Devil In Cowboy Boots

by Sylvie Kaye

  "I don't know.” Cindy exhaled. “Although, Sister Doria always believed a person is innocent unless proven guilty."

  "I'll talk to him. Ask him."

  "No,” Cindy protested. “Suppose questioning him riles up his killing instinct."

  "I'm not going to accuse him of anything.” Especially not murder. Mercy sighed. “I'll handle this. Don't worry."

  "Don't ask him anything until you're outside so you have a better chance at escaping. Are you sure I shouldn't call the police? And a taxi, in case I have to claim your body."

  "Get control of yourself,” Mercy said in a hushed tone to calm her friend. “I'll be fine. Don't overreact or call the cops. Wait for me to call you back.” She snapped the cell phone shut.

  Spence turned at the sound. “I heard your friend screeching from across the room. What's got her panties in a twist now?"

  "Long story.” Mercy eyed the tall, rugged cowboy. He was gruff at times, but she doubted he'd fatally harm anyone. He bought sentimental flowers, opened doors for old people, painted teardrops. He'd saved her and Cindy from the Goth night-clubbers. Still, she'd assured Cindy she would talk to him—outside. “Let's take a walk."

  He agreed by yanking on the porcelain doorknob of a warped, wooden door leading out onto the backyard. With a loud squeak, he held open the battered, screen door. She filed past him, blinking against the sudden sunlight after the dimness inside the house.

  At the bottom of the narrow steps, he joined her. He matched his strides to hers as they strolled down the dirt path toward the barn.

  The ground felt hard and gravelly beneath her sneakered feet. Cowboy boots definitely served their purpose, she thought, absently. After several yards, she cleared her throat, not sure where to start the unsavory subject.

  "Remember the other evening when the man at the deli called you Killer?” Spence's booted feet crunched down hard on a stony section of the path. He didn't reply so she forged on. “And I thought he was referring to your prowess with women."

  Silence. She glanced up at him. His eyes were fixed on the horizon where the cloudless blue sky met the distant green meadow.

  She tried again. “Cindy called to warn me that the nickname meant something far more dangerous."

  He nodded. “As in, I killed my best friend."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mercy stumbled, and Spence grabbed her arm.

  Did you kill your friend? she wanted to ask.

  But fear choked her windpipe and the question died in her throat. Forget Cindy's suggestion to run for her life. Panic froze her feet in place.

  She and the supposed killer stood in the middle of the dirt pathway, yards from the barn and the fenced field. The only life other than them was a drab-colored rabbit, scurrying for cover. The air gripped heavy, hot, and still, as did his hand on her forearm.

  Mercy studied his black, hollow eyes, seeking answers to questions she dared not voice. His expression remained unreadable. Quiet stretched between them for long moments, splintered only by the twitter of a swallow.

  To break the intolerable suspense, she touched the tips of her fingers to his broad hand. When he loosened his hold on her arm, she didn't move away. Standing her ground, however weak-kneed, she offered him vindication. “But you didn't kill anyone.” Her voice sounded faint.

  "The DA's office claims I killed Mark. I was sent to jail for manslaughter.” He stated the facts in a monotone. His eyes flat.

  For a moment, she couldn't wrap her mind around the meaning of what he said. Although he could be grim or distant, she'd spent enough time with him to see his lighter and kinder sides. He laughed, he hurt. He helped some people, he avoided others. He cared.

  "Mark was your childhood friend. You loved him,” she murmured.

  "That didn't matter to the twelve people who voted me guilty."

  Her heart caught mid-beat. How horrible to have his best friend killed, to lose him forever, and then be accused and convicted of the crime. Shaking her head with incredulity, she thought of herself and Cindy. “I can't believe you did it."

  "I didn't, and I intend to find out who did.” He smiled, slowly, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. His eyes crinkled. “I wish the jury was as trusting as you."

  "The jury didn't know you like I do,” she said.

  "Let's hope not.” He chuckled.

  "Do you want to talk?"

  He shook his head. “It's obvious there's enough talk about me and Mark to go around."

  "Cindy made an honest mistake. She was misinformed by Rita, her coworker from the office. You must've seen Rita around the Starry Night. She's the one with big—” she faltered, undecided between saying boobs or breasts.

  "Don't go shy on me now.” He cracked a grin. “I've seen her. She has healthy lungs and hangs around Cindy's boyfriend."

  "Cindy, Jay, and Rita work for the same company,” Mercy explained.

  He kicked a stone from the path. “Cindy's a good friend to you. Let's let it go at that."

  She rested her hand on his, sad for him at the loss of his best friend. She didn't know what she'd do without Cindy. “I'm sorry about Mark. How did it happen?"

  He clasped her hand. They began walking down the path toward the barn and the field. A mild breeze wafted hot.

  Grief for Mark weighed heavily on his mind, but Spence wasn't used to voicing his sorrow. Could he trust Mercy when he hadn't trusted anyone since the trial?

  She squeezed his hand to encourage him.

  He wanted to share his sadness, his anger. And Mercy was compassionate. If he didn't talk to someone about the emotional events of that evening, he feared he'd explode or, worse, break down and become useless in finding the true killer. Mercy was probably his safest outlet. Within the week she'd fly back to Pennsylvania, and both he and his story would get forgotten in the bustle of her everyday life.

  "We were out on the town,” he began, “celebrating Mark's championship bull ride. He was reminding me how always keeping an eye on the prize pays off.” Spence blew out a breath at the irony. “That was the motto Mark lived by. He was laughing, happy to be alive and in one piece after riding a bull called Steam Roller. The buckle bunnies were all over him. Us."

  "Buckle bunnies?” She puckered her pretty forehead.

  "Rodeo groupies. Mark had finished dancing with a blonde beauty.” Spence smiled. “But not as beautiful as you."

  The image of the woman came to mind in vivid detail, along with Mark clinking his beer bottle to Spence's before saying, “The gorgeous chick I was two-stepping around the sawdust wants me bad. But she's got a friend."

  Spence had stepped back and groaned. “I know where this is leading. I'm not leaving with Dracula's daughter, buddy or not."

  "I'll admit she's a little long in the tooth, but you don't have to kiss her. Not open-mouthed anyway.” Mark chuckled while Spence eyed the woman. Her eyeteeth could've opened bottle caps.

  "Maybe after I have another brew.” He downed the last of his long neck and held up his empty to signal the bartender for another. “But you've got to explain to my girlfriend how I'm only helping you out. Things are going good between us, and I'm not about to screw it up."

  "I'll drink to that.” So Mark had another beer, too.

  Maybe one too many, looking back.

  "We both had too much to drink that night.” He looked at Mercy. “Next thing I knew, we were rambling down a dark street outside the bar, showing the ladies to their car when all hell broke loose.

  "The beauty screamed, a speeding car attempted to mow us down, and all four of us hit the macadam like a pile of discarded rag dolls. I got clipped by the bumper on the way down."

  He heard Mercy's intake of breath, but kept on, wanting to get it all out now that he'd started. “Before any of us could recover and get to our feet, a big guy built like the bull, Steam Roller, hopped out of the car. But he wasn't coming to help. Mark was the first one up and the first one knocked
down. A blow to his chest. It turned out Mark had an undetected heart problem.

  "When I got up, my head still reeling from the bumper, I managed to ram the guy. There was more screaming. This time from both the blonde and her friend. Then I went down. The lights went out. No more screams. No sound at all."

  "What happened after that?” Mercy asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

  "When I came to, an EMT from the ambulance crew was working over me, giving me oxygen, strapping me to a gurney. A police officer rode with me in the back of the ambulance to the hospital. After I was diagnosed as fit and released from Emergency, the cop handcuffed me and read me my rights. An eyewitness had stated I'd walloped my friend in the chest and killed him. The buckle bunnies had disappeared. So had the driver.” He looked Mercy in the eyes. “I'll recognize him to the day I die."

  Mercy's eyes widened. “Why would the only witness lie?"

  Spence snorted. “That's what I'd like to know, along with why we were jumped. Why would a stranger testify that I hit Mark and killed him? Why would he swear under oath that he happened upon the fight and no car or other persons were at the scene?"

  Spence had spent eighteen months in prison on a manslaughter charge thinking about it. And nothing added up.

  She shook her head. “I have no idea."

  "Mistaken identity. An irate boyfriend.” He shrugged. “Hell, I don't know, but I'm damn sure going to find out.” He clenched her hand. “I'm not taking my eye off the prize until I clear my name and find Mark's killer."

  His chest heaved. Perspiration dotted his brow. Just when he was about to pull away from her entwined fingers, she raised his hand to her mouth and kissed his tensed knuckles.

  Damn woman. He couldn't let her get to him. If there was a remote chance at spotting Parker, he'd have to abandon her and go after the man. Parker getting away while Spence did Mercy on a Riverwalk bench couldn't happen again.

  Gradually, he untangled his fingers from hers.

  She nodded, as if understanding his need for space.

  They'd reached the end of the path. He rested his elbows on the split-rail fence and stared out across the fallow field. He and Mark had been going to plant hay and alfalfa. Raise horses.

  Her gentle hand rested on his shoulder. Tension seeped from his muscles. He glanced at her. “Want to take a ride?"

  "Riding you would be my pleasure.” With a teasing smile, she fluttered her lashes and nudged her hip against his.

  "I meant a ride on my old John Deere."

  "That might be just as gratifying. Something about huge, heavy machinery turns me on."

  "I have just such a piece of machinery, waiting to be turned on."

  He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. Kissing her, he swept his tongue inside her mouth, testing her desire, tasting her want. He kissed her with just the right amount of pressure to make her forget about anything but getting off on his body.

  When he broke away, he lifted her over the wooden railing of the fence, dropping her to her feet alongside a cluster of wild daisies. He hopped over next, and in no time they stood beside the tractor, Mercy slightly dwarfed by its size.

  "It's been field modified.” He pointed to the mismatched fenders and a makeshift seat. “In other words, repaired with whatever parts were on hand."

  She touched the dented fender, quickly jerking her hand away, the metal hot from the midday sun. Next, she trailed her fingers along the sidewall of one of the large, rubber tires. “Rough yet smooth,” she purred. “Like sex with you."

  His insides tightened.

  He climbed up onto the wide seat, patting a spot on his knee for her to sit. She squinted against the sun as she looked up at him and smiled a helpless gesture. He reached out and hiked her up onto his thigh. Her butt snuggled tight against his body as they peered out across the rough terrain of bunch grass and rocks.

  She reached over and stroked the fender again. “I like it up here."

  "Want to touch something you'll like even more?” he whispered near her ear.

  "Yes.” She glanced down at his fly and he laughed.

  "I meant the steering wheel."

  Grinning, she gripped the wheel in her fists. “It feels smooth and hard and hot.” She sidled a glance at Spence. Electricity arced between them.

  With a flick of his wrist, he cranked the engine over. The smell of fuel and exhaust fumes mingled with the meadow-sweetened breeze. The motor jounced, the vibration shaking her bottom and evidently revving her engine, from the way she squirmed on his thigh.

  "Kind of like foreplay, isn't it?” She winked at him.

  "I like my foreplay naked,” he dared.

  She took his dare and began unbuttoning her jeans. “Stop me if you have neighbors you don't want to shock."

  He didn't stop her.

  His eyes trailed the steamy actions of her hands as she skimmed her sneakers and jeans off, tossing the pants onto the hood of the engine and jamming her feet back into her canvas shoes.

  "Are you going to watch or drive?” she asked.

  He engaged the gears, and the tractor edged forward with a thump. While sitting on one of his thighs, she dug her fingers into the other for balance. His muscles flexed taut beneath the denim fabric. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun.

  After bumping along for a few feet, her eyes flicked open and she stared at him over her shoulder. “You must be hot."

  Without waiting for his reply, she busied herself with his T-shirt. Working the soft-washed cotton up over his flat abs and broad chest, she kissed along his collarbone. His skin tasted salty and provocative beneath the hot sun. She snaked one of his arms out of the armhole but snagged the other on his elbow before working it loose to whip the shirt over his head, quick, so he didn't steer the tractor too far off course. Flinging the shirt next to her clothes, she tugged at the waist of his jeans.

  "Can you help me out by throwing the gears into neutral or park or something until I get you stripped?” she asked.

  He pushed on the gear shift. “I don't plan on getting caught with my pants around my knees.” But while the tractor idled, he obliged her. With a lot of jostling on both their parts, he heeled off his boots and shimmied out of his jeans. Once he was naked, he tugged his boots back on and gunned the sputtering engine to a crawl while she picked his pocket for a condom then tossed his pants on the pile with the rest of their clothing.

  As the large tires plodded along, crumbling the earth beneath them, he chuckled at her determination. Laughing, she swiveled around to climb onto his lap. Straddling him, while trying not to block his view as he steered, caused more than a few tickles to his ribs, adjustments of her legs, and nudges of both their chins and necks.

  When she was settled with his chin nestled on her shoulder and their chests fitted snuggly, nipple to nipple, she lifted her hips to give her sole attention to his hot, hard, pulsing dick.

  He groaned when her fingers grasped the head of his cock.

  "You're a good driver,” she said, maneuvering her hips over his erection and momentarily blotting his view of the rocky field.

  "I hope this isn't an accident waiting to happen.” He veered the wheel to the left with a jolt.

  "That's a Doriaism.” Her voice bobbled, coming out in short blurts, as her torso bounced and she fought to keep upright and not injure his dick while she dug her knees into his waist.

  His hard-on survived.

  Once they were steady again, Mercy kissed his sun-warmed neck, which tasted of soap and smelled woodsy. “This is nice, but could you hit one of those smaller rocks for a bounce we can appreciate."

  He swerved the tractor. “This one's for you, babe."

  When the bounce hit, his erection tickled her G-spot with enough friction and force to send a thrumming sensation through her entire body.

  "More,” she demanded, eagerly.

  Soon he was driving erratically around the field, no longer dodging rocks but aiming for them. Talk ab
out rocking her world. And all the while, the hum of the motor and its vibrations increased the stimulating pleasure. The anticipation of not knowing when a rut would titillate her next only added to the exhilaration.

  Finally, Spence pulled up next to the fence. The tractor idled. A faint whiff of acrid gas and the smell of wildflowers mixed. Gripping her hips in his capable hands, he arched into her. As he bucked and she plunged onto his stiff cock, faster and firmer with each frenzied stroke, they both surrendered to their orgasms.

  Panting she collapsed against him, hugging his neck in her sticky arms. The sun beat hot on her back, perspiration trickled down her spine. Her breasts clung to his matted chest hairs.

  He heaved air into his lungs. “I'll never use a tractor again without thinking of you."

  She gasped. “Me either."

  He chuckled. “As if you'd ever."

  As their breathing evened, he took her face between his hands and kissed her mouth, gently, slowly. No urgency. The day stretched out like an endless summer.

  When he separated from her lips, he stared into her eyes. In the sunshine, his weren't as dark brown as usual. His lashes fluttered as he blinked against its brightness. The breeze tousled a lock of hair on his forehead, giving him a boyish, carefree appearance. The smell of wildflowers carried on the air. Along with the smell of man and sex and machinery.

  "If circumstances were different—"

  "But they're not,” she said lightly, not wanting to think about feelings or affections. She touched her hand to his shadowed jaw. “Don't feel as if you owe me explanations or accolades."

  He nodded, his eyes and brows speculative.

  Relieved, she reached behind her and handed him his shirt from the bedraggled pile of clothing. When he took it from her, she lifted herself from his lap to squeeze toward the fender and away from him.

  He slipped the T-shirt over his head, his muscles glistening in the sun, rippling with his motions. His hair was mussed and his shirt wrinkled but he looked good. Good enough to do again. Would she ever get enough of him? She heaved a sigh and watched as he peeled off the rubber and heeled off his boots to tug on his jeans.