Best Kept Secrets(14)

rocked her, and sang her lullabies. There, she had listened



for Alex's crying in the night. Those walls had heard her

mother's whispered vows of love to her baby girl.

Alex didn't remember, of course. But she knew that's how

it had been.

Tamping down the stirring emotions, she picked up the

conversation they had been having when they had left the

B & B. "Why is this proposed racetrack so important to the

Mintons?"

He glanced at her as though she'd lost her senses.' 'Money.

Why else?"

"It sounds like they've got plenty."

"Nobody ever has enough money," he remarked with a

grim smile. "And only somebody who's been as poor as me

can say that. Look around." He gestured at the empty stores

along the main thoroughfare they were now traveling. "See

all the empty businesses and foreclosure notices? When the

oil market went bust, so did the economy of this town. Just

about everybody worked in an oil-related occupation."

"I understand all that."

' 'Do you? I doubt it," he said scornfully.' "This town needs

that racetrack to survive. What we don't need is a wet-behind-the-ears,

blue-eyed, redheaded female lawyer in a fur coat to

come along and screw things up."

"I came here to investigate a murder," she lashed out,

stung by his unexpected insult. "The racetrack, the gambling

license, and the local economy have no relevance to it."

"Like hell they don't. If you ruin the Mintons, you ruin

Purcell County."

"If the Mintons are proven guilty, they've ruined themselves."

"Look, lady, you're not going to uncover any new clues

about your mother's murder. All you're going to do is stir

up trouble. You won't get any help from locals. Nobody's

gonna speak out against the Mintons, because the future of

this county is riding on them building that racetrack."

"And you top the list of the loyal and closemouthed."

"Damn right!"



"Why?" she pressed. "Do the Mintons have something

on you? Could one of them place you in that horse barn well before you 'discovered' my mother's body? What were you

doing there at that time of day, anyway?"

"What I did every day. I was shoveling shit out of the

stables. I worked for Angus then."

She was taken aback. "Oh, I didn't know that."

"There's a lot you don't know. And you're far better off

that way."

He whipped the Blazer into his parking slot at the courthouse

and braked, pitching her forward against her seat belt.

"You'd do well to leave the past alone, Miss Gaither."

"Thank you, Sheriff. I'll take that under advisement."

She got out of the truck and slammed the door behind her.

Cursing beneath his breath, Reede watched her walk up

the sidewalk. He wished he could relax and just enjoy the

shape of her calves, the enticing sway of her hips, and all

else that had immediately captured his notice when she had

entered Pat Chastain's office yesterday afternoon. Her name,

however, had robbed him of the luxury of indulging in pure,

masculine appreciation.

Celina's daughter, he thought now, shaking his head in

consternation. It was little wonder that he found Alex so

damned attractive. Her mother had been his soul mate from

the day in grade school when some snotty kid had hurtfully

taunted her because she no longer had a daddy after her

father's sudden death of a heart attack.

Knowing how ridicule about one's parents could hurt,

Reede had rushed to Celina's defense. He had fought that

battle and many others for her in the ensuing years. With

Reede as the bearer of her colors, no one dared speak a cross

word to her. A bond had been forged. Their friendship had

been extraordinary and exclusive, until Junior had come along

and been included.

So he knew he shouldn't be surprised that the assistant

D.A. from Austin had churned up such emotions inside him.

Perhaps his only cause for alarm should be their intensity.



Even though Celina had borne a child, she had died a girl.

Alexandra was the embodiment of the woman she might have

become.

He'd like to pass off his interest as purely nostalgic, a

tender reminder of his childhood sweetheart. But he'd be

lying to himself. If he needed any help defining the nature

of his interest, all he had to do was acknowledge the warm

pressure that had developed inside his jeans as he had watched

her lick sugar off her fingertips.

"Christ," he swore. He felt as ambiguous toward this

woman as he'd felt toward her mother, just before she had

been found dead in that stable.

How could two women, twenty-five years apart, have such