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Although Cormac and Shane were approximately the same height with an athletic build, Cormac carried more muscle, but if push came to shove, Jet sensed Shane would have no problem holding his own. And right now it felt very much like push would come to shove. The tension was so thick that Jet had to drag the air into her lungs. This was not good. If she didn’t act quickly things were going to get out of hand.
She grabbed a hold of Shane’s sleeve, and gave it a tug. “Come on,” she said briskly. “We haven’t ordered and I’m starving.”
But Shane didn’t seem to hear her. He was too intent on staring Cormac down. And Cormac was welcoming the challenge.
Bad.
Cormac wasn’t one to trifle with. He might be the only fair Sheenan, but he and Trey were the family fighters. And glancing at Cormac, she could believe it. His jaw had thickened. His blue gaze glowed fire. The man’s testosterone was flying.
“That’s fine,” she added, trying a different tactic. “If you’re no longer interested in dinner, Cormac can just take me home. He offered—”
“I asked you to dinner. I want to have dinner with you,” Shane retorted, cutting her short.
“Then have dinner with me, but this isn’t dinner. So, either let’s go sit down or I’m leaving.” Her lips compressed. She was serious, too. She wasn’t about to be pushed around by either of them.
Shane’s dark head inclined, and he took her handin his, fingers interlacing. “Let’s eat.” And without a backwards glance, he led her away from Cormac and back to their table.
Shane could feel Jet’s pulse as he walked her back to the table. It was fast. She was upset. He felt a pang of remorse. He needed Jet’s help, but this wasn’t the way to get her on his side.
He held her chair for her and then scooted the chair forward as she sat down. She murmured thanks but he could see from her pallor and the set of her full lips that she was far from happy. He wished he could blame Cormac, but her frosty tone back there in the restaurant corridor had been directed at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly, taking his seat again.
“That was really uncomfortable,” she said, staring at him, head high, shoulders squared, her wide, blue eyes unblinking, expression full of censure.
School teacher censure.
He would have smiled at any other time, but right now wasn’t the time. He’d hurt her feelings and he didn’t like it. He wasn’t sure how to make amends, but he wanted to. Not because he needed her support but because he liked her. She wasn’t just a pretty young thing, but a really nice person. A good person. And she deserved to be treated well.
And he really didn’t want to smile, but she kept glaring at him, giving him the most reproving look, as if she weren’t just a teacher, but a Sunday school teacher, and Shane couldn’t remember the last time anyone had stared him down, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he was in trouble. And this was serious.
God only knew he’d experienced his share of angry teachers. Even as a boy, he’d known what not to do, but that was too easy. Why do what he was supposed to do? Why not do what he wanted to do? Why not do the thing that interested him?
He struggled to think of a suitable topic, hoping a change of subject would smooth things over. “How is the wine? Good?”
She wasn’t done scolding him. “You were not helping things back there.”
He’d apologize to her, but not for the interaction with Cormac Sheenan. Cormac had been making waves for Shane ever since Cormac arrived in town last November with his daughter, Daisy. He’d even gone so far as to contact Shane’s agent and publisher. “Sheenan was attacking me.”
She just looked at him, not the least bit sympathetic. “So?”
“I wasn’t going to just stand there—”
“Why not? You’re a man, not a child. I’m sure you’ve dealt with criticism before.”
Shane no longer felt like laughing. “Ouch.”
She shrugged impatiently. “I’d say the same thing to him, if he were here.”
“But he’s not.”
“That’s right. So I’m talking to you.” She studied him a long moment. “Is it true? What he said? That your new book is about McKenna’s family?”
“It’s about the crime that was committed on the Douglas ranch, yes.”
For a split second she looked surprised…no, disappointed, and then her expression went blank.
He wished he hadn’t seen the disappointment.
He wanted her to smile at him again, which surprised him because he usually didn’t give a rat’s ass about what anyone thought, much less thought of him.
He shifted uncomfortably, arms folding over his chest. “I didn’t like seeing him pull you out of the dining room,” he said after a moment. “It looked rough, and so I went to check on you. Make sure you were alright.”
There was a flicker in her blue eyes but her guard remained up. “I can usually handle myself alright.”
“So I’m discovering.”
She cracked a smile. “I’ve a mean left hook.”
“Who taught you that?”
“My brothers. Just in case.” Her smile widened. “It’s proven useful more than once.”
“I can imagine.” Shane smiled at her. “And I am sorry for what happened back there. I shouldn’t have put you in the middle.”
She nodded, but her smile slipped. “I’d read your book coming out next year already has a movie deal.” She toyed with the stem of her wineglass a moment before adding, “And that book is the one about the Douglas…crime…?”
Worry shadowed her eyes. The strange tightness in his chest was back. He didn’t know what she was doing to him, but he couldn’t remember when he last felt so ambivalent about anything. “Yes.”
“What kind of movie?”
“I’m not sure.”
Her eyebrows arched.
“It depends on the producers. Could be a network series, or a major motion film. They’re waiting for the book.”
“But it’s been optioned. For over six figures.”
He nodded.
She looked away, her fine, dark brown eyebrows tugging, teeth sinking into the bottom lip. She was struggling. She strongly disapproved but she didn’t know what to do about it.
Not yet, anyway.
“Jet, can I ask you something now?”
She looked at him, nodded briefly.
“If you didn’t know McKenna, or the Sheenan family, would you think the book is such a terrible thing?” he asked.
She thought about it for a moment. “It depends on how it was written. If it’s graphic and written for shock value—” She broke off, staring at him, seemingly more perplexed than ever. “Is it graphic?”
“There’s no way to write about the massacre of a good ranch family without an element of sensationalism. It’s a horrific, violent story. A tragedy.” He hesitated. “That’s never been solved.”
“Why hasn’t it been solved?”
He studied her a moment. “My opinion, or what the ‘experts’ say?”
“I would assume after a year or more of research you’ve become an expert.”
He liked her more and more. “The investigation was poorly organized, with incompetent detectives. Huge mistakes were made right away. Critical ones that doomed the investigation from the start.”
“Intentionally?”
“No. Paradise Valley is just rural and remote. No one had ever encountered anything of this magnitude. None of those who responded were adequately prepared for what they found, the result being a compromised crime scene.” He drank from his wine goblet then returned the glass to the table. “It’s a tragedy on top of tragedy, and it’s bothered me ever since I first heard about it.”
“So you decided to write about it.”
“I decided to see what I could find out.”
“Do you think you know wh
o…did it?”
He hesitated. “I’ve begun to piece together my conclusion.”
Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Mmm.”
“But I have to read the book, right?”
He chose not to focus on the sarcasm, teasing her instead. “You said you liked my books.”
“I do. But this one is different. It’s essentially a true crime story.”
“Most of my books have been. Some just are man against man, while others are man against nature, but they are all crimes if you think about it. Tragedies, every one.”
“What drew you to this story?”
“The same thing that draws me to every story. What really happened? Who were they? And what is true? My job is to piece together not just the story, but the truth.”
She was studying him intently, looking at him as if she could somehow see into him, almost as if looking for his story, his truth. “Have you ever given up on a story?”
What an interesting question. He’d been interviewed many times in his career but he couldn’t remember if he’d ever been asked that question.
“No.” He reached for his menu, and flashed her a reckless smile, a smile he’d mastered as a fourteen-year-old when hauled before a judge to receive a punishment for running away from his ‘home,’ which was nothing more than an institutional care facility for boys with nowhere else to go. “Because that would be like giving up. And I’ll never do that.”
Chapter Four
Jet was fascinated with Shane.
She’d never met anyone like him before, and doubted she’d ever meet anyone like him again. He was an original. And she just wanted to know more. But he wasn’t an open book, deflecting attention from his personal life to safe topics like novels and movies and the places they’d both traveled. She liked all those subjects so it was easy to talk about what she’d been reading and the spots she’d visited during her recent European adventure, but after a half hour of pleasant conversation, she was tired of discussing the best hostels in Ireland and wanted to learn more about him…whether it was Shane or Sean.
“How did you come up with your pen name?” she asked, as their dinner plates were cleared.
He waited for the server to leave. “It’s actually an old family name.”
