Fearless in Texas Page 5

  The real question was, “Why?”

  “Why not…since it’s my fault he’s gone.”

  If he was waiting for her to disagree, they were going to be here awhile. Not that she blamed Wyatt entirely, but he sure as hell hadn’t helped. His suggestion was more tempting than she would have guessed. He no doubt could find Hank; this job would get her far, far away from the Panhandle; and with Wyatt, she wouldn’t have to bother smiling and playing nice.

  “There would have to be conditions,” she said, and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen. So that was it. He’d made the offer assuming she wouldn’t accept. A free stroke for his guilty conscience. See? I tried to help, but she turned me down. Damned if she’d let him off that easy when she could make him sweat for a while.

  “It would be a freelance job,” she said. “I’d work with you, not for you.”

  He studied her for a beat. Then he nodded.

  “Email me a description of what you have in mind, and I’ll send you a proposal and a quote.” She pushed out of the booth and stood. “If we agree to terms, I’ll see how soon I can be there.”

  As she started to walk away, he reached out to catch her arm. She whirled, glaring down at him, their gazes tangling for an electric moment before he jerked his hand back. Even through her hoodie, her skin was dangerously sensitive to his touch. “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Wherever the fuck I want.”

  As she strode out of the restaurant, the muscles along her spine quivered, winding up to turn on him again when he came after her. He didn’t. Glancing back as she stepped outside, she could see him through the window, still watching her from the booth. She looked away, studying her surroundings in the clear morning sunlight. She’d walk toward the city center until she got tired, then stop and call a cab. The cash in her pocket would get her close enough to home, and the building manager would let her into her apartment. Wyatt could hold her backpack hostage as long as he wanted.

  But as she stepped off the curb and started across the lot, the trunk on his rental car popped open. She hesitated, then grabbed her pack and slammed the lid shut, refusing to look back again as she strode away. Her, working for Wyatt under any conditions? Impossible.

  But she did owe him one dubious favor. Any lingering ghost of Michael’s touch had been seared away by the hot, hard imprint of Wyatt’s body…and the intense, flammable blue of his eyes.

  Chapter 6

  As she strode out of sight, Wyatt dropped his car keys on the table and allowed himself the luxury of swearing under his breath. Hell. Nothing like heaping more public humiliation onto her already overflowing plate.

  But it had to be done.

  He tightened his grip on the well-worn lines of restraint that had been placed in his hands at birth, even as he cursed his genetic predilection to callously milk every possible advantage from a situation.

  The server cautiously approached with the check in one hand and a coffeepot in the other. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “A refill, please. I could also use a piece of paper and a pen.” Wyatt very deliberately set a stack of bills beside his cup. “And your name.”

  The boy’s eyes widened, darting from Wyatt’s face to the cash. “What for?”

  “You were listening.” Wyatt made it a statement, leaving no room for denial. “You and the two waitresses.”

  “Yes,” the boy admitted reluctantly.

  “That makes you witnesses. I need to know how to find all of you…just in case. You heard that guy. He was furious. There’s no saying what he might do.” When the server still hesitated, Wyatt tapped the bills with one finger. “I am a very good tipper.”

  The boy stared at the money for a beat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed his reservations. “Okay.”

  He hurried off, and Wyatt turned his attention to his next target, three twentysomethings at the table directly across from them. The smile he turned on them had been getting Darringtons whatever they wanted for generations. The nearest, a narrow-faced blond with dark roots and bad highlights, blinked, then offered a dazzled smile in return.

  Wyatt nodded at the phone next to her plate. “You recorded most of that.”

  “I…uh.” Her cheeks reddened. “Maybe.”

  Wyatt turned the full force of his intense blue gaze on her. “I’m worried about my friend. She may need protection—a restraining order or something—but the cops won’t listen to us without some kind of proof. If you wouldn’t mind sharing your video…”

  “Oh!” She blinked again and put the phone on the palm he extended. “Of course. Anything I can do.”

  “Thanks. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.” He turned slightly so she couldn’t see the screen while he located the video and uploaded it to his cloud storage, then deleted the original from both the album file and the recycle bin before handing the phone back. At least he could save Melanie the embarrassment of having that show up on social media.

  He flashed another blinding smile. “If you all wouldn’t mind giving me your names and signing off on a statement about what you saw and heard—” He turned to the server, who had returned with a few sheets of blank copy paper and a pen. “Perfect. And bring me the check for the ladies, too.”

  Ten minutes later, he walked out of the restaurant with all the evidence he would need if Michael Miller was stupid enough to try to cause Melanie any more trouble. Instead of climbing into the car, Wyatt propped his hips against the hood and pulled a phone number up from his contacts. He dug a roll of antacids out of his pocket and thumbed two into his mouth, crunching them between his teeth as he listened to the phone ring one, two, three…

  Gil Sanchez picked up and said, “I assume this isn’t good news.”

  “I talked to Melanie. She hasn’t heard from Hank, either…and she’s worried enough to consider letting me help her find him.”

  Gil responded with a string of curses as another phone began to ring in the background. He ignored it. “Has it occurred to anyone that it’d be a lot less trouble to let him stay gone?”

  “For us, maybe. Not for his sister.”

  Gil swore again. The second phone stopped ringing, only to immediately begin again. Without bothering to cover the mouthpiece, Gil yelled, “Dad! I’m on my cell. Could you pick up the damn phone?”

  Obviously, Wyatt had caught him in the dispatcher’s office at Sanchez Trucking.

  “We have a deal,” Wyatt reminded him. “You got me into this mess, and you said you’d handle Hank if I took care of the rest.”

  “The way you handled Melanie? Geezus. You were supposed to stop her, not drive the getaway car.”

  Wyatt nearly dropped his phone. “How do you know—”

  “Spies. We have them everywhere. Did you give her a bag of cash and a ticket to the Bahamas, too?”

  “No,” Wyatt snapped, unnerved. “I offered her a job. In Oregon.”

  Silence. Then a low, amused whistle. “You get points for guts. I assume she turned you down flat?”

  “Not yet.”

  There was a telling pause. Then, “Well, shit. That could make things interesting.”

  “No kidding.” Which was something Wyatt should have given a lot more thought to before blurting out the fabulous idea that had popped into his head. But dammit, he couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.

  “If I know Melanie, she’s just messing with your head,” Gil said. “She’ll let you stew for a few days before she says no. But on the off chance that she actually accepts, try not to let this turn into a complete clusterfuck. I’ll spread the word among my drivers and have them ask around. Unless Hank’s sleeping in a box under a bridge or has a sugar mama, he’s gotta be working at something. With his commercial driver’s license, he could’ve got on with someone I know.”

  Or one of thousands of other jobs that required a
CDL and were outside Gil’s network.

  But not Wyatt’s. He knew a guy…

  Not yet. He’d run through every other possible option twice before he’d make that call.

  “Keep in touch,” he said brusquely.

  “Bet yer ass. If Melanie does come to work for you, I’ll call every night to see if you’re still alive.”

  Wyatt hung up and turned to brace his elbows on the roof of the car, digging the heels of his hands into aching temples. This was Joe’s fault. He had married into what Gil acidly referred to as the Earnest Brat Pack—the Brookman siblings, the Sanchez brothers, the Jacobs sisters and their cousin, Cole—and dragged Wyatt in with him. How in the hell had Wyatt ended up in cahoots with the most maddening and unpredictable of the whole damn bunch?

  He heaved a sigh and climbed into the car. The temptation to turn north and track Melanie down was huge, but he fought it off. She wouldn’t accept a ride any more than she was going to accept his ill-conceived job offer, but that didn’t mean he was off the hook.

  He still had to find Hank—and not just for Melanie’s sake.

  As he started the car, his mind snagged on something Melanie had said about Leachman. Now there was a matter that could provide serious leverage. He grabbed his phone and hit Redial.

  Gil picked up before the first ring. “What—”

  “Tell me everything you know about truck-stop prostitutes.”

  Gil was remarkably quick on the uptake. “Would this have something to do with Melanie’s sleazebag boss?”

  “It would.”

  Wyatt could picture Gil’s savage grin as he said, “Just leave that to us.”

  Chapter 7

  On Thursday afternoon, Melanie took a seat at the conference table in the offices of Leatherberry and Schnell, having been summoned by the legal counsel for Westwind Feeds. Janine—the only other woman in Westwind’s administration wing—stared stonily down at the manila envelope on the polished mahogany in front of her and muttered a barely audible greeting.

  Robert Schnell clasped his hands on the armrests of his plush leather chair and frowned at Melanie. “Let’s keep this as straightforward and civilized as possible under the circumstances, shall we? Westwind Feeds has accepted your resignation, effective immediately. Janine has the paperwork regarding your 401(k) and the continuation of your health insurance coverage, should you choose.”

  Janine slid the envelope across, her gaze still firmly fixed on the wood grain. Melanie clasped her hands over the top of it without glancing inside. She kept her chin up, her feet planted firmly on the floor, projecting confidence and strength with every fiber of her being.

  The attorney pushed another piece of paper toward her. “This letter outlines our position regarding Wednesday morning’s incident. There will be no criminal charges. However, Westwind does reserve the right to file a defamation suit if negative publicity results in harm to the reputation of the company or the loss of business.”

  In other words, we’re going to overlook this little incident as long as you keep your mouth shut from here on out. She gave him a cool smile. “How will you prove it’s not my absence that’s causing the lost revenue? Westwind has seen a steady increase in visibility and profits since I was hired as marketing director. The newsletter I designed and produced was named last year’s best digital campaign by the Texas Marketing Association, and our CEO bragged in a recent interview that our innovative approach to educating livestock producers has been the key to our success. I was solely responsible for developing and implementing that education plan, and I was the lead contact with all our larger clients. I am not going to be easy to replace.”

  His eyebrows rose. “You’re awfully sure of yourself, Miz Brookman.”

  “Yes, I am,” she agreed. “If Westwind wants to generate even more publicity by taking this matter to court, I’m happy to oblige.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Just a little friendly advice. Before deciding how to proceed, you might want to consider who has the most to lose.”

  Robert Schnell narrowed his eyes and tried to stare her down. She didn’t blink. Finally, he gave a curt nod and rose. “That’s all, Miz Brookman. For now. I’ll leave the two of you to deal with the paperwork.”

  Of course. Didn’t the women always get stuck playing secretary? When he was gone, Melanie tried another smile at Janine. “I can fill these out right now and send them with you.”

  Janine stood abruptly, shoulders stiff. “Put them in the mail. I need to get back to the office.”

  What the hell? Melanie lowered her voice. “Janine! They can’t fire you just for talking to me.”

  “I don’t have anything to say.”

  “Excuse me?” Melanie took a couple of long, swift strides to cut her former coworker off at the door. “Are you mad at me?”

  The woman shot a glare at Melanie, then dropped her gaze to a spot between them on the floor. “The past two days have been pure hell. The ruckus you caused, the embarrassment…all because Michael wouldn’t leave his wife for you?”

  Melanie gaped at her. “You believe I would knowingly sleep with a married man?”

  “I don’t know. Did you? Or are you pissed because he turned you down?”

  Shit. How many different lies were they spreading?

  “He made all the moves.” Melanie had to make a determined effort to keep her voice down. “We were being discreet because he was a client.”

  “Exactly!” Janine jabbed a triumphant finger at the ceiling. “It was totally unprofessional.”

  Melanie’s jaw dropped. “You dated the rep from our software vendor for six months!”

  “That was different. It didn’t affect the business when we broke up.”

  “Other than a two-week delay releasing the BIOGRO feed line because he accidentally forgot to order the new software for the mixing plant.”

  “That had nothing to do with me.” Hard lines bracketed Janine’s mouth. “Leachman was impossible before, but now you’ve gone and proved everything he says about women being too emotional to hack it in upper management. I guarantee the next marketing director will not be female, thanks to you.”

  “I…” Melanie was speechless. Her gut screamed that somebody had to put up a fight, or the parasites like Leachman and Michael would continue to thrive. During the long, dark hours that she’d paced her apartment, she had ultimately decided calling them out was worth the damage to her own career if, in the long run, it made life easier for the women who followed.

  But her calculations had counted heavily on the goodwill of her coworkers. She knew they liked and respected her. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have sought her out with their suggestions, thanked her for ensuring that their contributions were noted, shared the photos of their babies, grandbabies, and weddings…and poured their frustrations with Leachman into her ear. He was dead weight, they complained, nothing but an overpriced figurehead propped in a cushy chair. He was so out of date he dictated paper memos instead of sending emails. He made outrageously inappropriate comments about the warehouse manager’s well-endowed wife. The list went on and on.

  Melanie had stood in his office, going to bat on behalf of everyone from the forklift drivers in the warehouse to the lead researcher in the lab. Was it so naive to assume that they would jump to her defense? At worst, she’d figured some might swallow their tongues to protect their own butts.

  She hadn’t dreamed they would turn on her.

  “I have to get back,” Janine said again, and angled past Melanie to escape.

  Melanie’s hands were steady as she stacked the letter neatly on top of the manila envelope, despite the fine tremble in her muscles. Not here.

  She carved a smile onto her stiff face and added an aggressive tilt to her chin. Her stride was long and confident as she gave the receptionist a curt nod. Then she was out the door, down the s
treet, and mercifully, around the corner. She ducked into a coffee shop and headed straight for the restroom, where she locked the stall door and collapsed onto the toilet.

  Shit, shit, shit. She fisted her hands and beat them on her knees in time to the curses. Janine had exposed the fatal flaw in her plan. She’d put herself so firmly outside of Westwind that she had no chance to tell her side of the story.

  But everything she’d said in that conference room was true. They would be hard put to replace her. In addition to her skills, she brought a lifetime of connections and the Brookman name to the table, and their mostly rural customers cared who your people were. Even if her coworkers didn’t defend her, they would damn well miss her.

  She sucked in a steadying breath—ugh, this place could use an air freshener and some decent ventilation—and pulled herself together. Janine was only one person. Why rush to the conclusion that hers was the prevailing opinion?

  Melanie paused in front of the mirror to smooth a hand over her white blouse, tug her navy jacket straight, and check her makeup for any stray mascara. There. She looked composed, respectable, and totally professional.

  Out in the coffee shop, she paused to study the menu board. An iced coffee sounded heavenly. Hmm. Mocha, macchiato—

  “Melanie?”

  She turned at the sound of her name and found herself face-to-face with a diminutive woman in straight-legged distressed jeans, boots, and a floaty, sleeveless turquoise top, her blond hair an artful mess of shoulder-length curls, her smile wide and genuine.

  “Claudia!” The other girl’s head barely came to Melanie’s shoulder when they exchanged a hug. “You look great, as always.”

  “And you. Wow.” Claudia stepped back to arm’s length and made a head-to-toe gesture. “I barely recognized you in your business duds.”

  Beside Claudia’s daisy-fresh femininity, Melanie felt stodgy and wilted. “I, um, just got out of a meeting. And you? Still tearing ’em up in the barrel racing, I assume?”