Chapter Twelve

A little over thirty minutes later, the wilds of Northern Colorado gave way to a small town nestled near the base of Haverstall Mountain. Shane sat up straighter as Wes steered them onto Main Street. He’d been relaxed and happy on the ranch, only now realizing he missed the bustle of the city. Not that Havenridge qualified as much of a city. The end of Main Street was in sight—maybe a half mile long at best—ending at a sheer wall of rock that towered over the town like a sentinel wearing a hat of dense evergreens.

But the character of the town had his head swiveling from one side of the street to the other. Historical “Old West” buildings were lovingly maintained and painted in a variety of cheery and welcoming colors. A gray, wood-paneled storefront with arched, purple-trimmed windows stood next to a peach building with pronounced cream-colored stickwork on its false front, which sat next to an Italianate brick building of warm ochre with decorative goldenrod brickwork and ornate windows. Any second now, Shane expected to see Billy the Kid crashing through a window and onto the sidewalk, guns a-blazing.

With Halloween only a couple of weeks away, oak barrel planters bursting with yellow, orange, and red flowers lined the sidewalks. Stuffed witches and black cat decorations sat amongst the floral displays in every other barrel. Banked along the buildings themselves were bales of hay adorned with plump orange jack-o’-lanterns, mini pumpkins in shades of orange and white, an array of fall leaves, and the occasional skeleton. Leaves and scarecrows decked doorways .

Tall aspens lined the street, their golden-yellow leaves fluttering in the breeze and drifting to the pavement in a delicate dance. Victorian-style lampposts were twined with harvest-colored ribbons.

The town was so quaint and steeped in history it piqued Shane’s curiosity. Something about Havenridge called to him. Welcomed him in a way he hadn’t ever felt before. As though the town itself had opened its arms to him and whispered, “ You are home .”

Shane didn’t push the thoughts away this time, but instead, sat with them—rolling them around in his mind, tasting them on his tongue—and found no reason to argue. He did feel at home here. Just as he did on the ranch with Wes and his brothers, and Mason and his sisters, and Dion and all the other hands. And, of course, the horses.

“Wow,” Shane marveled out loud, and caught himself. He wasn’t about to share that realization with Wes, but when Wes looked over at him, curious, Shane nodded at one of the witch-topped planters. “They sure go all out for Halloween.”

Wes, who’d been quiet for most of the drive, flashed a smile. The first genuine one since the email from Shane’s stalker earlier. Shane had already forgotten about it. As long as the stalker didn’t know his whereabouts and hadn’t harmed anyone else, then he didn’t need a dark cloud over him while checking out the charming little town. Besides, if the email had been serious, Wes would have told him. That was the deal they’d made.

“They do like their holidays here,” Wes said distractedly as he pulled over and parked in front of a red brick building with a sign on its flat face that read “Havenridge Sheriff’s Office” in frontier-style lettering. Weathered white brick outlined the tall rectangular windows on either side of the entrance, which was also framed by the same worn brick.

Shane studied Wes’s profile—a bump in the middle of his nose held a story, and sunglasses shaded his stormy blue eyes. His strawberry-blond mustache and neatly trimmed beard, that he’d been growing back since returning to the ranch, glinted in the afternoon sunlight. The faint tightness around his eyes and mouth had returned. The hypervigilant bodyguard mode was back, and surprise struck Shane like a smack upside the head. He hadn’t realized how relaxed not only himself but also Wes had become over the last week on the ranch. He liked that Wes—the easy-going cowboy with a ready smile who bounced around like an excited puppy when he deciphered a string of code that made Shane’s eyes cross, and who was like a Doctor Doolittle with animals.

The urge to reach out and soothe the stress away overcame him—to knock Wes’s hat back, card his fingers through his hair, and kiss away the tension. He dropped his gaze to his lap. That’s not what their relationship was about. Wait . Relationship?

No. Wes was his bodyguard, and he was temporary. They were just having a fling. Two adult men with a mutual desire for one another enjoying their limited time together. Nothing more.

Uh-huh. If that’s what helps you sleep at night .

Wes scanned the street as he killed the engine. He turned to Shane, pulling him from the rabbit hole he was about to dive headlong into.

“I’d like to go check in with the sheriff first.” Even Wes’s voice was tight and measured.

Shane bit back a sigh at the reminder of why he was even there. He needed this business with his stalker to be over. Not so much for his own safety and those around him, but so he could watch the weight of this job that Wes carried fall from his shoulders once and for all.

Oh, hello again, rabbit hole . He had to stop with the fantastical thoughts. Once his stalker was caught, the chances of him seeing Wes again were slim to none. He rubbed his hand over the sudden pinch in his chest.

Shane’s door opened, and he jerked back.

“You okay?” Concern dipped Wes’s brows.

So caught up in his head, Shane hadn’t noticed Wes had exited the truck and come around to open the door on his side.

He cleared his throat. “Yep. All good.”

He released his seat belt and hopped out, his cowboy boots hitting the concrete sidewalk with a thud while the crisp, delicious scents of fall wrapped around him.

“I need a pumpkin spice latte,” Shane said as he followed Wes up the steps and into the sheriff’s office. “Please tell me this town has a coffee shop that makes them? ”

Wes snorted as he held the door for Shane. “I’m sure Kieran can whip one up for you.”

“Who’s Kieran?”

But Shane’s question went unanswered—if Wes had heard him at all. Wes crossed the small office in three long-legged strides, stopping in front of a desk on the right where an older woman in casual street clothes sat. A uniformed deputy sat at the desk to the left, phone receiver pressed to her ear and a bored expression on her face. Her hair was jet black and a few strands had escaped the bounds of a ponytail, giving her a harried look. She glanced at Wes and nodded.

“Afternoon, Maeve,” Wes addressed the other woman, who was probably in her sixties with hair dyed a bright orange that matched the pumpkin pinned to her blouse. “Is he in?”

“Nick!” she hollered over her shoulder, her voice strong and clear. “You’ve got company.”

Shane grinned when she met his eyes. The metallic gold detailing in her charcoal-black eyeglasses flashed in the overhead fluorescent lighting. Laugh lines at the edges of her sharp brown eyes deepened as she smiled back.

Shane stepped up to her desk and offered his hand as he introduced himself. “I’m Shane Cas—” He didn’t need Wes’s elbow in his ribs to remind him he’d almost blown his undercover status. He glared at Wes. “Casselli.” He turned back to Maeve. “And I adore everything you’ve got going on here.”

“Maeve Whitman.” She winked, and just like that, Shane had an insta-bestie. “What brings you to our charming little town, Mister Shane Casselli?”

“Oh, you know,” he gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “Just thought I’d hang out with some cowboys for a change of scenery.”

The sheriff, Nick, he assumed, stepped out of an office at the back and Shane’s breath caught. Holy hell . If Shane had grown up in Havenridge, he’d have done everything he could to get himself arrested by the vision in uniform gray and black walking toward them.

He was maybe an inch shorter than Shane, but he was a solid wall of a man with the face of a superhero and the body of a Nordic god .

Wes and Nick were watching him with matching expectant expressions, and Shane jerked to attention while Maeve tittered under her breath.

“Sorry.” Shane lowered his voice and pushed a little “Castle” attitude into it. “I wasn’t expecting to see a real live Viking today.”

Wes rolled his eyes and groaned, while Nick’s brows furrowed for a second. Sheriff Viking chuckled and leaned forward, hand out. Shane took it and his grin widened. Another man he’d have expected to give him a crushing macho handshake, but instead was confident and welcoming. He needed to do some serious rethinking about his preconceived notions of small-town folk.

“Sheriff Chambers, but please call me Nick,” the Viking god said. “Pleasure to meet you, Shane.”

“You too,” Shane replied with a grin.

Awkward introductions over, Nick turned his attention to Wes. “What brings you by, Wes? Everything okay at the ranch?”

“All good.” Wes nodded. “I should have come by sooner, but I’m on protection detail for Shane, and brought him to the ranch to lay low for a couple of weeks.”

Nick’s clear blue eyes slid back to Shane. “What are you needin’ protection from?”

“I have a stalker,” Shane answered. His voice low.

“The stalker was getting too close to Shane and has escalated to murder,” Wes added.

Nick whistled, his eyebrows crawling up. “I see why you came here.”

“I was hoping you could keep an eye out for any unfamiliar people in town,” Wes continued. He glanced out the window. “Or any you might have noticed already. I have no description to go on, but whoever it is, they would be traveling alone.”

Nick pursed his lips in thought and shook his head. “Other than late-season hikers heading up into Haverstall Mountain, no one has caught my attention.”

“That’s good news then.”

“I was just about to go to Crumbs,” Nick said, and a faint shade of pink crested his sharp cheekbones. “Why don’t you two come with me? We can ask Kieran if he’s seen anyone. He seems to know everyone in Havenridge, whether living here or passing through— and their life stories.”

“If he can make a pumpkin spice latte for me,” Shane quipped, “I’m in.”

There was a note of pride in Nick’s voice when he said, “He can do you better than that.”

The coffee shop was a few doors down from the sheriff’s office in a light-colored, distressed-brick building with a wooden front painted a happy magenta framing the large window, and a glazed-glass front door. Crumbs Bake-n-Brew was painted on the window itself in white handwritten-style script. In the lower corner closest to the door was a sticker with a rainbow that capped the words “Safe Space,” and made Shane’s heart happy.

A bell chimed overhead when they entered, and for a second, Shane was transported to a New York City cafe. The interior was industrial by design, with its brick walls, reclaimed wood, and black accents and counters. Even the ceiling was black tin, from which hung Edison-style pendant lights. The warmth of the brick, the array of potted plants, the handwritten menu on a large chalkboard, and the mouthwatering aromas of coffee and pastries combined to create a welcoming, homey feeling.

Shane closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He snapped them open at the sound of a soft squawk. Expecting the owner of the squeak to be looking at him, being that he was famous and all, Shane was surprised to find the young man with a brush-up hair style the color of the magenta facade out front and wide green eyes staring at Nick instead.

“Hey, Nick.” The barista looked away, his cheeks turning the color of his hair, and smiled. “Hey, Wes.”

Nick nodded, his expression indifferent, which drew a frown from Shane. Anyone with eyes could see the cutie had a crush on the Viking, but how the sheriff didn’t realize or reciprocate was beyond Shane.

Curiosity shone in the barista’s eyes as his gaze settled on Shane. Shane stepped forward and held out his hand. “And I’m Shane.”

“Kieran.” He reached over the counter and shook Shane’s hand. A rainbow-beaded bracelet adorned his narrow wrist. “Welcome to Crumbs Bake-n-Brew. ”

Shane grinned—a tip of his lips that he knew would give a roguish air—and with an evocative note in his voice, he said, “I hear you can whip up a mean pumpkin spice latte.”

“S-sure can.” Kieran’s cheeks pinked again. “How about you, Wes?”

Wes slid a glare at Shane, making him grin wider. Ooh, he’s jealous ! Shane’s inner brat did a happy dance.

“I’ll have a caramel marshmallow latte, but with salted caramel, and topped with whipped cream and a toasted marshmallow, please.”

“What? How did I not know your teeth were so sweet?” Shane teased. A hand pressed to his chest.

Wes ignored him, but the purse of his lips told Shane he was holding back a laugh.

“Kieran’s fault,” Wes said, his voice low and gruff, earning a chuckle from the rest of them.

“You got it.” Kieran turned to Nick, and before Nick could open his mouth to order, said, “I’ve got something new for you.”

Nick rocked on his heels and nodded with a gruff, “Okay.”

“Are you staying or taking them to go?”

“To go,” Nick said.

When Kieran turned away, an elbow jabbed into Shane’s side. Again . He leveled a glare of his own at Wes, who was scowling at him.

“Dial it down,” he whispered. “You’re not Shane Castle right now.”

Shane rolled his eyes, purely for Wes’s benefit, but he cleared this throat and relaxed his shoulders.

Kieran returned and slid two to-go cups across the counter. “Pumpkin spice latte for you.” To Wes, he said, “And a salted caramel marshmallow latte for you, with extra toasted marshmallow.”

“Thank you,” Wes said as Shane said, “You’re an angel.”

“And for you,” Kieran said to Nick, a bashful note in his voice, “I made a gingerbread spiced coffee. Extra on the spice.”

Nick raised an eyebrow, but one side of his mouth lifted in a crooked grin. He nodded and accepted his drink. He took a sip, and a flush spread up his neck and over his cheeks. His eyes watered. “You weren’t kidding about the spice.”

Kieran wrung his hands together. “Do you like it?”

“Love it.” Nick took another sip. “Thank you. ”

And wow, the smile that lit up Kieran’s face could have rivaled the sun. Something was definitely brewing at Crumbs, and it wasn’t just the coffee.

Kieran looked at Shane and Wes, his eyes bright with eagerness. “How are your lattes?”

“Damn good,” Wes said. “But then I wouldn’t expect any less.”

Shane took a sip of his, and the spicy-sweet flavor of pumpkin pie burst on his tongue. “Oh my god,” he gasped and turned to Nick. “You weren’t kidding.” Back to Kieran he said, “What did you do to this? It’s amazing.”

Kieran preened under the praise. “Two pumps of cinnamon dolce syrup.”

Shane took another sip and moaned. “I will come here every day for my pumpkin spice fix.”

Kieran stared at him for an extended beat, his head tipped to the side. Shane knew that look. He’d seen it a million times. And this time, Kieran’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened.

“You’re Shane Castle!”

Wes choked on his latte and quickly scanned the cafe. They were the only people inside.

“Uh, no?” Shane denied weakly, holding one hand up. “I’m just Shane. Regular cowboy from the back forty.”

Kieran’s brows dropped in confusion, and Shane winked. He couldn’t help himself.

“Kieran,” Wes warned as he approached the counter, his voice a deep ‘all business’ tone that sparked a little thrill inside Shane. “No one can know who he is or that he’s here.”

“Oh.” His green eyes bounced back and forth, and he nodded. “Undercover. I got it. Don’t worry. I’m a vault.”

Kieran mimed zipping his mouth shut. Wes glanced at Shane, an uneasy look on his face, but Shane had a feeling they could trust Kieran. He shrugged.

“Which is why we’re here,” Nick said from Shane’s other side. “Have you seen anyone unfamiliar in town recently who seems like they’re traveling alone?”

Kieran thought for a second before shaking his head. “No, but I’ll keep an eye out. ”

“Thank you.”

As they turned to leave, Shane raised his cup, and doing his best Arnie impersonation, shouted, “I’ll be back!”

Wes seemed edgy as they parted ways with Nick, hurrying Shane along as he shopped first in the general store, then the florist. A month ago, Shane would have deliberately taken his time to needle Wes and see how far he could push him, but now . . . Now he wanted to rub the tightness from Wes’s eyes with his thumbs and massage the tension from his shoulders.

Back in the truck, Wes let loose a long exhale.

“You were jealous of Kieran,” Shane teased, turning in his seat to face Wes. “Admit it.”

“What? No.” Wes furrowed his brows but didn’t make eye contact as he started the truck.

“Uh-huh. Don’t worry,” Shane said. “He’s cute, but I have a thing for a certain cowboy.”

Wes grinned, his eyes twinkling. “Is that so?”

“Very so.”

Wes leaned across the console, and Shane met him in the middle. Their lips touched, triggering a landslide of desire rushing through his veins. How could it be that every kiss with Wes felt like the first?

Wes sat back—gaze heated and promising more to come—and buckled his seat belt while Boston’s More Than a Feeling played on the classic rock station.

“Besides,” Shane said, as he did the same. “Kiernan clearly has a crush on the sheriff, who is freaking hot, by the way.”

Wes chuckled and shook his head. “I think the only person in all of Havenridge who doesn’t know about Kiernan’s crush on Nick is Nick.”

After returning to the ranch and stashing the supplies for Colt’s proposal, Wes settled in at his computer with renewed vigor. He needed to figure out who the stalker was—and where they were. Frustration gnawed at him over how they’d evaded him at every turn thus far. But nobody evaded him forever .

“Mind if I play while you work?” Shane stood in the doorway of Wes’s office with his arms crossed over his chest.

He tipped his chin toward the old guitar that had belonged to Wes’s dad. Shane had brought the instrument into the office on his second day at the ranch and had been working on new songs for his band. He still wore the western shirt Wes had chosen for him, and the lizard part of Wes’s brain puffed its chest out at seeing Shane in his clothes.

“Not at all.”

Shane dropped his arms and walked to the sofa on the other side of the room.

Wes loved it when Shane shared space with him and played. It had become somewhat of a routine after a day out, helping with the daily chores of ranching life. After a dinner together that either Wes made at home, or whatever masterpiece Chef Aiden had cooked up in the dining hall, they spent a couple of hours in companionable silence working on their respective projects: Wes tracking stalkers and Shane writing music. And then bedtime. Oh, how Wes looked forward to going to bed each night with Shane. He loved the way their bodies moved together as one, the taste and feel of Shane’s skin. The sounds Shane made when he rode the edge of climax, and when he went over the edge into sheer bliss . . .

Wes shifted in his chair. He was in so much trouble. Shane had somehow dug his black-painted nails so deep under Wes’s skin that scars would remain long after Shane was gone.

“You okay?”

Wes flashed a smile with lips that felt heavy to lift, not realizing he’d been frowning. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah.” His voice sounded gruff to his ears. “All good.”

The expression on Shane’s face said he wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t press. “If you say so.”

At Wes’s nod, Shane removed the guitar from its stand and sat on the sofa. Laying the guitar across his lap, he flipped through his notebook one-handed, stopping where he’d left off the night before.

Wes didn’t remember much about his dad, having been so young when he’d died, other than that he was a drunk and wasn’t around half the time. But he had the odd memory of his dad at home, sober, playing the guitar as he sang lullabies to help Wes fall asleep. The images were fleeting, but they rested warmly behind his breastbone. Which was why he’d kept the guitar. It was the one thing of his dad’s that held a good memory, that gave him a tiny sense of connection.

He watched as Shane strummed a few chords, humming along and stopping at random intervals to scribble in his notebook. Shane began to play again, harmonizing with a chord progression that sounded both haunting and bold. Shane vocalized the odd word here and there, but Wes didn’t need words to feel what Shane was creating. The sounds he drew from the old guitar, the mood he evoked, felt like hope.

Shane glanced up and the smile that lit his face somehow made the whole room brighter. He lifted a questioning eyebrow, but Wes shook his head. He loved this side of Shane, privileged to see him in his element, in a way very few got to experience.

Shane’s gaze lingered a moment before he returned to his composing.

You belong here .

Wes pushed his fanciful thought away with a mental reprimand and refocused on his task of tracking the latest email.

Fifteen minutes later, he leaned back in his chair, stunned. He’d done it. He should be jumping with joy, but something niggled in the back of his mind. Why was it he hadn’t been able to crack the previous emails, but had no problem cracking this one?

Wes opened his app, where he’d compiled a database of everyone who worked with or around Shane when he’d first joined Audio Siren on tour and compared the location area against the existing addresses. Two matched. He sucked in a sharp breath and shot a quick glance at Shane—who was fully immersed in his music and didn’t notice.

Wes double-checked the addresses to make sure he was seeing them right, and again a third time to be certain.

One address belonged to Doug Brier, Shane’s sound tech, who’d been on his radar, but the second address . . . Dammit .

Shane would not be happy to hear what Wes discovered. Did he tell Shane now? Shane had said he didn’t want to know anything unless he absolutely needed to. Wes pursed his lips. What if he told Shane now, and the leads didn’t pan out? Shane would needlessly stress, and the last thing Wes wanted to do was upset Shane for no reason. No. He’d hold off telling Shane until he was one hundred percent certain. Decided, he closed his apps, put his computer to sleep, and grabbed his phone as he stood, unnoticed by Shane.

“I’m going to start dinner,” he said. “You hungry?”

Shane looked up at him, but his gaze was distant, slow to shift tracks. His eyes cleared a second later, and he smiled. “Come to think of it, I am. Need any help?”

“No, I got it.” Wes walked over and gave him a kiss. “I think I left a bag in the truck, though. Be right back.”

Shane nodded, but Wes knew he wasn’t listening, already absorbed back into his private musical world.

Wes stepped outside and walked to the end of the veranda. The sun had fallen behind the rugged Medicine Bow mountains and the temperature plummeted once its warming rays called it a day. He shivered in the bracing air.

With a quick glance over his shoulder, he punched a number on his phone.

“Hey, man,” Isaac’s voice boomed in his ear, a note of concern in it. “Everything okay? How’s our guy?”

“He’s good,” Wes answered. “Currently writing a new song.”

“Good to hear, but what’s going on? I didn’t expect to hear from you until we’re back on tour.”

Wes spoke in a hushed tone even though he was confident he was out of earshot. “Shane got another email from the stalker this morning.”

“Is it bad?” Isaac asked, his tone sharp.

“No one is dead this time,” Wes said grimly. “But they’re not happy Shane pulled a disappearing act.”

“What did they say? Exactly?”

“Hang on.” Wes lowered his phone, pulled up the email, and read it out loud. “It says, ‘Where did you go and why didn’t you tell me? You’re foolish if you think you can hide from me. There will be hell to pay it you’ve run off with that cowboy. You know what happens when you tease me with other men. ’” Wes paused, listening to make sure Shane was still playing before continuing. “ ‘I will find you .’”

“Shit,” Isaac bit out .

“Shit is right. But that’s not the worst of it.” Wes paused, closing the email and putting the phone back to his ear. “I tracked the IP for that email, and for the first time got a radius that wasn’t routed halfway around the world. Two addresses in my file fall inside that radius. Doug Brier was one, and the other . . . Sonia Allard.”

Deafening silence followed. Isaac’s words were measured when he spoke again. “Are you certain?”

“I wish I wasn’t.” Wes said in a grave tone. “But I need you to track them down for me. We need to be one hundred percent on this.”

“This is . . . Okay,” Isaac’s voice had taken on a dark note. One that Wes knew from experience working with him meant heads were going to roll. “I’ll check them out and get back to you as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, man,” Wes said and disconnected the call.

He dragged a hand over his face and cursed. Shane was going to be crushed if either of them turned out to be his stalker, but Wes knew Shane would go off the rails if it was Sonia.

He headed back into the house, running a mental check on how much Juicy Fruit gum they had on hand.