Free The Rivals by Joan Johnston Page A

call?” Clay asked.
    â€œI can have the calls forwarded to North’s house. He can call me on my cell if there’s any word.”
    Clay didn’t want to spend the day with Libby. He still found her far too attractive. Holding her in his arms tonight, kissing her, touching her, had brought back memories he would rather forget.
    But from a practical standpoint, it would be easier to get information from the sheriff’s office if he was with Libby. And she might know places to look in Jackson that he didn’t know.
    â€œAll right,” he said. “I’ll pick you up after breakfast.”
    â€œI could make breakfast for you here,” Libby said.
    Clay pictured Libby with her shoulder-length blond curls in tangles, her eyes sleepily seductive, her rosy nipples barely hidden beneath a thin cotton shift, then said curtly, “I’ll meet you at Bubba’s at seven.”
    Libby nodded.
    Clay figured breakfast at the popular restaurant in town was a safe compromise. He wouldn’t be tempted because they wouldn’t be alone, and they could start their search that much earlier.
    He let himself out, closing the door firmly behind him. It was snowing, the flakes big and fluffy and coming straight down, rather than being blown sideways, for a change.
    Clay wondered if his daughter had been in an accident. Maybe she was lying injured on the side of the road, and the snow was covering up her body. Or maybe she was tucked up under a blanket in front of a fire with the love of her life, so caught up in passion that she wasn’t aware of the worry—and terror—she was stirring in her parents’ hearts.
    Clay raised his face to the sky and let snowflakes land on his eyelashes, opening his mouth to feel the coldness on his tongue. The snow would make a wonderland of the landscape. But right now, it was more menace than miracle. If it kept up, it was going to make the search for Kate much more difficult.
    He got into the SUV he’d rented at the airport and tried not to speed during the twenty-minute drive to Forgotten Valley. He wondered if Drew would still be awake. He needed someone to talk to, someone to make him feel less afraid for his daughter. Someone to tell him he was a fool for having the carnal thoughts he was having about Elsbeth Grayhawk.
    Hell, if Drew was asleep, he’d wake him up. Someone with a concussion wasn’t supposed to sleep anyway.
    Clay had his own key, but the kitchen door wasn’t locked. He flipped on the light switch and was surprised to see a man’s shirt in the middle of the floor. He left his overcoat on the stand by the door and followed the trail of clothes down the hall to Drew’s bedroom, realizing that someone of the female persuasion had obviously come to make sure Drew wasn’t suffering alone.
    Clay made a face. There was no way he was going to drag his cousin out of bed to talk to him when he was with some woman. What he had to say would have to wait until morning.
    But as he passed Drew’s door, it opened, and he found himself facing the barrel of a shotgun.
    â€œWhoa, there,” Clay said, instinctively putting his hands up in the classic Western pose.
    Drew’s blond hair was standing up in spikes, his forehead was bruised and he was stark naked. He squinted at Clay and said, “What the hell are you doing here?”
    Clay reached out and moved the barrel of the shotgun away. “You look like something somebody rode hard and put away wet.”
    Drew let the barrel of the shotgun fall, opened the door wider and said, “Sexual frustration will do that to you.”
    Clay could see through the open door that the bed-covers were mussed, but the bed was otherwise empty. “From the trail of clothes leading in here, I figured some woman was in there easing your pain.”
    Drew hung the shotgun back up over the fireplace in his bedroom, then headed straight for the bed and crawled into it.