Sawyer agreed. That’s why her story didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Unless, of course, someone was exacting a personal vendetta. “Then who has an ax to grind?”
She threw her hands up in the air. “No one off the top of my head. But who knows? I run a multimillion-dollar enterprise; there’s bound to be people I’ve pissed off along the way.”
“There you go. Those are the names that should go on your list.”
She nodded, but her expression told Sawyer she thought a list was a waste of time. “When are we going to New Mexico?”
Her intentions were genuine. She was high-maintenance, but at her core she was a good person. If nothing else, he’d learned that about her over the last couple of weeks. But this was his cross to bear, no one else’s.
“You and me?” He shook his head. “Try never.”
Chapter 8
The next morning, Sawyer met with his cousins at the coffee shop. The topic of where he’d been the last couple of days hadn’t come up and Sawyer steered clear of the subject. Cash and Jace would only accuse him of being compulsive.
Laney sat them at their usual table in the back of the restaurant, near a bull horn hat rack where they could hang their Stetsons. Not five minutes passed when she returned with coffee. A chorus of chicken and waffles went around the table as she took their order.
With Gina using his house as her personal test kitchen, it had been days since he’d eaten at the coffee shop. It was usually his home away from home.
“How’s our friend?” Laney asked in a whisper.
Cash passed a glance at Sawyer and Jace. “What friend?”
Laney poked him in the arm. “Don’t be coy with me, boy. I know who you’re harboring over at the ranch. I’ve got her recipe for strawberry shortcake to prove it. Now don’t tell me you think I’d run to the tabloids?”
Not to the tabloids. Laney had more class than that. But Sawyer wouldn’t put it past her to blab all over town that Gina was holing up with the Daltons. Dry Creek didn’t know from discretion. The entire town ran on gossip.
When none of them responded, Laney put her hands on her ample hips. “Fine, be that way. I have half a mind to drive out there and pay her a visit. As for you boys, no chess pie. I’ve got three pieces left and none of you are getting any of it.” She walked off in a huff.
“How long are we supposed to keep Gina a secret?” Cash asked. He and Jace turned to Sawyer.
“How the hell should I know?” Then, apropos of nothing, he huffed out a breath and blurted, “She says she didn’t do it.” Cash and Jace looked at Sawyer like they had no idea what he was talking about.
“Did what?” Cash asked.
“She didn’t sleep with Danny Clay.” Sawyer didn’t know why he was telling his cousins. It wasn’t like they could give two shits. But for some unfathomable reason it seemed important to him that they know Gina was innocent. “The whole thing was fabricated by someone who is either out to ruin her or the Clays.”
“That’s what she told you?” Jace arched a brow. “And you actually believed her? Man, you’ve got it bad for the woman.”
He didn’t have anything for Gina DeRose. Well, maybe he wanted to get inside her pants. He chalked that up to being a guy. And hormones. Nothing more. Gina might be attractive, even amusing, but she was a head trip. Spoiled, self-centered, and a headache. He liked no-drama women.
“She told my mom the same story.”
“And does she believe Gina?” Cash asked, demonstrating the same open skepticism as Jace had.
That’s what Sawyer got for having two damn cops for cousins. If someone said the sun was up, the two of them went outside to check.
Sawyer started to hedge, then realized: What was the point of obfuscating? “I didn’t talk to my mother about it. Crisis manager-client privilege and all that shit. But I believe Gina.” He locked eyes with Jace, who was shaking his head. “Give me a little credit, asshole. I’m an investigative journalist, for God’s sake.”
Jace threw up his arms. “Seems like there’s a lot of evidence to the contrary. Just saying.”
“Just saying. What are you? A fifteen-year-old girl?”
Cash chuckled at Sawyer’s quip, but made it clear he agreed with Jace. “Aren’t there pictures? Texts? The dude’s dick?”
Yep, there was all that. Still, Sawyer believed her. Her story was too ludicrous not to.
“You and I both know with good photo software anything is possible. Hell, William Randolph Hearst knew how to do it more than a hundred years ago. Remember: ‘You furnish the pictures and I’ll furnish the war.’”
