Cutter's Law Read online

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  The Wild Rose Press

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  Copyright ©2007 by Judith Rochelle

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  "I'd like to start again."

  A smile flirted with her lips. “I thought we did that earlier tonight."

  "That was for the audience. This is different.” He drew in a breath and let it out. “How long will you be here? I mean, are you leaving tomorrow or what?"

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Well, it's Friday. Paige wants me to stay the weekend and go home after church on Sunday."

  "Would you, that is, would you like to, I mean..."

  "Go out with you tomorrow night?” She grinned up at him. “I'd love to."

  Morgan's eyes widened as if he'd expected a different answer. “So that's a yes?"

  "Absolutely. What time and what shall I wear? I only brought jeans with me, and the dress I wore from work. I planned to wear that on Sunday."

  "Seven o'clock. Jeans will be fine. We're pretty casual around here. Not too fancy, you know.” The last was said with a certain tightness to his voice.

  "Casual's fine. I'll be ready."

  He jingled his car keys, then as if wondering if he was doing the right thing, placed his hands on her shoulders, leaned down and touched his lips to hers. The heat the touch of their hands had generated was nothing compared to the bonfire this simple kiss provoked.

  Allison leaned into him, grateful for his hands on her shoulders because her knees were so weak she wasn't sure they would hold her. He tasted like a heady elixir, one that should have “dangerous” written all over it.

  Then he lifted his head, his breathing uneven, and his hands tightened once on her shoulders before he released her and stepped back.

  "Tomorrow night. Seven sharp."

  "Seven.” She was surprised she could even talk. “Yes."

  Then he was gone, leaving Allison standing in the turnaround with her blood racing through her veins at a galloping speed and her fingertips touching her lips.

  Oh, Allie girl. What are you getting yourself into?

  Cutter's Law

  by

  Judith Rochelle

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Cutter's Law

  COPYRIGHT ©

  2007 by Judith Rochelle

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Tamra Westberry

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Yellow Rose Edition, 2007

  Print ISBN 1-60154-121-X

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To Pat Sager, a dear friend and great proof-reader, who stayed up way past her bedtime to help me whip this into shape. Thank you isn't nearly enough.

  Chapter One

  Morgan Cutter gripped the wheel of his official SUV so hard he was sure his hand would be permanently locked in place, and stole a glance at the woman sitting next to him. Since the disaster of his marriage he stuck to women like the brittle ones he dated in Austin, the ones with a jaded outlook on life and an agreeable no strings attitude. Emotions were a dangerous thing, and Allison Moore, citified as she was, tempted him with her natural warmth. When she'd helped her friend and his brother reunite he'd seen how important people were to her.

  Just hours ago she'd delivered Paige Cavanaugh back to White Tail and an emotional reconciliation with Morgan's brother Ryan. Paige and Ryan had nearly split up for good, and Morgan felt guilty about the small part he'd unknowingly played in making that happen. But the people who cared about both of them—and Morgan now included himself—had jumped through hoops to get them together again.

  From the moment he'd spotted Allison in Ryan's office, something about her had zinged him. Standing by the secretary's desk, her glowing face framed by a waterfall of lustrous, raven-black hair, full lips stretched in a grin, hazel eyes dancing beneath thick, sooty lashes, she hit him like a breath of fresh air in a stale room. She stood a full head shorter than his six foot four, and he'd had to suppress the urge to pick her up and tuck her under his arm.

  What he really wanted to do, was taste those soft-looking lips, plunge his tongue into the warmth of her mouth, and crush her body against his until he could feel every inch of it. He didn't ever remember—even with Amber—that instantaneous heat and desire. The reaction shocked him, and put him square in the path of danger.

  When the conspirators had all trooped to the D&D Restaurant, the most popular eating place in town, to celebrate the success of the reconciliation they'd plotted, he was pleased to see that Alison joined them. If he had any sense he'd stay away from her, a dancing flame sure to burn him badly, but he was tugged to her by an invisible thread that wouldn't let go.

  She seemed surprisingly at home with his friends, so relaxed and natural that the impulsive invitation just popped out of his mouth. Bitterness from his past still plagued him, and he was convinced, as one of Ryan's ranch hands was fond of saying, “Women were no damn good.” But Allison's open, natural personality, her warm smile and sparkling hazel eyes had reached into the darkness of his soul. Now he was stuck with his impulse and hadn't a clue what to do next.

  So here he was. Here they were. What now?

  As soon as they left town he'd shut off the police radio and the silence in the truck was thicker than peanut butter. His so-called dates these days didn't require witty repartee, and his brain seemed permanently frozen, unable to give him a single conversational prompt.

  He cleared his dry throat. “Would you like to listen to some music?"

  God, could he have sounded any stiffer?

  "Oh, yes, that would be great.” Her smile was so warm it melted the edges of his discomfort.

  "I only have country.” Might as well tell her. None of that pop or classical stuff that women from the city seemed to like so much.

  "I love country.” She chuckled. “Although I'm partial to the old-timers like Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson. Toby Keith is great but the rest of them can't hold a candle."

  Morgan's eyes widened just a fraction. A slick city girl who liked country? Was Fate having a laugh at him, taunting him, only to have him wake up and find it was all dream?

  "I have the CD where Waylon did only Billy Jo Shaver songs,” he ventured, waiting for her reaction.

  "Oh!” She clapped her hands. “That's one of my favorites. I love Willie, the Wandering Gypsy and Me."

  Swallowing his surprise, Morgan popped the CD into the dashboard player. As Jennings’ growling tones filled the air, he felt himself relax. Just a little bit. “So,” he asked. “How long have you known Paige?"

  "We grew up together. I guess we've been friends forever."

  Her voice was a warm contralto, with a lilt like soothing music. Morgan thought h
e could listen to it forever. If only he could think of something to say besides the dumb questions that kept popping out of his mouth. “Did you work at the magazine with her?” There, that was another one.

  "Oh, no.” Allison waved her hand. “I haven't got a smidge of talent in that area. I leave all that to Paige. No, I'm the director of community relations for Alamo Bank. I get to hang out with a lot of exciting people and give away some of the bank's money."

  Morgan's hands tightened on the wheel again and his brain shifted into park. Of course. A glamorous job for a glamorous woman. What else had he expected? His glance slid sideways again.

  City, he warned himself. Pure city.

  But he couldn't stop himself from stealing glances at her.

  I'm such a damn fool. Don't I ever learn anything? Just because Paige likes White Tail doesn't mean her friend will. Amber sure didn't.

  The memory of his ex-wife caused the blackness in his soul to seep out from its hiding place. Every taunt she'd hurled at him in her effort to destroy him, each of the vicious words in the note she'd left him was still seared into his brain. He doubted if he'd ever forget.

  Thing was, White Tail was his life and always had been. He really loved it. The whole town was like an extended family. The economy fed by the cattle and horse business thrived and the gossip at the D&D Restaurant traveled faster than the news from The Ledger. People took care of each other, helped each other, celebrated together. Maybe to people like Amber it was the last stop on the road to hell, as she'd so caustically written in her farewell note. But to Morgan, it was more like heaven. He couldn't imagine living anywhere else, so why was he even thinking about actually dating a woman who had “city life” written all over her?

  He glanced at the dashboard clock, noticing they still had an hour before reaching San Antonio. Come on, idiot. Don't sit here like moss on a log. Not if you ever want to see this woman again.

  Did he? The tingling in his veins and the tight feeling in his groin were sending him unmistakable signals. But Amber had damaged him so badly he didn't know if he could take that kind of chance again. He cleared his throat again.

  "I guess you really like your job.” Oh, now wasn't that just a smashing statement. But he should find out where her head was at, just in case he decided to screw up his courage and ask her for a real date.

  "Oh, yes,” she enthused. “It gets me out in the community and I meet a lot of really great people.” She shifted slightly. “But I want to hear about you. What's it like being chief of police in a small town?"

  Small town. Yep, he knew right away that would be how she saw it. Substitute hick for small, only she was too polite to say so.

  "Not too exciting, thank God. White Tail's not a place where you have much crime."

  "Paige sure loves it. I'm so glad things worked out for her and Ryan."

  "Me, too. I think they'll be happy together."

  "Oh, I'm sure they will."

  Silence swallowed them again.

  The tires sang against the pavement in time with Waylon Jennings as the SUV gobbled up the miles. Morgan stared straight ahead, wondering what to say next. He'd never been accused of been a big talker on his best days, but since Amber, he couldn't seem to figure out what to say to a woman. Or maybe he just wasn't ready to take a chance on being chewed up and spit out again.

  Allison seemed comfortable with the silence. Rather than fidgeting or prodding him to talk, she hummed along with the CD, watching the scenery roll past them.

  Well, score one for her, Morgan thought. At least she didn't seem to feel the need to fill the air with nonsense if she had nothing to say, the way most of the women he knew did. She was as comfortable with silence as he was. What a refreshing change that was.

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  Now why did I give him such a Barbie Doll description of my job? And does this man ever talk for more than a minute at a time?

  Allison leaned into her seat at an angle, giving herself a better view of her chauffeur.

  He looks like he's sorry he offered to drive me home. So why did he? If only he'd lighten up a little and talk to her. Not that she didn't enjoy quiet, but she was dying for some clue as to what made him tick.

  Driving into White Tail earlier in the day, Allison was sure her friend had taken leave of her senses to want to spend the rest of her life in a no-man's-land like this. Like Paige, all she knew of Texas were the big cities like San Antonio, Dallas, Houston, and Austin. She especially loved living in San Antonio, with its mix of Anglo and Hispanic cultures, its wealth of educational opportunities, the distinct Hispanic flavor overlaid on everything.

  Tex-Mex was among her top five foods, the Riverwalk with its myriad of colorful shops and restaurants snaking along the winding San Antonio River was her favorite place to eat and shop. Fiesta San Antonio, ten days in April that celebrated the city's rich Spanish traditions, was an event she never missed. What could White Tail possibly have to compete with that?

  True, she'd only spent a few hours there, but that had been more than enough time to scope out the town. One main street, with a business district not more than six blocks long lined with limestone-faced buildings. One professional center, a low-slung building that Ryan Cutter owned and where he kept his offices. The D&D Restaurant, the apparent hub of activity, its glass windows lined with announcements of social activities in the high school gymnasium. No movie theatre? No Tex-Mex restaurant?

  Surrounding the tiny hamlet, stretching as far as she could see riding along the Interstate, were rolling acres of ranchland, dotted with horses and cattle. And nothing else. Allison was stunned that Paige would be content to settle down here, away from all the excitement and amenities she was so used to.

  But then she'd spied Morgan Cutter, and thought, Damn! If his brother looked anything like he did, no wonder Paige was looney tunes over him and ready to do the Wild West bit.

  God, he's gorgeous! If only I could figure out what made that wall come up so quickly.

  From the top of his thick black hair down to his dusty, hand-tooled boots, the six foot plus of Morgan Cutter exuded more sex appeal than all the men she'd ever met lumped together. His tall, lean body had the grace of a thoroughbred when he moved, not the awkwardness she'd seen in a lot of men that size. She was fascinated with the shift of lean muscle under his shirt as he handled the steering wheel, and the way the khaki material of his uniform pants stretched across his hard-muscled thighs.

  His face was a lot craggier than Ryan's, but he had the same chiseled features, the same full mouth, the same square jaw. Incongruously, a tiny dimple at the left corner of his mouth flashed during one of his very rare smiles. The same electric blue eyes, only where Ryan's—at least today—were filled with a zest for life, Morgan's were shadowed by some deep pain that he obviously worked hard to keep at bay.

  I'll bet he's hell in bed. Whoa! Where did that come from? She'd just met the man, for God's sake, and now he was hardly even saying two words to her. But no other male had ever made her hormones dance the way this one did, and they hadn't even touched yet.

  She'd give a fat reward to know what secrets he was hiding, but she was sure it had something to do with a woman. His standoffish reaction to her light flirtation underscored this feeling. Paige had told her what a hard time he'd given her when she first came to town, and how he'd warned her away from his brother. But whatever reasons he had for mistrusting Paige in the beginning, in the end, he'd been there for her, and that was what counted.

  She'd hoped this drive to San Antonio would lead to something more, but the closer they got to the city, the further Morgan seemed to retreat behind some kind of wall. She studied him, wondering what the key was that opened his locks.

  Allison was used to men with whom light, even slightly sarcastic flirting was part of the dating dance. Teasing them and then fending them off was an art she'd perfected. Morgan Cutter was a different breed altogether. Maybe it was time to poke the needle in a little, see if she could get some kind of r
ise out of him.

  "So, cowboy, do you ranch like Ryan, or just keep the law in town?"

  Morgan shook his head. “No. Sorry. Ryan's the cowboy in the family."

  "Not even a little bit?” she teased.

  "We grew up on a ranch,” he told her, his tone sharp. “But he's the one who really loved it. I keep some horses at his place and ride whenever I can. That's all."

  "I'll bet you look great on a horse.” Lordy, the man was so damn stiff.

  Morgan shifted in his seat, flexing his shoulders. “I guess the most important thing is I don't fall off. Ryan and I did some rodeoing when we were younger. You learn real fast how to glue yourself to the saddle."

  "Rodeoing. Well. I'd love to have seen that. I'll bet the groupies hung around you like flies on honey.” She reached out and squeezed the muscles of his closer arm.

  He flinched as if she'd stabbed him. “We didn't do it for the females. Well,” he amended with a stiff grin. “Maybe just a little bit."

  "Did you win?"

  "More often than not. But we quit before we did any real damage to ourselves."

  She tucked those little facts away in her brain. And she'd just bet his skills were far greater than he admitted. She hummed the opening bars of My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys.

  Morgan gave a short laugh, a far from happy sound. “I told you, I'm no cowboy, just a small town police chief who loves what he does. Nothing very exciting, I can assure you."

  "Oh, I don't know, I could see you keeping the peace from a saddle with your six guns blazing."

  "Don't glamorize it,” he snapped. “It's nothing like the movies. I ride around in my Expedition, and I haven't had to pull my gun in years."

  Whoa! That was a reaction, all right, but not necessarily the one she wanted. Allison bit her lip. Why was she pushing his buttons this way when it obviously made him so uncomfortable? To get a reaction out of him, find out how she'd ended up in this truck with him to begin with.