Texas Outlaws: Cole

by Kimberly Raye

  “My driver usually bunks out in here with me, or Eli, but since he and Melba are an item now, I’ll be flying solo on this trip. We’ll have the bus all to ourselves.”

  “I still don’t understand why we just can’t take my car and get a couple of motel rooms along the way—”

  “Seriously?” he cut in. “This place is a hundred times better than any motel room.”

  She eyed the plush interior. She certainly couldn’t argue with that.

  “I just hate to put you out—”

  “Man, you really are nervous.”

  “Like hell.” She closed the bathroom door and checked out the small television and stereo built into the wall at the foot of the first bed. She punched a few buttons on the remote and the stereo lit up. A classic country song burst from the speakers.

  “Eli’s a Johnny Cash fanatic.” Cole came up and pressed the button. The stereo fell silent.

  “I had him pegged more for a Hank Williams Jr. fan.” She inched to the side, away from him.

  “I wouldn’t say that to his face. You’re liable to start a war. He considers Johnny the king.” He headed up the aisle toward the kitchen area. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugged and retrieved a Gatorade. Twisting off the cap, he took a long drink and Nikki tried to ignore the picture he made standing there, head thrown back, guzzling the icy liquid.

  Are you deaf? a voice whispered. I said “ignore.” That means not noticing the way his throat muscles worked, or the way that single drop of liquid slid down his tanned skin, or the way his muscles flexed as he tightened his hand around the bottle.

  She tore her gaze away and folded down the covers on her bed before she had to face the next challenge—retrieving her overnight bag from near the front doorway. The walkway accommodated one person, no problem.

  But two?

  Maybe.

  If she plastered herself against the far side and eased past just so, she might avoid any actual contact.

  Dream on.

  He stepped to the side, but there simply wasn’t enough room. One hard, sinewy shoulder brushed hers and his muscled bicep touched the side of her breast. Her breath caught and her heart jumped.

  Strong fingers closed around her upper arm and he stared down at her.

  Okay, so accidental touching was bad enough, but the fingers on her arm were there on purpose. Strong. Sure. Stirring.

  Uh-oh.

  “Hey, are you really okay?”

  “Fine,” she blurted, expelling the breath. “I’m just thinking about my mom. And my finals.”

  The floor seemed to tilt and it got really hot, really fast.

  Just breathe. In and out. In and out.

  His gaze narrowed as he studied her. “Are you hyperventilating?”

  “I am not.” Was she? Oh, hell, she was.

  She tried to slow her sudden breathing. Impossible considering the fact that he was still touching her arm. His fingers burned into her flesh, sending a rush of heat to every major erogenous zone.

  “You sure as hell are. You’re hyperventilating.”

  “I am not...” The last word didn’t come out with near enough emphasis considering she couldn’t quite catch her breath.

  His gaze narrowed. “Are you claustrophobic?”

  “Of course not.” Okay, so why had she said that? She should have screamed a big fat yes, made a bee-line for the door and spent the rest of the night in a nearby hotel.

  An easy solution for a big problem.

  Except that she knew Cole would never let her go alone. He didn’t trust her. That meant keeping an eye on her twenty-four seven and so he would surely follow. And then they would register for one room because no way could they register for separate rooms. The press was crawling all over the area thanks to tomorrow’s rodeo and so someone would surely see them. They could kiss goodbye all the headlines they’d made as rodeo’s newly married sweethearts.

  She eyed the granite countertops and the stainless-steel stove and an idea struck. At least in the RV she could actually keep herself busy doing what she loved to do.

  “I’m hungry,” she blurted. “I didn’t eat nearly enough for lunch. Once I get something in my stomach, I’m sure I’ll feel much better.” She forced a slow, deep breath and clung to the one and only bright side of sleeping on the bus—at least they had separate beds.

  Separate, she told herself for the rest of the night. And she might have believed it if it didn’t feel as if they were practically in the same room. Above the hum of the air conditioner, she could actually hear his soft snores. The brush of skin against cotton as he rolled one way and then the other.

  She did some rolling of her own, tossing this way and that, mentally going over the last conversation with her mother in a desperate attempt to distract herself and figure out some clue as to where the woman was headed.

  If she was actually heading anywhere. She might just be on the run, going as fast and as far as possible.

  Maybe.

  She was close by. She hadn’t purchased an airline ticket or taken a bus. Even more, she’d stopped at the rest area not ten miles outside of town. And she’d charged dinner at the local diner. She’d either been here recently, or she was still here.

  Close.

  Not nearly as close as Cole.

  Her ears perked and the sound of his deep even breaths echoed and her nipples pebbled.

  Ugh. It was going to be a long, long night.

  “SO YOU’RE SURE you didn’t see this woman in here yesterday?” Cole flashed the picture to the clerk behind the counter at the Waller General Store.

  The young woman—maybe eighteen or nineteen with a brown ponytail and a disinterested expression—shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Her credit card was swiped here at three-thirty in the afternoon.” He knew because he and Nikki had logged on and checked the credit card transactions online just a few hours ago to see what had posted. “A transaction in the amount of seventeen dollars and sixty-two cents. At exactly 3:32 p.m. That’s what showed up in the online transactions.”

  “Then I guess so. Say—” her gaze narrowed “—don’t I know you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I do. I know I do.” She eyed him again. “Mr. Walker?” She motioned to the old man standing near the hardware section. He looked to be in his seventies, with a red gingham shirt tucked into stiff Wranglers.

  “What can I do you for, Miss Jamie?”

  “This here fella looks familiar. Don’t you think?”

  The man eyed him and it was as if a lightbulb went on in his head. “Why, you’re that saddle-bronc rider, aren’t you? That there rodeo star?”

  “Cole Chisholm.” Cole held out his hand to the man who looked at it like it was a great big diamondback about to strike.

  “Cole Chisholm? The Cole Chisholm?”

  “Last time I looked at my birth certificate.”

  “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” The man let loose a low whistle and slid his hand into Cole’s for a vigorous shake. “What the heck are you doin’ in Waller?”

  “Just passing through.”

  “On your way to Vegas? ’Cause you’re way off if that’s the case.”

  “A road trip,” he blurted. His gaze went to the fast-growing group of people surrounding them and the cluster of young women just to his left. High-school age and much too young, but still. “My new wife and I are cruising around, seeing the sights before I head for the finals. Sort of an unofficial honeymoon.”

  “Well, I’ll be.” The man whistled again. “Say, we’ve got our annual pickle festival goin’ on down at the fairgrounds right now. Why don’t you stop on by and let us show you a little hospitality
.” When Cole opened his mouth to refuse, the man added, “I know the kids would love it. Got some mutton bustin’ happenin’ at the same time as the pickle competition. I know that ain’t exactly your area of expertise, but I know the boys would be tickled pink to meet you and have you give ’em a little pep talk afore the event.”

  “I don’t...” he started, but the man looked so hopeful. And while Cole might not be much for all the hurrah and PR stuff that went with being a five-time buckle winner, he did everything he could when it came to kids. From donating a scholarship to the local 4-H club, to making a special appearance for the Make-A-Wish Foundation just last year when he’d visited a little boy named Keith. He thought of the smile on the eight-year-old’s face and the awful smell of red carnations six months later.

  “I’ll be there.” Besides, it wasn’t as if he had any intense detective work to do. Raylene had swiped her card at the general store yesterday, but since then, nothing. Which meant she’d probably moved on. While he meant to keep asking around for the next hour or so, after that there was really nothing to do but wait until she made another move and follow the trail.

  Until then...

  “I’d be happy to help out with the kids,” he told the old man.

  “Great. That’s just great. Say, you could even come on over to the pickle competition afterward and try all the goodies. Make it a whole evenin’ of fun.” The man took Cole’s hand again and shook it profusely before Cole managed to disengage. A low whistle followed as he turned away, along with a chuckle and a “Why, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle and his aunt. The Cole Chisholm...”

  10

  NIKKI STARED AT the cluster of flowers waiting for her when she walked into the RV. The rich, fragrant aroma tickled her nostrils as her gaze shifted to Cole. “A token from one of your many admirers?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I never figured you for the flower sort.”

  “They’re not for me. They’re for you. I was in town and some guys at the general store recognized me. They insisted I bring these to you.” He handed her the card which read Congratulations on Getting Hitched.

  “They’re having their annual pickle festival down at the rodeo grounds. They asked if we would come as their special guests.”

  “Are you going?”

  “Not me, sugar. Us.” He pulled a small box out of his pocket and handed it to her. “We’re married now.”

  Her heart paused as she took the small velvet square and her stomach hollowed out. “This isn’t what I think it is.”

  “You can’t be married without a ring.” He held up his hand and she noted the small, simple gold band. “Go ahead. Open it.”

  She lifted the lid and stared at the solitaire-cut diamond ring surrounded by rubies and a lump jumped into her throat.

  A crazy reaction because she knew it wasn’t real. This wasn’t real.

  “Do you like it?” If she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn she heard a thread of hope in his voice.

  As if her opinion mattered.

  As if.

  She forced a deep breath and tried to calm her racing heart. “I, um...” Where the hell was her voice when she really needed it? “That is, I, um, think it’ll do just fine. It’s nice. For a fake.” It had to be a fake. Because no man would give a woman such a nice ring—a beautiful ring—just for pretend.

  The realization sent a tingle of disappointment through her, followed by a rush of heat when he took the piece of jewelry from the box.

  Time seemed to stand still in that next instant as his strong fingers touched hers. Skin met skin. Electricity rushed from the point of contact, zapping every nerve as he slid the ring onto her finger.

  “There.” His gaze met hers. “Now we won’t have to worry about stirring any suspicion.”

  And there it was. The real reason he’d gone to so much trouble.

  She stifled a pang of hurt and tried for a laugh. “Talk about a heartfelt proposal. You should write greeting cards.”

  “This isn’t a proposal, sugar. We’re already married.” He stared at her, as if trying to see what simmered below the surface. “I never figured you for the romantic type,” he said after a long moment. There was a teasing note in his voice, but it didn’t quite touch his gaze.

  She shrugged. “Yeah, well, I guess the roses are putting me in the mood.” She tried for another smile, eager to cover her temporary slip. “You’d better watch out. Next, I’ll be expecting a box of chocolates.”

  “Maybe later.” He grinned. “But for now you’ll have to settle for a jar of pickles.” He motioned to the row sitting on a nearby counter. “Courtesy of the Hanover County Pickle Committee.”

  She remembered the welcome sign at the entrance to the small town. “Wedding present?”

  “More like a bribe. They want us to judge the pickle-eating contest.” The grin faded and his lips drew into a serious expression. “Listen, I’m sorry I got so pissed yesterday. I know this isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known your mother would do something like this and then take off.”

  But she knew where she was going.

  She stifled the thought. While she had her suspicions, she didn’t know for sure. She wasn’t going to tell Cole about her hunch, only to have Raylene turn tail and head for Colorado or Arizona or any number of places and prove her wrong. It was still too early to tell.

  On top of that, we were talking her mother.

  While she and Raylene didn’t see eye to eye, she didn’t want to see her mother face any theft charges. Better to catch up to the woman first and recover the money. Raylene could make a getaway while Nikki handed the money back over to Cole.

  And if she’d already spent it?

  Doubtful. She wanted to fix up the place in Port Aransas, which meant she would need every penny. Which explained why she was using the credit card along the way rather than forking over her cash.

  Still, if she had spent some of the heist money, Nikki would have to find some way to get it back.

  She thought of the stash she’d been saving for the past three years for living expenses to tide her over in Houston. Her dream money.

  And if she’d managed somehow, someway to spend all of it?

  She forced aside the disastrous thought. She’d seen the look in her mother’s eyes when she’d talked about Port Aransas. The place was important to her. Enough that she’d swiped one hundred thousand dollars to restore it. She wouldn’t spend it before she got there.

  Which meant Nikki still had time. It was just a matter of getting to Raylene before Cole did.

  But first she had a pickle-eating contest to judge.

  “What?” he asked, obviously noting her worried expression. “Don’t tell me you’re allergic to pickles.”

  “No, I’m just not up for eating about a zillion of them.” She forced a smile. “But duty calls, right?”

  “Atta girl.” He held out a hand. “Just pace yourself. You’ll be fine.”

  Warning bells sounded in Nikki’s head as she stared up into Cole’s deep violet eyes. She should say no. Make some excuse about following up a lead while he went about with his PR stuff. Stay as far away as possible from him.

  She would have, but suddenly she knew it wouldn’t make any difference. He wanted her and she knew it, and so the awareness would continue. No matter if she sat right next to him or if an entire rodeo arena separated them.

  Even more important, she wanted to sit next to him. To enjoy the feeling of being wanted by a man she’d dreamed of night after night. A feeling that would be all too brief. Once Cole realized she’d lied to him, that she was no better than his father who’d promised to take care of him, or the world that had turned its back on him. She could kiss goodbye a warm place in his memory. She would be just one of the masses that he distrusted
with such fervor.

  But until then she could simply enjoy being with him. Talking to him.

  Besides, it wasn’t as if anything could actually happen between them. Not with an arena full of people surrounding them. Which meant Nikki was safe from her raging hormones.

  She slid her hand into Cole’s.

  * * *

  SHE KNEW COLE was a big-time rodeo star. Everybody in town did, but since he’d been born and raised, nobody really paid much attention.

  You’re always seventeen in your hometown.

  The song was true. Because while he’d been big stuff back in Lost Gun, she hadn’t realized how big until she stood on the sidelines at the fairgrounds and watched Cole give a pep talk to a group of two dozen kids ranging in age from eight to eleven. A small-town reporter hung just to his left, jotting down everything he said and moving in to ask questions just as soon as he’d clapped every kid on the shoulder and wished them luck.

  The reporter asked him about everything from the upcoming finals in Vegas, to his work with Boy Scouts of America.

  While Nikki had heard a few tidbits circulating around town about his philanthropic efforts, most people preferred to talk about his exploits with every buckle bunny from here to Dallas. Gossip was always more fun than the truth.

  Unless the truth involved a hunky cowboy with a big heart.

  “You’re really something,” she told him when he finished posing for a few pictures and took her hand so that they could head for the tent where the pickle competition was being judged.

  “No, I’m not. I’m just a man doing what needs to be done.”

  “Not everyone would think that.”

  “Not everyone had a dick for a father.” He shrugged. “I’m just doing what Pete did for me. No more, no less.”

  But it was still enough to send a burst of warmth through her as he took her hand and they walked side by side to the tent. Like they were a real couple.

  They weren’t, she reminded herself.

  He wasn’t the loving husband and she wasn’t the loving wife. He was a bad boy, and she was a wannabe bad girl, and their “arrangement” was very, very temporary.