Cowboy Bounty Hunter

by Lori Wilde

  "Look, I talked to someone who was at the reunion tonight," the caller said, "and she told me there was a man there pretending to be me. I don't know what's going on, Gracie, but you have to believe me. I'm Gilbert."

  "No," she breathed into the phone.

  "I'm Gilbert Leopold Holloway," he said firmly. "I was named after my grandfather, and we moved to Hay Springs when I was a sophomore. My address was 1324 Mesquite Road. And my house was painted yellow with black shutters. You used to say it reminded you of a bumblebee."

  An icy chill swept through Gracie that she couldn't blame on the cold marble. The voice sounded like Gilbert. And who else would know how she used to describe his old house? She had passed by it every day on her way to high school. The new owner had repainted it years ago. Now it was white with pine-green shutters.

  She closed her eyes, feeling a little dizzy. This couldn't be happening. The imposter story was ludicrous. Gilbert Holloway was right here with her. In his hotel room. She opened her eyes, then peeked through the bathroom door just to see if he was the one playing the joke. But he was still sprawled out on the love seat, no cell phone in sight. Besides, she reminded herself, he'd been asleep when her phone rang.

  She closed the bathroom door again, catching her reflection in the mirror. The color had drained from her face and her shoulder-length blond hair was a mess. Maybe this was a nightmare and she'd wake up soon. But the persistent crackle of the cell phone in her ear told her it was all too real.

  "Where are you?" she asked him.

  "I can't tell you. Not yet anyway."

  "How do I know this is really Gilbert Holloway?" she insisted, still not wanting to believe it was true.

  He hesitated for a moment, then said, "Do you remember the time I saved your life?"

  She gasped. No one else knew that story except Aunt Jolene, and she’d just told her two days ago. Jolene liked to chat with her customers, but she wouldn’t have shared Gracie’s story with them.

  “We were watching His Girl Friday in your aunt’s basement,” Gilbert continued. “And eating homemade taffy.”

  Her chest began to ache. “Go on.”

  “You started to laugh at the scene where the character played by Cary Grant tricks Rosalind Russell’s fiancé into getting arrested.”

  “Played by Ralph Bellamy,” Gracie whispered, her voice trembling. She sagged against the sink, barely resisting the impulse to hang up the phone and forget this call ever happened. But she couldn't go back now. She knew it was Gilbert on the line—which left her with another very important question.

  "Then who is this man pretending to be you?" she choked out.

  "I don't know," Gilbert replied, his voice frazzled. "There are a lot of people after me, Gracie. It could be any one of them. I'm in trouble. Big trouble."

  Trouble didn't even begin to describe her situation. She'd kissed a stranger. She’d slept in the arms of a stranger. Even worse, an imposter. If a man like that would deceive her about his identity, what else would he do?

  "Please tell me what's going on, Gilbert."

  "I can't go into it now, Gracie. I don't have much time. But you need to get away from that man. I'll contact you again soon. Either tomorrow or the next day. I need to get that tape back."

  "Why?" she asked.

  “The why isn’t important right now. Do you still have it?"

  "Of course, I still have it,” she said, exasperated. “But I don't understand any of this."

  "Look, I’ve got to go. Please, be careful. I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you. Promise me, Gracie."

  "I promise," she replied. "But—"

  The call ended, leaving her with more questions than answers. For a moment she just stood there barefoot in the bathroom, trying to absorb what had just happened.

  Gilbert wasn't Gilbert.

  The stranger on that love seat had completely fooled her. He’d fooled everyone at the reunion, too. Gracie slipped the cell phone into the pocket of her dress, furious with herself. She'd known it wasn't him the moment she'd seen him. But she'd let that name tag convince her, as well as her other classmates, who seemed to accept that he was Gilbert as readily as she had.

  In truth, she’d wanted him to be Gilbert.

  How could she have been so stupid?

  How could she have kissed him?

  A hot flush suffused her body when she thought of how eager she'd been to fall into his arms. So ready to believe that the handsome hunk in front of her was her geeky friend from high school. She'd been a much-too-willing victim of his deception.

  Tears pricked her eyes when she thought of everything that had happened between them. He'd duped her so easily that he must have laughed himself silly when she'd fallen asleep in his arms last night. But what did he want from her? Why would he go to so much trouble to pose as Gilbert? And how had he been able to mimic Gilbert’s voice so perfectly?

  None of it made any sense to her.

  Unless he wanted the videotape. That possibility seemed like a certainty when she replayed their conversation from last night in her head. They had danced and talked all evening. But he hadn't invited her to go up to his hotel room until she'd pulled the videotape out of her purse.

  She remembered the strange way he'd acted when they'd first entered his hotel room. Almost as if he was trying to avoid her. But she'd pushed ahead, finally blindsiding him with that kiss until he hadn't put up a fight anymore.

  Humiliation washed over her. She'd made a complete fool of herself. Falling for the man's masquerade to the point of kissing him! And that wonderful dance they’d shared, which she’d also forced on him, should have made her realize he wasn’t the real Gilbert.

  All she wanted to do now was get as far away from him as possible. The only way this situation could get any worse was if she had to face him again.

  Determined to disappear before that could happen, Gracie opened the bathroom door, wincing at the slight squeal of the hinges as she made her way into the main room. The stranger still lay unmoving on the love seat, one brawny arm stretched out over a pillow.

  She moved quietly toward the love seat and hastily pulled on her shoes, then she grabbed her purse and headed for the door. But as her hand touched the brass doorknob, she remembered the videotape. Swallowing a groan of frustration, she turned around and headed back toward the television cabinet, keeping her gaze averted from the love seat. She didn't want to look at the man again—didn't want to remember the way he’d made a fool of her.

  She picked up the videotape and stuffed it into her purse, then her gaze moved involuntarily to Gilbert—or rather, the man pretending to be Gilbert.

  He slept like a baby.

  That’s when her embarrassment morphed into a white-hot rage. Gracie wasn’t going to sneak out of his hotel room with her tail between her legs.

  She was going to make him pay.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Bang!

  Sam jerked awake, his heart racing. His mind jumped back to the last time he’d heard a sound like that—when his best friend and partner had been shot by Gilbert Holloway. He sucked in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memory.

  But that never worked.

  He remembered the acrid smell of gunpowder filling the air. The chaos and confusion of men shouting, glass breaking, and a woman screaming. Then his mind flashed to his partner sprawled on the ground, a growing pool of bright-red blood seeping from beneath his limp body.

  Ray had only spoken four words to him before losing consciousness. “Where were you, Sam?”

  Sam shot up from the love seat and hurled the pillow in his lap halfway across the room. His throat tightened, the guilt almost suffocating him. In the darkness, it took him a moment to get his bearings. He wasn’t at that farmhouse near Palo Pinto, Texas, anymore. He was in a hotel room. In Hay Springs. Three years after he’d made the worst mistake of his life.

  He sat back down and buried his head in his hands, then took slow, d
eep breaths to steady himself. The flashbacks had lessened over the years, but they were always triggered by something. He’d been distracted by a pretty woman when Ray had been shot and all hell had broken loose.

  The same thing had happened last night. He’d been distracted by Gracie Delacroix while on the job. He should have been skillfully grilling her for any information she might have about Holloway’s whereabouts. Instead, he’d danced with her. Laughed with her. Kissed her.

  The last thing he remembered was watching her fall asleep in his arms while a black-and-white movie played on the television.

  So where was she now?

  He looked around the room, but there was no sign of her. And the door to the hallway was standing wide open. “What the hell?”

  “Gracie?” he called out, just to make she wasn’t in the bathroom. But there was no response.

  Confused, Sam switched on the lamp next to the love seat, then reached for his cowboy boots. Only they were nowhere in sight. He looked around the floor where he’d left them last night, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  He stood up and tucked in the rumpled tails of his dress shirt. That’s when he noticed the videotape of His Girl Friday that he’d left on the television cabinet was gone too. And so was his cowboy hat, along with his keys and the wallet he’d placed on the dresser last night.

  Had he been robbed? Had Gracie been kidnapped?

  Sam walked over to the open door and stepped out into the empty hallway, looking both directions. Everything was quiet and peaceful out there. Then he turned back to inspect the sliding bolt on his door. He remembered locking it last night and there was no sign that it had been damaged in any way. Besides, he would have heard the commotion of someone breaking into his room and snatching Gracie out of his arms.

  No, there was a much simpler and more disturbing explanation. Gracie had left while he was asleep and taken all the missing items with her. The banging sound that had triggered his flashback was probably caused by her slamming the door so hard that it had ricocheted back open.

  But why? She didn't seem like a love 'em and leave 'em kind of gal. Not after that kiss they’d shared last night.

  He went over every moment with her in his head, trying to remember if he'd done something or said something to offend her. But he was coming up blank. Unless...

  Was it possible she'd figured out he wasn't Gilbert?

  Maybe that realization had dawned on her sometime during the night. He took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. Now was not the time to panic. What he needed to do was take a shower and change into some clean clothes. Maybe a few minutes under a hot spray of water would help him figure out how to leave the Claremont Hotel without boots on his feet, or keys to drive his pickup truck, or a wallet containing his money and driver’s license. Fortunately, he’d already put the hotel bill on his credit card.

  Grandpa Henry had always warned him to treat a woman right or he’d pay the price.

  But it wasn’t until Sam stepped into the bathroom to clean up that he realized just how steep that price would be. Because that’s when he saw his keys sitting in the bottom of the toilet bowl.

  Apparently, Gracie was a little upset with him. But if she thought this was the last she’d seen of Sam Holden, then he had a big surprise for her.

  Because thanks to his bag of tricks, he knew exactly how to find her.

  #

  Sam didn't start to panic until he turned his pickup truck onto the street where Gracie lived. That’s when he saw a Pine City police cruiser sitting in front of her two-story, white colonial house. Remembering Allison's veiled threat against Gracie, he cranked the steering wheel hard and swerved onto the curb, then he jumped out of his truck and dashed toward her front porch.

  If anything had happened to her...

  The battered front door stood wide open, hanging half off its hinges, and he could see the desolation inside. All her furniture was overturned in the living room, and a couple of chairs had been ripped open, spilling white upholstery stuffing onto a colorful Turkish rug.

  He stepped warily inside the house and glimpsed the broken dishes and pottery shards littering the kitchen floor. Books lay everywhere, the pages torn out and crumpled all over the room. Tiny shards of glass glittered in the rays of the morning sun that shone through a broken front window.

  A tornado could have ripped through Pine City and caused less damage.

  His years as a bounty hunter told Sam that this was more than a simple break-in. There was anger behind this crime. Maybe even hate.

  His chest tightened as he scanned the room for blood, his mind flashing back to that horrible day three years ago. The same sense of dread filled him now as he moved farther into the house, taking care not to disturb anything.

  Hearing a noise behind him, he glanced back to see Gracie rapidly advancing on him. Before Sam could react, she grabbed him by one arm and planted her feet. The next second he was flying in the air as she flipped him expertly over her shoulder.

  His back landed hard on the floor, knocking the breath out of him. By the time he recovered, she was standing over him with one foot pressed on his neck. The sharp-heeled shoe she wore dug into his skin.

  “Don’t you move a muscle if you know what’s good for you,” she warned, spitting out each word between clenched teeth.

  Sam didn’t move. Despite his precarious position, relief crashed through him that she was alive and well. And much stronger than she looked judging by the skillful way she’d taken him down.

  “What happened here?” Sam choked out. “Are you alright?”

  “Like you care,” she scoffed. “And don’t play innocent with me. While you were lying to my face last night, I’m guessing your pals broke in here to trash my place. They made a mess of it too. But at least I can hand you over to the police.”

  He stared up at her. "You think I'm to blame for the break-in?"

  "What else am I supposed to think?" she replied, her voice rising. "You showed up at my high school reunion under false pretenses. You introduced yourself as Gilbert Holloway to everyone there. You knew things about him—and about me—that only Gilbert would know. That obviously took some planning.”

  "You're reading this all wrong," Sam told her. But he found himself reluctant to clarify it for her. Because in the light of day—and in the light of her justifiable anger—he saw himself through her eyes. It wasn't a flattering picture. He hadn't been involved in the trashing of her house, but he'd done something far worse.

  "I'm sorry," he said, knowing it was too late for an apology. He'd manipulated her in the worst possible manner. It had been both thoughtless and selfish. He doubted she'd ever forgive him for it, no matter how righteous his intentions.

  Anger blazed in her blue eyes, turning them almost sapphire. “Officer!” Gracie shouted, looking down the hallway. “I’d like to lodge a complaint.”

  Sam would have protested, but he was finding it a little hard to breathe. Gone was the sweet gal he’d kissed last night. In her place was a fiery hellcat who had literally turned his life upside down. He closed his eyes, listening to the footsteps of the approaching police officer.

  At this point, jail almost seemed preferable to being slowly strangled to death by the sexy woman standing over him.

  “Here he is, Officer,” Gracie said. “I’d like you to arrest him.”

  Sam opened his eyes to see Nick’s face hovering above him. A shiny badge hung on the front pocket of his brother’s police uniform.

  “Hey, Sam,” Nick said with an amused gleam in his eye. “How’s it going?”

  “Sam? Is that his real name?” Gracie asked, finally taking her foot off his neck. “If you know him, I bet he’s done this kind of thing before, hasn’t he? Probably been in and out of jail his whole life.”

  “Oh, he’s a troublemaker all right,” Nick agreed. “I can’t tell you the number times I’ve had to chase him down.”

  “You rarely caught me thoug
h, did ya?” Sam replied. “What are you doing here anyway, Detective Holden? I thought you got promoted.”

  “I did.” Nick folded his arms across his chest. “But I’m filling in this weekend for another cop who’s on paternity leave.”

  “Just my luck,” Sam muttered under his breath. Something told him that Nick might not be on his side in this case.

  Nick turned to Gracie. “So, what exactly did he do this time?”

  Sam reached up to rub his throat. “I can explain.”

  “No, I’ll do the talking,” Gracie interjected. “This man,” she said, stabbing one finger in Sam’s direction, “is an imposter. He showed up at my ten-year reunion yesterday and pretended to be my best friend from high school.”

  Nick sighed. “Did he sound just like him?”

  Gracie’s eyes widened. “Yes, he sounded exactly like Gilbert. It was uncanny.” Then she glared at Sam. “He even talked me into going up to his hotel room to watch a movie with him. But he obviously had something else in mind.”

  “What?” Nick’s expression hardened. He glowered at Sam and reached for his handcuffs. “You’ve gone too far this time.”

  Sam rose to his feet and held up both hands. “You’ve got it all wrong. She kissed me. And yes, I kissed her back. But nothing else happened.”

  “That’s not true,” Gracie countered, her cheeks turning crimson. “You’re leaving out the part where we slept together.”

  Nick took an ominous step toward his brother.

  “Yes, we fell asleep together on the same love seat,” Sam said quickly, “while we were both fully clothed and watching a movie. But that’s it, Nick. I swear.”

  Nick turned to Gracie. “Is he telling the truth?”

  “Surprisingly, yes,” Gracie conceded. “But I still think he’s responsible for somebody ransacking my house. Why else would he go to all that trouble to distract me last night?”

  “If you want to talk about ransacking,” Sam retorted. “I woke up in my hotel room to find you’d stolen my favorite boots, my cowboy hat, and my wallet.”

  “It was no surprise to me that they’re snakeskin boots.” Then Gracie smiled at him with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “You should count yourself lucky I didn’t take your keys.”