Beneath the Stetson. Janice Maynard
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he came in.
He cleared his throat. Bailey’s head snapped up as she glared at him. “It wouldn’t hurt you to knock,” she said. “You scared me to death.”
“It’s my office,” he responded mildly. “You’re only visiting.” He grabbed a ladder-back chair and turned it around, straddling the seat. Bailey was behind his desk, so he now faced her across the cluttered surface. Her thick russet hair was drawn back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. Tendrils waved around her face. Her work must have been frustrating, because the vibe he was getting from her was definitely harried. “Problems, Bailey?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You knew how impossible this was going to be, didn’t you?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I have the utmost faith in your capabilities.” He paused. “Any luck?” He didn’t really want to get involved in what he considered a breach of privacy for the members of the club, but at the same time, he didn’t want to be blindsided with any surprises.
She gnawed her lip, her gaze flitting back to the computer screen. “It’s a little early to tell. But I do have some questions about this man.” She shoved a folder toward Gil. “According to his file, he’s been cited three separate times for fighting on club property. Do you know if he had any kind of grudge against Alex Santiago?”
Gil glanced at the name on the tab and shook his head, grinning. “Just a good ole boy who gets rowdy when he’s had one too many beers. We keep track of such incidents, just in case, but our policy is to prevent members from doing damage to themselves or anyone else. Someone usually takes the offender home and keeps his keys until the following day. I know this guy, Bailey. He didn’t kidnap Alex.”
The slight frown between her brows deepened. She handed him a second file. “And this one? He filed a formal complaint when the club hired a Hispanic chef. His letter includes a number of racial slurs.”
Gil flipped open the folder and shook his head. “You’re grasping at straws. There are bigots everywhere. But that doesn’t mean this guy had any reason to kidnap Alex.” He touched her hand briefly, surprising himself when he felt a zing of something from the simple contact. “Have you considered the possibility that you might be stirring up unnecessary trouble?”
“What do you mean?”
She was so earnest, so dedicated to her work. And clearly able to take care of herself. Even so, Gil felt a distinct urge to protect her. Her white silk blouse was thin, thin enough for Gil to notice the outline of a lacy bra. Despite her extensive training and her credentials, she seemed vulnerable and surprisingly feminine even taking into consideration her deliberately bland and professional clothing.
Bailey’s soft skin, gently rounded breasts, and graceful hands reminded Gil that beneath the outer shell of efficiency, she was a woman. He met her brown-eyed gaze with a calm he didn’t feel. Some way, somehow, he had to convince her to back off this investigation. The feeling in his gut could be called premonition...or simply common sense. But he trusted that feeling...always.
“What you’re doing is dangerous, Bailey. If word gets out that you’re poking around in the TCC records, whoever kidnapped Alex may get spooked and try to harm you.”
She sighed and closed her computer. “Is this genuine concern, or are you trying to get rid of me?”
“All of the above?” He asked it jokingly, but he sobered rapidly. “Alex escaped and made his way back home. Which means somebody out there is really pissed off and may try again. There’s a good chance Alex is still in danger. By involving yourself in his situation, you court the same trouble.”
Her chin lifted. “I’m doing my job. No more, no less.”
“And if your job could get you killed?”
“I’m a paper pusher, Gil.”
“You’re a pain in the butt,” he groused, realizing he wasn’t going to win this round. But hearing her say his name was a small victory, nevertheless. He stood and held out his hand. “I’m starving, and Cade will be, too. Let’s go find him.”
* * *
The club dining room was packed. Bailey looked around with interest as the hostess led them across the floor. In a far corner at a table for two sat Rory and Shannon Fentress, still basking in the glow of being newlyweds. It was rumored that Rory had his eye on the governor’s mansion.
Like Bailey, Shannon was not much of a girlie girl. She owned and managed a working ranch and dressed accordingly when she was in town on business. Judging by the way Rory looked at his new wife, he liked her just the way she was.
Gil had reserved a table by the window because Cade liked to watch the horses outside. Though of course the TCC had a parking lot, it wasn’t at all unusual for someone to ride up, tie his mount to the wooden railings out front, and saunter inside for a bite of lunch.
Cade was his usually bubbly self. “I’m glad you’re eating lunch with us, Miss Bailey.” His form of address was the compromise Gil had allowed in his insistence that his son learn manners.
Bailey smiled at him. “Me, too. Did you enjoy yourself this morning?”
Cade nodded, already filling his mouth with crackers.
Without saying a word, Gil removed the basket from his son’s reach. “I think a lot of the members have been surprised at how nice it is to be able to drop off a son or daughter or even a grandchild and to know that the kids are close by, happy and safe.”
“Do you think the trouble is over?”
“I do. I really do. I still hear grumbling, of course. Particularly from the old guard.”
“You mean like him?” Bailey cocked her head unobtrusively, not letting Cade see. A few tables away sat Paul Windsor, a charter member of the TCC.
Gil grimaced. “Yeah. He’s one of the worst. But even so, I doubt he’d ever actually do anything to cause problems for the center.”
Bailey shuddered inwardly. She had interviewed Paul during her initial investigation, and the man had given her the creeps. Divorced four times, Windsor considered himself a ladies’ man. During the course of her questioning, Bailey had discovered without a doubt that Windsor was perhaps the most overt and obnoxious chauvinist she had ever met. He made no secret of his disdain for Bailey.
“I feel sorry for Cara,” she said, “having such an overbearing father.” Bailey knew what that was like far too well.
“I’ll admit...Windsor can be a jerk. But he wields a lot of influence around here, so it would be a plus to stay on his good side if you want to make any progress with your investigation. If he were to raise a stink, he could convince others that you shouldn’t be here in the club.”
“But I have a legal warrant.”
“Yes. And ultimately that would prevail. In the interim, though, things could get ugly.”
“Is my presence going to cause big problems for you, Gil?” The thought troubled her.
He laughed, his dark eyes warm and teasing. “I can handle trouble, Bailey. Don’t worry about me.”
Cade, tired of being ignored, piped up, a sly smile on his face. “Do you know how to cook, Miss Bailey?”
Bailey raised her eyebrows. “Where did that come from?”
Cade took a bite of the hot dog their server had delivered moments ago. Pausing to chew and swallow, he fixed her with the blue eyes that helped make him such a cute kid. “I dunno,” he said, the picture of innocence. “Dad says when I’m getting to know someone, it’s nice to ask them questions...but not too personal,” he added hastily, glancing at his father with a guilty expression.
“That’s good advice,” Bailey said. “So, in answer to your question, yes...I’m a pretty good cook. I started learning when I was not much bigger than you.”
Cade