Комбат. Олимпийский характер. Андрей Воронин
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you again, Tamara. Take care and thanks for your help.”
She pivoted on her heel to face Clay. Her stomach somersaulted when she met his dark brown eyes. Fighting to keep her arm from shaking, she stuck her hand out. “Clay, thank you for your help.”
She was fortunate she’d finished speaking by the time he wrapped his long fingers around hers, because the moment he grasped her hand, her voice fled. A tornado of emotions sucked the air from her lungs, and heady sensations churned through her.
“No problem.” The intimacy in his tone, the fire that lit his eyes sparked a heated flush over her skin. “If there’s anything else I can do to help, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Was there any hidden meaning behind that offer, or had she imagined the intimate warmth in his tone? Fighting for oxygen, she tried to pull her hand back. But Clay refused to release her. He squeezed her fingers, his hot gaze scorching her, and he stroked the tender skin at her wrist with his thumb. “It was good to see you, Tee.”
Her heart leaped when he used his pet name for her.
She nodded her head stiffly. “You, too.”
“You’re as beautiful as ever.” The soft, deep rumble of his voice vibrated in her chest and stirred an ache she’d thought time had put to rest.
“Thank you,” she rasped. This time when she tugged her hand, he let her fingers slip from his grasp.
Tamara curled her tingling hand into a fist and wrapped her other hand around it, as if nursing a wound. But her scars were internal, and seeing Clay today had only resurrected the pain she’d worked five years to move beyond.
Spinning away, she hurried to the SUV where Pete was waiting. She climbed into the passenger seat and angled the air-conditioning vents to blow directly on her face. If the summer sun weren’t enough to induce heatstroke, the fiery look in Clay’s eyes and the warmth of his sultry tone could surely cause spontaneous combustion.
“You okay?” Pete asked as they pulled away.
Not trusting her voice, Tamara nodded. She leaned her head back on the headrest and closed her eyes. The image of Clay’s square jaw, straight nose, stubbled cheeks and thick eyebrows flashed in her mind. Her ex was pure testosterone. All male. Grit and determination.
Suddenly Tamara was blindsided by a need to see for herself what Clay had accomplished at the ranch, to revisit the haunts of her married days. She clutched the photographer’s arm as he started to turn toward the highway. “Wait, Pete. Let’s not go yet. I want to drive through the ranch. See the property, the house, the stables.”
“What’s up? You thinking Colton might be hiding something?”
She jerked a startled glance to Pete. “Heavens, no! Clay’s as honest and forthright as a Boy Scout. He had nothing to do with that money or car.”
“And you know this because…” He drew out the last syllable, inviting her explanation.
“I was married to him.”
A startled laugh erupted from Pete. “Excuse me?”
“Before I came to San Antonio, I lived here. With Clay.” Tamara tucked her hands under her legs and stared straight ahead. “We were high-school sweethearts and got married just hours after he signed the deed to this ranch.”
Pete frowned. “Does Eric know? Are you objective enough to work this case?”
“I’m fine. There’s no conflict of interest, because Clay’s not involved. We can prove that easily enough if you’re worried. And Eric knows…now. I heard Clay tell him.”
“I suppose you know Sheriff Yates, too, if you lived out here for a while.”
She bobbed her head, grinned. “I had a crush on Jericho for a while in tenth grade. Before I started dating Clay. Jericho’s a good man. Salt of the earth.”
Pete drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “So what is it you want me to do here?” He waved a finger toward the windshield.
“Go left. I want to see how things have changed…or not. For old times’ sake.”
Pete complied, and Tamara sat back in the front seat, holding her breath as familiar landscape and outbuildings came into view. They drove past a corral where three magnificent stallions grazed. The horses looked up, tossing their manes as the SUV rolled by. As Tamara admired the striking males, melancholy twanged her heartstrings.
Lone Star had been a beautiful animal, too. After years of feeding and grooming the stud, Tamara had bonded with the best stallion in Clay’s breeding operation. She’d been heartsick when she learned he’d contracted strangles, a bacterial disease that affects the lymph nodes, and devastated when Clay had chosen to put the horse to sleep rather than treat him for the illness. She still couldn’t understand how her ex-husband could have been so clinical and emotionless about his decision, especially when she’d begged him to save the horse she’d grown to love.
“Quinn thinks putting him down is our best option,” Clay had said.
“Quinn? It’s not his decision! He’s our horse!”
“He’s the vet, Tee. His professional opinion counts—”
“More than mine? I’m your wife! What about what I want, what I think is best?”
“Ranching is a business, Tamara. I have to do what is best for the ranch.”
“But why can’t we even try—”
“My decision is made. Quinn knows what he’s doing.”
Tamara squeezed her eyes shut as revived pain shot through her chest. Resentment for the veterinarian who’d held more sway over Clay than all her pleading churned with a bitter edge in her gut. Quinn Logan may have been Clay’s friend, but Tamara had no respect for the man’s medical choices. Every rancher she’d spoken to after Lone Star was put down told her strangles had a vaccine, could be treated with antibiotics.
Why hadn’t Quinn taken measures to prevent the illness in the stud? And why had the vet dismissed the option of treating the animal’s illness so quickly? Was he trying to cover his ass? Prevent a malpractice suit? The whole scenario seemed highly suspicious to Tamara, yet Clay had sided with Quinn.
The crunch of gravel beneath the SUV’s tires told Tamara they’d reached the main drive to the ranch house. She peeked out in time to see them pass the barn where Lone Star had been quarantined—and put down. A sharp ache sliced through her, and she swallowed hard to force down the knot of sorrow and bitterness that rose in her throat.
What was it about this ranch that brought all her emotions to the surface, left her feeling raw and exposed? In San Antonio, in her lab, at a crime scene, she’d become a pro at suppressing her emotions and keeping a professional distance in her job. Yet a few hours in Esperanza had her dredging up old hurts, recalling the passion she’d once shared with Clay and longing for the early days in her marriage when life had seemed so golden.
“Nice place. How many acres does Colton have?” Pete asked, pulling her from her thoughts. His gaze swept over Clay’s spread.
“He started with thirty acres. I’d guess he’s up to about three hundred acres now.” Tamara glanced through the open door of the building where Clay still parked his 1978 Ford pickup.
Still runs. Why should I get rid of it?
A grin ghosted across her lips. Practical, frugal Clay. He still had no use for waste.
Yet, for all his prudence, Clay had gotten rid of his wife.
Her smile dimmed.
After three years, their marriage had been damaged. The incident with Lone Star had just been the final straw. For months, Tamara had felt herself suffocating, her dreams of working in criminal investigation