The Cowgirl in Question

by B. J Daniels

  That’s why she needed to be on the inside of things with Rourke, and there was only one way to get there. Was he going to make her seduce him? Just as she’d done when she was fifteen?

  She had more experience now, she thought, and there was no doubt that he’d noticed the dress. But it worried her, Cassidy wearing makeup. Everyone knew what it meant when a woman started wearing makeup. She was after some man.

  “I need your help,” Rourke said, surprising her by settling down in the chair on the other side of her desk.

  Her help? Now they were getting somewhere. She turned up the wattage on her smile. “Just name it.”

  Rourke would have had to have been dead not to hear the offer in her tone. Blaze definitely assumed they would take up where they’d left off eleven years ago. He’d always enjoyed Blaze. What man wouldn’t? Especially when she turned on the seduction, and right now she had it cranked all the way up.

  The blue dress hid nothing, making it clear that Blaze’s body had only improved with age.

  “I’m going to reconstruct the night Forrest was murdered,” he told her.

  She blinked. It obviously wasn’t what she’d hoped for. He almost laughed at her strained expression.

  “What?”

  “I’m going to reenact that night.”

  All the color went out of her face. “You aren’t serious.”

  He nodded and leaned back in the chair, meeting her gaze. “All the main players will be there, except Forrest, of course.”

  “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever—Rourke, why relive that awful night? I mean it’s been eleven years. It isn’t like you can uncover any evidence that might have been overlooked.”

  He shrugged. “You never know.”

  She took a breath and let it out slowly, making him think Blaze might have reasons of her own for not wanting to return to that night. Hadn’t Cassidy insinuated that Blaze might be hiding something?

  It irritated him that Cassidy had him second-guessing himself again. Blaze had nothing to gain by setting him up for murder. Did she?

  He pushed himself up out of the chair. “So I’ll see you at the Mello Dee Saturday night. Come by a little before midnight.” He saw Blaze struggling to come up with a good reason she couldn’t be there as he started to leave. “Oh yeah, and wear what you wore that night.”

  “What? You think I still have the same clothes I did eleven years ago?”

  He turned to smile at her. “Then just wear something like that outfit you had on that night,” he suggested.

  “Those clothes have gone completely out of style.”

  He laughed. “I’ve missed you, Blaze.”

  She seemed to like that. “I can’t believe Cassidy has agreed to this.”

  “It was her idea,” he ad-libbed, and noticed the change in Blaze. She wasn’t happy to hear this.

  “Cassidy? Rourke, you aren’t taking her advice, are you?” Blaze let out a pitying laugh. “My cousin would do anything to hurt me. You realize she only got you sent to prison to separate the two of us, don’t you?”

  He stared at Blaze, realizing just how blind he’d been when it came to her. Cassidy was right. He’d been a patsy and maybe in more ways than one.

  “Cash has agreed to stand in for Forrest Saturday night,” he said, anticipating Blaze’s reaction and relishing in it.

  “Cash?”

  “Is that a problem?” Rourke asked innocently.

  “No, it’s just that…” She licked her lipsticked lips. “I suppose you heard about me and Cash?”

  He smiled. “If I listened to rumors, Blaze, I’d think you’d slept with every eligible male in town.” With that, he turned and walked out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

  BLAZE SAT STARING after him, then picked up the first thing she could grab off her desk and hurled it across the room. The stapler hit the wall and clattered to the floor, leaving a gouge in the paneling.

  “Bastard,” she swore as she watched Rourke walk past his old pickup and cross the street, headed for the Longhorn Café—and Cassidy.

  He hadn’t even suggested that the two of them get together later, that they take up where they’d left off. Damn him. Worse, he was going over to see Cassidy.

  Blaze couldn’t believe this. Rourke should have been falling all over her.

  She had to do something. Something drastic.

  Easton drove up just then, got out of the Suburban, glared at Rourke’s old pickup and then headed into the office. Wasn’t he supposed to be at a meeting with coal-mining executives? Or had he just told her that’s where he was going so he could double back and catch her with Rourke?

  Only he hadn’t caught her with Rourke. Easton had just missed him. Damn. She scrambled to come up with a way to salvage something from Rourke’s visit. Easton had been in a foul mood earlier, had canceled their date last night, and seeing Rourke’s truck outside didn’t seem to improve his disposition.

  She told herself she was getting to him. But she had to up the stakes.

  She would pretend she’d left Rourke in her bed this morning and he’d stopped by to…to give her her apartment keys, she thought, hurriedly digging them out of her purse and dropping them on the edge of her desk. Let Easton think she’d spent the night with Rourke. What the hell. Easton wouldn’t know the difference.

  She pulled out the small makeup bag she kept in her desk drawer and opened her compact. The look in her eyes startled her. She looked scared and upset. That wouldn’t do at all. Not if she hoped to convince Easton that everything was great between her and Rourke, the bastard. They were all bastards.

  She heard Easton come in and stop at the receptionist’s desk to pick up his phone messages. He would be coming into the office any moment.

  Hurriedly she powdered her nose. Pretend you spent a heavenly night in Rourke’s arms, she ordered herself. Her gaze softened a little at just the thought.

  The door to the office opened and, still powdering her nose, she looked up at Easton and wondered how he was going to take the news about Rourke’s plan. Not well, she thought, and realized she was scared, too.

  “I’M GOING WITH YOU,” Dusty said, her tone brooking no argument.

  Asa looked up at his daughter as she came down the wide staircase toward the door where he stood. She looked so much like her mother that for a moment he was dumbstruck by her understated beauty—and her mule-headed determination.

  “You’re going to town to talk to Rourke, aren’t you.” she said. “As you promised.”

  “And pick up a load of grain,” he said, his real reason for going into town. “Wouldn’t you rather stay here? J.T. was talking about riding up into the Bighorns today on horseback.”

  She smiled and shook her head as if he couldn’t fool her. She was so much like her mother. “You can buy me lunch in town. Cash told me that Rourke is staying at the lake cabin.”

  Asa nodded, not surprised by either the news that Rourke was staying at the cabin or that Dusty had wheedled the information out of Cash. “So what makes you think we can even find your brother?”

  “It’s a small town,” she said, and headed for the door.

  Asa could see that there was no getting out of this. The alternative was having her go back to refusing to talk to him, which in retrospect might not be so bad.

  He followed her out to the truck, not surprised when she started to get in the driver’s side. He was touched that Dusty tried to protect him, especially since his heart attack, but he was still the head of this family, dammit.

  “I’ll drive,” he said, stepping past her. He could see she wanted to put up an argument, but he slid in behind the wheel and slammed the door before she could.

  She chattered on the way into town about ranch business, the latest news about neighbors and old friends, the upcoming rodeo. He only half listened. He had other things on his mind. Like the phone call last night. He’d convinced himself that it had been a wrong number. Hell, he’d been half-asleep. It wasn’t anything t
o worry about. Nothing at all.

  “ROURKE JUST STOPPED BY to drop off my apartment keys,” Blaze said, the moment Easton walked into the office. “You aren’t going to believe what he’s planning to do Saturday night.”

  “Nice to see you too, Blaze,” Easton said, closing the door firmly behind him. He’d gotten little sleep last night, tossing and turning, the night filled with horrible nightmares. He’d awakened in a cold sweat. And now he didn’t give a damn what Rourke was planning for Saturday night. In fact, he didn’t want to hear the man’s name.

  “He’s restaging the murder.”

  Easton turned to look at her, her words chilling him to the bone. The woman was powdering her nose. Primping. And he didn’t need to wonder for whom.

  “What the hell did you do to cause this?” he demanded. Her cheeks were flushed and it wasn’t from blush. She was enjoying this, he thought, wanting to strangle her.

  “I didn’t do anything,” she protested. “He just came into the office this morning to give me my keys and announced that he wanted all of us to be at the Mello Dee Saturday night and, get this, to wear the same clothing—as if we still had it. What, we donated it to the museum for safekeeping? Can you imagine? Obviously time stood still for Rourke, but for the rest of us—”

  “Blaze, forget about the damned clothes.” He couldn’t believe this. She was so worked up she was babbling and didn’t even realize the consequences of her actions. “Don’t you know how dangerous this is?”

  She quieted for a moment to stare at him. “Dangerous?”

  “Are you a complete ninny?” he snapped. “If Rourke isn’t the killer, then who is? Someone we know?”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Your cousin has said from the beginning that someone must have seen her put that note on Rourke’s windshield and read it and saw a chance to set up McCall,” Easton said in exasperation. “How else did the killer know that Rourke was going up Wild Horse Gulch, how else could the killer have framed Rourke for the murder?”

  She was staring at him. “Assuming he was framed.”

  Easton stared back at her. She didn’t really think Rourke was a killer, did she? Would she try to use a killer to make him jealous? Was she that stupid?

  “Cassidy probably lied,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Let’s not go there again.” She’d been singing that song for eleven years, only no one had believed that Cassidy was behind the frame—or the killing. No one except Blaze and maybe Rourke.

  “But if Rourke killed Forrest—”

  Easton let out a curse. “If you believe that, then how in the hell can you agree to this reenactment? Hasn’t it dawned on you that Rourke might be planning this merely to get even with us?”

  “Us?” she echoed, her gaze honing in on him like radar. “What are you talking about?”

  “This town, Blaze. We sent him to prison. Maybe for a crime he didn’t commit. Either way, he’s back and clearly he wants to even some score.” He shook his head at her.

  “If you’re worried that Rourke will come after you because you’re with me now…”

  Easton gave a withering look. “He has already come after me. I found out today that he hired a private investigator who’s been snooping around ADC, and I’m not the only one Rourke’s been investigating.”

  “So what?” she demanded with obvious irritation. No doubt she was disappointed he hadn’t made something of Rourke returning her apartment keys. She didn’t have a clue.

  He sighed. “So Rourke isn’t going to rest until he gets vengeance. Rourke’s going to take down as many of us as he can in that quest.” He raised a brow. “Maybe you included, Blaze. I’ve never believed you went straight home that night and I would wager Rourke doesn’t, either.”

  Chapter Eight

  Cassidy hated the bubble of euphoria she felt as Rourke walked into the café. She hadn’t expected to see him, just assumed he would be spending the day—if he hadn’t already spent the night—with Blaze.

  He took a booth in her section rather than sit at the counter, meeting her surprised expression with a smile. He looked different today. More rested, less anxious, she thought as she grabbed a menu, a cup and a pot of coffee and headed toward the booth.

  “Hi,” he said. “I was hoping you could join me. If you’re not too busy.”

  The afternoon coffee-break crowd had thinned out and it was still too early for supper. She couldn’t really decline, even if she’d wanted to.

  “Okay.” Even with the obvious change in him, she couldn’t help but be leery.

  “Have you had lunch?”

  She shook her head.

  “Good. I hate eating alone.”

  She’d forgotten what his smile could do to her. “You know what you want?” He hadn’t opened the menu.

  “Chicken-fried steak, biscuits and gravy and whatever comes with it.”

  She couldn’t help but smile as she wrote down the order. When she looked up, he was staring out the window.

  “Is that all?” she asked.

  He didn’t respond and she followed his gaze to see Blaze pulling out in one of the ADC Suburbans. Cassidy had seen her earlier in a blue dress that left nothing to the imagination. Was it any wonder she attracted men like flies to honey?

  Cassidy looked away to wipe at a spot on the table with the corner of her apron. She was determined to fight these feelings she had for Rourke. And she refused to be jealous of Blaze. If Rourke wanted Blaze, well, then that was just fine with her.

  She hadn’t realized he’d turned his attention back to her until she glanced up and saw that he was watching her and seemed to have been for some time.

  “I should warn you,” he said, as if he knew what she’d been thinking. “I had a talk with Blaze this morning.”

  “I don’t need to—”

  “I’m going to reenact the night Forrest was murdered Saturday at the Mello Dee Lounge and Supper Club.”

  She was speechless.

  A sheepish grin moved across his face. “I told Blaze it was your idea.”

  She gasped. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  He smiled and shrugged. “She was so damned sure that you wouldn’t go along with it. I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Blaze must be beside herself,” she said, and glanced out as her cousin drove away. She caught Blaze’s expression. The woman had fury in her eyes as she glared at Cassidy. “I’ll put our orders in,” she said, suddenly ravenous herself as the Suburban disappeared down the street.

  When she returned to the booth, Rourke said, “Beautiful day, isn’t it.”

  Cassidy stared at him, wondering what had changed since yesterday. When he looked at her she’d didn’t see the hard anger in his eyes or the brittle bitterness. Instead, she saw something that scared her even more. Hope.

  She couldn’t bear to see him hurt again and she feared he was setting himself up for a fall by staging the murder night. Worse, by crossing Blaze.

  “Rourke, I have to warn you. Blaze can be a little mean-spirited when she doesn’t get her way.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “She’s hell on wheels, but don’t worry, I won’t let her harm you.”

  “Me? I was thinking of you.”

  He shook his head. “You and your cousin couldn’t be more different, you know that?”

  She knew that. Eleven years ago she would have given anything for whatever it was about Blaze that had made Rourke want her.

  “Seriously, are you sure this reenactment is a good idea?” she asked.

  He was smiling. “It’s a terrible idea. I hope we don’t have to go through with it.” He met her surprised gaze. “By Saturday, I’m banking on you and me having already found Forrest’s killer.”

  “You and me?”

  Was he serious? “Rourke—”

  “You made me realize yesterday that I hadn’t been paying a lot of attention to what was going on around me eleven years ago.”

  She felt herself blu
sh and was grateful when she heard the bell announcing that their orders were up. She returned with his chicken-fried steak and a chicken sandwich for herself.

  “Thanks,” he said, and dug in. “This is great. So, will you help me?” he asked between bites.

  Was he really offering her a chance to help him? To redeem herself for the part she’d played in his going to prison? She studied his handsome face. Or was he setting her up, still convinced she had something to hide?

  It didn’t matter. She would give anything to help him find even a little peace. She couldn’t give him back the eleven years. But maybe she could put some of Rourke’s ghosts to rest. And some of her own, as well.

  “I’ll do anything I can to help you,” she said. “But, Rourke, I don’t know anything. I can’t imagine what help I would be.”

  “You’ve already helped,” he said, and grinned. “By coming up with the reenactment plan.” His expression warmed her to her toes.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes.

  “You’ve done a remarkable job with this place,” he said, glancing around the café, his eyes coming back to her.

  “Thank you.” She felt shy under the intensity of his attention. This change in him reminded her of the old Rourke, but it also worried her.

  “Last night, I thought a lot about what you said,” Rourke remarked between bites. “If I really wasn’t the intended victim, then that could change our entire approach to finding the killer.”

  “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” she asked. “I mean finding the killer. I thought after someone put that snake in your pickup yesterday…”

  He smiled, his eyes dark. “Only a coward puts a rattler in a man’s pickup to scare him. Or a fool. The person who killed Forrest doesn’t want to kill again. That’s why he’s trying to warn me off.”

  She nodded, not so sure about that.

  “I was thinking about your theory,” he said as they finished eating.