Cowboy Protector

by Patricia Rosemoor

  “How did Nickels get past all those policemen who supposedly had a copy of his likeness?”

  “Now don’t go blaming the police for everything. They don’t have some magic crystal ball…nor any kind of precognitive radar.”

  “And if they did, it wouldn’t matter,” she muttered. “They would ignore any clues that were planted right under their officious noses.”

  Neil let it alone. No need to argue. Let her be angry with someone other than herself.

  The electronic voice of the announcer coming from the arena indicated the bull riders were up. The rodeo was drawing to a close for the night. Quite some time had passed since his accident, Neil realized.

  They arrived at Cisco’s barn and Neil was soon relieved of his worry over the horse when he found him chomping on some hay. He checked the big bay over carefully anyway.

  “He’s sound,” Neil said, rubbing the horse’s velvet nose and following the white streak all the way up to the sweet spot just between his eyes.

  Cisco threw his head away, then brought it back to lip Neil. “Looking for treats, huh? Sorry, boy, I don’t have anything for you tonight.”

  Leaving the stall, he headed for the tack area. One of the cowboys at the arena had told him he’d take care of everything for him, and he’d come through all right. The saddle was there. As was the proof that this had been no accident. The cinch had been cut by a knife nearly all the way through. The calf jerking on the rope tied to the saddle horn had been all it had taken to make that cinch snap.

  “Clever for a greenhorn,” Neil said.

  “I can think of lots of names to call Nickels,” Annabeth said with passion. “Clever not being among them.”

  Neil would have to see about getting the cinch fixed first thing in the morning if he wanted to continue in the competition. Which he did.

  “Now the question is…do I bother making out yet another police report?”

  “For all the good it’ll do.”

  “Then Wexler it is. Maybe I can even get him in person this time. I already left him a message about Skull being seen with Alderman Lujan.”

  “And he didn’t get back to you?”

  “Considering I don’t have a cell phone and that I was on the move,” Neil said reasonably, “I don’t see how he could have.”

  They stopped at the barn office. Neil used the phone to leave another message and the number there, saying they would wait for fifteen minutes before leaving for Annabeth’s. He left her home number, too.

  He’d just set down the receiver when Lloyd Wainwright walked in.

  Appearing surprised to see them, the stock contractor said, “You’re all right, then.” He turned to a back shelf to sort through the phone books.

  “Not quite fit as a fiddle, but I don’t have one foot in the grave, either.”

  “What?”

  “Nickels tried to kill him!” Annabeth nearly shouted.

  “And he did it from the warm-up area,” Neil added. “Got to my saddle and fixed the cinch right up.”

  “He got past me?” Wainwright thundered.

  “What did you think happened?”

  “I thought you had a dumb-luck accident.” Wainwright shook his head. “So the bastard was there tonight, was he?” He picked up a big phone book in his left hand, then almost dropped it before setting it down next to the telephone. “Damn!”

  “Something wrong with your hand, Lloyd?” Annabeth asked.

  “Just twisted something in my arm working with an ornery bull.”

  “Maybe you should see the paramedics.”

  “Nah, I ain’t no sissy-boy. Not that you are, Farrell,” he added quickly. “You really scared the lot of us with that fall you took.”

  “I’ll live,” Neil said dryly. “I can’t get over the nerve of the thieves, showing up on the rodeo grounds like they did. And Skull with Lujan—”

  “Skull?”

  “That’s what we’ve been calling the Hispanic thief,” Annabeth said. “Because of the tattoo.”

  “You haven’t talked to Wexler or Smith, have you?” Neil asked the stock contractor.

  “Not a word.”

  “Seems to me one of us would have heard if Lujan had reported seeing Skull.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “I’ve been wondering how the thieves ever knew about the rodeo bank in the first place.”

  “You think Lujan…”

  Neil shrugged. “He is an insider.”

  “Yeah, but the thieves roughed him up pretty good,” Wainwright said in the alderman’s defense. “There was no love lost between them.”

  “But they just set him free later, without really hurting him,” Annabeth countered. “That’s something to consider.”

  “And now Lujan is spotted with Skull.” The more Neil thought about it the more it made sense that there had been an inside man. “Their being so cocky is going to be their downfall. Sooner or later—hopefully, sooner—someone’s going to catch them. Then the jig will be up.”

  “Yeah,” Wainwright agreed. “The jig will be up for everyone involved.”

  NEIL WAS BEING a real hero, as usual, Annabeth thought, no matter how much he might deny it. He’d downplayed his injury, but now, as he got out of the truck, she could see that he’d already stiffened up.

  And by the time they got inside her apartment, he wasn’t moving much easier.

  “I think you should get in a hot shower and plant yourself there until those muscles feel better.”

  “Sounds like a fine idea.”

  And he wasn’t sleeping on the floor tonight, Annabeth thought, not when he was battered and bruised on her account. Not that she said so lest she start an argument before she could come up with a convincing plan.

  The moment she heard the shower start, she began removing pillows from the couch. Neil deserved a little tender loving care tonight and she was going to see that he got it. He’d been looking after her so closely, and now it was payback time. He needed her.

  Did he really need her? she wondered.

  Everyone needed someone. She’d been denying that, but now she could admit that she’d been wrong. Being with Neil these past few days had taught her to count on someone other than herself.

  And Annabeth wanted Neil to learn the same lesson.

  After opening the sofa bed, she changed the linens. Then she retrieved a bottle of scented oil and set it on the side table.

  Suddenly realizing the shower was off—no more sound of pounding water—she felt a little light-headed.

  Rushing around, she turned off all the lights but the floor lamp. No sooner had she adjusted the dimmer so that it shone upward, softly illuminating the ceiling, draping a romantic glow over the room, than the bathroom door opened. Neil slipped out, his face buried in a towel.

  That he was nude from the waist up startled her. Her mouth went dry at the thought of touching that skin, running her hands over that fine musculature. He raised his arms, bringing the towel to his wet hair, and his body resculpted itself. She went weak in the knees and pressed her leg against the edge of the mattress to steady herself.

  “So, how should we pass the time until we get sleepy? Television?” Neil’s voice was muffled as his head was still enveloped in the towel. “Or would you rather play cards?” He let the towel drop and his eyes went wide. “Uh, I guess neither.” He raised a dark eyebrow and asked, “What do you have in mind?”

  “Massage,” she croaked out. “I figured you needed one.”

  “Oh.”

  Did he really sound disappointed or was that her imagination?

  “So how do we do this?” he asked.

  “Lie across the bed.”

  Neil propped a knee on the edge of the mattress. His amber eyes glowed in the dark. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “Yes, of course. I used to work on Mom’s back to get her to relax…”

  Suddenly she realized he hadn’t been asking if she was proficient in the art of m
assage…just if she was sure.

  Sure that she wanted to touch him so intimately?

  Sure that she wanted to provoke more than relaxation?

  Sure that she wanted to get in over her head?

  Annabeth wasn’t sure of anything.

  “Lie facedown,” she said anyway.

  Only after Neil had done as she commanded did she have second thoughts. But knowing how much he was hurting—and, whether or not he agreed, it was because of her—she put her own reservations aside. She had to do something to make it up to him.

  Hesitating only a second, she climbed onto the bed next to him and straddled his hips. In reaching for the bottle of oil, she had to lean over his back. The tips of her breasts brushed his warm flesh and her nipples instantly responded.

  Below her, Neil sucked in his breath.

  “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

  “Not exactly,” he mumbled into the pillow.

  Annabeth heard the stress in his voice loud and clear. Well, a massage would do wonders for him. She drizzled oil on her hands, then a bit more across the top of his back. Capping the bottle, she set it on the bed. Then, shaking away the last of her reservations, she got to work.

  The pleasure was as much hers as it was his. She loved the sensation as her fingers splayed across his warm flesh. And when he sighed, she sighed with him.

  With a light touch, she began working on his sore shoulder muscles. The hot-water shower had lifted some of the tension from the area, and she worked at it until the shoulder felt relaxed.

  But surely the rest of his back would hurt, as well, so she might as well continue the massage.

  She smoothed the flesh on either side of his spine, working her way, inch by inch, all the way down to his waist. As if she’d hit a trigger point, Neil suddenly turned and flipped over, taking her with him. Somehow she ended up on the bottom and he was on top.

  “You didn’t like the massage?” she croaked.

  “I’d like to return the favor.”

  Gently, he began massaging her neck muscles, then worked his way down toward her breast.

  Annabeth arched into him.

  And then the telephone rang.

  Scrunching back down into the mattress, she said, “I should get that.”

  “Let it ring.”

  He continued to touch her, stroke her, make her want to forget about anything outside this room.

  The telephone shrilled its displeasure and she caved.

  “But it might be important.”

  “It’s probably a telemarketer.”

  “After 10:00 p.m.?”

  “Some of them have no sense of decency.”

  Then her answering machine went on. Annabeth is busy right now, but she’ll return your call as soon as possible. Leave a message at the beep.

  “Miss Caldwell, Detective Wexler here…”

  “Omigod!”

  Annabeth practically pushed Neil off her and flew for the phone.

  “…we’ve found the man you call Skull…”

  “Yes, hello?” she gasped. “This is Annabeth. You say you found him.”

  “We did, but…”

  “But?” She looked over at Neil, who was rising off the bed. “What’s wrong? He isn’t talking?”

  “He can’t, Miss Caldwell. He’s dead.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “So what do you really think happened?” Neil asked Detective Wexler early the next morning when the policeman stopped by Annabeth’s apartment to fill them in on the thief’s death.

  “The way I figure it, Estaban Vega and his pal Nickels weren’t really as thick as thieves.” Seated in the chair opposite the couch, Wexler barked a laugh at his own bad joke. “It’s more than likely that Nickels stabbed him in the back to cover his own tracks.”

  “Who found him?”

  “A festival worker cleaning up the place. He went to the Dumpsters behind the midway to throw in a bag of garbage. When he opened the lid, an arm popped out and smacked him on the head.”

  A picture Neil was not likely to forget. “Why do you assume Nickels is the guilty one?” he asked.

  “Who else do I have?”

  “Maybe you should talk to Alderman Salvador Lujan,” Annabeth said, coming out of the kitchen area to hand the detective a mug of fresh coffee. “Find out exactly what he and Vega were fighting about.”

  Being that Neil had informed Wexler about Lloyd Wainwright’s witnessing the argument between Lujan and Vega, he was disappointed that the detective hadn’t come to that conclusion himself.

  Wexler took a long sip of coffee. “Alderman Lujan presents a delicate situation.”

  “Politics and the law working hand in hand?” Neil asked, raising an eyebrow at the detective.

  “C’mon, Farrell, be reasonable. Lujan may not be a pussycat personality-wise, but he is an upstanding member of the community. Before we go around casting aspersions on his character, we have to be sure we got something worth tipping the boat over for.”

  “And talking to him would tip the boat?” Neil mused. “Asking him about something that happened in a public place would cast an aspersion on his character? Sounds like you think he has something to hide.”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t talk to him, but I’m going to do it my way,” Wexler said with emphasis. “Carefully. And I’m not jumping to any conclusions.”

  Considering the circumstances, Neil figured that was about all they could expect.

  Before he could say so, Wexler added, “So don’t go threatening me with your cousin again.”

  “Skelly is a wild card,” Neil said, enjoying Wexler’s perturbed expression. “He has a mind of his own. Once he has a lock on a situation…”

  He took a slug of coffee so he didn’t have to finish.

  Neil hadn’t even spoken to Skelly since he’d made the threat to open the situation to the press. But he did know his cousin well enough. Skelly could be counted on for backup, especially where a family member was involved.

  “Detective Wexler, why didn’t you just tell us everything over the telephone?” Annabeth asked.

  She stood on the other side of the coffee table, obviously too nervous to sit and relax. Her anxious gaze was pinned to the detective.

  “I wanted to see you in person, Miss Caldwell,” he said, “so I could give you this.”

  He reached up to hand her something small and black.

  “A cell phone?” she murmured.

  “Inasmuch as you won’t stay away from the rodeo or move out of this place temporarily…” Wexler shrugged. “Consider it a loan. If you see anything, hear anything, smell anything suspicious, I want you to call me. Hit one and then yes and that’ll put you through to my cell phone. And just in case you can’t get me there, two and yes will get you to the area office. Tell the dispatcher I said to put you through to me, wherever I am.”

  Staring down at the phone in her hand, Annabeth licked her lips, reminding Neil of a nervous cat. He wondered if it was a Chicago Police Department policy to lend cell phones to people in trouble. He suspected not. To Neil’s thinking, that showed Wexler to be a decent human being and he regretted threatening the detective with his cousin’s media influence.

  “Why?” Annabeth asked, her voice suddenly hoarse. “You think I’m in that much immediate danger?”

  “What do you think, Miss Caldwell?”

  Neil caught Annabeth’s expression before she quickly hid her consternation.

  “Th-thank you. I won’t go anywhere without it,” she promised, slipping it into her pants pocket. “At least it makes me feel a little safer.”

  “Good.” Wexler rose as if to go. “Good.”

  Neil said, “About Lujan—”

  “Let me handle that my way. I’ll let you know if there’s anything to tell.”

  Wexler left a wake of uneasiness behind him, exactly as he had when he’d called the night before, Neil thought.

  Then the mood that had been building between him and Annabeth had qu
ickly dissipated and they’d gone to bed without so much as speaking of what had almost happened.

  Annabeth had insisted he take the bed.

  Neil had held out for a compromise that had greatly affected his ability to sleep.

  They’d shared.

  And Neil had been too aware of Annabeth clinging to the edge of the mattress on her side for all she was worth. Obviously she already had regrets.

  Unfortunately, this morning she still seemed to be clinging to something intangible, some invisible barrier that she’d erected between them.

  “I’m scheduled in early today,” she said, removing the coffee mugs to the kitchen.

  “No problem.”

  “No, not for me,” she called from the other room. “I need to work. You don’t.”

  “I don’t mind spending the day on the grounds.”

  “I mind.”

  She stood in the doorway, her arms crossed in front of her. Color was rising in her cheeks to compete with the brilliant rose T-shirt she wore this morning. Her hair was swept to one side and hung over her shoulder, the silken blond strands tempting him even now.

  Until she said, “I need some time alone, Neil. I need some time to think.”

  What did she need to think about? He wondered, the mood broken.

  Them?

  Him?

  She was all he thought about.

  “I just want to see that you’re safe.”

  “I am. I have a cell phone now, remember.”

  Disliking the way this conversation was going—next thing he knew, she’d say she didn’t need him at all—Neil said, “A phone won’t exactly keep Nickels away from you.”

  “Neil, please, I need some space.”

  “And I’ll give it to you…after I see you to work,” he insisted. “I need to go in anyway, so I can get the cinch on my saddle fixed, remember.”

  Apparently she realized arguing was useless because she nodded. “Fine.”

  But the tension wiring between them was negative this time. Neil could tell that Annabeth was freaked out and trying not to show it. So he’d give her that time she needed—a few hours anyway—and then…