Playing With Fire (Tangled in Texas, #2)(32)

Figuring I needed a change of scenery to clear my mind, I strolled back to the living room, where I dusted and rearranged my bookshelves. I thought it was working until I caught myself organizing the titles by which male on the cover looked most like Cowboy. Damn him and his perfectly handsome, stupid face.

I needed to find something to keep me from thinking about that man. If it was even possible.

Frustrated, I planted myself at the computer desk and pushed the button to make the monitor light up. Unsure as to what I was doing, I cleared my mind and typed the first name I thought of into a search engine and hit enter. Thousands of returns popped onto the screen for Ned Swanson.

At the very least, it would definitely keep me busy. And help Cowboy in the process. Though he didn’t seem to be the type to ask for help. But research was my thing. I worked in a library for goodness sakes. If I couldn’t find the chief’s brother for…a certain person—one who would remain nameless—then no one could.

It wasn’t going to be an easy feat, that was for sure. But as I sat there clicking and typing my way into an oblivious stupor, my mind settled and focused on the task at hand.

Hours later, I lifted my head off the desk and rubbed my eyes. I must’ve dozed off because it was suddenly three o’clock in the morning. I hadn’t found Ned Swanson, but I had some good leads to follow up on.

I turned off the computer screen and was heading to the bedroom when a clanging noise echoed outside my kitchen window. Raccoons were always trying to get into my trash cans, so I opened the front door, flipped on the flood lights, and stepped out onto the porch, hoping to scare them away.

But what I saw had the opposite effect.

A shadowy figure—a man, judging by the height and bulk—stood within the trees at the edge of my property, staring back at me. Frozen in place, I blinked rapidly as a chill ran up my stiffened spine. It was too dark to make out all of his facial features, but his intense eyes shone bright from the glow of the floodlights, much like a wild animal. No sooner had I laid eyes on him than the man took a large step backward and melted into the darkness.

I strained to search for movement among the woody area while listening for the sounds of snapping twigs or rustling bushes. But there was nothing, no evidence of anyone having been there. It all happened so fast, though. Had I imagined the whole thing?

Still, I stepped back inside, locked the door behind me, and picked up the cordless phone from its cradle. But who would I call? The sheriff? Cowboy? And what if I had imagined the whole thing? It wouldn’t be the first time I’d seen something that wasn’t really there. Almost nightly I had dreams that made no sense.

But this wasn’t a dream and that wasn’t something I wanted others to know about me. Not the police and especially not Cowboy. Besides, it could easily have been any one of my very few neighbors out on a stroll…on my property…through the woods…at three o’clock in the morning. I sighed and reluctantly set the phone back down. I’d be up all night thinking about a man, all right. Just not the one I had originally thought.



The following day seemed to drag on forever. I left work and headed home, planning to take a very long, well-deserved nap. As expected, the man in the shadows had plagued my thoughts all night, leaving me with an uncomfortable somebody’s-watching-you feeling.

Even now, the hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. It had actually kept me from thinking about Cowboy, which would’ve been a welcome relief if it hadn’t been so damn creepy.

Before leaving for work, I’d walked the edge of the woods, looking for footprints or some evidence to suggest the visitor had been real. But I found nothing. Based on that alone, I decided that the whole thing had been nothing more than a figment of my overactive imagination.

I parked in my driveway and walked down to the mailbox before strolling inside. I tossed the mail on the kitchen counter, causing it to fan out as I kicked off my shoes. A small envelope with my name handwritten on the outside in big letters caught my eye.

Shifting the other mail aside, I picked up the envelope and flipped it over, searching for a return address. There wasn’t one. No stamp, either, which meant that someone had placed it in my mailbox, rather than mailing it.

I opened it carefully, pulled out a small note card that had been tucked inside, and read the message. As my eyes scanned the words, I gasped and a twinge of dread ran through me. My thoughts went directly back to the supposedly non-existent shadowy man standing outside my home the night before.

Then I realized something.

I shook my head and almost laughed aloud at myself. With the messy scrawl and misspelled words, it didn’t take a genius to figure out who wrote the note. After all, no one else would say, “Play with fire and your gonna get burnt,” except for the two idiots next door.

It all made perfect sense.

Last night, I must’ve caught one of the Barlow brothers in the act of delivering the note to my mailbox. They probably hoped I’d get the ominous note today and storm over to their house so they could torture me with more of their idle threats.

But I wasn’t going to play into their hands and give them the reaction they wanted. I’d just ignore it. And them.

Those two boys were known bullies who got their thrills by intimidating and terrorizing others, but they were also cowards, which made it difficult for me to believe I was in any real danger.

At least as far as the Barlows were concerned.