Page 42 of Down in Flames

Sutter realized it at the same time. His complexion turned chalky, and his throat worked but no sound came out of his mouth. Michael eyeballed him hard before releasing him with a sound of disgust.

“You’re insane,” Sutter croaked, rubbing at his throat. He glared at Eli. “Aren’t you going to do something about him assaulting me?”

“Looked like defense of others to me.” Eli gestured toward Briar who clutched his bandaged arm between bloodless fingers. “You want to press charges, Mr. Phillips?”

“No.” Briar stood off to one side, a beautiful, wilted butterfly. “Not unless West wants to.”

“I didn’t even touch Owens. The only one tossing him around was the big hero over there.” Sutter jerked his head toward Michael with a scoff. “Good thing he showed up to fight the kid’s battles. Wouldn’t want him to break a nail.”

“You don’t talk to him.” Michael lunged, but this time Eli was ready. He thrust out a restraining arm and caught him around the chest. They were nearly the same size, and he had no difficulty driving Michael back across the room.

“Cool it, Whittaker. This is your last warning.” Eli’s tone brooked no argument. He held Michael’s gaze until he was sure he’d regained control, and then he turned his attention to Sutter, braced his legs, and said mildly, “You’re one stupid SOB. You think you got away with it, don’t you?”

“Stick to the facts, Sheriff,” Sutter warned, smoothing a hand down his wrinkled coveralls.

“Count on it.” Eli smiled faintly, the same smile that had chilled West’s blood back when they were kids. “We all know who started that fire, and you can bet that the truth is going to come out eventually. And when it does? I’ll be there. So, watch yourself, Sutter. Because I am.”

It didn’t take long for Eli to take a few perfunctory statements. No one felt like talking. Briar was busy rebandaging the puncture wounds in his wrist, and Sutter just kept repeating ‘I know my rights’ over and over again. Michael and Eli conversed in low tones, and though West could have joined them, he didn’t.

He sat in the chair where he’d been shoved, head hanging and elbows braced on his thighs. He stared down at the speckled linoleum between his boots, feeling useless, like a child sitting in the corner while the adults spoke over his head.

After Sutter finally left, sans dog, Theresa and Abby returned from the kennels. West pulled his head out enough to allow the little girl to climb onto his lap.

“We were holding rabbits!” she declared, resting her head on his shoulder. “We need to make sure to wash our hands before holding Sir Hiss or he’ll think we’re food.”

“Yeah?” West asked dully, watching Michael over her head.

“Don’t feel bad, West,” she said, squeezing his ribs in a quick hug. “Daddy’s here now. He’ll take care of us, so you don’t have to be scared of that man.”

He made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat, but he was distracted because just then Michael turned to look at him. Those blue eyes of his were burning, and the way he looked at him…well, it left him breathless. He looked at West, sitting there with his daughter, like they were the center of his entire universe. Like he’d do anything for them. And it felt good. Really good. It warmed something deep inside him that had been cold for a hell of a long time.

But West was sick to fucking death of being saved.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The buzz of another voicemail caught West’s attention, but he was too busy adjusting his neck roll to do more than glance at the display. Then he chucked his phone into his pile of gear.

Gus had been lighting him up all afternoon, ever since Johnny had tattled that they’d traded deliveries so he could make the run over to Prairie City. The old man was no fool, and he’d spent the afternoon chewing West’s ear off in increasingly irate voice messages.

If I hear tell about you sniffing around that rodeo this weekend, I’m taking you off deliveries. You can’t keep doing this, boy.

Don’t think I haven’t noticed that gimp arm of yours.

What would your mama say?

And then, finally, the real kick in the gut.

You ain’t beating your daddy out in anything but stupidity, son.

West ignored this last call just like he’d ignored all the others. Gus talked a good game, but he was as soft-hearted as they came. He’d keep covering for West. He knew what it meant to him.

Michael was another story. West couldn’t ignore him, and he couldn’t fool him, so he’d shot off a text first thing that morning. He hadn’t exactly been lying when he’d said that Gus had him running errands all day. He was a master at telling the technical truth. But he didn't have the strength to answer when Michael immediately called. Michael hadn't left a message, and he never replied to the text, and West had felt heavy with guilt ever since.

But that was nothing new. He’d been unsettled all week, ever since that dust-up at the clinic. Days were filled like always, making himself useful around town, and evenings were spent at the ranch.

It felt like they were making up for lost time, as if they both felt a strange, clawing need to connect on a deeper level. Touching him would never lose its thrill, even if West still did his best to keep it behind closed doors. He wasn't ashamed. Far from it. But he wanted to leave Michael the option to change his mind without the whole town knowing about it.

For his part, Michael seemed to feel no hesitance at all. The first time he’d come off the range, filthy and sweating, and hauled West into a deep kiss right in front of his men was maybe the hottest moment of West’s life. More than any fantasy. Even more than their night together in the barn. For the first time in his life, West had felt desired and powerful. It was almost enough to soothe his stinging pride. Almost enough to forget that Michael would never stop treating him like a clueless kid.

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