Confessing to the Cowboy - By Carla Cassidy Page 0,90
her lips in a kiss that stole his breath away, that filled his soul with everything it had been missing. All the dreams he’d ever entertained about Mary and Matt filling his house with love and laughter were coming true.
“Now, if that’s not a sight to ruin an old man’s appetite,” George Wilton exclaimed as he swept past them to the head of the buffet line.
They broke apart with laughter and Mary quickly left Cameron’s side to take her place behind the counter where she could help serve the hungry.
Cameron sat in a chair and watched as Matt stepped up next to his mother to help. His woman. His son. Every space in his heart was filled with happiness.
His town was safe from the man who had terrorized it and next week Mary would be his wife and he’d start the adoption process where Matt was concerned.
He smiled as he saw the Benson brothers, Nick and Adam, along with their wives, Melanie and Courtney, enter the café. Melanie was in her wheelchair and Adam pushed her to a table nearby, then leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.
Cameron would always believe that the important fact he’d overlooked in attempting to find the killer of the waitresses was that he hadn’t checked into Brandon Williams’s background. The fact that the man had presented himself as a disabled vet had been bought hook, line and sinker by Cameron. It was a mistake he would never make again.
George Wilton slid into the chair next to Cameron, his plate heaping with a little bit of all the food that the Thanksgiving feast had to offer. “Why do you have that dopey grin on your face?” the old man asked.
Cameron widened the smile he hadn’t even realized had been on his lips. “In the words of a very bright young boy, I’ve got a lot of stuff to be thankful for this year, George.”
George huffed. “And I’m still waiting for that sexy young thing to show up in my life to rock my world.”
Cameron laughed and in that moment knew that all was right in the world, or at least in the Cowboy Café in the small town of Grady Gulch, Oklahoma.
* * * * *
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Chapter 1
Grayson Pierce looked at his watch impatiently. The plane was late. Either that or his Rolex had suddenly lost its orderly Swiss mind. How he was supposed to help with this very, very off-book investigation, he had no idea. But his old fraternity brother from Stanford, Jeff Winston, had asked for help, and that was enough for him.
The way he heard it, Jeff had been doing the U.S. government massive favors left, right and center, and Uncle Sam owed Jeff one back. Gray frowned. What kind of debt merited pulling a senior field agent like him out of deep cover on no notice and sending him to West Virginia, of all places? What crisis of national security significance could be afoot in this bucolic setting?
Finally. The whine of a jet became audible in the distance. Gray picked out the white speck, which rapidly grew larger, descending on final approach into the Elkins-Randolph County Regional Airport. Jeff was sending some guy named Sam Jessup here to help with whatever was brewing around a local cult leader named Proctor.
The thrust reversers of a sleek Learjet bearing the Winston Enterprises logo screamed as the plane came to a stop at the far end of the runway, did a one-eighty, and taxied toward him. He was parked in a vintage 1972 Ford Bronco outside the gold, two-story box of a terminal, such as it was. Chicago O’Hare, this airport was not. He pulled up beside the low jet and hopped out as the hatch popped open. A pilot wearing a crisp uniform trotted down the steps.
A pair of high-heeled, black leather boots with chrome ankle chains and stiletto heels that looked like lethal weapons appeared on the