands devoid of jewelry. A carpenter’s hands. “All of them are repaired now and Abby’s home is rebuilt. She and Brady put it up for sale.”

      Since their earlier meeting he’d shaved, a shame from a purely aesthetic perspective, but his smooth profile remained square-jawed perfection. A man ought not to look that good.

      She swallowed and watched the passing town instead of Sawyer Buchanon, though her thoughts remained on him. Purely for professional reasons. He was her job.

      “It’s a new home. Why don’t they live there?” she asked.

      “Brady already had his own place out in the country when he and Abby realized they couldn’t live without each other. They’ll live in his house when they get back from Italy.” He flipped on the signal light and slowed to turn. “You should see that place. It’s spectacular. All kinds of golden wood and native rock. The house is huge, but then, so’s my brother.”

      “I’ve heard that. He played football at Tech. Linebacker.” She wasn’t that much of a football fan but no one lived in Texas without being aware of the game.

      Sawyer’s gaze swung toward her, flashing lightning. He spoke easily but with a bite. “I’ve no doubt you know where all of us went to college, with info right down to our GPAs.”

      As a matter of fact, she did. She did not, however, think he would appreciate that information and since she wanted him to talk, she skipped right on past the comment.

      “The police ruled out one suspect, Jake Hamilton. He’s now your brother-in-law.”

      “Yeah. Pointing fingers at Jake was a mistake. He’s all right. He treats my sister like a princess, and that’s good enough for me.”

      “Then why did you suspect him as the vandal?”

      He glanced over, eyebrow jacked. “Don’t you already know this information?”

      She flipped a page in her notebook. “I want to hear the story from your perspective.”

      With a button push, he silenced the radio. “Okay, then. In a nutshell. A hunting accident. Jake and Quinn were stupid kids, Quinn in college making a big splash as a pro-bound quarterback.”

      She knew all that, too, but let him talk. Everybody in Texas and most of America knew about the superstar football player. He’d been in the news, ESPN, Sports Illustrated and attended charity benefits constantly until the accident.

      “He was up for the Heisman Trophy his freshman year.”

      “Sophomore, too. Quinn was the man with the golden arm and the big future until he and Jake decided beer and guns were a good mix. Mistaking him for a deer, Jake accidently shot Quinn.”

      Jade watched his profile, saw the tightening of his mouth and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. He still ached for his brother.

      “Destroying his golden arm.”

      “Right. Quinn’s had years of surgeries, rehab, physical therapy. He’ll never be the same, but he’s doing okay.”

      “I can see where that would generate some animosity, but why blame Jake for the vandalism?”

      “My brothers weren’t exactly excited when Jake and Allison reconnected and fell in love. I think maybe Quinn and Brady were looking for a reason to blame Jake.”

      “Payback?”

      “I suppose, but payback’s not usually the Buchanon way.” He lifted a finger and motioned toward a housing complex. “There’s the Huckleberry Addition up ahead.”

      “Most of the vandalism has occurred here?”

      “All except the time at Abby’s house.”

      “Hmm.” She scribbled in her book. “Her place was an anomaly, which may indicate a personal connection in that instance.”

      “Yes. Maybe. But if that’s true, why are all the other crimes here in the Huckleberry Addition? We have other projects going on all the time. And why isn’t Brady the focus of your investigation, considering the property was his makeover and the owner was his fiancée?” He pulled alongside a curb and stopped the truck.

      “Fair question. My focus is on all areas, not you only.” Definitely not. Not with the way her blood pressure spiked every time he beamed those electric eyes in her direction.

      “Brady will get his share of attention when he returns from that honeymoon.” She slid the backpack over her shoulder. “Unless I’ve already solved the case.”

      “I hope you can.”

      So did she. “Can we talk a minute before I see the homes?”

      He paused, one hand on the door lever. “What about?”

      “You.”

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