“Coming to get you.”
He grabbed her, covers and all, plucked her off the bed and stood her on her feet, then ripped the covers away from her grasping hands. She stood shivering in front of him, wearing only panties and a T-shirt, her usual sleeping ensemble. It would be difficult to say which of them was the more furious or riveted.
Alex recovered her voice first. “I hope you have a damn good reason for kicking in my door, Sheriff.”
“I do.” He crossed to the dresser, yanked open a drawer, and began riffling through articles of clothing.
“I’d like to hear it.”
“You will.” Another drawer fell victim to his searching hands. She moved beside him and pushed the drawer shut with her hip, almost slamming it on his fingers.
“What are you looking for?”
“Clothes. Unless you’d rather go out like that.”
He gestured down toward the panties with their high, French-cut legs. The spot where the sheer lace panel tapered between her thighs seemed to capture his attention for several tense seconds before he dragged his eyes toward the alcove where her clothes were hanging. “Where are your jeans?” he asked, his voice thick.
“I’m not going anywhere. Do you know what time it is?”
He jerked the jeans off the hanger. It rocked on the rod, then fell unheeded to the floor. “Yes.” None too gently, he tossed the jeans at her. “Put those on. These, too.” He threw her casual boots at her feet, then faced her, hands on hips, looking mean. “Well? Want me to do it for you?”
She couldn’t imagine what she had done to provoke him. It was obvious, however, that he was livid over something. If he wanted to play out this caveman game, let him. She would go along, but she wouldn’t do it graciously.
Turning her back on him, she stepped into her jeans and wiggled them over her hips. She took a pair of socks from one of the ravaged bureau drawers, shook them out, then pulled them on. The boots came next. Finally, she turned and glared up at him.
“There, I’m dressed. Now, are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
“On the way.”
He yanked a sweater from a hanger and moved toward her as he gathered the material up to the turtleneck. He pulled it over her head, then shoved her arms into the sleeves and tugged the hem to her hips. The narrow neck had trapped her hair. He lifted it out.
Instead of withdrawing his hands, he closed his fingers tightly around her scalp, then roughly tilted her head up and back. He was shaking with rage.
“I ought to break your neck.”
He didn’t. He kissed her—hard.
His lips crushed hers, bruised them against her teeth. He thrust his tongue inside her mouth with no semblance of tenderness. It was an angry kiss, spawned by angry passion.
It ended abruptly. Her coat was lying across a chair. He tossed it at her. “Here.”
Alex was too shaken to think of arguing. She put it on. He pushed her over the threshold. “What about the door?” she asked inanely.
“I’ll send someone to fix it.”
“At this time of night?”
“Forget the goddamn door,” he roared. Cupping her bottom in his palm, he boosted her up into the cab of the Blazer, which he’d kept running. The light bar across the roof of it was flashing a tricolor code of emergency.
“How long before I get an explanation?” she asked as the Blazer careened onto the highway. Her seat belt did little good. She was thrown against him, and had to clutch his thigh to keep from being pitched onto the floorboard. “For heaven’s sake, Reede, tell me what’s happened.”
“The Minton ranch has been set afire.”
Chapter 23
“Set afire?” she repeated in a thready voice.
“Drop the innocent act, will ya?”