Rafe’s eyes were closed, his chin tipped up, as he stretched the kinks from his muscles….

My, how she’d love to run her fingers down the naked length of him. She could only imagine how hard, how sculpted, his body would feel.

Libby tightened her grip on the chopsticks until she feared they’d snap in half.

Soft blue denim hugged his butt. And what a nice, tight butt it was, too.

Libby grinned. She was being so bad. She knew it, and it was so unlike her. But what harm was there in checking out the view? she wondered, her smile widening.

What she’d really like was to see his slick, black river of hair flowing free against the bare flesh covering the wide, strong expanse of his muscular back. To feel those silken tresses against her own naked flesh. A loose and languid chuckle rose in her throat, and she did her best to stifle it.

“What has you grinning from ear to ear?” he asked.

About the Author

DONNA CLAYTON

is fascinated with Native American cultures. After researching the traditions and philosophies of various Pacific Coast Indians, she strove to create what she hopes is a richly textured history and a strong present-day sense of community for the fictional Mokee-kittuun tribe featured in her story. An award-winning, bestselling author, Donna lives in Delaware with her husband, two sons and Jake, her four-year-old Border collie.

Close Proximity
Donna Clayton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Meet the Coltons—a California dynasty with a legacy of privilege and power.

Libby Corbett: High-powered attorney. She came home to clear her father’s name. But now that her life is in jeopardy, this take-charge woman must entrust everything to one man—a man who has a chip on his shoulder almost as big as her own!

Rafe James: Native American rancher. A proud loner, he knows the only way to help the town through its crisis is to get close to the one woman who threatens to topple all his defenses.

Blake Fallon: Tough-to-tame director. In spite of his rules against mixing business with pleasure, anyone can see there’s something going on between the Hopechest Ranch’s director and his loyal assistant….

Todd Lamb: Ruthless tycoon. Now that he’s been named head of Springer, Inc., all the long hours he’s spent devoted to his work are about to pay off. Or are they?

This book is joyously dedicated to fellow authors

Maggie Price, Jean Brashear and Cara Colter. Ladies,

you made this a rollicking adventure, and I’m grateful

to the bones to have had this chance to work with you.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

One

T he steps of the courthouse were crowded with camera-wielding media, placard-waving radicals and other individuals who were just plain curious. And to think, Prosperino used to be such a sleepy little town.

With traffic at a standstill, Rafe James sat in his pickup truck watching the circus unfold before him. The irate anti-oil-company chants of several ringleaders could be heard even though his windows were rolled up tight against the chilly March morning.

Having lived most of his life on the Crooked Arrow Reservation, Rafe didn’t travel into town often anymore. Nearly everything he needed could be bought or bartered for right on the reservation, so Rafe didn’t have much to do with the outside world these days. There simply wasn’t much need, unless he had a side job going.

Two different insurance companies called upon him at times to do a little investigative work. And he also used Prosperino as a base for meeting with buyers for his beloved horses. Equestrians from all over the world had purchased the Appaloosas he bred and trained. He didn’t think of this as a bragging right, just fact. A fact he took pride in.

For the most part, Rafe kept to the rez, among his own kind. However, he’d found himself drawn into town every single day since David Corbett, the vice-president of Springer, Inc. had been arrested. The need for information regarding the oil company’s problems had Rafe’s investigative antennae on alert, urging him to listen to gossip, devour each newspaper article he found on the case, study every word of the local evening news. Hell, the story had hit the national news lately. And it was going worldwide, he realized when he saw the CNN van parked up the street.

No way was David Corbett guilty of the disregard for human life and attempted murder charges he was currently facing. The man was too honest, too fair-minded, too compassionate, too honorable to have intentionally tainted the water supply with DMBE, or any other chemical, for that matter. Rafe didn’t care what the EPA had discovered, or that the evidence shed a poor light on Springer’s ex-VP. And Rafe wanted to laugh when he’d read the FBI’s so-called theory.

Oh, someone had deliberately contaminated the water. And that someone was involved with Springer. But the Hopechest Ranch for children hadn’t been the target as the FBI believed. And neither had the town of Prosperino.

Rafe had his own suspicions about this whole mess. But who was going to listen to an Indian playing a guessing game filled with speculation and conjecture? Nobody, that’s who.

All Rafe knew for sure was that David Corbett was innocent. Rafe’s gut told him the man was being used as a scapegoat. And if there was one thing he hated, it was when someone took the blame for an offense he didn’t commit, when someone was forced into the role of victim.

Victim. The very word turned Rafe’s blood to acid. Memories swam and churned in his head. But he cut them off, strangled the life out of them before they had a chance to come into focus.

This wasn’t about him. It was about Corbett.

Rafe sighed as he thought about the dire straits the man was in. But Rafe knew him to be intelligent and savvy. Surely, Corbett would get himself out of this tight spot. He’d find himself a good lawyer. Surely, the evidence could somehow be refuted—

Like the eyes of an eagle homing on prey, his gaze zeroed in on the woman who exited the front doors of the courthouse. The morning sun glinted off the long tumble of her hair, turning it the color of polished copper. Immediately, she was besieged by media people hounding her with questions. The radicals pressed in on her as well, shouting slurs, chanting angry accusations.

Her chin was tipped up defiantly as she faced down what she so obviously saw as the opposition. Confidence seemed to ooze from her, and the tiny hairs on the base of Rafe’s neck stood on end. Something deep in him stirred—

A horn blared behind him, and instinct alone kept him from starting. He couldn’t believe he’d become so wrapped up in the scene on the courthouse steps, or in the red-haired beauty standing there.

Darting a glance in his rearview mirror, Rafe saw the irate motorist mouthing and gesturing an obscenity. Reacting to such nonsense never even entered Rafe’s head. Instead, he searched for and found a parking spot, pulled in his truck and cut the engine. He was out on the sidewalk and making his way toward the courthouse before he even had time to think.

This morning he hadn’t intended on doing anything more than picking up the daily paper, but instinct had changed his plan. He was being urged into action by the overwhelming need to discover who the woman was. If the Elders had taught him anything, it was to listen to his gut. One’s very life could depend on heeding what might seem to others as sheer impulse.

What an odd thought. But he didn’t take time to reflect on it. By the time he reached the base of the brick steps, the mob was descending toward him and the woman was pushing her way through the crowd.

“David Corbett is innocent,” she told them all. “That fact will be proven.

Strong vehemence girded her statement, and Rafe got a shadowy sense that those words—that tone—just might put her in peril.

“I’ll stake my entire career on it. I have nothing further to say at this time.”

The media continued to pepper the woman with questions, but she remained stonily silent as she moved through them, doing her best to brush aside the microphones being shoved at her.

“How can Corbett ever refute the mountain of evidence against him?”

Her skin, Rafe noticed, was like creamy porcelain.

“Wouldn’t it be easier for everyone if Corbett simply pleaded guilty to all charges?”

She moved with grace and style. The woman was poised. Even under fire.

“How does he feel about Springer turning its back on him?”

Her fingers were tapered, her nails neatly manicured with clear gloss. The thought of them raking down the length of his chest burst into his mind, unbidden, and Rafe’s jaw clenched in reaction.

“Have you taken a leave of absence from your law firm in San Francisco? Or are you taking this case with your boss’s blessings?”

Her eyes were an astonishing aquamarine. Clear. Earnest. Intelligent. Connecting with them for the first time was enough to make a man feel as if he’d been kicked in the chest by a wild stallion.

“What did David Corbett say when he learned that his job was taken over by Todd Lamb?”

That gaze of hers brought the ocean to mind. The wide-open Pacific on a bright, still afternoon. A man could get lost in those eyes.

“As Corbett’s daughter, do you really feel you can set aside emotion and successfully represent your father in this case?”

This final query caused the woman to blanch. She blinked, her well-shaped mouth parting just enough for her to inhale a quick breath. The confidence expressed on her delicate features slipped a notch. As hard as she tried to hide her reaction behind a reflexive swallow and a small plastic smile, the sudden vulnerability clouding her blue-green gaze affected Rafe.

Mightily.

Reveling in her utter beauty hadn’t been his only pursuit of the last few seconds; he’d also absorbed the reporters’ questions and all the information the nonstop grilling had suggested. He knew who the woman was, where she was from and why she’d arrived in Prosperino.

Shouldering his way into the crowd, he stepped between the woman and the last television correspondent who had spoken.

“Back off.” The tight expression Rafe offered the man and the threat lacing the edges of his tone had the reporter retreating automatically.

Lightly grasping the woman’s elbow, Rafe focused every nuance of his attention on her. There were questions in her eyes. He saw them. But now was not the time for answers.

“Where’s your car?” His voice was quiet. Meant only for her.

She pointed, and he led the way. Miraculously, the horde parted and allowed them access to the sidewalk and the cars that were parked along the curb. He opened the driver’s door and she slid behind the wheel, thrusting her attaché case onto the passenger seat beside her. The engine sparked to life, and after offering him one quick look of gratitude, she pulled into traffic and drove off down the street.

Libby Corbett pulled into the driveway of her childhood home. She sat in the quiet, her hands resting lightly on the steering wheel as she stared at the huge white Victorian house with its fancy gingerbread trim. As a little girl, she’d spent many an evening curled up on that porch swing between her mom and dad. They had been an incredibly close-knit family of three; racing and cavorting in the shade of the trees out in the backyard in the spring, playing board games at the kitchen table on rainy winter evenings, making up songs at the old grand piano in the living room, reading the classics together in her parents’ massive king-size bed.

She’d been in junior high school when she slowly became cognizant of all that her parents had sacrificed in order to accommodate her special needs, in order to keep her feeling safe and secure. The opportunities to travel they had given up. The social life they had let pass them by. All for her sake. They had understood how uncomfortable their daughter had felt around people.

The severe stuttering problem that had plagued her all through her adolescence had made her painfully shy. She’d grown up virtually friendless. It was nearly impossible to make friends when you refused to speak.

However, her parents had succeeded in filling in all the gaps in Libby’s life, and her memories of growing up in Prosperino were filled with happiness and joy. Through her high-school years she’d worked hard to overcome her speech impediment. She’d so wanted to liberate her parents of the worry they suffered on her account. She’d been desperate to somehow free them, to give them back their lives so they could enjoy each other and the world around them. But just when intensive speech therapy seemed to have put that goal within her reach, fate had dropped yet another obstacle into the path of the Corbett family.

When her mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer, Libby knew it was her turn to become the caretaker. And she had done everything she could to make her mother’s load lighter. She’d rushed home from school to cook and clean. She’d done the shopping, the laundry. She’d accompanied her father to the hospital on daily visits. She’d knelt by the toilet, holding a cool, damp cloth to her mother’s forehead when the chemo treatments caused such violent vomiting. When her mom’s silken hair had fallen out in clumps, Libby had refused to cry, choosing instead to run out and buy several colorful turbans she knew would bring a smile to her mother’s wan and weary face.

Libby had done everything in her power to be strong for her mom, to somehow pay her back for all the love and caring the woman had showered on her.

Sandra’s cancer had gone into remission, but the disease had taken its toll on her emotional welfare. The years of battling had stolen her zest for living. And then in ’97, the cancer had returned.

Both Libby and her father had nearly died of grief when Sandra Corbett had passed away. Their terrible loss had only made them closer. When it came time for her to start her career, Libby had balked at leaving her dad all alone, but he’d gently pushed her out of the nest so that she could test her wings. With a law degree under her belt and her exciting job with a prestigious firm in San Francisco, Libby was terribly grateful that her father had allowed her the freedom to fly. There simply wasn’t enough room in the entire universe to contain the love Libby felt for her father.

David Corbett had been her champion when she’d been a little girl. Her knight in shining armor. He’d sacrificed so much for her, made her feel secure, made her feel loved at a time when the awful stammer she suffered made her feel flawed and awkward and often stupid.

Years ago, Libby had been strong for her mother through those long months of her illness. It had about killed her to keep her chin up and a smile on her face, but she’d been proud to offer a shoulder for her mom to lean on. Now the time had arrived for her to be strong for her father. Now was her opportunity to repay him for his years of total devotion and sacrifice.

When her father had called her to request that she find him a good lawyer, Libby hadn’t a clue why he might need representation. She’d assured him that she could take care of any personal legal matters he might have. She might be a criminal attorney, she remembered telling him, but someone in her firm could certainly see that his will was properly filed.

Her knees had grown wobbly when he’d finally confessed that he was calling her from jail and that he was facing felony charges.

Disregard for human life? Attempted murder?

That very evening the story had hit the west coast newspapers.

How could anyone—the EPA, the FBI and least of all the executives at Springer, Inc.—believe that straitlaced David Corbett could be guilty of those crimes?

Libby had immediately gone to the partners in the firm and requested time away from the practice in order to give her father the best representation available. No one had a greater stake in this than she did. No other attorney would be willing to go to any lengths to prove her father’s innocence like she would. Together, she and her father would beat this thing.

Uncertainty, gray and thick, gathered around her like a wintry coastal mist.

Why had her father balked initially when she’d proposed she travel north to act as his lawyer? She hadn’t really thought about it at the time, so caught up was she in his plight. Why had he tried so hard to decline her offer of help? Sure, he’d used the excuse of not wanting her life interrupted by what was sure to be a mess—the biggest three-ring circus in the history of Prosperino, he’d said. He’d tried to reason that her professional reputation might be in jeopardy just by having her name associated with the case. However, she couldn’t help but wonder if, just maybe, her father doubted her ability as an attorney. Maybe he thought she didn’t have the skills necessary to successfully clear his name.

“But I can help you, Daddy,” she whispered in the solitude of the car, wretched emotion burning her throat, unshed tears prickling the backs of her eyelids.

Fear gripped her belly with icy fingers when she thought of all the hostility she’d faced at the courthouse today. From the media. From the townspeople. Everyone seemed so dead-set against her dad. Everyone.

Suddenly she remembered the rich, mahogany eyes of the man who had come to her aid this morning. Never in her life had she experienced an expression filled with such complex and concentrated intensity. The memory made her shiver.

When the man had touched her, when he’d taken her by the arm, the chaos in her mind calmed. She’d felt safe. Secure. He’d been like a harbor in the midst of a terrible storm.

But that was silly. Safe and secure with a complete stranger? Come on, Libby, her brain lectured. You’re letting down your guard.

That protected feeling had simply come from the fact that he seemed to be on her side when no one else had been. The man must know her father, must have had some dealings with him. The thought brought her comfort.

Maybe everyone wasn’t against her father.

She inhaled deeply and tipped up her chin. She sure wouldn’t be able to clear her father’s name by wallowing in doubt and self-pity.

The car key was cool against her palm as she pulled it from the ignition. Shoving open the door, she exited the car, bringing with her the bag of groceries she’d purchased this afternoon and her attaché case. With a small thrust of her hip, she closed the car door. The heels of her shoes clicked on the paved drive as she made her way to the porch.

Libby looked up and was truly astonished to see him standing on the front lawn. The man with those intense, dark eyes.

Two

H e was a big man. Tall. Lean. Powerful. And his features looked as if they’d been chiseled from some golden-hued stone from the desert, his cheekbones high and sharp, his jaw angular.

Without conscious thought, her steps slowed, then stopped altogether.

Something about his stance gave the impression that he was primed, ready. To attack or flee, she couldn’t tell which.

Just then the afternoon breeze tangled itself in his long, raven hair, whipping it across his eyes and jaw, obscuring his face from view. An odd, out-of-the-blue urge welled up in Libby, and she had to fight the impulse to go to him, to brush back his hair, experience what she easily imagined would be the silken texture of it between her fingers. The startling thought made her eyes go wide, made her heart trip in her chest.

In the calm of the moment, she realized he was the most luscious man she’d ever laid eyes on.

That astonishing notion made her suck in a quick breath. What on earth had gotten into her?

She suppressed a smile when she realized that just because experience had forced her to swear off men entirely, she was still a woman. The feminine part of her demanded its right to appreciate a good-looking man when she saw one.

With an economy of movement, he turned his head, lifting his chin a fraction, and the wind whisked his hair back over his shoulders. And massive shoulders they were, too. Her eyes slid down the length of him. Over his broad chest covered by a white button-down shirt, narrow hips belted with a strip of suede decorated in a beaded, distinctly Native American design. His jeans, denim worn soft and supple with age, encased muscular thighs.

A desolate sigh whispered across her brain as she imagined him naked. The thought nearly made her choke.

She forced her gaze to the sculpted features of his face.

Who was he? And what was he doing here?

As much as she wanted to focus on the issues important to the here and now, she couldn’t stop the unbidden perceptions from flashing in her mind like sharp bolts of lightning.

Untamed. Stealthy. Panther-like.

Each description that zipped through her thoughts caused a friction that heated her blood.

He didn’t seem in any way unrefined or brutish. But…feral. Yes. That was it. A wildness exuded from him like heat radiating from the sun. Natural. Genuine.

Libby realized her heart was hammering and her mouth had gone as dry as the California desert. Enough of this, she silently ordered. When her feet still didn’t move and her tongue remained cleaved to the roof of her mouth, she silently ordered, Enough.

Suddenly she was moving again, and rather than making her way to the front door as she’d first intended, she veered toward the man.

“I didn’t get the chance to thank you this morning,” she called to him. “For helping me escape those reporters at the courthouse.”

Until now his countenance had expressed a tentativeness as if he wasn’t quite sure he should approach. But now his tense features relaxed, if only a bit.

“I’m Libby Corbett. David Corbett’s daughter.” As soon as the introduction left her mouth, she silently decided he must realize those facts already. How else would he have known where to find her?

His steely silence made her nervous. “Can I help you with something?” she asked.

“I was thinking that maybe I could help you.”

She remembered the commanding tone he’d used when addressing the reporter this morning. But now his voice sounded rich. Resonant. And a delicious tremor coursed down the full length of her spine.

“Oh?”

It was the only answer she could pull from the fog of her thoughts.

His mouth and jaw line went taut, and Libby got the distinct feeling that he’d somehow gotten his pride knocked out of joint, that maybe her one, tiny response had somehow belittled him. Although his boots remained planted in the grass, he turned his head, obviously considering making an exit then and there. She could tell.

“Wait,” she called. She took several steps toward him, leaving the concrete, her high heels a hindrance in the thick grass. The bag of groceries grew heavy suddenly and she shifted them into her other arm. “You know my dad?”

His nod was almost imperceptible.

“You know something about the case? You can help my father?”

“I’d like to help him.”

The fact that he hadn’t answered the first question wasn’t lost on her, but she offered him a smile anyway. She felt as though she’d sailed into a sea of enemies since arriving in Prosperino. Anyone who was willing to help her dad would be considered a friend until she had some reason to think otherwise.

“Would you come in for a cup of coffee, Mr.…?”

“James. Rafe James.”

“Well, Mr. James—”

“Rafe.”

“Well, Rafe. You’ll have to call me Libby, then, won’t you?”

The smile he offered her was small, but it provoked an amazing response in her. Thoughts turned chaotic as images materialized in her brain. Sensual visions of that wide mouth of his raining kisses over her body.

It had been so easy to conceive of this man as wild, animalistic. But now it was just as easy to picture him in the role of tender lover. In any other puzzle, those two opposing pieces wouldn’t go together. But with Rafe James, they somehow fit.

Perfectly.

What a ridiculous notion. This man was a complete stranger to her.

Shoving the inappropriate thoughts from her mind, she said, “So, should we go in?”

He nodded slightly and then moved toward her.

The muscles of his thighs played under the fabric of his jeans, and Libby had to force her eyes to avert to the ground. Before she realized it, he was close. Very close. He smelled like citrusy cedar and leather, and she had to force herself not to close her eyes and get lost in the scent.

“Let me take this for you.”

When he reached to take the bag from her, his hand brushed her upper arm. The desire to protect herself by stepping away from him was great, as was the urge to move toward him, ever closer.

She did neither, and she thanked her lucky stars that she had sense enough to keep a level head on her shoulders. She had no idea what had gotten into her. The stress of worrying about her father’s tremendous troubles, she guessed. That and the despair of having gotten caught in the memories of her childhood.

After unlocking the door, she made her way through the house to the kitchen, very aware that Rafe James was close on her heels. She set her briefcase on the ceramic tile countertop of the island.

“Set the bag here,” she told him. Then she silently indicated that Rafe should take a seat on one of the high stools.

“So, how do you know my dad?” Libby busied herself putting away the quart of milk, the loaf of bread and the other groceries she’d purchased.

He didn’t answer right away, and his apparent hesitancy made her pause. With a bag of apples still in her hand, she lifted her gaze to his.

Finally, he said, “I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. David Corbett and I are not and have never been friends.”

Libby’s brows drew together, but she remained silent, waiting.

“Sixteen years ago,” he continued, “your father hired me at Springer. I’m—”

The rest of his thought was cut short and he pressed his lips together. He took a moment to inhale, and Libby’s gaze unwittingly darted due south as his chest expanded. She blinked, and immediately directed her eyes to his.

“Let’s just say I’m grateful to him.”

He went quiet. Once she realized he didn’t mean to say more, she pulled open the refrigerator, placed the apples in the bin, then shut the door, pausing there with her hand on the stainless steel handle.

“You went to the trouble to search me out,” she said, “and offer my dad your help during this crisis, all because he gave you a job sixteen years ago?” She raised her brows. “Must have been one hell of a job.”

Moving across the room, she reached for the coffeepot and began filling it with water.

The sigh Rafe emitted sounded resigned. “He made me a security guard. Gave me a fair wage. A job with health benefits. Saw to it that I received thorough training. And I was able to use that training for more lucrative employment after I left Springer.”

As he talked, she placed a paper filter into the basket of the coffeemaker and spooned in the ground beans. Something about Rafe James’s motives just didn’t ring true. His manner was…reserved. Cautious. And had been since he’d first appeared out on the front yard. She poured the water into the reservoir and snapped on the machine.

Libby had been hurt by one secretive man in her past. She wasn’t about to fall prey to another—in any aspect of her life.

Whirling around to face him, she blurted, “So let me get this straight. You went to the trouble to search me out, and you want to help my dad, all because he gave you a job and properly trained you for that job.” She shrugged. “Seems to me my dad was only fulfilling his responsibilities.”

Her short, sharp laugh didn’t hold much humor, but conveyed instead a huge measure of skepticism. “My father has worked for Springer for nearly thirty years. I’m sure he’s hired lots of people. My front door is going to fall off its hinges if every single one of those grateful people come racing to help.”

A thunderous storm gathered in his mahogany eyes. She hadn’t meant to make him angry, but she felt it necessary to be blunt about his flimsy reasoning. Almost of their own volition, her arms crossed tightly over her body.

He stood, and the sheer size of him coupled with his surly expression was a daunting sight, to say the least. A person with any sense at all would feel afraid. However, she didn’t, and that wasn’t because her brain cells had suddenly gone dim, but because, although muscles bunched in his shoulders and ire sparked in his dark eyes, she knew in her heart she was perfectly safe with this man.

“Look, Ms. Corbett, you’re right when you said your father has hired lots of people over the years. And many of them are just like me.”

The emphasis he placed on those last three words made her frown.

Just like him? He was Native American. Most probably from the Mokee-kittuun tribe living on the Crooked Arrow Reservation just outside of town. But what did his ethnic group have to do with this? Although the question disturbed her, the confusion she felt kept her silent.

“For years,” he continued, “the people from the rez weren’t given a second glance when they applied for work at Springer. Your father did everything he could to change that. And as he moved up the corporate ladder, he continued in his efforts. Continued to treat us with fairness and respect.”

As she listened, her shoulders tensed until tiny needles of pain began shooting up her neck. In all the years that her father had worked at Springer, he’d never once intimated that there was any kind of racial discrimination at the company. Yet here this man was, telling her that her dad had spent his entire career battling what sounded like an anti-Native American sentiment at Springer, Inc.

“He’s even helping our children,” he said, intense emotion tightening his facial features. “The first thing he did when he became Springer’s vice-president was to set up a scholarship fund for reservation children. And when he visited the Elders just before last Christmas, seeking to lease some of our land so that Springer could expand, did he become angry when his request was turned down? No. Instead, he was moved by the living conditions of the people. His heart was touched, and he offered to have Springer cover the cost of a new well—a well that was being dug up until the moment he lost his job.”

She wished an abyss would open up in the floor and swallow her whole.

Anger now ticked the muscle of his jaw. “Where I come from, a man who gives respect earns respect. It’s something that’s not given easily and not taken lightly. Your father is a good man. He doesn’t deserve the treatment he’s receiving. He’s completely innocent. And I think he could use a friend, Ms. Corbett.”

It was hard to meet his gaze, but she forced herself to do it. She moistened her lips. What could she say to him? Coming from the reservation, having been born into an ethnic minority, he’d probably seen more than his fair share of bigotry and narrow-mindedness. An apology, she silently surmised, would seem almost offensive at this moment.

Feeling the need to make some sort of response, she offered him a small and sincere smile and let her arms relax at her sides. “I thought you’d agreed to call me Libby,” she said, keeping her tone friendly.

The turbulence in his gaze settled somewhat, but his emotions continued to brew, that much was easily discernible.

She tried again. “Please sit down, Rafe. Let me get you that cup of coffee.”

He was measuring her, the situation, the moment. She couldn’t tell what all was going through his mind. But it was obvious that her attempt at a pleasant tone, a laid-back demeanor, was beginning to soothe his ruffled emotions.

Libby had never met a man quite like Rafe James. He seemed so vigilant, watchful, as though he wasn’t quite sure from where trouble might come at him. It wasn’t that he seemed paranoid, really. Just…ready for anything, she supposed.

His manner could stem from his very existence. Hadn’t he just explained that he’d experienced more than his fair share of prejudice?

Or it could have roots in his very makeup. In his genetic material. Native Americans had a rich history filled with an ancestry of hunters and brave fighters. Could the DNA of the wary and wild warrior be carried down through the generations?

Realizing that she’d allowed herself to get carried away with fanciful notions, which was quite out of the norm for her, Libby straightened her spine and sighed.

“Rafe, sit. Let’s talk.”

His whole body seemed to relax finally, and he did as she bade.

The smell of coffee was heady as she brought the cups to the island. She set one down in front of him, then retrieved the sugar bowl, creamer and two spoons. It didn’t surprise her to see that Rafe took his coffee black. She slid out a stool and perched herself on it right next to him.

“So…you live at Crooked Arrow?” she asked. It wasn’t an outrageous guess. He’d insinuated as much.

Rafe nodded, his long, ebony hair falling over his shoulder.

The urge to reach out and comb her fingers though the shiny mass of it made her tighten her grip on the cup she held in her hand.

“I have a horse ranch. Breed Appaloosas.”

One corner of his wide, full mouth curled upward, and Libby found her gaze drawn to the spot as if it were a powerful magnet.

“Every nickel I could spare while working at Springer was put aside for the ranch. It was always my dream. And now I’m living it.”

For an instant, the muscles of his face eased…and Libby’s breath caught in her throat. He was truly a gorgeous man.

At that moment, he smiled, open and easy, for the very first time, and it seemed to her that all the oxygen had been sucked right out of the air.

“Now that you’ve discovered that I deal in horseflesh,” he said, “I guess you’re wondering how I could possibly help your father.”

In all honesty, Libby quietly responded, “I hadn’t, actually.” Then she added, “But I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“Because of my extensive training all those years ago at Springer,” he told her, “I was able to qualify for a P.I. license. I’ve worked for a couple different insurance firms in the area. You’ll be needing someone with my skills, I’m sure.”

Coming from anyone else, that statement might have sounded cocky, overly prideful. But Libby didn’t feel that way about it at all. She admired the fact that he was confident.

She didn’t answer, but simply lifted her cup to her lips and took a sip of coffee. For some reason, she wasn’t ready to come to any kind of arrangement with this man.

Softly, he said, “Your father is lucky that you’re a lawyer. No one would fight harder for him than family.”

She actually flinched when she heard him mirror the very thoughts that had passed through her mind earlier when she’d been sitting out in front of the house in the car. Luckily, coffee didn’t slosh over the rim of the cup.

“You practice in San Francisco?”

“Yes.” Her tone made it clear that she was surprised by his knowledge of her.

“You’ve been mentioned in the papers,” he explained. “And there’s been plenty of talk about your arrival. Prosperino is a small town. Rich soil for the old grapevine.”

She only nodded. The sound of his voice had a lulling, mesmerizing quality.

“You look like him.”

Libby’s gaze darted to where the pad of his thumb absently traced the gentle curve of the lip of his cup, and she was bombarded with a vision of that thumb roving over the outline of her mouth. Her throat went dry and her eyes darted from his.

“Your father, I mean,” he continued. “You inherited his hair coloring. Although, if I remember correctly, his is a much darker red. But your eyes…they’re quite different from what I remember your father having. His are dark, aren’t they?”

She nodded. “I’ve got my mother’s eyes.”

“I see.”

It seemed to her that he wanted to stop there. She could see his silent, internal battle. A battle he ultimately lost.

“Your eyes are quite—” His rich tone lowered an octave as he added, “Startling.”

Libby swallowed, her spine straightening.

Startling. It was a word Stephen had often used when describing her gaze. And it was a description she’d come to loathe.

This conversation was getting much too personal for her tastes. The porcelain cup clinked firmly against the tiled countertop when she set it down. “So…what makes you think my father is innocent?”

He was very good at masking his reactions, but Libby did see his dark brows raise a fraction in surprise before he reined in his response.

“I’ve already explained. Your father is a good man. His heart—his conscience—would not allow him to poison the land. Or the people living on it.”

“Good people do bad things every single day,” she pointed out.

“I may not know him personally, but David Corbett has a strong sense of right and wrong. He’s shown that over and over again to my people.”

His gaze shifted, and she got the distinct impression that he wasn’t telling all he knew.

“Let’s just say,” he went on, “that my gut tells me he is innocent.”

Caution seemed to pulse from him. And he said no more.

Memories of Stephen flooded her mind, bringing with them a wave of pain and emotional agony that became nearly more than she could bear. Before the thoughts and feelings could get a foothold, though, she shoved them away from her, far to the back of her brain.

She didn’t need another secretive man in her life. Personal or professional.

Libby had been hurt in the past by a man who refused to reveal all, and she was determined not to be duped by another. But then the scene on the courthouse steps came rushing vividly into her mind. So many people seemed against her father. So many people wanted his head on a platter. And Springer and the authorities seemed happy to supply the length of her dad’s neck for the offering. The case seemed mountainous. And she felt terribly alone.

Maybe, she thought, an uneasy alliance with Rafe James was better than no alliance at all.

She tipped up her chin, her decision made. “Okay,” she said, reaching her hand out to him, “so we’re in this together.”

Without hesitation, he slid his hand in hers.

Three

“I can’t believe the judge denied bail.”

Rafe remained quiet as he watched Libby pace the length of the room. She was livid. And seeing her caught up in all that fury, he was struck by the sheer glory of her.

“A flight risk? How could they believe my father would run? Everyone in this town knows him. Well, most everyone, anyway.”

Turning around, she strode back toward him, her gaze dipping and roving wildly, seeing nothing, as thoughts so obviously careered through her head at lightning speed.

“He’d never run. Never. His only intention is to clear his good name.”

Her aquamarine eyes blazed with heated emotion, her long auburn curls bounced with the anger fairly pulsing from her waving arms and jutting shoulders. She was surely a sight to behold.

Finally, he felt compelled to quietly ask, “Did you know he’d planned the trip?”

He remembered how shocked she’d looked when the D.A. had requested that bail be denied due to the risk of David’s fleeing the country.

“He didn’t plan the trip,” she told him. “I did. Before Christmas. He loves to ski and the skiing in Canada is great this time of year.”

Her gaze latched on to Rafe’s, and the shadows that clouded her eyes tore at the very heart of him. She was feeling guilty. That much was plain.

“I’ve been begging him for years to do something fun. I pushed extra hard this year. I even booked the flight and hotel myself. I wanted him to get away and have a good time. Even if I had to bully him into doing it.” She sighed. “I fully expected him to cancel the reservations. But he didn’t.” Softly, she added, “And I remember how happy I was about that.”

The deep crease etching her brow marred her beautiful face.

“This was going to be the first trip he’d taken…”

A lump of emotion seemed to swell in her throat. She attempted to swallow around it, and the effort seemed painful.

“…since Mom died.” Her gaze glittered with moisture. “Rafe, they’ve confiscated his passport, the airline tickets, everything. They really do believe Dad’s a flight risk. They really believe he’s guilty of these charges.”

So, the reality of things was setting in, Rafe saw.

Yes, she was an attorney. In her San Francisco practice, she represented myriad clients who faced allegations just like these every single day. Rafe was sure she had understood the seriousness of her father’s predicament all along; however, when it came to one’s family, it was hard for a person to really imagine anything bad happening. But it seemed that the direness of her father’s situation was finally sinking into her head…into her heart.

The sympathy Rafe felt ached from down deep in his soul. He didn’t want to care about this woman. Couldn’t afford to. Caring made a man weak. And he’d vowed years ago, that weak was the one thing he wouldn’t allow himself to be.

But seeing her haunted gaze, understanding the frustration she was experiencing, imagining the guilt she was feeling over what she saw as her part in providing evidence against her father in the form of those trip reservations, Rafe couldn’t just sit by, see the misery in her gorgeous eyes and do nothing. But he didn’t dare surrender to his desire to touch her. He didn’t dare yield to the urge to take her in his arms and reassure her.

Instead, he said, “Did you ever think that maybe David is better off behind bars?”

She whirled on him. “How can you say that? That place is horrible. He’s penned up in that little cell with nothing to occupy his mind. He’s—”

“Got three hot meals a day,” he interjected, “a clean, warm bed to sleep in and a bevy of armed guards to protect him.”

That’s more than you have at the moment, he wanted to remind her. But he didn’t.

Bewilderment wrinkled her forehead.

From the moment he’d spied her on those courthouse steps, heard her declaring loud and long her intentions of clearing David’s name, Rafe had experienced the strangest sense that Libby might be in danger. Not from the reporters and not from the picketers. But from someone. Some unseen, unknown force.

When he’d sought her out at her father’s house to offer his investigative services, something gut-deep made him hold his tongue regarding his opinion that she needed a bodyguard. Working for her as a P.I., he’d figured, would give him plenty of opportunity to keep a watchful eye on her. And after having spent some time getting to know her, even if it had been just a couple of days, he knew for certain that she wouldn’t appreciate hearing that he thought she was in any kind of jeopardy. She was most definitely the kind of woman who felt certain she could look after herself. Maybe, though, he could plant a small seed of warning in her head by using her father as an example.

“Someone dumped that dimethyl-butyl ether,” he quietly explained. “And since we both know David wouldn’t go near DMBE, then the guilty party is out there somewhere. Waiting to see how things pan out. Hoping your dad takes the fall.”

Her brow smoothed somewhat. But then her brilliant, jewel-toned eyes glittered with new understanding.

“If there is evidence that points to David,” Rafe continued, “then it just might be unwise for him to be walking the streets, if you know what I mean.”

She nodded, silent and suddenly pensive.

He didn’t want to frighten her. Fear often paralyzed rather than readied a person. His only intention was to make her aware of reality.

“Speaking of evidence…” He’d made his point, he felt, so now was the time to change the subject. “What’s the D.A. got on David that would lead to this arrest? Can they actually prove anything?”

“Well, I can’t say for certain until I get my hands on copies of the evidence. I’ve filed for discovery. Soon we’ll have access to everything: physical evidence, depositions, police reports…” She shook her head. “It must be a mountain of stuff.”

He shot her an expression that had her expounding on her last statement.

“The day I arrived in Prosperino,” she said, “the police searched the house.”

“You allowed that?”

She shrugged. “They had a warrant. But I wouldn’t have stopped them. Dad said he had nothing to hide. That he gave his permission for the authorities to search anything and everything he owned.” Libby sighed. “They carried out a whole file cabinet and boxes of other files as well. Everything that had anything to do with his finances—bank records, credit card statements. And his PC.” Again she shook her head and shrugged. “A mountain of stuff. And there’s no telling what was seized from his office at Springer.”

“It can’t all be evidence against him.”

“No.” Reaching up, she absently combed her fingers through her thick tresses. “I don’t expect anything from home to point to Dad’s guilt. But I am worried about his office at work. Anyone could have had access to it since his arrest, couldn’t they? And the prosecutor will use the other things—the information about Dad’s finances—to try to explain motive, I’m sure.”

Silence settled over them, and while Libby busied herself with thoughts of her father’s case, Rafe took a moment to look around him.

The Corbett home was huge compared to houses on the rez. The floors were constructed of rich, golden-hued oak, waxed and gleaming, and covering them were Oriental carpets that were most obviously costly. The room was elaborately trimmed in decorative moldings at the baseboard and around the ceiling. Such detail spoke of money. The furniture was heavy, luxurious stuff. Many pieces looked, to his untrained eye, to be antique.

He imagined Libby growing up here. Running and squealing and laughing through these rooms with caring parents to tend her, nurture her, love her. He pictured Libby enjoying holidays eating at the long, walnut table he’d seen in the dining room. Blowing out candles on a fancy birthday cake. Decorating a Christmas tree here in the living room. Celebrating Independence Day with sparklers and cookouts in the spacious and shady backyard.

A youngster would have enjoyed an idyllic childhood in this lovely house. A pampered and pleasant existence surrounded with lots of family and friends.

Visions of his own youth came flooding into his mind, and seemingly out of nowhere hot emotion prickled the backs of his eyelids.

What the hell? he wondered. Shoving against the arms of the chair in which he sat, he stood and paced to the nearest window. Not because he wanted to see the view, but because he needed a moment to collect himself, to force these damned thoughts from his mind. He hadn’t allowed memories of his past to affect him like this in years.

It was Libby. She was making him care. She was making him soft.

He couldn’t afford that. He couldn’t.

“We’re arguing trial location tomorrow.”

Rafe nodded, but didn’t turn around. He was glad for something to focus his attention on. “Trial location?” he asked.

“Opposing counsel wants to go to Los Angeles,” she said. “He’s looking to make this high-profile. But I want to stay here. I know there are lots of people ranting against the contamination. Against Dad. But I’m hoping things will calm down and they’ll remember who’s on trial here.”

She’d be safely cloistered in the courthouse during the day, he thought.

“And what would you like for me to do while you’re occupied with that?”

“I was hoping you’d do a little investigating. Talk to some people.” Glancing at her watch, she said, “I’m due to visit Dad. If you don’t mind, you could come along with me. He wants to thank you for helping out. And while we’re there, we can get a list of names from him. Springer execs, employees, friends who might know something. While I’m busy at the courthouse, you can try to touch base with as many of them as possible. Take some notes. Find out what people told the police. See if anyone knows or suspects anything that might help us nail the real culprit.”

Rafe knew himself to be one of those people. He had a definite theory about the whys behind the chemical dumping, and he also had what could only be described as a scrap of evidence to back it up. However, hearsay was what the authorities would call it.

Hearsay coming from anyone was, at best, flimsy proof. Coming from an Indian, it would be considered idle talk. Meaningless scuttlebutt. That was why he hadn’t gone to the police about what he’d overheard all those weeks ago. And he didn’t tell Libby now because he didn’t think he could continue working with her if he were to reveal all he knew—all he suspected—and she reacted with doubt and skepticism.

He’d hold his tongue until he knew she trusted him. He’d play his cards close to the chest for now. Focus on digging up more information so he could lay out the pieces of the puzzle for her with simple clarity, with nothing but hard evidence. If real proof of David’s innocence was out there, Rafe would find it. And it had to be out there.

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” he told her, reaching for his jacket from where it hung on the back of the chair. “Let’s go see your father.”

David Corbett was sitting alone in the cold, stark interrogation room when Rafe and Libby entered. The metal table was dented, battered, extremely utilitarian. The walls were painted a greenish gray. Drab. Lifeless. Depressing as hell, Rafe decided.

Although his face was clean-shaven, dark smudges underscored David’s eyes. His brow was puckered, his jaw tight. He looked like a man with a great deal of anxiety eating at his thoughts.

Libby smiled brightly, hurrying to his side and bending to kiss his cheek.

“Hi, Dad.” She set her leather case on the tabletop. “How are you?”

“Fine, hon. I’m just fine.” David shifted his attention to Rafe. “Rafe, it’s good to see you. Pardon me if I don’t get up.”

Rafe thought it strange when the man offered him his left hand, but quickly realized that David’s right wrist was handcuffed to the arm of the chair he was sitting in. Taking the man’s hand in both of his, Rafe pumped it vigorously.

“It’s good to see you, sir.”

David shook his head. “Stop with the sir stuff, if you don’t mind. We’re meeting here as friends. At least, I hope we are.”

“Absolutely, sir.”

Realizing what he’d said, Rafe offered up an apologetic smile and David chuckled.

“Don’t you ever doubt it,” Rafe added.

“I appreciate your wanting to help my daughter with this mess I’m in.”

Darting a quick look at Libby, Rafe saw appreciation glistening in her gaze, and his heart jumped, tendrils of heat curling low in his gut. Her gratitude shouldn’t be causing him such satisfaction, but it did.

Warning flags waved in his brain. He wished his reactions to this woman had some sort of switch he could flip off or a cord he could sever.

“Trial location arguments begin tomorrow,” Libby informed her father, getting right down to the business at hand. “It could take a couple of days, maybe more, for the judge to make his decision. While I’m busy at the courthouse, I thought Rafe could do a little interviewing.” She opened her case and extracted a yellow legal pad and pen. “Dad, can you think of anyone…anyone at all who might shed some light on things?”

She slid the pad in front of her father, handing the pen to him.

Then her brows drew together, moisture instantly shimmering in her eyes, when she evidently realized the handcuffs were going to be a detriment to him. It was so obviously hard for her, Rafe reflected, seeing her father like this. She cleared the emotion from her throat as she reached for the paper.

“How about if I take down the names?”

David placed a quelling hand on the pad. “I’ll make do, hon. I’ll make do.” He picked up the pen in his left hand.

Libby nodded, muttering, “Idiot guards.” She rose from her chair, her cheeks flushed with sudden anger, and went to the locked door. She banged on it. Hard. “Can someone come in here? Now!”

A guard appeared and she demanded that her father be released. The guard stiffly informed her that would be impossible. He did, however, agree to switch the handcuffs to David’s left wrist. All the while, Rafe sat silent, watching, his protective instinct stirring. However, rising to give the policeman more grief would do nothing whatsoever to help the situation. Once the task was performed, the guard left the room, locking the door behind him.

David was busy writing, but, with his head still bent over the pad, he softly asked, “Should we think about making a bargain?”

“What?”

Rafe heard the sharpness in Libby’s tone. Her father refused to lift his gaze from where it was glued to the task at hand.

She reached out and touched David’s forearm. “Dad,” she said, her voice more pliant, “you don’t know what you’re saying. We haven’t had a chance to view the evidence. We don’t know that a plausible case can even be made against you. Why on earth would you want to admit defeat before we’ve even had a chance to put up a fight?”

Libby seemed to run out of energy suddenly, and Rafe glanced at her. Her expression was…odd. A frown puckered her brow. Concern darkened her eyes. She was gazing off, seeming to wrestle with some troubling thoughts. The urge to reach out to her was powerful, but it was overridden by the strong, abrupt sense that he was being stared at.

David’s brown gaze narrowed on him, and Rafe was sure the man was trying to convey a message of some sort. However, when Libby’s attention returned to the moment, his head dipped, and he once again began pushing the pen against the paper.

“We can fight this, Dad. We can.”

“I know we can, hon.”

But Rafe didn’t hear much conviction in his words. David’s demeanor was strange, Rafe thought. It was almost as if he was convinced that the battle was lost even before it had begun. Not at all like the strong-willed man Rafe had expected David Corbett to be.

“I’ve done a little reading…”

Rafe only half listened to Libby, his attention homing in on David. Each and every time that the man’s daughter turned her gaze away, David would spear Rafe with a sharp, almost desperate look.

“And since the authorities aren’t pursuing Springer,” Libby continued, “that must mean that the company is cooperating with them against you. I can’t believe the upper management creeps would do that to you after all you’ve given that company.”

Once again, with quick, darting glances, David kept indicating the legal pad on which he wrote. Finally, Rafe gave one nearly imperceptible nod to let the man know he understood.

What could David possibly want to convey that he didn’t want Libby to know? Libby was his lawyer. She couldn’t represent him if she didn’t know everything.

Immediately, Rafe thought of the small puzzle piece he’d refused to present. But it wasn’t as if he was never going to reveal all to the woman. He simply wanted to wait until he had more solid proof.

“As far as I’ve been able to tell—” Libby reached into her briefcase and extracted a notebook, flipping it open “—there’s not been a precedent set in a case like this. And as hot as environmental issues are these days, it could be that the authorities are thinking of setting you up as an example.”

Frustration flushed David’s neck and cheeks. “But I didn’t do anything. I wouldn’t do—”

“I know that, Dad.” Her very air become soft and consoling. “And we’ll prove that, too. Where it counts. In court.”

Father and daughter shared a brief silence, and Rafe was left feeling as though he were intruding on a special moment. Then Libby went back to studying her notes.

“One good thing,” she said. “Setting a precedent on any issue isn’t easy. They’ve got to have proof. Rock solid. And since you didn’t have anything to do with the contamination, then they’re going to have a hard time coming up with what they need, now, aren’t they?”

It was a rhetorical question, meant only to bolster and encourage.

David tore off the top sheet from the pad, then leaned toward the table, obviously intending to hand the paper to Rafe. But Libby reached for it.

“Thanks, Dad.”

In that instant, Rafe read panic in the older man’s expression. Reaching out, he slipped the paper from David’s fingers before Libby even had a chance to touch it.

“I’ll take care of that,” Rafe said to no one in particular.

Libby looked a little startled. For a moment Rafe was worried that she’d insist on taking possession of the list her father had compiled. But in the end she seemed to shrug it off.

“Well,” she said, “would you mind getting me a copy of those names? For my records.”

Keeping his tone light, he assured her, “Sure thing.” He folded the yellow paper into a smaller rectangle and tucked it safely into his breast pocket. However, the list felt as if it were a flaring match, blistering hot against his skin, so badly did he want to discover the secret message David had written.

Not long afterward, Libby and Rafe were heading out of the jailhouse.

“It’s upsetting,” Libby commented out of the blue. “He seems so depressed, so defeated. I mean, I know he’s under a lot of pressure. He was just fired by a company he’d dedicated his whole life to. He’s been accused of a horrendous crime, but…”

Her long, slender throat convulsed in a swallow, and Rafe wondered what it would feel like to press his fingertips against her soft, creamy skin. Or better yet, his lips. At once, hormones pulsed through his body, fierce and fervent. He clamped a lid on his runaway libido, forcing his thoughts back to the subject at hand: David’s behavior during their visit.

Rafe had thought the same thing about Libby’s father’s demeanor. There had seemed to be no fight in him. But feeling that Libby needed to hear something a little more heartening, he said, “Once we get our hands on the evidence, once we start talking to people, planning our strategy, he’ll perk up.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

But her sea-green gaze was still clouded with doubt, and he was left wondering what other misgivings were causing her such tremendous anxiety. He’d have loved nothing more than to hug her to him and assure her that everything was going to be all right. But she wouldn’t appreciate such an act. And he certainly didn’t dare put himself in such a role. It would surely change their professional relationship into something personal. Intimate. And that was something he meant to avoid.

“It’s still early,” Libby finally said. “I think I’ll shoot over to the courthouse.”

Rafe nodded, looking at his wristwatch. “I could run home and check on my horses. How about if I meet you back at your father’s house in, say, an hour?”

“That sounds good to me.”

With a final wave, Libby got into her car and drove away.

Immediately, Rafe reached up and plucked David’s list from his breast pocket. The paper was crisp against his fingertips as he swiftly unfolded it. His eyes scanned down the list of names. He found David’s message near the bottom, carefully written as if it was just one more name of someone to be interviewed.

Protect Libby.

Four

“S o what good does it do us to know that David eats out more than eighty percent of the time?” Rafe commented. “Or that he replenishes his wardrobe like clockwork every six months? Or buys a new car every five years?”

Libby poked her chopsticks down into the white cardboard container and extracted a crunchy snow pea, grinning as she slid it into her mouth and chewed. For someone who wasn’t used to this task, studying piles of evidence could be frustrating. Poor Rafe was probably sorry he’d offered to help her. She may have won the argument to have the trial held here in Prosperino, but now she and Rafe faced the daunting task of sorting through the mountain of papers and playing guessing games as to the opposing counsel’s strategy.

Once she’d swallowed, she said, “I told you the prosecution would want to look at Dad’s finances. They were hoping to find some unexplainable deposits, searching for a secret stash—”

“But there’s none of that here. Every penny is meticulously recorded. Every deposit in his bank account is either his salary or his yearly bonus from Springer. It’s all accounted for. It’s all thoroughly legit. The man is innocent as a newborn lamb. Surely they’ll see that.”

Libby knew by Rafe’s use of “they” that he’d meant the attorneys who were trying to convict her father.

“To them, the only thing this proves,” she told him, “is that Dad is smart enough not to deposit unexplained funds in his bank account. For all they know, he’s got a big, fat Swiss bank account.”

“If they’re allowed to present that line of reasoning,” he cut in, “how are we ever to prove his innocence?”

“Proving his innocence isn’t our job,” she explained. “It’s the other side’s job to do the proving. Dad’s innocent until proven guilty. That’s the beauty of the U.S. court system. Our job is to refute any evidence they present.”

“True. But if a man with such an upstanding character as David Corbett can be arrested, then it only shows one thing—this legal system of ours can be unpredictable. It can be crazy.”

She nodded, smiling. “Yep, I agree. Sometimes it’s both those things. But it’s all we’ve got so we’d better decide to work with it.”

He stretched his neck one way, then the other. Then he lifted his arms and reached high, elongating the muscles of his well-formed arms and torso.

It was impossible for Libby to keep her gaze from dipping to his massive chest. Working with Rafe during the evenings as they read over the first batch of evidence that was provided to them was so hard for her. With his long, flowing hair, his powerful build, those amazingly intense mahogany eyes, he was more attractive to her than any other man she’d ever met.

Even Stephen.

And she hadn’t imagined ever wanting a man as much as she’d thought she’d wanted Stephen back in her law-school days. The rat! She shut down the dark memories, refused to give them an opportunity to rear their ugly heads. Instead, she focused on the man sitting at the dining room table with her now.

Rafe’s eyes were closed, his chin tipped up, as he stretched the kinks from his muscles. My, how she’d love to run her fingers down the naked length of him. She could only imagine how hard, how sculpted his body would feel.

Libby tightened her grip on the chopsticks until she feared they’d snap in two.

“I could use some more wine,” she told him. “How about you?”

She stuck the sticks into the now tepid Chinese vegetables and set down the container where it wouldn’t stain the papers that were stacked on the table.

“Sure.” He got up and turned to go into the kitchen.

Soft blue denim hugged his butt. And what a nice, tight butt it was, too.

Libby grinned. She was being so bad. She knew it, and it was so unlike her.

She was not looking to get involved with Rafe. Her experience in the past had made her resolve not to get involved with any man. Relationships were just too painful.

But what harm was there in checking out the view? she wondered, her smile widening.

What she’d really like was to see the slick, black river of hair flowing free against the bare flesh covering the wide, strong expanse of his muscular back. To feel those silken tresses against her own naked flesh. A loose and languid chuckle rose in her throat and she did her best to stifle it.

“What has you grinning from ear to ear?” he asked, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, the open bottle of wine in his hand.

Her eyes widened a fraction and she felt a sudden flush of embarrassment at having been caught in the midst of such naughty, purely erotic thoughts. Her smile disappeared in a puff like dry, brittle paper in fire. One instant the extremely carnal imagery was there, the next it was gone.

“Nothing,” she told him. She slid her wineglass away from her. “On second thought, I think I’ve had enough wine for one evening.”

He corked the bottle. “Then I should go. It’s nearly midnight and you need to be at the courthouse by eight in the morning. I’ve stayed too long as it is.”

After setting the merlot on the table, he reached for his jacket.

“Rafe—”

When his rich russet gaze landed on her, she found it hard to breathe, nearly impossible to speak, so great was the wave of gratitude that suddenly engulfed her.

His eyes held an intensity, a power, a raw force, that she’d never in her life experienced.

What a ridiculous notion, she silently chided herself. The only thing that was wrong with her at the moment was that she’d had too much to drink. She was tired and stressed to the max.

Nevertheless, she was compelled to reveal her thoughts to him.

“I want to thank you. You’ve been such a great help to me this past week. Without you, I’d have been all alone in this.”

For long seconds he just stood there. She found her mind roving over the different opinions she’d formed about him. He was a proud man. And she found that pride to be almost overwhelmingly appealing. He was intelligent and diligent. Detail oriented. He’d worked hard to attain his dream of having a horse ranch. He was self-sufficient, from what she could tell, asking help from no one, although he’d been quick to offer her father assistance when it was needed.

Rafe James was a man to be admired. And Libby was discovering that she might be coming to admire him way too much.

“I’m glad I could help,” he said. “I really am.”

The very air seemed to hum with some sort of undercurrent, Rafe thought as he stood there, jacket in hand. And the hum was growing louder—and harder to ignore—with each passing day.

She was a stunningly beautiful woman with her sun-fire curls and those amazing aquamarine eyes. And although his body pulsed with desire for her, she had more than mere physical beauty going for her. She was one hell of a lawyer.

When the two of them had first broken into the boxes of evidence provided by the court, she’d angrily lamented that the prosecutor had sent none of the important documents.

“I won’t let them get away with these delaying tactics,” she’d promised.

And she hadn’t, either. She’d filed a complaint with the judge the very next day. A complaint that ultimately caused the judge to lecture the opposing counsel. A chagrined prosecutor had stiffly promised Libby that more of the evidence would be forthcoming.

However, even though Libby seemed so very confident wearing her professional hat, Rafe couldn’t deny his suspicions that, deep down inside, she was as fragile as a sparrow, her self-esteem tenuous and delicate. He couldn’t say why he felt this way. He just did.

Maybe it was the small, self-deprecating asides she was in the habit of murmuring to herself when she thought no one else was listening. Or maybe it was the doubt that often shadowed her lovely gaze.

Whatever the reason, he knew he was often swamped by the urge to shield her. From the world at large. From the reporters who were so willing to place guilt even before the trial had begun. From the worry of the case. Even from herself and the long hours she insisted on working.

And that inclination to protect her, more and more often, seemed to weave itself amid the potent attraction he felt for her. As the days wore on, he was becoming less able to clearly delineate his feelings. All he had to do was look at her, he was coming to realize, and sentiment churned, his blood heated. Where she was concerned his emotions were becoming mysterious, confused, evocative.

But as complicated as his reaction to her was becoming, he still had every intention of ignoring it. The events in his past had forced him into a certain way of living, a certain way of thinking and feeling. For mere survival’s sake.

And Rafe knew he was much too hard for a delicate dove such as Libby.

What he needed to do was disregard the humming current pulsing between them. Pay no heed to the desires of his body. The right thing to do would be to bid her good-night and walk away.

But as he was about to do just that, she said, “I don’t think you understand.”

Anxiety, dark and spectral, seeped into Libby’s blue-green gaze and it tore at Rafe’s very soul. Without conscious thought, he lowered the hand that was holding his jacket and the hem hit the floor. He waited.

She swallowed, and it was clear to him that it was taking a great deal of her energy to remain composed.

“I honestly do believe that, without you, I’d be in this all on my own.” Pausing, she tucked her full bottom lip between her teeth. “I…I hate to say this. But I just don’t think my dad has much faith in me. I think…I really think he doubts my ability to represent him.”

His brow puckered. “That’s silly, Libby.”

Hurt shimmied across her expression and Rafe immediately was sorry for his choice of words.

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

Libby hesitated, and he got the sense that she was debating what or how much to tell him.

Finally, she said, “He didn’t want me to come to Prosperino. He used the excuse that this case was sure to get messy and he didn’t want my professional name and reputation connected to it. But I just have a feeling…”

Apprehension bathed her beautiful face.

“I just think he doesn’t have confidence in me.”

The urge to go to her was strong, almost stronger than his will to do what was right.

She needed reassurance. She needed support, comfort, encouragement.

He desperately wanted to give her all those things. The very essence of him called out for him to act.

But doing so would lead him down a road he didn’t want to travel. He’d be wronging her and his own convictions. So, instead, he forced his feet to remain riveted in place and he let a smile soften his features.

“That really is silly,” he repeated, this time knowing that his expression kept the words from being hurtful. “Your father is up to his neck in hot water. If he thought you couldn’t pull him out before he drowned, he’s smart enough to speak up about it. I believe that.” Then he added, “You can believe that, too.”

Her gaze cleared, and his heart lightened, his blood simmered in his veins.

Great Father above, he was going to need help ignoring the desire he felt for this woman. Lots of help.

His assurances had been gruff at best. But he was relieved that they had been enough to bolster her. At least for the moment.

The night air was nippy as he made his way to his truck. But rather than curse the chill, he thanked fate for the opportunity to cool the need pulsing through him and wake his sleepy senses. He forced the craving he felt for Libby from his mind, from his body, and focused on the important duty awaiting him. Protecting David’s daughter.

She had no idea she might be in danger. And if the truth were known, he had little more than gut instinct telling him that she could be the target of someone’s nefarious intentions. However, a winter fog was rolling in, misty tendrils creeping along the ground, engulfing bushes, trees, cars. Perfect cover for someone who wanted to remain unseen. He’d have to remain vigilant tonight.

He scrubbed at his face. Lethargy and fatigue wouldn’t be his only battles tonight. Images of Libby danced just behind his eyelids. The passionate longing that plagued him would be a formidable foe as well.

As he had every other night this week, he drove his truck down the block, made a U turn, pulled to the curb, cut the engine…and watched.

Usually, Rafe avoided Ruby’s Café during peak business hours, but if he didn’t get some caffeine into his system this morning he was surely going to crash. Mokee-kittuun folklore was full of brave warriors who could remain alert for days at a stretch without sleep or sustenance. But he suspected those stories were more myth than reality.

“Coffee to go, please,” he told the waitress behind the counter.

She nodded and went to fill his order.

Ruby’s hadn’t changed in all the years that he could remember. The art galleries and antique shops lining Prosperino’s streets brought plenty of tourists into town, but if you wanted to mingle with the locals, Ruby’s was the place to be.

Not that Rafe was known for going out of his way to mingle. However, that was going to have to change if he wanted to learn anything that might help David.

He rested his forearms on the wooden countertop, waiting for his coffee, when he heard his name called from the back of the room. Sweeping his gaze in that direction, he saw Prosperino’s mayor, Michael Longstreet, waving for Rafe to join him.

“Rafe!” the gregarious mayor greeted him, pumping his proffered hand. “How are you?”

“Fine, Michael. Just fine. How about yourself?”

“I’m doing great. Just great.” The man’s whole expression beamed with happiness.

Although Rafe had only officially met the mayor a few weeks earlier, it was common knowledge that Michael had just gotten married last month. The man had a bit of a playboy reputation in town, and everyone had been surprised when he’d tied the knot.

Politeness had Rafe asking, “How’s your wife?”

“Suzanne is great, too,” Michael continued. Then he sobered. “She works with the teens at Emily’s House out at Hopechest.”

The drinking water at the youth ranch had been the first place the DMBE had shown up. The staff and children had been evacuated to Joe Colton’s estate, Hacienda de Alegria. Blake Fallon, Rafe’s best friend, ran Hopechest Ranch. After just having to deal with the fact that his father tried to murder Joe Colton, Blake hadn’t needed more to trouble him.

Even though he and Blake had been friends since childhood, Rafe hadn’t yet told him about his suspicions regarding the polluting of the aquifer. The information he had could be misconstrued to make David look even more guilty than he already did. Rafe hoped that, at the end of this mess, all would be revealed and the real guilty party would be apprehended.

“I heard you’re working for Libby Corbett,” Mayor Longstreet said. “Helping to clear David’s name.”

“That’s right.”

Suddenly Rafe felt on edge, which was odd. He guessed it was the negative press David was receiving in the local papers and the national news that had him antsy about the townspeople’s reaction to him helping the Corbett family.

“Well, I think you ought to know—” the man’s voice lowered “—there’s a rumor racing through the courthouse. The prosecutor is thinking of charging David with the death of that EPA employee. The one who was killed in December. His name was Charlie O’Connell.”

Rafe couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “That’s ridiculous! I read in the papers weeks ago that O’Connell’s death was ruled an accident.”

Michael shrugged, his eyebrows rising. “That was before the dumping of this DMBE was thought to be deliberate. And there were scratches on the car O’Connell was driving. Paint samples were taken.”

“David Corbett had nothing to do with the DMBE or O’Connell’s death.” Rafe tried to keep his tone down, but the anger running through him made that difficult. “The man is no murderer!”

The mayor placed a quelling hand on Rafe’s shoulder. “I know that, Rafe. I do. And that’s exactly why I’m telling you about the rumor. Forewarned is forearmed.” Then he added, “Libby Corbett ought to know what her father is up against.”

Rafe nodded silent thanks. Michael was right. Libby did need to be alerted if more charges were going to be pressed against David.

“You’re a lawyer, Michael. How likely is it that they’ll pin all this crap on David?”

Worry hooded Michael’s green eyes and he shook his head. “I just don’t know. Depends on what evidence they have.”

The sound Rafe emitted was derisive. “That’s just it. The prosecutor says he has a ton of evidence against David. He’s told that to everyone who will listen.”

“Yes, I’ve read it in the paper.” Michael’s dark head bobbed now. “Seen it on the evening news.”

“Yet, we can find nothing that looks incriminating in the discovery Libby’s received. The prosecutor is using every excuse in the book to keep the implicating evidence out of our hands.”

“He’s just playing for time, and his stalling tells me that he’s not really sure of his case strategy. But he’ll soon run out of excuses. Especially if Libby keeps filing those discovery motions and hounding the judge.” A shadow of a smile curled the edges of Michael’s mouth. “Surprise evidence might generate exciting television drama; however, it paves the way for poor justice. The judge knows that. So do all the attorneys involved. Libby’s one hell of a lawyer. She knows what she’s doing. She’ll eventually get her hands on everything that the opposing counsel has on David.”

Rafe saw that the waitress was looking impatient as she stood at the counter with his order. He bid Michael goodbye, thanking him for the information about the new charges David might be facing.

After paying for his coffee, Rafe pushed his way out the door and into the foggy morning, dread sitting in his stomach like a brick at the thought of having to be the bearer of bad news.

Five

“I told Michael it was ludicrous. That David just isn’t capable of murder.” Rafe set the box of papers on the dining room table with the others they had carried into the house from Libby’s car. More copies of documents the police had seized from the house and David’s office at Springer.

She sighed wearily. “Well, he hasn’t been charged with O’Connell’s death yet, so let’s not worry about it until it happens.”

Automatically he reached to open a box. Libby stopped him by sliding her hand over his.

The heat of her scorched his skin, and his gaze darted from the creamy flesh of her hand to her face. Time seemed to slow until the seconds only slogged by. She, too, was obviously aware that something stirred between them.

Her lovely eyes blinked, then averted, and she snatched her hand away from his. When her gaze returned to his face, she said, “I thought we should wait…thought we should get something to eat before we dive into this stuff.”

“Sure.” His voice was a mere whisper, rusty and grating, as awareness of the moment—awareness of her—permeated each and every cell of his being, each and every molecule around him, making the temperature of the room rise, the air grow heavy.

And with the keen perception came desire.

Raw and throbbing.

The need roiling in him was astounding, and it had welled up from nowhere. She saw it, he knew. She was experiencing something akin to it. He realized that, too. Could see it just as clearly as if it were tattooed in plain English across her forehead. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do.

On the heels of desire came an awkwardness the likes of which he’d never been subjected to before.

Like a series of storm-churned waves buffeting the Pacific coastline, each emotion hit them, one after the other, fierce and unrelenting. And they stood there, helpless against the onslaught, taking each sensation as it came. Absorbing it. Being filled with it. Taken over by it.

What amazed him was the fact that the extraordinary change, the craving, the unease that swamped the two of them had taken precedence over everything. Even the daunting news that her father may be facing more charges in the very near future.

“I—I’m exhausted,” she told him, turning away her gaze again, refusing or unable to look him in the eye. “And I’m starved. I need a break.”

Her voice sounded weak to him. That could have been caused by the amazing moments they had both just encountered. But he had seen her fatigue, had been aware that she’d had a rough day at the courthouse, that she needed a few minutes to relax. Instantly, he was engulfed with remorse to think that he’d been pushing to get right to the new evidence they had acquired.

“You’re right. Let’s go into the kitchen and get something to eat.”

She looked at him then, and gratitude laced the edges of her smile.

Once they were in the kitchen, he forced her into a chair. “Sit,” he commanded. “What you need is a glass of wine and a few crackers. You can relax while I cook.”

Her brows raised.

“Don’t look so surprised. I can cook. I’ve been taking care of myself for a very long time.”

His comment seemed to intrigue her, but he wasn’t willing to expound on the subject at the moment. He poured her a glass of wine, and once she’d pointed to which cabinet housed the crackers, he put a few on a plate for her and set it on the table as well.

“You said you’re starved,” he said, after having scanned the contents of the refrigerator, “so time is of the essence. How about a western omelet and toast? It won’t be gourmet fare, but it’ll fill you up.”

She smiled and Rafe felt as if she’d gifted him with some great award.

“Sounds like heaven to me. Especially if I don’t have to prepare it.”

He diced an onion and some red and green pepper. “So tell me what it was like growing up in this huge house, in this neighborhood. Must have been a great childhood.”

“It probably would have been…”

The up-and-down cutting motion of his wrist slowed when she paused.

“…had I been a normal kid.”

The blade of the knife stopped. He let it rest against the wooden cutting board and turned to look at her. Deep shadows clouded her gaze, and he knew then that the fairy-tale childhood he’d imagined her having must be just that. A fairy tale. He found himself interested to know about her past. More interested than he knew was seemly or safe.

Before he could question her about what she meant, she shook her head. “But I don’t want to talk about me. I’d rather hear about you. What was it like to grow up on a reservation?”

A dark fog swirled around his feet, threatening to rise and swallow him up. His past was the last thing he wanted to talk about. However, he cast another glance over his shoulder and saw that the murkiness he’d witnessed in her eyes a moment before had dissolved.

“I envision lots of freedom. Time spent in the great outdoors. Days filled with games of challenge. Learning to ride bareback, the wind blowing through your hair. Learning to fish and hunt and track.”

His brow was furrowed when he turned to face her. Her eyes were bright and her features were relaxed into an expression that was nothing short of sheer bliss. He tried to chuckle, but there was little humor in the sound he emitted.

“Maybe a hundred years ago.”

Her eyes snapped open.

“Libby, you’re making reservation life sound positively primitive.” He heard the hard edge of his tone, but wasn’t able to do a thing to quell it. “Mokee-kittuun mothers want to raise poised, mannerly, technically savvy children, just like every other mother in the world.”

She swallowed, her spine straightening. “Oh, Rafe, that was so insensitive of me. I’m sorry. It’s just that my own childhood was so…limited. I certainly didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

The feelings he was experiencing surprised him. Normally, stereotypical comments regarding his race made him furious. But he knew she had meant no offense.

“It’s okay,” he told her. “Really.” He went on with the task of preparing their meal, certain that doing so was the best way to let her know all was well.

“Actually,” he continued, “I spent a good many years growing up here in town.” He didn’t want to think about those years. Certainly had no intention of telling her about them. In any detail, that was.

“My nohk-han died when I was three.”

“Nohk-han?”

Libby rolled the word around on her tongue, her lyrical voice giving the word an almost poetic sound, and a thrill shot through Rafe.

“The word means father in Algonquian.”

She smiled. “It’s beautiful.” Then she sobered. “I’m sorry your dad died when you were so young. Do you remember him?”

Pressing his lips together, he shook his head. He wished…oh, how he wished. He’d have settled for whispery images. Blurry pictures of a dark-haired, dark-eyed man. Pride shining in his gaze. Laughter. Love.

But Rafe had none of these things. He had no memory of his father. None whatsoever.

“That’s sad,” Libby said. “So sad.”

Sidestepping the dark pit of depressing emotion, Rafe carried on with his story.

“Onna moved us into town,” he told Libby.

“Onna…” She paused, then queried him with a look. “Onna means mother?”

He nodded. “She took a job as a housekeeper.” Tension gathered in every muscle of his body. He was getting too close to the badness. Too close to the foul memories. But he’d dived into the pool of the past. The challenge now would be to swim across without drowning.

“She ended up marrying the man.” Pain ached in his jaw. “Curtis James adopted me. My onna had two children while she was with him. My half brother, River, and my half sister, Cheyenne.”

Glancing down, Rafe saw that his grip on the knife left his knuckles white. He tried to relax. But it was nearly impossible.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.