Page 23 of Lone Star Wanted
She turned toward the hallway and gestured toward the back of the house. “Go. Take a shower. There’s a bottle of painkillers in the cabinet above the sink. I’ll figure out something to eat.”
Kincade gave her a nod, then headed for the guest bath. He moved slower than usual, and she could tell the pain was starting to wear on him, even if he wouldn’t admit it.
Just before he disappeared down the hall, he stopped. His eyes landed on the photos lining the fireplace mantel. Cassidy didn’t have to look to know which one had caught his attention.
It was an old picture—Kincade and Travis standing shoulder to shoulder at a training range, both of them grinning like idiots, sunburned and covered in dust. Travis had a ball cap on backward, and Kincade’s shirt was stained with sweat. They looked young. Untouchable.
Kincade stared at it for a long second, his face unreadable. Cassidy said nothing. She let him have the moment. Because no matter what else happened tonight, they were both chasing ghosts.
And hoping like hell one of them, Travis, would walk through the door.
Cassidy moved into the kitchen, flicked on the light, and pulled open the freezer door. She grabbed the container of homemade chili she kept for nights when she didn’t have the energy to cook. Tonight definitely qualified.
She popped the lid, slid it into the microwave, and turned toward the stove. Grilled cheese wasn’t fancy, but it was fast and comforting. She dropped butter in a skillet and reached for the bread and cheese, her movements automatic while her mind ran in circles.
Her brother was still missing. A deputy she’d worked with for years had held him at gunpoint. And two of the most powerful men in Blanco Pass—Sheriff Moran and Mayor Vance Harlan—were possibly involved in a cover-up that stretched back more than a decade. Back to Alisha’s murder.
She moved to the window above the sink and gave a quick glance outside, then pulled the blinds shut. Both men lived less than a mile away. That fact settled like a rock in her gut.
The microwave beeped. She stirred the chili and flipped the sandwiches in the pan, the scent of melting cheese cutting through the cold ache in her chest.
Behind her, footsteps approached softly across the hardwood.
“I threw my clothes in the washer,” Kincade said, his voice lower than usual. Rougher.
Cassidy turned. And nearly forgot how to breathe.
Kincade stood just inside the kitchen, barefoot, freshly showered, wearing jeans and a snug black T-shirt that molded to his body as if it had been sewn on. His hair was damp and tousled, skin clean, bruises more visible now without the grime. He looked like a man who’d just walked out of a fight and straight into a magazine shoot.
“There were some spare clothes in the bag Jericho gave me,” he added, but his eyes didn’t miss the way hers had lingered for half a second too long.
Cassidy cleared her throat and turned back to the stove. “Well, Jericho thinks of everything.”
“You’re not wrong,” Kincade said, stepping closer, voice low.
Cassidy slid the sandwiches onto plates with a little more force than necessary and reached for bowls for the chili.
“Food’s ready,” she said, keeping her tone even.
But inside, everything felt unsteady. Charged.
Because Kincade looked damn good. Because they were alone. Because the last time everything in her life had felt this upside down, she’d ended up in her bed with him.
And part of her wasn’t sure she’d make a different choice now.
Trying to shove that thought down, Cassidy set the plates down on the small table in the breakfast nook, the melted cheese stretching slightly as she cut and separated the sandwiches. She added the bowls of chili, grabbed two spoons, and turned, only to find Kincade still watching her.
That damn T-shirt he was wearing sure wasn’t helping. Neither was the intensity in his eyes. The quiet that settled between them had weight to it. A pull.
She glanced away, but it didn’t stop the heat crawling under her skin.
When she looked back up, he was already crossing the space between them. “Kincade—”
He didn’t say anything.
He just reached for her, his hands sliding gently around her waist, pulling her close with that quiet certainty that had always unraveled her faster than any kiss. She didn’t fight it.
And then his mouth brushed over hers. Just once. A whisper of contact.
