Her Unexpected Hero

Sawyer Buchanon was against hiring Jade Warren. The escalating threats against his family’s construction business—and Sawyer in particular—don’t warrant the time and money spent on a private investigator. Even if Jade’s smart, beautiful and challenging in a way that intrigues him. Jade has personal reasons to mistrust any Buchanon—especially one as handsome and smooth as Sawyer. But everything she’s been led to believe about the successful Buchanons crumbles in the face of Sawyer’s decency and sweetness. And the closer Jade gets to Sawyer, the more intense her feelings for him become. Soon the biggest risk she’ll face is having Sawyer steal her heart.

No female was impervious to Sawyer Buchanon.

Except Jade. Even if he had a kind side, and he did, and even if she found him attractive—and who wouldn’t?—he was a Buchanon. And her maiden name was on his father’s naughty list.

He spotted her inside the dim room with the baby and raised both palms in a comical, supplicating gesture.

“What’s this? You’ve ditched me for a younger man?”

“His toothless grin was irresistible.”

Sawyer paused for one second as if her banter caught him off guard. She knew he considered her humorless and cold, which was for the best, but she wasn’t always that way.

Crossing the room, Sawyer swooped Ashton into his arms. “You ready? Where’s the squirt’s bag?”

She reached for the backpack but Sawyer beat her to it, swung it over his opposite shoulder, and they headed out for the day.

The sight of the man with a baby in his tanned, muscled arms tugged at Jade’s insides. He was a puzzle she couldn’t fit into her tidy mental box.

Dear Reader,

As I finish up the Buchanon series with Sawyer’s story, I hope you’ve enjoyed our time together in Gabriel’s Crossing, Texas. Like most families, the Buchanons have their share of troubles but their Christian faith and family loyalty hold them together.

I set the Buchanon series in what is known locally as Texoma or Texoma Land, the Red River border area where Oklahoma and Texas meet. Though many people think of these states as flat, dry plains, Texoma is a beautiful area of forests, lakes, mountains and friendly small towns. If you ever have a chance to visit Texoma in the autumn, the scenery will take your breath away and the warm people will leave you with a smile.

I love to hear from readers. Connect with me at my website www.lindagoodnight.com or on social media. Be sure to sign up for my newsletter so we can stay in touch!

Until my next books, be well and happy.

May God bless you,

LINDA GOODNIGHT, a New York Times bestselling author and winner of a RITA® Award in inspirational fiction, has appeared on the Christian bestseller lists. Her novels have been translated into more than a dozen languages. Active in orphan ministry, Linda enjoys writing fiction that carries a message of hope in a sometimes dark world. She and her husband live in Oklahoma. Visit her website, lindagoodnight.com, for more information.

Lone Star Bachelor

Linda Goodnight

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Out of the same mouth proceed

blessing and cursing. My brethren,

these things ought not to be so.

—James 3:10

For my forever friend, Trisha Hayes. We’ve been

through a long journey together over many

years and many tears, laughter, music and kids.

Always, always, I knew I could lean on you for

prayer and love and enduring friendship.

And the turquoise jewelry ain’t bad either!

Love you, sweet lady. This one is for you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

It was now or never. Walk up to that door and knock or drive back to the office and give the case to someone else.

From behind the wheel of her plain white Chevy Cruze, Jade Warren eyed the housing complex next to the smooth green golf course of Gabriel’s Crossing, Texas. She wasn’t a bit surprised that Sawyer Buchanon lived in such a nice place. His family’s construction company had likely built the buff brick townhomes, something she would know if she’d done her computer homework. But the impulse to immediately drive to the river town and face the dragon had overshadowed her usual rigid work ethic.

Do the job. Do it right. Don’t get involved.

Which was exactly why she shouldn’t have accepted this assignment.

She was involved. She’d been involved for years. Being here, accepting this investigation, made her a traitor.

But frankly she was tired of chasing absconding debtors and deadbeat exes. She wanted a case with meat on the bones, something she could sink her investigating teeth into.

Most of all, she was curious about her family nemeses, the dreaded Buchanons.

To hear her daddy tell it, the Buchanons breathed fire and plotted the demise of anyone they didn’t like. And they always won. She’d grown up despising a group of people she’d never met.

Until today.

A pretty redhead exited the front door of number 4, Sawyer Buchanon’s home. Figures. Very little investigative skill was required to learn Sawyer liked women and they liked him back. His social media was loaded with messages and photos from beautiful females.

The shapely, jean-clad redhead hopped into the cab of a bloodred F-150 pickup complete with a big white toolbox across the back.

Jade waited until the woman pulled away, the truck’s mufflers rumbling, before leaving her nondescript car to walk across the lush, manicured grass, up the clean-swept sidewalk past recently groomed boxwood to ring the doorbell.

Before she had time to put on her game face, Sawyer Buchanon, in gray athletic pants and white T-shirt, opened the door.

Jade thought she had prepared for this moment. She’d seen his photos. She knew he was very handsome and was determined not to react, not to become distracted from the case, or worse, become an idiot female and simper.

She swallowed and breathed slowly through her nose in a concerted effort to keep her expression cool and passive.

Photos didn’t do the man justice. Messy midlength hair, vivid blue eyes and a morning scruff as black as his hair.

Every female cell in her body reacted. She held the reaction inside, tightening her mouth to a determined thin line.

Sawyer flashed a movie star smile, a little crooked and a lot breathtaking.

Jade clamped her back teeth against her cheek until pain shot from the roof of her mouth to the top of her head.

There. Better. He wasn’t that good looking.

“Did you forget somethi—Oh, I thought you were Clare.” He poked his head around the door and looked toward the driveway. “She just left.”

Right. The redhead.

Jade stuck out a hand, her words intentionally crisp. “I’m Jade Warren, Paris Investigations. Is this a good time for us to talk?”

His smile faltered, replaced by a look of bewilderment. “You’re the private investigator my father hired?”

“Yes. Is there a problem?” She braced for it.

“Does my dad know you’re...?”

Her hackles rose. “A woman?”

“I was going to say pretty.” He flashed the smile again, eyes alight with mischief, and stepped to one side. “Come in. I was about to have a Coke. Want one?”

She shook her head. “Too early in the morning.”

“That’s what I’ve been told.” He led the way into the living room. The interior surprised her somewhat. Given his reputation, she’d expected a bachelor’s lair but was met with clean, simple lines in tones of gray and white with splashes of maroon. Masculine. Tasteful. Jade settled on the dove-gray sofa. Directly in front of it was a big-screen television mounted above a small tiled fireplace.

While Sawyer disappeared around a wall for his caffeine, she took out a notebook and jotted a few lines.

He popped back into the room. “I have coffee.”

“I’m good, thank you.”

He held up a single-serving coffee pod. “K-cups. Only take a minute. Would you rather have hot chocolate? Cider?” He turned the packet up close to his eyes and pretended to squint. “Caramel vanilla cream?”

She loved caramel vanilla cream. So, apparently, did his legion of girlfriends. Probably including the shapely redhead.

With a soft hum, she scribbled player on her pad. Now he was showing his true colors. “Do you stock every flavor?”

“Never know when you’ll need them.” He grinned. “I aim to please.”

Jade didn’t roll her eyes but she came close. Give it a rest, Romeo. I know your kind. I even have the scars to prove it.

“How nice.” She didn’t smile. “I’d prefer to get down to business if you don’t mind.”

“Okay.” Coke can in hand, he stood in the doorway between the living room and whatever was behind the wall. Kitchen, apparently. “Shoot.”

She wished he would sit down. From her place on the couch she had to look up and it made her feel inferior. At a disadvantage. He was a good six feet tall but not particularly broad. Just fit and lean with the right amount of shoulders. Strong and muscular as she’d expect of a man who made his living with a hammer and his hands.

Not that she noticed shoulders. She’d never known any worth leaning on.

Nor did she allow herself to be intimidated. Maintaining a businesslike tone, she held his gaze and absolutely refused to blink first.

“I’m here to investigate the vandalism plaguing Buchanon Built Construction projects. Your father shared some background with my boss and I have the police reports, but I’ll need you to fill me in on details from your perspective.”

“You’d do better to discuss this with Brady. He’s the site manager and COO of Buchanon Built.” A pair of eyebrows, as black as sin’s underbelly, twitched with a hint of amusement. “But he’s in Italy on his honeymoon. Lucky duck.”

Jade flipped through her notes. “Brady. Your older brother. A pet project of his burned to the ground on New Year’s Eve.”

The handsome face darkened. “Arson. Abby’s house. He was building it for her as a Christmas makeover.”

“Abby. Brady’s wife.”

“Fiancée at the time of the fire.”

She scribbled a note. “Interesting, but your father is more concerned about the photo recently found after a break-in.”

Sawyer made a noise deep in his throat. “Dad has it in his head that Dawson or me—Dawson’s my twin—is somehow to blame for all this trouble.”

“Why would he think that?”

“Beats me. You’d think he’d focus on Brady. After all, Brady’s project was torched, not mine, but someone leaves a picture and Dad suddenly points at us. Me in particular.”

“Why you over Dawson?”

“The hair. His is different.”

“And this was apparent in the photo?”

Sawyer emitted a frustrated breath. “Yep.”

“I’ll want to see that photo and speak to your brother, of course.”

He jacked a thumb to the south. “He lives next door.”

“Yes, I know.”

He looked discomfited. “Exactly how much do you know about us?”

She curved her lips for the first time, a cat’s smile that had nothing to do with humor. “The more I know, the faster I can solve this case.”

“Buchanon Built has dealt with a vandalism problem off and on for going on two years.” He pushed away from the wall, his body language clearly indicating he doubted her. “Do you seriously think you can discover something the police and fire investigators can’t?”

He had no idea how much fuel his doubts added to her determination. “They have other cases. You have my full focus.”

The smile appeared again. He was good at that. Flashing those white teeth against Texas-tanned skin with stunning effectiveness. “And you’ll have mine.”

His entire focus? She doubted that, not with gorgeous redheads coming and going at random. Women crawling out of the woodwork.

She held his gaze and refused to acknowledge the zip of energy caused by staring into eyes that flashed like blue lightning and were every bit as mesmerizing.

Cam was like this, charming and magnetic. And dangerous.

She ducked her head, annoyed at the direction of her thoughts. The ugly business with Cam was eons behind her and that’s where it needed to remain.

During her four-year stint as a police officer, before joining Paris Investigations, she’d interviewed plenty of nice-looking men and dozens of creeps. A pretty face and infectious smile did not sway her. Not anymore. Cam had taught her a painful lesson she wasn’t likely to forget.

So save your smiles for someone else, Mr. Buchanon. I know your kind.

“Do you have anything to hide? Anything you’d rather the rest of the world didn’t know?”

He blinked, startled by the vehemence of the question. Good. She’d knocked the grin off his face.

After sipping at his soda in contemplation, he ambled across the living room and sank onto a chair across from her. Lanky, agile and oozing manly appeal.

“Are we exchanging secrets?”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, keeping her stare as cool as November. Get this straight, buster. I know the ploys of a handsome man and I will never, ever fall for that again.

“Okay.” He lifted a hand in surrender. “I guess that would be a negative. In which case, my answer is no. No secrets. No skeletons. Except for a couple of speeding tickets and maybe that one other time.”

She sat up straighter. “What other time?”

He chuckled and pointed his Coke, clearly trying to rile her. “Got you interested, didn’t I?”

Jade’s insides did a slow burn. Mr. Playboy refused to take her seriously.

“Mr. Buchanon, this is a legal investigation, not a contest, and certainly not a joking matter. Do you, or do you not, want to find out who is sabotaging your building projects?”

He sobered. “Sorry. It’s just that the whole idea of hiring a PI is ludicrous. A waste of money.”

A red flag rose. Did he indeed have something to hide? Some reason he didn’t want her to discover? “You object to the investigation?”

“I object to wasting time and money.”

Maybe. But Buchanons had plenty. Maybe the money comment was a smoke screen. “Will I have your cooperation?”

“You will, but I don’t know anything that’s not in the police reports.”

Her lips curved again in a humorless smile.

“Let me be the judge of that.”

* * *

Sawyer squinted at the woman sitting on his couch and rubbed a hand over the discombobulated feeling in his chest while mulling the previous ten minutes.

Jade Warren, for some reason, had decided not to like him, and he tried to understand why. When he’d seemed surprised at seeing her standing on his itty-bitty porch, she’d jumped to immediate conclusions and practically accused him of misogyny.

He bit back a grin. Sawyer Buchanon was anything but a woman hater.

Granted, he’d been surprised at the investigator’s gender considering her profession, but he certainly didn’t object. Just as he didn’t object to women in the construction business.

Take Clare Hammond, for instance. A great trim carpenter, she beat him to the job every morning. Like today, while he’d still been slouching around the town house, Clare had dropped by to return a set of miter clamps he’d inadvertently left behind. She’d been on the job since six. What a work ethic! And she was easy on the eyes, too.

Sawyer also knew Clare took flack at times for being a woman in what was traditionally a man’s world, and being pretty was not to her advantage on a construction crew. She had to work hard to prove she was as good at her job as the men. Even then, some crews frowned on having a female on the job site.

But not Buchanon Built Construction Company. When Dad said equal-opportunity employer, he meant it. If a woman could do the job, do it well in a timely fashion and take the inevitable joking that happened on every crew, she was hired. Dad was no dummy. All he had to do was look around at his own family. The Buchanon women were as strong and independent as they came, and Sawyer respected those traits, just as he respected all women.

He also adored them. A woman like Clare who could work him into the ground fascinated him. Women were, in his view, the most blessed gender. They made the world a happier, prettier, kinder place.

So if he had to hang out with someone prying into his life, he’d rather have the vulnerable-looking blonde with the bee-stung mouth than some trench-coat-wearing, smoke-scented gumshoe with an attitude.

Not that Miss Jade Warren didn’t have an attitude. She did. A very cold attitude that said she suspected him of something heinous, like sinking the Titanic single-handedly.

She sat on the edge of his sofa, as straight and stiff as a planed two-by-four, hand poised over a notebook. Not a cell phone as he would have used for notes. An old-fashioned notebook.

Except for the clipped tone and suspicious gray eyes that seemed to take in every element in his living room, Little Miss Magnum PI looked too soft and small to investigate anything. Maybe that was her strategy to fool the guilty.

If Sawyer was guilty of anything, she’d have had him in handcuffs by now. Her long eyelashes, mysterious and dark against pale cheeks, captivated his attention.

She flicked a glance up at him. His breath stuttered and a moth took flight in his midsection.

Whoa. Weird. Nice weird but still weird. He liked women but he could normally maintain coherent thought in their presence.

Jade Warren was different.

There was no good reason in the world for him to be attracted to her. She was too cold, too tight-lipped, too suspicious. But interest bubbled up anyway.

A mouth like hers was made to smile, and he wondered what it would take to make her laugh.

Not that he saw that happening in the next five minutes. Talk about chilly—and yet somebody needed to remind the woman of the outside temperature. Texas in summer scorched, but here she was in a nifty black business suit, tucked in and buttoned up as if she dared anyone to notice she was female.

Sorry to burst your bubble, lady. Even in long pants and sensible shoes—also black—you are all woman. Above the white button-down blouse was a pair of fascinating gray eyes. The color of his couch. Smoke and mystery.

Sawyer took a stinging gulp of Coke, letting the burn brand some sense into him. At the Huckleberry Addition, he had a massive built-in china hutch waiting for his hammer and expertise. He couldn’t sit here and contemplate the novelty of a female private investigator who’d managed to both insult and interest him. Maybe more than interest him.

He glanced at his watch. “Ask me whatever you need to. But talk fast. I have to meet my brother at the building supply center in thirty minutes.”

“We have a lot to discuss. I need more time with you than that.”

He tilted his head. “Time’s an important commodity for me, too.”

“When can we meet again?”

Sawyer couldn’t help himself. He grinned. “Are you asking me out?”

She glared icicles at him. The temperature in the room fell ten degrees. No wonder she wore a black suit. The chill emanating from her could cause frostbite.

Sawyer rubbed his bare arms and fought back a grimace. Prickly little woman, this PI. Pretty and prickly.

“Mr. Buchanon—”

“Sawyer.” He held up a hand. “Before you pounce, I apologize. Joking around is my style.”

“Not mine.”

Sawyer bit back a sigh.

Well, wasn’t she more fun than a dental drill? Maybe Dad should have hired a smoke-scented gumshoe after all.

Chapter Two

The Gabriel’s Crossing Building and Supply Company spanned a full block and was one of Sawyer’s favorite places to shop, if you called buying boards and nails shopping.

Employees knew him by name and catered to his needs as a trim carpenter specializing in beautiful cabinetry and other built-ins. To top it all off, the coffee and popcorn were free.

He stood next to the fragrant machines, munching hot, salty corn while waiting for Dawson. His twin had hit the neighborhood pool early this morning while Sawyer ran five miles around the golf course, their usual routine. Sawyer ran. Dawson swam. He’d not bothered to inform the know-it-all investigator of this fact. That she hadn’t headed over to Dawson’s condo was a good sign that she already knew their daily routines, an unsettling thought. Though he had nothing to hide, he wasn’t wild about the idea of someone knowing his every move. Invasive. Like Big Brother or something.

“Sawyer, good morning. May I help you?”

A dark-haired woman in glasses wearing a red apron and carrying a tape measure approached. She’d worked here in the Building and Supply a long time but he could never remember her name. “I’m good. Thanks.”

She paused in front of him as if she had something important to say. “I guess you’re waiting for Dawson.”

“Yep. As usual, I’m here and he’s late.”

“You’re always so punctual. Can I get you anything while you wait? Popcorn or maybe a coffee?” When he hoisted his popcorn bag, she continued, “We have some new router bits you might want to see.”

“Thanks, but no. I like to create my own custom designs.”

Her smile faltered. “Oh.”

She seemed disappointed and he didn’t like to hurt anyone’s feelings. “On second thought, if those router bits are handy, I’ll have a look. Okay?”

The clerk perked right up. She smiled and pushed at her glasses. “I’ll grab the examples for you. We have some pretty ones I’d love to have in my new home. When I get married, I mean.” Her cheeks reddened.

He glanced at her name tag. Nora. “Are congratulations in order? You getting married soon?”

“Oh. Well. I hope so.” She blushed a deeper crimson and flapped a hand in front of her face. “I’ll get those samples.”

“Thanks, Nora.”

Still blushing and smiling, she hurried off.

Mouth dry from the popcorn, Sawyer poured himself a cup of coffee. He wasn’t a big coffee man, but the other Buchanons lived on the stuff. Cut a Buchanon and he bled sawdust, coffee and family loyalty.

He stirred too much cream into the foam cup and heard his brother say, “Why not have a glass of milk?”

“Hey.” He left the coffee sitting and turned to Dawson, whose black hair was still wet and shiny from his swim. He was a good-looking dude, even if Sawyer did say so. The same height, with the same face, he and his brother were best friends, though their personalities were different.

Dawson was a calm, introspective guy who counseled family and friends with a gentle God-directed wisdom. Dawson was, in a word, sensitive, and noticed nuances and undercurrents in relationships that Sawyer invariably missed.

Sawyer was—Well, he was different. He’d rather make people smile.

“I had a visitor this morning.”

“Yeah? Who?” Dawson confiscated the abandoned coffee cup and sipped.

“Private investigator.”

The unflappable brother gave a facial shrug. “Dad warned us.”

“He didn’t warn us about one thing.”

An eyebrow shot up. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“She’s a woman. A young, beautiful woman. Maybe thirty. About this tall.” Sawyer indicated shoulder height. “Wavy blond hair to her shoulders. Kind of soft and vulnerable looking. Not your stereotypical PI.”

Dawson saluted him with the cup. “You sure noticed a lot about her. You must be interested.”

He was, and he couldn’t figure out why. “You need to meet her before you form an opinion. Tough lady.”

“Hard-boiled?”

“Cold as a grape Popsicle in January.”

“Aw, poor Sawyer.” Dawson pulled a silly face. “The lady wasn’t charmed.”

“Not one bit.”

Dawson chuckled and toasted him with the cup. “Losing your touch, bro.”

The salesclerk—Nora—came around an end cap struggling to juggle several blister-wrapped packages with four wooden cabinet doors. Sawyer leaped forward to help. “Let me carry those. That’s too much for one lady.”

“Thank you.” She beamed up at him as he stood close enough to take charge of the wooden doors. “These are the new router designs. When I saw them, I thought of you.”

Sawyer sorted through the stack, sharing each one with his twin. “Nice. What do you think, Dawson? Can we use some of these?”

Dawson put his finger on one. “This would look great in the Carter house in the Huckleberry Addition.”

Nora, standing between the brothers, frowned up at Sawyer. “The Carter house? Is that a new one? I don’t remember seeing any invoices with that name.”

“It was a spec home until Charity sold it a couple of days ago. Now that we know the owner, we’ll be coordinating on the final details with the Carters.” Sawyer tapped the router design. “I agree with Dawson. This one’s great, but maybe we could take samples of all of them for showing? You never know a buyer’s taste.”

“Sure!” she said. “We can do that. I’ll go in the back and have the guys run some scrap boards for you to take along.”

Dawson reached in his pocket and removed two master keys. “Almost forgot. Can you make a couple of copies from these?”

Her smile broadened. “Be glad to. Should I mark them so you’ll know them apart?”

“Good idea.” He indicated the project name for each key. “Thanks, Nora.”

“Anytime.” She started off but turned back, gaze falling on Sawyer. “If you need anything else, let me know.”

She left them, and the brothers got down to business, going over their respective phone lists of supplies they needed for today’s work.

“I think you have another admirer,” Dawson said as they walked through the supply building.

“Who?” The private investigator flashed into Sawyer’s head. Jade—pretty name, but hard as the jewel she was named for.

“Nora, dimwit. You need an update on your navigation system?”

“The clerk? Nah, she’s a great employee. She helps everyone like that.”

Dawson tossed the empty cup into a trash can. “She’s never brought me samples to look at. Except that time she thought I was you.”

“Nothing unusual about that.” They were mirror twins. Dawson was right-handed and Sawyer a leftie. Each had an identical birthmark but on opposite shoulders. But many people still confused them because they were otherwise identical. They’d dealt with the twin confusion all their lives and had used it to their advantage many times, particularly during the ornery middle school years.

“Except she called me Sawyer and sort of gushed, getting all red like she did a minute ago.” Dawson pitter-pattered a hand over his heart.

“Give it a rest. After being grilled by the private investigator this morning, I’m not thinking about women.” None except the PI.

“That bad, huh?”

“You’ll get your turn. What I can’t figure out is why the focus is on me.”

“The photo was you.”

True. No matter how he combed his hair, the part fell naturally to the left. Dawson’s on the right. Otherwise, they’d never have figured out an identity. Weird that he didn’t recall when or where the photo was taken.

“Just because a picture of me was found on a vandalized site doesn’t make the discovery significant. Maybe the photo has nothing at all to do with the case.”

“Convince Dad of that.”

“Right,” Sawyer said. “Dad and one female Sherlock Holmes.”

* * *

The Red River Roost, a long, old-fashioned strip motel complete with a rooster perched in crowing posture above the flashing vacancy sign, looked a little tired but offered extended stays for a price that fit Jade’s expense budget. Dale Trentworth, owner of Paris Investigations, squeezed every penny and expected his employees to do the same.

Jade knew all about pinching pennies, and the River Roost, as the manager called the place, wasn’t too bad. Located in a residential area on the far side of Gabriel’s Crossing, the place should be quiet and restful, and that was all she required.

She pulled her Chevy into the spot in front of Unit Three and got out, peeling off her jacket as she approached her room. To say she was sweltering in this black suit would be a gross understatement. She was a cooked goose, a roasted duck, a rabbit on a spit baking in the Texas sun. Sweaty and sticky, though the day was young, she tossed the jacket over her elbow.

She knew better than to wear black this time of year, but she’d wanted to appear professional and in control. If she’d arrived at Sawyer Buchanon’s house in a dress and spiky heels, he might have turned on the charm and distracted her from her questions. Not that he hadn’t tried anyway. The man was a born flirt.

She had not been moved. Not one bit.

Well, perhaps a little, but she’d handled him and his charisma. Even if the picture of his too-handsome face kept flashing behind her eyes, she was proud of her cool, competent reaction.

Now that she’d established her professionalism and complete lack of interest in Mr. Playboy Buchanon, the black had to go.

A glance at her cell phone indicated plenty of time to change before her next appointment.

What she wouldn’t give to slip into comfortable jeans and a cool tank top, but first impressions mattered in this business. To be taken seriously, she had to work harder than a man. A glance in the mirror wasn’t required to remind her of how she looked. Petite. Fragile. An easy mark.

She was neither fragile nor easy, not anymore. But her size wasn’t likely to change, and unless she succumbed to plastic surgery. Neither was her baby-doll face.

Well, she was no baby doll. Sawyer Buchanon and his kind better understand that from the get-go.

She was tough and determined.

Fishing for her key, she glanced around, taking mental snapshots of her surroundings. Police work had taught her to be always on the alert, though Gabriel’s Crossing, Texas, was about as calm and peaceful a place as she could think of.

Yet someone had sabotaged the Buchanons’ work projects. Bad things happened in small towns, only on a lesser scale.

The small motel was sparsely populated this weekday morning. Beneath the awning in front of the office sat a battered green pickup truck with a riding lawn mower in the bed. From somewhere nearby, she smelled the clean, fresh aroma of cut grass.

A gray late-model Hyundai was parked in front of Unit Eight and a cleaning cart sat outside Unit Seven. Out on the street, a black SUV motored slowly past, tires hissing against the hot pavement.

A few doors up at Unit One, a young strawberry blonde exited her room, a chubby-cheeked baby on her hip. Her gaze caught Jade’s. She looked worried, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, brow furrowed beneath wispy bangs. She also looked like a kid, sixteen, seventeen at the most.

Watchful but concerned, too, Jade offered a smile. “Cute baby.”

Babies got to her in a big way. She’d wanted two or three. Cam hadn’t wanted any. He’d made that painfully clear.

The teenager shifted the baby on her hip. “Thanks. Say hi, Ashton.”

She lifted the baby’s little hand and waved. Jade waved back, and the friendliness must have been the encouragement the girl needed. She glanced toward the parking lot, squared her shoulders and walked the few feet to Jade’s door.

Glad she hadn’t unlocked her unit, Jade took the girl’s measure. She was an inch or two taller than Jade and too thin, her pale skin devoid of makeup. Dressed in jean shorts and a pink T-shirt, she wore cheap flip-flops and had a pink Cupid’s heart tattooed on top of her left foot. No other obvious identifying marks.

Jade relaxed. The girl presented no threat that she could detect. She was just a friendly, nervous teenager with a baby wearing only a disposable diaper.

“I was wondering.” The girl darted a worried glance at Jade but quickly looked down at her shoes. “I need a ride. Ashton’s out of diapers and...” She let the words trail away.

“You don’t have a car?”

The red-blond ponytail swished from side to side. “No.”

A dozen questions flashed through Jade’s mind. Where was this girl’s family? What was she doing in a motel? Was she alone?

She caught on the last one. “Are you staying here by yourself?”

“Me and Ashton.” The girl focused on the baby and then on Jade. She licked her lips and swallowed.

Nervous. Embarrassed.

Jade logged every movement, assessing. As a cop, she’d dealt with plenty of runaways. Was this another?

“Where do you live?”

The girl shrugged, but her face flushed crimson. “We got kicked out and moved here.”

“Kicked out of where?” Jade was being nosy but this girl had asked for a ride. No harm in requesting information in exchange.

“My mom’s place. She let me stay for a while after I had Ashton, but—well, money’s tight and she has her own problems. She said it was time for us to take care of ourselves.”

Nice family. “You have no one else? What about the baby’s father?”

The girl rolled her eyes and made a rueful sound. “He skipped out a looong time ago.”

The baby started to fuss and squirm in his mother’s arms. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. Instinctively, Jade reached out and grasped the little guy’s thrashing arm and wiggled it.

“Are you too hot, precious?” she crooned. “You sure are a handsome boy.”

The baby quieted instantly, his big brown eyes latched onto her face.

“I think he likes you,” the girl said hopefully.

Jade laughed, itching to hold him as she made a quick decision. Walking half a mile to the nearest store for diapers would be miserable for both mom and baby.

“What’s your name?”

“Bailey.”

“Okay, Bailey. I’m Jade. I need to change clothes but I won’t be long. Fifteen minutes or so, maybe. Take the baby back to your room and stay cool. I’ll knock on the door when I’m ready and I’ll drive you down to the Dollar Store.”

Relief washed over the girl like a sudden summer rain. “Thank you so much. I can’t pay you but—”

Jade waved her off. The girl probably didn’t have two extra nickels. “I’m glad to do it. Ashton is adorable.”

And you break my heart.

The key caught and Jade entered the small motel room, grateful for the blast of cool air chugging from the wall unit.

The room was clean, but that was about all she could say for it. Bed, TV, desk and cheap chair with a tiny bathroom. “All the comforts of home.”

She didn’t plan to be here long. The Red River Roost would do until she finished the investigation and returned to her nice apartment in Paris, Texas.

Resisting the urge to jump in the shower and cool off, she changed tops and jackets, opting for a white blazer and orchid button-down. Still professional, but definitely cooler.

From beneath the mattress, she withdrew her tiny laptop and booted up, taking a moment to check her email and run through some records sent by her boss, though nothing appeared pertinent to the Buchanon case. At least not yet.

As an afterthought, she pulled up Sawyer’s Facebook profile. Social media was an amazing source of information to private investigators and police officers.

She scanned through the recent posts, pausing at one with a puzzled frown. Sawyer had responded to a message with:

Praying for you, man. Hang in there.

In another, he’d posted a scripture.

No one had mentioned his religious affiliation, but Jade had experience with men who wielded scriptures like a weapon. Her father was one of them, battering her, her brothers and mother over the head with the Bible whenever the words suited his intent.

Granted, Sawyer’s scripture had been encouraging, not scathing, but religious fanatics were always suspect in her book. Closing the lid, Jade slid the laptop back into its hiding place. She exited the room, still pondering the complexities of human beings, one in particular. She wondered if Sawyer’s twin would prove as interesting.

Chapter Three

Buchanon Built Construction Company was housed in a warehouse on the edge of Gabriel’s Crossing, not far from the railroad tracks and the downtown area. Every day at least four times, a train rumbled through town, shook the earth, rattled windows and made dogs howl. Townsfolk like Sawyer barely noticed unless they were stuck at the railroad crossing. Like this morning.

When Sawyer finally arrived at the warehouse with Dawson pulling in behind him, a row of familiar pickup trucks had parked at an angle in front. UPS and a flatbed lumber truck unloaded supplies through the end double doors, the clatter of their labor enlivening the quiet, sunny morning. Summer in Gabriel’s Crossing meant construction work and plenty of it. Business for the Buchanon family was not good. Business was great.

Sawyer entered through the front door, stepping into the main offices where a U-shaped desk filled most of the room. Two of his sisters were behind the business center, already busy, and the ever-present scents of coffee and new wood welcomed him in.

“Did you bring doughnuts?” Allison asked. His petite sister could normally eat anything without gaining weight, but lately she’d put on a few pounds, mostly around the middle. She was hungry all the time.

“You’d be better off eating something healthy, Allison.” Jaylee, stick thin, was super health conscious and happily nagged the rest of them on a regular basis about their food choices. They mostly ignored her.

“I am eating healthy.” Allison patted her barely rounded belly. If he hadn’t been reminded a hundred times, Sawyer wouldn’t even know she was pregnant. “But baby Hamilton wants a doughnut with his milk this morning.”

Sawyer held up a white box. “Uncle Sawyer to the rescue.”

Allison sucked in a deep, appreciative breath. “My hero.”

“I thought Jake was your hero.”

“He is, but he’s not here and you have doughnuts.” She laughed, tossing her flippy dark hair.

“Did the poor guy already have enough of your pregnancy hormones and run away?” He knew better. Jake Hamilton was so thrilled over the expected baby he behaved as if he was the only man ever to experience fatherhood. Not that Sawyer would know a thing about that. Someday he’d like a passel of kids. It was the Buchanon way. But for now, he’d play the happy uncle and teasing brother.

“He and Manny are hauling bulls to the sale.” Allison pumped her arm once. “Cha-ching. Gotta buy baby some pretties.”

She reached for the doughnut box on the counter and flipped the lid open with an approving moan. “These are amazing. Which do you think is healthiest? The Bavarian cream? Does that count as dairy?”

Jaylee snorted. “If you’re going to eat one, pick the one you like best. Healthy and doughnuts are incompatible terms.”

Sawyer reached across the counter and took a chocolate-iced pastry. “Coke, popcorn and doughnuts. My breakfast of champions.”

Jaylee swatted at him with a stack of paper. He laughed and added, “I promise to eat a salad for lunch. Anything I need to know before I head on over to the job site?”

“Dad’s in the back. He wants to talk before you leave.”

Beyond the office space was a conference area for family and vendor meetings and anything else that required a gathering place. Quinn, the family architect, worked there for peace and quiet and because he’d been a reclusive grump since moving home from Dallas a couple of years ago. However, since falling in love with Gena Satterfield, the local nurse practitioner, Quinn was a lot easier to be around.

“Sure thing.” Sawyer sauntered through the doorway, mouth full of fried dough. Dawson followed.

When he saw the woman standing stiff as the Statue of Liberty at the end of a long table, he nearly choked.

The fiery attraction he’d hoped was a fluke seared up the back of his neck.

His father, standing next to her, waved them in. “Sawyer, I think you’ve met Jade Warren from the private investigation firm.”

Sawyer battled the doughnut and managed to swallow down the thick lump.

The attraction was an entirely different matter. It raced through his bloodstream like molten lava. Nice. And weird.

He liked fun-loving, happy women with sunny dispositions and lots of laughter. Why did he find the serious, unfriendly Jade so compelling?

“Well, if it isn’t Nancy Drew.” He offered an intentionally flirty smile, hoping to loosen her up a little.

Her icy stare knocked the smile right out of him. She nodded once, a head bob that was both dismissal and acknowledgment.

Did anything rattle Miss Prim and Grim?

“Let’s have a seat,” Dad was saying as he pulled out a chair for Jade. Sawyer would have done that. Wanted to do it. Instead he seated himself across from her and noticed she’d changed clothes. She was still buttoned to the top in a choke hold that could take out a sumo wrestler, but the light purple color looked good with her eyes.

Yeah. He was noticing way too much about a woman who really didn’t want to like him.

He folded his arms on the tabletop and let his gaze linger on her deceptively sweet face while she talked in that crisp, no-nonsense manner that made him straighten his posture.

“Your father is creating a list of disgruntled employees.” She flipped open the spiral notebook. “I’d like each of you to do the same for cross-referencing purposes.”

Sawyer exchanged looks with Dawson and they both laughed. They still had the twin radar at times, knowing what the other thought. “Disgruntled? Would that include us brothers? We stay disgruntled.”

“But Dad won’t let us stop working.” Dawson lifted his coffee cup in a salute.

Dan Buchanon smiled slightly. “My boys like to joke around.”

“I see that.” But she didn’t crack a smile. “Does anyone come to mind immediately? Anyone who was fired, injured on the job, or caused a problem? No matter how small or seemingly insignificant the issue, I need to know.”

The four men mentioned a handful of people but stalled out quickly. They ran a reputable business and treated employees well. Dan, a workaholic, could be tough and demanding, but Brady, Mom and the three sisters kept things running smoothly so that most employees loved to work for the Buchanons.

Everyone wanted to come to the Buchanon Built Christmas party and the Fourth of July cookout, the place where Dan handed out bonuses and gifts and goodies to show appreciation for the previous six months of success.

“This business goes back many years to Grandpa. Maybe our bad guy goes that far back, too.” Dawson’s usually serene face was troubled. “I’ll give the list more thought.”

Sawyer nodded. “Sure. I will, too.”

“Have we provided enough to get started?” Dan pushed up from the table. He really was a workaholic. Sitting around for too long made him antsy.

Jade stood as well and tapped a pen against her notebook. “I want to see the vandalized sites today if possible.”

“No problem.” Dad aimed a finger toward Sawyer. “Sawyer will show you around. You can use the time to discuss anything in his past that may have set someone off on a vendetta.”

“Dad! Come on. I’m not the guilty party here. And I have important work to do.”

Dan held up a hand, his universal signal for “don’t argue.”

“Dawson can handle your load today.” To Dawson, he said, “Call Clare Hammond to help out in Sawyer’s place.”

“Works for me.” Dawson knocked back the last of his coffee and pushed to a stand. “Clare’s a pro, almost as good as us.”

Sawyer liked working with her, too. He could actually make Clare laugh, something he couldn’t say for the PI. But maybe if he and Jade Warren spent some time together, if she got to know him better, she might loosen up. Maybe he’d even convince her that he was a good guy—a long shot, he thought with humor, but he was always up for a challenge.

And when had he ever refused a day off with a beautiful woman?

* * *

Jade’s sensible shoes crunched on the gravel parking area outside the Buchanon offices as she made her way to her practical white Chevy. Even after driving her motel neighbor to the store and back, she’d arrived with plenty of time to spare for the meeting with the Buchanon boss. Now that she’d met the main man in person Jade felt better, more in control.

She wished her feelings were the same about Bailey Shaffer. The kid with the cute baby boy was barely seventeen and completely alone. No education, no job, no transportation. If not for public assistance, she and baby Ashton would have nothing. Bailey seemed like a sweet girl, and her love for Ashton showed on her face and in every action. She was a good, if too young, mother in a very bad situation.

Jade shook her head, knowing she should be focused on the job instead of the teenage mother. But she hurt for the girl and worried about her and the baby.

Sawyer Buchanon was behind her a few paces, having stopped to grab a doughnut from his sisters. He’d offered her one but she’d refused. She didn’t know why. She loved doughnuts, especially the ones with chocolate icing and lots of sprinkles, but she didn’t want Sawyer to think he could beguile his way under her skin.

Again, she couldn’t put a finger on what it was about him. He ruffled her and she didn’t like the feeling. It felt like attraction and that scared her. She had always been a sucker for handsome, smiling men until Cam Warren taught her a lesson she couldn’t forget. She knew her weaknesses, so she had to be careful. She would not be a victim again.

“Hey, Jade. Hold up.”

She stopped, one hand on her car door, keys ready. Sawyer ambled in her direction, the sun glinting on his black hair. He was built tall, like his brothers and father, lean, well-proportioned and fit, with long legs that ate up the ground in no time. She observed him as she would a suspect, wondering what kind of man lived inside that too-perfect body.

Her stomach clenched. Or was that flutters? Awareness flutters.

Annoyed to think it might be, she bit out a reply. “What?”

“Ride with me.” He hitched his head. “My truck’s over here.”

“No need. I’ll follow you in my vehicle.”

His nostrils flared. He gave her a long, slow look that seared the ends of her hair. “Suit yourself.”

Sawyer spun toward his big maroon pickup while Jade contemplated what she’d done. If she wanted to dig into the guy’s past, she needed to spend time with him in his environment, get to know more about him than what was on his Facebook page.

Her refusal was a bad sign that he was causing her to react like a woman instead of an investigator. That simply would not do.

“On second thought, I might as well conserve fuel and ride with you.” Nice save, Jade. And Dale would appreciate her sacrifice.

Sawyer spun back, boots grinding the gravel. He still didn’t look happy, but Jade was certain she saw a triumphant gleam in his disturbingly attractive eyes.

Saying nothing, she grabbed her mini backpack containing camera, notebook, phone and wallet, and followed him to his truck. He opened the door, took her backpack and tossed it into the back of the double cab, and was about to help her up into the high passenger seat. She stared at his outstretched hand.

“I can do it.”

His hand didn’t budge.

She flashed a quick glance at his face. Mistake. Though he neither smiled nor spoke, he stood watching her, serene and easy, as if he helped women into his truck all the time. Which he probably did.

Ignoring him, if such a thing was possible, as well as his offered hand Jade grabbed the side of the door and started to boost herself up. She was woefully short.

Strong, masculine fingers steadied her elbow with exactly the right amount of pressure. Gentle. Steady. Dependable.

Pulse clattering, which annoyed her no end, Jade managed a terse “Thank you.”

“No problem. It’s the Buchanon way.”

Whatever that meant.

These high cabs were a pain, but she was perfectly capable of helping herself. However, being treated with courtesy and respect was not a bad thing. She wanted that. Courtesy. Respect. But not the warm fuzzies Sawyer seemed to generate in her nerve endings.

As she settled into the oversize vehicle, Sawyer slammed the door, jogged around the front and hopped inside.

“Nice truck.” Might as well start with his vehicle, always a good way to get a man talking about himself.

“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.”

His head dropped back and he groaned. “Dad won’t be satisfied until you do, so go ahead. I have all day.”

“Does that bother you?”

He hiked an eyebrow. “Does what bother me?”

“Spending the day with me.”

Sawyer studied her for several uncomfortable seconds, his expression serious. She expected some flirtatious remark, a come-on.

Instead, he said, “The jury is still out on that.”

“Fair enough.” She was disappointed and the reaction ruffled her. Why should she care one way or the other whether he enjoyed her company? He was a client, not a friend. “I’ll need a list of all your friends, particularly women you’ve dated recently, along with their contact information.”

“That’s a bit invasive, isn’t it?”

“Part of the investigation. Jilted girlfriends can sometimes harbor anger for a long time. You know the old adage. There is no fury like a woman scorned.”

“Scorned?” He frowned and his eyebrows dipped as if she’d insulted him. “I’m not that kind of guy.”

She’d be the judge of that. “Are you seeing anyone now?”

“Not anyone special, if that’s what you mean. Are you?”

His tone was relaxed and conversational but Jade stiffened anyway. Her traitorous pulse jumped higher than a kangaroo on a trampoline.

With self-protecting snarkiness, she crossed her arms tightly and glared. “I’m asking the questions, if you don’t mind. Who have you dated in the last month?”

Sawyer shifted in his bucket seat, bounced a fist against the steering wheel and, with a sigh, reluctantly mentioned two names.

He had to be lying. While assuring herself her interest was purely professional, she pressed. “That’s all? Two?”

He gave her a puzzled look. “Clare and I are work pals, though, nothing serious there. We work together sometimes, so occasionally we grab dinner or watch a ball game. She’s fun. Knows how to laugh and have a good time.”

Was there something pointed in his remark? Did he think she was as dull as used dishwater?

With a sniff and an internal reminder that he was one of the subjects in this investigation, she tapped the other name on the too-short list.

“And Lacy?”

“Great girl. She golfs on the course near my house. We’ve played a few rounds. Gone out a few times.”

The tension returned to her shoulders. “Are you still seeing her?”

“Not lately. Both of us have been too busy.” He folded his arms over the steering wheel. “Is this really necessary? The women I know are good people. And I’m not all that. They aren’t breaking into houses over me.”

“Stranger things have happened.”

He made a derisive hiss, like a tire going flat.

She asked a few more questions but Sawyer refused to say much about the women he dated beyond their names, even when she pushed back into his college days. He was popular. She knew that from his social media, but he didn’t brag. If he’d had conquests or left a trail of angry broken hearts, he wasn’t going to tell her. Jade found that both admirable and frustrating.

“I’m sure I’ll have more questions later.” She closed her notebook with a businesslike snap. “But for now, let’s have a look at those houses.”

“The interrogation is over. Big yea.”

She hitched an eyebrow at him. “For now.”

He exhaled a gusty breath, tilted his head back and looked toward the sky. “Great.”

With a pinch of satisfaction at ruffling him, Jade pushed open the heavy door.

Sawyer came around to her side of the pickup but she’d already slid to the pavement, hitting with a jarring thud.

He noticed the abrupt landing but didn’t say anything.

Her pride was getting the best of her. She should have waited for him. It was a long way down in these high-rise pickup trucks. Especially for a small person.

She straightened her blazer and her shoulders, but even with her best posture she struck Sawyer only about halfway up on his blue T-shirt. Right in that muscular bow of pecs and biceps.

“This was the first house hit,” he said, “about a year and a half ago.”

Jerking her attention to the house, Jade lifted her camera and snapped photos. The home he indicated, now occupied, was a beautiful modern brick with a double garage and bright red front door.

The other homes around the neighborhood were similar in style but unique enough to avoid the cookie-cutter look of some housing developments. Different colors or shutters, a few different designs. And the landscaping was the perfect blend of trees, small shrubs and smooth grass.

“The police report said the damage at this address was all cosmetic.” She snapped more photos.

“Mostly paint and graffiti.”

“Damage escalated with each attack. That has to be significant.”

“I never gave it much thought, but I guess it did.”

“One of the first things I looked at when I received the police reports.” She’d laid them out end to end and created a spreadsheet, chronicling every bit of reported damage. “I graphed the escalation.”

He flashed that smile. “Brainy woman. I like it.”

She was, and she was also smart enough not to be led astray by a handsome face, blue eyes and a compliment. Even if he affected her blood pressure and didn’t kiss and tell.

“Which other houses in this neighborhood were hit?”

“Come on. If you’re up for a walk, I’ll show you around.”

“Of course.” As a former cop, she stayed in top shape. A walk, even in the Texas heat, would not deter her.

Leaving the truck parked along the curb, they walked the area, four square blocks of beautiful Buchanon Built homes. Signs heralding their construction company stabbed the ground in front of several yet to be sold.

Sawyer’s long legs outpaced her but when he realized she trailed him by several yards, he slowed, adjusting his speed to hers. In his relaxed manner, he chatted about the area, pointing out the attractive features like a real estate salesman.

He was easy in his skin, a confident man.

Across the street, a home owner with a toddler in tow exited one house and waved. Jade’s thoughts zoomed to the young mother at the motel. She wasn’t in Gabriel’s Crossing to babysit teenage mothers but it wouldn’t hurt to check on the pair after work, to make sure Bailey and Ashton had something to eat.

Sawyer lifted a hand and greeted the home owner by name.

“How are you doing, Maggie? Enjoying your new home?”

“Loving it. You guys do great work.” She lifted the toddler into a car seat.

“Thanks. I’ll pass along the compliment.”

The woman waved again as she drove away.

Friendly. Attractive to women. Was Sawyer truly a nice guy? Or was his smile and friendliness a facade to get what he wanted? Like Cam’s?

Troubled at the line of thought and the way she couldn’t stop noticing Sawyer as a man, Jade forced her attention back to the houses. Do the job. Do it right. Focus on the investigation.

She asked questions, took photos, made notes and considered the location of this particular housing complex. They’d built on the edge of a rural area but close enough to town for convenience, a perfect location for those wanting expansive lawns and a little privacy without all those board fences. The kind of neighborhood where kids could safely play outside, roller-skate and ride bikes.

She’d love to live in a family-friendly place like this.

“Why this housing addition? Was there a problem with any of the nearby landowners? Did someone object to the city pushing out this far into the countryside?”

“Dad wrangled with the owner for a while over the price but in the end both parties approved of the agreement.”

“Maybe. I’ll need the previous owner’s name and contact info.”

“I think Leroy’s already checked that out.”

“Leroy?” She jacked a doubtful eyebrow. “The local police officer?”

Sawyer’s easygoing nature disappeared. He bristled, eyes narrowed. “Leroy’s a good cop and a great friend. He’s done his best on this.”

Here was another new side to Mr. Charm. Loyalty, willing to stand up for a friend.

“I didn’t mean that as an insult. Leroy does a good job, but he’s short-staffed, and a growing town stretches him to the limit. He could have missed something.”

She raised the camera and snapped. A line of woods and a small creek flowed to the south of the houses. “This location is beautiful. I see the appeal. Do kids play in that creek?”

“Sure. It’s very shallow. Perfect for tadpole fishing.” He paused. “Ever been?”

She glanced at the sky, a pretty blue dabbled with cotton-ball clouds and with an egg-yolk sun perched halfway between morning and noon.

She wouldn’t play his game. They were not friends having a chitchat.

“The only thing I’m fishing for is clues.”

“You don’t like to fish? To cast a lure in the water and get mocked by big, fat bass that swim around your line and laugh?” He made a casting motion and began to reel. With his left hand, she noticed. “And maybe, just maybe, if you hold your mouth right, you catch one off guard and—” He yanked back on his imaginary rod, pretending to battle a fighting fish. Suddenly his shoulders dipped and he relaxed. “Rats. Lost him.”

She bit back a laugh.

Sawyer Buchanon was fun. No wonder women loved him. Caution would be her friend around this man.

“I haven’t been fishing in years,” she said. “Not since my brothers and I used to go to the lake on weekends. We’d rent a boat at the marina and play all day.” Just the three of them, away from the stress of home. She smiled a little at the memory.

“Good memories, huh?” Sawyer’s focus was on her face, interested. And she liked the feeling. “Do you water-ski?”

“I haven’t in a long time. Do you?”

He tapped his chest. “King of the waves. Until Brady decides to make a sharp U-turn and dump me in the brink.”

“That’s mean.”

“No, that’s fun. The trick is to pay close attention so he can’t lose me and, of course, to maneuver with my mad skills and precision—” He laughed to lessen the brag. “Challenge is the Buchanon way.”

“I see what you mean. It sounds like fun.” And she’d not allowed herself much fun in a long time. Oh, she went out with friends, had dinner and saw movies, but the outdoors had been her love as a kid. “You and your family spend a lot of time together? All of you?”

“Lots of time. We’re our favorite people.” His gaze slid over her. “I imagine you were good. At water-skiing, I mean.”

“As a matter of fact, I was. Light and quick.” She twitched an eyebrow and crossed her arms in a teasing challenge. “I think I could handle Brady’s devious moves.”

“I think you could, too.” He grinned, his eyes all happy dancing. “Next time Brady takes the boat out, you should come with us. Two masters competing with the boat-rocking Brady.”

The invitation was like ice water. What was she doing? Flirting with a client? With the kind of man she couldn’t afford to like? And during an investigation, of all the inappropriate times.

She dropped her friendly stance and stiffened. “I think we should concentrate on the investigation. Which of these homes is next on our list?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but a tiny pucker appeared between his onyx eyebrows. After a long, thoughtful pause, he pointed to a pretty cream-colored brick. “That one.”

They walked toward the house in silence. She was annoyed with herself. She was here to pry into his life, not let him pry into hers. At least she’d learned some useful information during the conversation. Nothing earth shattering but his family was close, he adored his brothers and he liked to fish and ski. He was an outdoors person. Like her.

She shut that line of thinking off so fast, she got a headache. Knowing more about him was a means to an end and part of her job. Nothing personal. Nothing personal at all.

Chapter Four

Much later, when they’d made the rounds of the Huckleberry Addition, Sawyer drove them back toward town. The private investigator intrigued him. One minute, when they’d discussed fishing and he’d done his best to be his usual enchanting self, she’d actually smiled. A second later, she’d bristled like a feral tomcat.

She didn’t want to like him. He’d figured out that much, but he didn’t know why. He wasn’t the bad guy here.

He opened the pickup door for her and helped her up into the high cab. She didn’t like that either, but his mama had raised him with manners, especially around ladies. Most women ate it up like a hot fudge sundae. Jade looked as if she wanted to throat punch him.

As he drove, he answered questions all the way. She was the most inquisitive woman he’d ever encountered. But every time he’d tried to ask about her, she’d shut him down.

The sun had moved to high overhead and his belly reminded him of the long gone popcorn and doughnut. He aimed the truck down First Street and pulled in front of the Buttered Biscuit Café.

Jade leaned forward, glaring out the windshield as if he’d driven her to a nudie bar. “What are you doing?”

“Eating. Private investigators eat, don’t they?”

“I can grab something later.”

He got out of the truck and went around, opening her door anyway. “You won’t find a better lunch than the Biscuit’s. Come on. I’ll buy.”

“I don’t need anyone to pay for my meal.”

A grin twitched his lips. “We’ll fight over the check after you taste Jan’s coconut cream pie.”

She hesitated. “Homemade?”

He had her now. “With meringue three inches tall.”

She didn’t smile but she did capitulate. “Sold.”

Score one for his team.

She let him help her down, another victory of sorts, though Sawyer didn’t understand why they were in a battle.

He led the way inside, nodding to friends and a cousin as he found an open table. The café, as usual, was jammed and noisy with townspeople, most of whom he knew by their first names.

Jade walked alongside him, gazing around the small space with her usual intensity.

“Memorizing Jan’s signs and slogans?” Every inch of wall space was crammed with signs or plaques, most of them snarky and clever.

She pointed at one. Plenty of people have eaten here and gone on to live nearly normal lives. “Pretty funny.”

Then why didn’t she laugh? “Jan’s got sass but she sure can cook.”

He pulled out a chair for her and stood, patient as Job himself. She could be stubborn. He could be patient.

Her full mouth flattened but she didn’t yank away the chair and make a scene. Satisfied, Sawyer took the seat across from her and folded his arms on the laminated tabletop. He enjoyed seeing her straight on. She was nice to look at.

“Anything in particular sound good to you?” he asked.

Jade took a paper napkin from the metal container and shook it onto her lap. “You have recommendations?”

Sawyer studied the tiny mole—just one—to the left of her nose. He’d never noticed how appealing one single little beauty mark could be. “Plate lunch special.”

She blinked. “What is it?”

“I didn’t read the sign, but whatever it is will be good.”

“Okay by me.”

Nice. A woman who wasn’t picky about her food, though Jade Warren was picky about everything else. Well, maybe not everything and maybe the word was prickly instead of picky.

Charla, an African American waitress with every bit as much sass as Jan, slapped two plastic menus on the table. “Hiya, Sawyer.”

“Hey, Charla.” He waved the menus away. “Don’t need those. We’ll have the special.”

“Good choice. Roast beef and mashed potatoes. Jan’s recipe.” She retrieved the unused menus. “Drinks?”

“Iced tea for me.” He shot a questioning look at Jade. “You?”

“Iced tea is good. Sweet, please.”

Charla scribbled on her pad. “Who’s your new friend, Sawyer?”

Now, that was a dilemma. He didn’t particularly want the whole town to know he was being investigated by order of his own father. “Jade Warren, meet Charla Fredrick.”

The two women exchanged greetings before Charla dashed to answer the call of “Order up.” A new waitress, probably Abby’s replacement, moved much slower.

Sawyer made small talk about the town and the people in the café until Charla returned with their tea glasses.

“We sure miss Abby around this place,” Charla said. “Have you heard from her?”

“Yep. They’re having the time of their lives.”

“Good. She deserves that. You tell her I got her postcard from Venice. Such a pretty place. Is little Miss Lila doing all right with her grandma and grandpa?”

Abby’s four-year-old daughter was staying with Sawyer’s mom and dad while the newlyweds honeymooned in Italy.

“They’re spoiling her, but you know Lila. She’s a ray of sunshine and easy to spoil.”

“She miss her mama much?”

“They Skype every night. I think Abby is the one suffering separation pangs. Lila’s in her element.”

“Abby’s a good mama.” Charla tossed her head, swinging giant pink earrings as if she dared anyone to argue.

“The best, and we Buchanons are all suckers for Lila.”

“She does that to people. Precious child.”

The waitress scooted away, returning in minutes with two steaming plates that she slid with expert ease onto the table.

“Tender roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and hot buttery biscuits.” Sawyer rubbed his hands together. “Food of the divine.”

Charla perched a hand on her ample hip. “Y’all need anything else?”

“Pie later.”

“Coconut?”

Sawyer flashed a victory sign. “Two.”

“Got it.” She hustled away again.

Jade stared, wide-eyed, at her plate. “I’ll never eat all of this.”

“Take a carryout box home with you.” He reached for the salt and pepper. “Where are you staying anyway?”

“The Red River Roost.”

Oh, not so good. “You okay there?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“The River Roost isn’t in the best area of town.”

She got that look on her face again. The one that said he should mind his own business. “I can take care of myself.”

He shrugged. So she said, but if she was his sister, he’d be concerned. Not that he considered her a sister. Not even close.

He frowned at the fluffy white insides of a steaming-hot biscuit.

She didn’t like him, was suspicious as all get-out, but he was fascinated by her.

Now, what did that say about him?

* * *

Jade thought she should probably tell him to mind his own business, but Sawyer knew Gabriel’s Crossing and she didn’t. Forewarned was forearmed. If there were problems, she needed to know.

“What’s so bad about that part of town?”

“Kind of run-down. More crime. The Roost is the type of motel where—” He leaned back in his chair and scrunched his face. “How do I put this delicately?”

“No need. I understand your point.” She lifted a fork, not letting him see that his words troubled her. Not for herself, but for that lonely teen and her baby. “I was a police officer before becoming a private detective. I’m well trained, and like I said, I can take care of myself.”

Sometimes she’d made a mess of things, but she’d survived and grown wiser from the experience. She didn’t need or trust anyone’s protection but her own.

Sliding her fork into the potatoes, she prepared to enjoy what appeared to be a delicious meal. Sawyer, she noted, had yet to begin. She shot him a questioning look. “Something wrong?”

One side of his mouth quirked up. “Grace.”

“Oh.” She lowered her fork and bowed her head but kept one eye on the man across the table, bracing for a major show so everyone in the place would know how devout he was.

Sawyer discreetly murmured a few words followed with “Amen.” As he opened his eyes, she sat back, studying him while battling the slight guilt that she’d been focused on the man instead of the blessing.

When she’d left home, she’d left her faith behind. Not that she’d ever had much to begin with. She wasn’t mad at God or anything like that. She was just...tired of the hassle.

But Sawyer Buchanon didn’t fit her concept of loud, judgmental Christians. Those she knew and understood. This quiet faith, offered up with a smile and courtesy, bewildered her.

“What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing really.”

“I offended you by praying?” Those magnificent eyes were serious but not apologetic. Could a man really have eyelashes that long and black?

“No. Your faith is your business.”

“I take it you’re not a believer?”

“Religion isn’t my thing.”

“Did I mention religion?” He tilted his head in the cutest way.

“Religion. Christianity. Same thing.”

She took up her fork again and tasted a bite of tender roast beef and fought to suppress a moan. She’d always been an auditory eater, and this was seriously delicious.

Sawyer squinted at her, the fork in his left hand paused above the steaming, aromatic food. “Not hardly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Religions are about rules and laws. Christianity is about my personal relationship with Jesus.”

She’d heard that before but all this personal relationship stuff went right over her head. She knew faith didn’t work like that. Her daddy had religion and claimed to be a Christian. She couldn’t see the difference. Do this. Don’t do that. If she stepped out of line, God would get her and she would suffer.

All she knew about faith was that her father twisted Bible verses to control his wife and kids.

If that was Christianity, she didn’t want any part of it. Or any part of another smiling, handsome man who claimed, like Cam had, to be a man of faith.

* * *

Sawyer, quick mind that he was, instantly caught her anti-religion vibe. Somebody or something had turned her off the Lord. To him, and to every Buchanon old enough to think, her reaction was tragic. All the more because he liked her.

Something beneath the surface of the cool, serious PI intrigued him. She was much more than she’d let him see.

Yeah, and he must be sniffing too much sawdust.

Whatever. He’d take Mom’s sage advice and live his faith instead of preaching it.

With that in mind, he shifted easily to her other interesting statement. “How long were you a cop?”

She sipped her tea, and for a second Sawyer thought she would tell him to mind his own business. Again.

She set the glass down and rubbed damp fingers on her napkin. In this heat, the tea glass condensed faster than Campbell’s soup.

“Four years in Paris. Texas, not France.”

Was that the hint of a real smile he spotted dancing around her pretty mouth? Being a naturally happy guy, he couldn’t help offering a smile in response.

Apparently, discussing her job was preferable to talking about God.

“You’ve probably had to say that a million times.”

“At least. Mostly on the phone. People here in Texoma land know the real Paris is in Texas.”

A joke. They were making progress. Pepped him right up. “Did you like being a cop?”

“Loved it. Most of the time.”

“Then why switch careers?”

“Oh, you know.” She shrugged, contemplating a biscuit and a pat of real butter. “Did you always want to be a carpenter?”

Changing topics. Nice diversion. Or was that a cop tactic to dig for info?

“No. When I was six I wanted to be Batman. Still do, but they tell me the job is taken.”

A spark lit her eyes. “Your degree is in business.”

He slapped a hand against his chest, pretending shock. “Are you saying Batman didn’t have a business plan?”

This time she actually smiled. And the result knocked his socks off. He was tempted to look under the table to see if they were still there. Except he was wearing work boots.

“Seriously. Why a business degree if you planned to build things?”

“Dad was a stickler. All of us kids had to at least try college—preferably his alma mater, Tech. I liked college life and stuck around to get a degree.” Mostly because of the good times, but he didn’t tell her that part. “Even if I pound nails for the family company, I’m still a businessman. What about you? Did you attend college?”

He held his breath waiting for the cold shoulder.

“Community college classes in criminal justice and then police academy and some investigation courses. I always knew what I wanted to do.”

“How does one know such a thing? Especially you, being a woman.” He held up both hands. “No insult intended, but you’ve probably taken some flack as a female in a male-dominated field.”

She stiffened up. “I can handle myself.”

“No doubt.” One blast of that arctic stare and a lesser man would freeze in his tracks. “But it couldn’t be easy.”

“I had some run-ins. Guys who didn’t want to ride with me. Who thought I couldn’t hold my own and would get them killed. Suggestive cartoons in my locker. The basic hazing stuff.”

A bite of green beans froze halfway to Sawyer’s mouth. “Say that again.”

She shrugged. “Harassment made me tougher. I wasn’t about to wimp out after that.”

“Still.” He didn’t like the idea of some creep shooting innuendoes in her direction. He and the brothers would bust some chops if anyone did that to their sisters. Which brought to mind her family.

“Didn’t your brothers want to knock some heads?”

Her gaze was cool. “I didn’t tell them. Why would I?”

A revealing confession. She faced the world on her own. “Because men stand up for their women.”

“Let’s get this straight, Mr. Buchanon. I don’t need or want a man to take care of me.” She tossed a wadded napkin onto the table. “Not now. Not ever.”

Ouch. Raw nerve. Somebody had done a number on her. Somebody who needed a knot jerked in his neck.

Sawyer was normally a lover, not a fighter, but he wouldn’t mind meeting up with the culprit. Preferably alone.

Chapter Five

The next evening Jade pushed back from the small wobbly, laminated motel desk and read over the notes she’d typed into a computer document.

She’d spent the day interviewing the rest of the Buchanon family, including Dawson, who reminded her constantly of his twin. They were both too good looking for words, but so very different in personality. To her consternation, it was the playboy twin she couldn’t stop thinking about.

A psychological default, she suspected, and one which she would fight with all her might. She refused to be a stereotype, falling for the same kind of man over and over again.

Dawson had been her focus today. Sawyer could wait, though she would have to talk to him again soon, regardless of her misgivings. Dan Buchanon wanted her focus on Sawyer, and the big boss was the man paying the bill.

With seven Buchanon siblings and the two parents, she’d asked the standard questions and written a lot of notes, but nothing raised a red flag. Whoever was vandalizing the Buchanon properties covered their tracks well. At this point, she needed a clue. Any clue. Sawyer had been little help.

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