Missing Witness at Whiskey Gulch
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Elle James
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Chapter One
Olivia Swann wrapped her fingers around the spinning clay, molding and shaping it into the custom vase she’d promised a wealthy client in Peoria, Pennsylvania.
In the back of her little shop, in Whiskey Gulch, Texas, she smiled at the thought of her work finding homes in places all over the US and other countries around the world.
It helped that she was a gifted artist, though she seldom thought of herself as such. Sure, she made beautiful pottery. What helped even more was having a sister who worked in a high-end art gallery in Dallas that displayed unique works of art that lured art enthusiasts from around the world.
It’d been a miracle that her sister, Jasmine, had gotten Olivia’s work included.
Now she had more work than she knew what to do with—so much that in order to deliver any on time, she had to be selective in what projects she commissioned. Because of the popularity of her decorative vases, bowls and platters, she had been able to remodel her shop and her parents’ home, bringing it up to the current century in style and habitability.
Jasmine loved the updates. Their mother would have loved it. Her father...not so much. He’d resisted change, insisting on keeping outdated furniture and his favorite easy chair, much to their mother’s frustration. She couldn’t argue too much. They’d loved each other until parted by death...a day that had come all too soon.
Olivia dipped her hands in the murky water beside her. She placed them on the damp clay and continued shaping, pulling and forming the large vase on the potter’s wheel. The hum of the motor and her focus on the clay calmed her in a way nothing else could match. She was in her element, living the life she was meant to live, free of worry and the complications of relationships.
Since a failed engagement to her high school sweetheart, she’d sworn off men. Her parents’ deaths had pushed dating and love to the bottom of her priority list. Olivia honestly thought she couldn’t possibly find a love like her parents had enjoyed.
They’d been perfectly matched: both artistic, both free-spirited—and so into each other, no one else existed.
Not Mike. He’d said he loved her and wanted to marry her, but he hadn’t stopped looking around. Especially when on one of the many conferences he attended in Vegas as part of his job.
Olivia had happened to be in his apartment when he was in the shower, getting ready for their date, and a text came through from a woman by the name of Kiki Cox.
Curious about the name, she’d looked her up online, only to find she was a hooker in Vegas.
When she’d confronted him—purely out of curiosity, never suspecting he’d strayed—she’d been stunned when he admitted to having a pre-wedding fling with the woman. Mike had assured her he was just sowing wild oats, and it wouldn’t happen again after they were married.
Olivia had calmly removed the engagement ring, handed it to him and left. She hadn’t talked to him since. That had been three years ago.
Other than the biological clock ticking in her ear, reminding her she had wasted some of the best years of her reproductive life, she had no regrets.
If she ever married, it would be to someone who didn’t feel the need to look elsewhere for love or sex.
The bell over the shop door rang as a man entered and stood still, waiting for his vision to adjust from the harsh Texas sunlight to the cooler, dimmer interior.
Olivia glanced up from her project, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of a tall, muscular man with broad shoulders, striking ice-blue eyes, a military haircut and a scruffy five-o’clock shadow. Wow.
The vase on the wheel wobbled against her fingertips, reminding her to focus on the task. She glanced down, recovered the project—just barely—and asked, “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for a present for my mother.”
Not only was he an outstanding physical form but he also loved his mother. How much more perfect could the man be? Sigh... He was still a man. Men had faults, as she well knew.
“I’m in the middle of a project. Have a look around. If you see something you think she might like, I should be at a stopping point in a few minutes.”
She risked another glance, her pulse quickening.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “I hear a voice, but I don’t see who it belongs to.”
Olivia chuckled, returning her attention to the vase. “I’m at the back of the shop, working.”
She could hear footsteps nearing her work area. The man came to a halt in front of her. “Ah, there you are.”
When she glanced up, her breath caught...and she couldn’t help staring.
He smiled, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “Hey.”
Her heart thumped against her ribs. “Hey.” Her hands shifted, and the vase she’d been working on wobbled once more and flopped over as it whirled on the wheel.
“Damn!” Olivia switched off the motor and stood up, looking down at the mess.
“Wow,” he said in his deep voice. “I’m sorry. I should have done like you asked and waited until you were finished.”
She sighed. “It’s okay. I’ll just start over.” When I’m not distracted by a drop-dead gorgeous guy taking up all the air in the shop. She didn’t say it out loud, but she was sure thinking it. “A gift for your mother, you said?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. She appreciates handmade items, being that she makes things as well.”
Olivia’s heart warmed. “What kinds of things does she make?”
“Nothing as difficult as these,” he said, sweeping his hand out to encompass the contents of her shop. “She knits blankets for foster children and beanies for newborns. But she’s been collecting unique pottery, displaying it around her house in San Antonio. I think the items in your shop would be right up her alley.”
“Let me wash my hands, and I’ll help you.” Olivia hurried to the sink at the back of the shop and washed away the residual mud from her elbows to her fingertips. Once she’d dried her hands, she checked her reflection in the mirror, her eyes widening. She had a spot of clay on her nose, which she quickly wiped away before turning back to smile at the man, who was waiting patiently.
His lip quirked upward on one side. “You missed a spot.” He reached out and brushed his thumb over a smudge on her chin.
Heat rose up her neck. She raised her hand to where his was, bumping into his fingers. “Here?”
He shook his head. “No.” Wrapping his fingers around hers, he guided her hand.
Warmth spread throughout her body at his touch. With her cheeks on fire, she scrubbed at her chin and dragged her gaze from his striking blue eyes. “Did you see something you liked?” she asked, anxious to draw attention away from her dirty face to the contents of her shop.
“Actually, yes.”
His deep voice sent shivers up and down Olivia’s spine. She shot a glance back at him to discover he was looking at her, not her pottery.
Her heart thumped hard in her chest. Her reaction to this man was getting more and more ridiculous by the minute. If he didn’t leave soon, she’d be begging to have his baby.
What was wrong with her? Olivia shook her head. He was just a man—and therefore, like most men she’d run across, probably not trustworthy, most likely overbearing and possibly narcissistic. She didn’t need to fall all over herself because one man was extremely ruggedly attractive and had a voice that could melt chocolate on a frosty day.
No, Olivia had renounced men after Mike. She considered herself better off without the complications of relationships. Trust wasn’t easy for her.
He paused in front of one of her slender three-foot-tall vases in stunning shades of cobalt blue and black. The piece was displayed in a glass cabinet to keep people from handling it. She’d sold one like it to a wealthy client in Dallas during an art show Jasmine had curated. The vase she’d been shaping on the wheel would be similar.
“This one is beautiful,” he said in that tone that made Olivia’s knees weaken. He glanced her way. “You made this? You’re Olivia?” Before she could answer, he shook his head. “Of course you’re Olivia. You were making another creation when I interrupted. I might as well be a bull in a china shop.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ll leave all the touching to you.”
His words inspired a shiver of awareness to ripple across her skin. An image of her hands running across his broad chest made heat build at her core.
Maybe swearing off men was a bit drastic. She didn’t have to commit to any one man.
“What kind of pottery does your mother like?”
He shrugged those broad shoulders. “She has a couple of large bowls. One she uses for fruit. The other is front and center on her coffee table. She has a colorful array of platters hung on her wall. What she doesn’t have is a vase like this.” He nodded toward the cobalt blue vase in the glass cabinet. “This vase would make her happy.”
Her mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Perhaps we should start with how much you want to spend on this gift?”
His brow wrinkled. “That much, huh?”
She nodded. “The techniques and materials used to create that particular color combination are expensive and time-intensive.”
“I can only imagine,” he said. “It’s an impressive piece. My mother visited an art gallery in Dallas. When I told her I was coming to work in Whiskey Gulch, she insisted I look for the artist she discovered at that gallery.” He grinned. “Olivia Swann was the name she gave me.” The man held out his hand. “My mother will be thrilled I actually met you. I’m Becker Jackson. My mother is Linda Jackson.”
Olivia took his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Jackson.”
“Becker.” He smiled. “Mr. Jackson was my father.” He held her hand a little longer than necessary, his eyes narrowing as he stared down into her face. “I didn’t expect Mom’s artist to have such pretty green eyes.”
Her cheeks burned. She wanted to tell him that he had the prettiest blue eyes, but thankfully, her tongue was too tied to make coherent conversation.
“Look...” he said, still holding her hand, “I just got to town. I don’t know anyone. You wouldn’t happen to want to have dinner with me, would you?”
Her brows shot up.
He chuckled. “You can tell me to get lost if I’m asking too soon, but I like your grip and your eyes. And I don’t like to eat by myself.” He paused. “That is, if you’re alone... I mean, not married or you don’t have a significant other.” He scrubbed his spare hand through his hair. “Wow, talk about a lousy first impression.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and let go. “Let me start over.”
Becker performed an about-face and marched out of the shop, the bell reverberating throughout the space.
Olivia shook her head, her hand still tingling where he’d touched her. “What the hell just happened?”
Before she could form another thought, Becker entered her shop again.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m looking for Olivia Swann.” He winked.
Olivia frowned. “I’m Olivia. But then, you already know that.”
“Humor me. I feel like a putz.” He crossed the room and held out his hand. “I’m on a mission to find a gift for my mother. She won’t settle for anything less than an Olivia Swann creation.”
She tentatively took his hand. “I’m not sure I can help you.” Her lips twitched at the corners.
“If you’re Olivia, I know you can.” He nodded toward the black-and-blue vase. “That vase will do. Is it for sale?”
Olivia nodded.
He let go of her hand and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “How much do I owe you?”
“Three thousand, five hundred dollars.”
Becker dropped his wallet on the ground.
Olivia laughed. “I have other vases not quite as expensive.”
He scooped his wallet off the floor. “I need to have a talk with my mother about her spending all of my inheritance.” Becker winked. “Seriously, I still want it. It’ll have to be her birthday and Christmas present for the next five years.”
Olivia shook her head. “Don’t feel obligated to purchase the vase. I’d feel awful if I broke your bank.”
He pulled out a credit card. “Take plastic?”
“I do.”
“Can you ship it?”
She took the card from him, nodding. “Yes, I can.”
“Insured?”
“Absolutely.” Her frown deepened. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” He pulled out a card and scribbled a name and address on the back. “Here. You can have my very first business card, with my mother’s address.”
She stared down at the front of the card. “Outrider Security?” Olivia glanced up. “Isn’t that Trace Travis’s security company?”
Becker nodded. “It is. Tomorrow is my first day with them. He sent my business cards ahead to lure me in.”
“Is that all it took? A few business cards with your name on them?” she asked.
He spread his arms wide. “I’m here, aren’t I? You’re my first stop before I head out to the Whiskey Gulch Ranch to meet up with my new boss.”
“Won’t he want to take you to dinner?” she asked.
“I secured a room in town for the night. I won’t meet up with him until tomorrow morning.” He lifted his chin. “Don’t feel obligated to go out with me just because I bought a vase. I’ll be fine on my own.” He looked out her front window. “Though I would like a recommendation for a place to grab a bite.”
“The diner is always good,” Olivia said. “And if you still want me to join you, I’d like that. My refrigerator is all out of leftovers.”
“In that case, I’m delighted to be your second choice over leftovers.” He grinned. “Want me to pick you up at six? Or, if it makes you feel better, we could meet at the diner at six.”
“I’ll meet you at the diner at six. I need to clean up before I eat.” She stepped behind the counter, ran his card through her credit card processor and handed it back to him with the receipt for him to sign. “And I’ll ship your mother’s vase to her on my way home.”
Becker grinned once more. “Thank you. Then I’ll see you at six. And if you don’t show up, I’ll know I made a helluva first impression on you, and you had the good sense to stay home and eat popcorn.”
She laughed. “Are you always this...?”
“Charming? Adorable? Sexy?”
“Maddening? Exasperating? Incorrigible?”
Becker winced. “Ouch. And I was leaning toward sexy.”
Olivia waved toward the door. “Go on. I still have to close up shop, shower and change if I want to get to the diner by six.”
His face brightened, a twinkle shining in his blue eyes. “So you’re not discouraged.”
She fought hard to keep from smiling and failed miserably. “If I say I’ll be there... I’ll be there.”
He took her hand again, raised it to his lips and brushed the backs of her knuckles once more. “I’ll be counting the minutes. Until then...” He left the shop, the bell ringing over the door.
As soon as the man was gone, Olivia let go of the breath she’d been holding and giggled like a schoolgirl.
Had she just said yes to having dinner with him?
Yes. She had.
After years of refusing to have anything to do with men, a stranger had walked through her shop door, and she’d reneged.
But now that she’d said she’d be there, she would make good on that promise.
A glance at the clock made her yelp. Five after five? If she was going to make it to the diner by six, she had to get moving.
Olivia locked the front door, flipped the Open sign over to Closed and hurried to package the beautiful vase for Becker’s mother. She had until five thirty to get it to the FedEx drop point.
Using copious amounts of Bubble Wrap and foam packaging, she wrapped the beautiful vase and placed it in a box.
After moving the clay on her wheel into a bucket to keep it moist, she washed her hands and carried the box out to her slate gray Jeep Wrangler.
The drive across town didn’t take long. Whiskey Gulch wasn’t that big. Olivia arrived at the shipping store in time to send the box out to the address Becker had given her. After insuring the vase and paying to ship the gift, she hurried back to her Jeep and drove to the opposite end of town and parked in the driveway of the house she’d inherited from her parents.
Once inside, she shed her clothes as she ran through the house to the en suite in the master bedroom. She was in and out of the shower in under ten minutes, with fifteen minutes to spare. She’d have just enough time to dress, dry her hair and dab on a bit of makeup before she had to race to the diner to be there by six.
Why had she agreed to have dinner with Becker at six?
Because the twinkle in his blue eyes had utterly captivated her, and she couldn’t wait to see him again.
Was she insane? Hadn’t she learned men couldn’t be trusted?
“It’s only dinner,” she said as she stepped out of the shower. She dried off and wrapped the towel around her body.
A sudden creaking sound came from another part of the house.
Olivia froze, straining to hear it again. The house had been built in the early 1940s. No manner of updates would change the fact that it still made noises when the wind blew and when it didn’t.
She heard a soft thump that sounded like someone running into a wall.
She raced across the bedroom to the nightstand and grabbed the baseball bat she kept by the bed. Her heart racing, she crept over to her open bedroom door and leaned out.
Now wasn’t the time to remember she’d disconnected her landline phone. Nor was it a good time to remember her cell phone was in the kitchen on the counter, where she’d dropped her purse and keys.
Olivia peered down the hall.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Click.
Did someone just close my back door?
Olivia had two choices: She could go into the kitchen, possibly confront an intruder, and risk being attacked, subdued, raped and killed. Or she could branch off the hallway before reaching the kitchen, run out the front door into the yard and yell for help. She’d have to run a block; her closest neighbor was deaf.
With the bat gripped tightly in her hands, Olivia inched out into the hallway, afraid to breathe, lest she miss hearing something.
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