Brash by Laura Wright Page B

who’s to say what will ultimately get us there? Cass’s things, your daddy’s things, whoever this is in the photograph. Everything’s got to be on the table. Everything’s got to be examined.”
    *   *   *
    I wish I was there with you.
    You could be. Can be.
    Rules are rules.
    I thought rules were made to be broken, Cowgirl.
    Don’t you like what we have? You can tell me anything.
    Blue hesitated, his fingers over the keys. He did appreciate the mystery of his online relationshipwith Cowgirl. Since they’d “met” on a chat site for new, heat-tolerant breeds of cattle about a year earlier, it had been fun, exciting, comforting even. But things had changed so drastically in his life as of late. Now he wasn’t content with texting or the mystery. He wanted to know her. No, he
needed
to know her—see her, touch her, talk to the one person on earth he felt he could trust.
    Have I ever seen you? Have you ever seen me?
    He waited on that one. Ten seconds. Thirty seconds. But there was no reply. Shit, what was he doing? Pushing her? They’d agreed to this relationship as is, and he was royally screwing it up. His gut contracted. He didn’t want to lose her. His fingers hovered over the keys. He needed to undo this before it was too late. But then her one-word answer came.
    Yes.

Nine
    In the year Grace Hunter had been living in her house in River Black, she’d had maybe a handful of guests. She liked to keep her home private—just hers—tending to meet friends or dates in town. But in the past two days she was well on her way to doubling that handful.
    â€œWe’re real sorry about this, Dr. Hunter.”
    Grace stood near the fireplace, the easy flames warming her thighs, and took in the two exceptionally handsome Cavanaugh men seated on her couch. “Grace—please,” she told them.
    Dressed in jeans and a faded blue T-shirt, James Cavanaugh stared up at her with eyes the color of the ocean and asked, “How long’s he been here?”
    â€œSince last night,” Deacon answered him, then set his intimidating gaze on Grace. “Mac told me. I hope you don’t mind.”
    â€œOf course not,” she said.
    The eldest Cavanaugh brother looked as if he’d just come from the boardroom inside his fancy office building in Dallas. Suit and tie alongside black boots and black Stetson. “We’ve come to take him off your hands,” he said.
    â€œYou don’t need to do that,” Grace insisted.
    â€œHe’s got to be a huge burden,” James put in, setting his booted foot on his knee. “A huge pain in the ass—”
    â€œI’m right here,” Cole ground out.
    Grace turned to look at the man seated in her leather chair, hurt ankle propped up on the coffee table. He’d put on a pair of sweats that his brothers had brought for him, but he’d refused a shirt. She was starting to wonder if that’s how Cole Cavanaugh lived his life—shirtless. Hey, maybe that was the huge burden James had spoken of. Sans shirt, and what seemed like miles upon miles of tan, heavily muscled, intricately inked skin for her greedy eyes to peruse.
    â€œIf I’m not mistaken,” James continued as if his brother hadn’t said a word, “isn’t he not legally allowed to be this close to you?”
    Cole snorted.
    â€œI took care of that,” Grace said quickly. “It’s been dropped.”
    James’s brow went up. “Dropped.”
    â€œMay I inquire why?” Deacon put in.
    â€œNo, you may not,” Cole said brusquely. “It’s none of your damn business. Either one of you.”
    â€œThe hell it’s not,” James said, though his voice lacked heat. “This whole thing started because we’re looking for the truth about what happened to Cass. Who happened to Cass. We’re all in that search together.”
    â€œI agree,”