Cowboy Trouble

by Joanne Kennedy

  "No, it was about Sara. Sara the slut. And she's still alive, trust me. Mike didn't kill her, even though she just about killed him, hurting his feelings like that. She hurt everybody she could. I guess it made her feel strong or something."

  "Sounds like you had your own go-round with Sara the Slut."

  "Yeah. I was young, and she was hot. We had a couple good times in the back of my pickup, and then she moved on. She always did."

  "The back of your pickup?"

  "Yeah—we have a kind of Lover's Lane here in Lackaduck, you know. Dirt road down by the river, with a pullout where the trees thin out and the moon shines through." He winked. "I'll show you sometime."

  He looked sideways at her, his lashes shrouding his green eyes. A picture popped up on her mental movie screen: the two of them in the bed of his pickup, stretched out on a blanket under the stars, crickets chirping in the summer night…

  She shut down the projector and looked away. "No need," she said lightly. "I can find it on my own."

  "With the sheriff?"

  "No, I intend to stay out of the back of his pickup," she said, laughing. "I'll try to keep that particular rela tionship a little more civilized."

  He was still smiling. "Let me know when you want to leave civilization behind, Libby." He ran his fingers up her arm again, and her insides turned to pudding. He was so hot, so male, and he was right there, right now, right when she needed him. He was always there when she needed him. Always. She could feel all her resolutions taking wing like startled sparrows.

  "I think you need to let loose a little, Libby. I think it's been a while, and you need a little wild time." His hand moved up her arm and swept the side of her breast. She shivered, and he must have noticed because he did it again. She couldn't help herself. She leaned forward and kissed him, gently at first, then harder.

  "I warned you," he said softly. "If you don't want something to happen…"

  Her hands reached out and caressed his hair, pulling him closer. She felt her heart skipping and stuttering, her resolve collapsing. She wanted something to hap pen. Wanted it desperately. Wanted it now.

  If the dogs hadn't chosen that moment to explode off the porch, barking maniacally, she would have gotten it, too.

  Chapter 23

  "DAMN." LUKE SLUMPED INTO A CHAIR, CRADLING HIS head in his hands as gravel crunched in the driveway. The pups rocketed past him and swirled around Libby, yapping frantically.

  "What is it, doggies? What's up?" she asked, opening the door. "It's the sheriff. Wonder what he wants?"

  "Same thing I do," Luke grumbled. "Probably not going to get it, though. Not with those mangy curs around."

  "I thought you cared deeply about my puppies."

  "Is that what you call them?" Luke didn't even try to look her in the eye. He focused a bit lower, then sa vored the blush that spread up from her chest to color her cheeks. "They're nice puppies." He glanced out the door to see Cash stepping out of his truck. "I'd better go," he said.

  "No." Libby grabbed his arm. "Stay."

  "Sit? Stay?" Luke fell back into his chair, and Libby darted over to whisper in his ear.

  "I don't want to be alone with him," she hissed.

  That was good news. Luke raised one eyebrow. "I thought you liked him."

  "I told you, I don't. Not like that."

  "I don't know. You seem a little… susceptible tonight."

  She laughed nervously. "You could say that."

  "I'd rather prove it," he said softly, reaching up to touch her hair.

  She turned away as the sheriff stepped up on the porch, his boots thumping the boards.

  "Hey, Cash," Libby said.

  "Heard you had an incident out here," Cash said, hitching up his belt and adjusting his holster, where a heavy revolver rested on his hip. He was in uniform to night. Luke wondered if he was on duty, or if he wore the whole getup to bed, like a kid with cowboy pajamas.

  "Stangerson ran some tests," the sheriff continued. "He gave me a call. Said he sent a sample of the stomach contents off to the state labs for confirmation." He was playing the part of the gruff lawman to the hilt. It was probably awkward for him, Luke thought, dealing with Libby on a professional basis after their date.

  Luke sure hoped so.

  "Is this an official visit, then?" Libby asked.

  "It is," Cash said.

  Libby had started to rise from her chair, but she sat back down. "No beer for you then."

  "Nothing else, either," Luke chimed in.

  "What? Oh, hi, Luke." Cash grimaced and shook Luke's hand. "I heard you found the sick canine."

  "The puppy. Yes." Luke's mouth tightened as he swallowed a smirk. "Actually, David found it."

  "David. David? What was he doing here?" Cash swung around to face Libby, scowling.

  "He's doing some work on my outbuildings," she said. "Painting, stuff like that."

  The sheriff bit his lip. "Libby, do you know anything about that guy? He's an unsavory character."

  "I know. You told me before," she said. "But he seems all right to me."

  "Come on, Cash," Luke said. "You know the guy's cleaned up his act."

  "Yeah," Cash admitted. "He hasn't been in trouble since he got out of the correctional facility. He was a mess, though. Hard to believe he can stay away from the stuff for long."

  Luke decided to leave that battle for another day. "Anyway, he found the puppy." He explained the cir cumstances as Cash took rapid notes on a small notepad, then turned to Libby.

  "Any idea who might have it in for your dogs? Or for you?"

  "No, I thought he just got into something," she said. "Rat poison or something."

  "That's not what Ron told me," Cash responded. "He says the dog was poisoned. Deliberately. Somebody fed him a nice juicy burger, laced with some kind of poison. Possibly arsenic."

  Libby sat down hard, anger and fear crossing her features in quick succession, followed by puzzlement. Burgers, in her mind, would always be associated with David now. But he would never hurt the puppies. Would he?

  "Who would do that?" she asked.

  "Who has it in for you, Libby?" Cash asked again. He cleared his throat. "Let me clarify that. Who was at your front door the other day, shouting threats at you?"

  Luke frowned. "Mike, right?"

  "That's right, Luke. Crazy Mike." The sheriff pointed a finger dramatically in Luke's direction. "You hit the nail on the head."

  "He might be right, Luke," Libby chimed in. "Mike said I'd be sorry. Maybe he poisoned Rooster as a warning."

  Luke leaned back in his chair, tilting it up on its back legs and rocking to ease his agitation. "I told you, Libby," he said. "Mike wouldn't do that. He loves animals."

  Cash snorted. "Yeah, loves 'em to death. Like that little dog he had. Like all the animals he cuts up and mounts."

  "We don't know for sure what happened to that dog," Luke said, drawing his brows low over his eyes. "And taxidermy is his job."

  "Mighty strange job for a so-called 'nice guy,'" Cash said. "I'm thinking I ought to pick him up for question ing. See if I can't get a warrant for his workshop. Check it out."

  "Hey." Now it was Luke's turn to point an accus ing finger at Cash. "You know you don't have probable cause to go harassing a handicapped guy." He glanced over at Libby. "I've got press connections," he said. "You try to railroad Mike into something, it'll be all over the paper."

  Cash looked at Libby too, obviously wondering who she'd support. Judging from her expression as she glanced from one to the other, she didn't know the an swer to that one herself.

  Luke knew he'd gone a long way toward easing her mind about Mike. The interview had helped too. You had to like the guy once you heard his guileless account of his weird artistic vision, and his obvious fondness, however misguided, for his subjects.

  But Mike had blown it with that crazy visit, and Cash had one distinct advantage: his badge. He was labeled as the good guy, sworn to serve and protect. As far as Luke could see,
Cash mostly served and protected his own image, but Libby didn't know him well enough yet to see how far the man's ego outweighed his duty as a lawman. She was looking down at her lap now, lacing and unlacing her fingers as she decided what to do. When she looked back up, it was Luke whose gaze she met, but her expression told him he'd lost this round.

  "He's dangerous, Luke," she said. "I know he's your friend, but he's dangerous."

  Luke blew out a long breath and brought the chair's front legs abruptly to the floor. "I understand how you feel, Libby," he said. "Mike was drunk the other night, and he scared you. He probably doesn't even remember what he did, but if I talk to him, he'll apologize. He really will, and he'll mean it."

  She nodded, but her eyes were filled with doubt.

  "Think about it," he continued. "If he wanted to hurt you, do you think that door would stop him?" He gestured toward her flimsy locks. "Do you think he couldn't have gotten in here?" He scooted the chair toward her. "Think about the guy's life, Libby. He's so alone. His parents are dead. The most companionship he gets is at the bar, where they call him names and treat him like a child."

  "But he gets these obsessions…" Cash began.

  "On women. Right." Luke turned to Cash and threw up his hands. "Of course he does. He's a man the same as you and me, right?" He propped his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his clasped hands, looking up at Libby, begging her to see things through Mike's eyes. "Men get—well, frustrated, Libby. I mean, I don't always act like I should, and don't think I'm not trying to behave. Think how it is for Mike." He turned to the sheriff. "He has the same needs as you and me, Cash. And he's never acted on them. Never."

  "That's what you think," Cash said. "But what about Della?"

  Luke jerked to his feet, fists clenched. "What about her? You don't have any reason to accuse him. Not really."

  "There's the way he was around her," Cash said. "You saw it. And how he kept asking about her afterwards."

  "Asking who?" Luke demanded. "He never asked me."

  "But then there's what I saw, Luke," Libby said. "Earlier. With the rabbits."

  "I explained that to you," Luke said, spinning to face her. "I thought you understood."

  "You made a good case," she said. "But so does Cash. I'm just not sure. I mean, Cash would know whether Mike would do something like this. He is the sheriff."

  "What makes you think that makes him qualified to judge Mike's character?" Luke asked. "He doesn't know him. Not at all." He glared at Cash. "He couldn't. Mike's scared shitless of him. Why is that, Cash? What did you do to him?"

  "I didn't do anything to him," Cash said. "Except put on this uniform. Maybe he's got a guilty conscience. And besides, he's the one person in this town that could have poisoned that dog."

  That was too much even for Libby. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Nobody saw Mike out here. We don't have any proof he was the one."

  "Not yet. But if the state confirms that it was arsenic poisoning—like Stangerson thinks—I'll pick him up for questioning."

  "Why?"

  "Do you know what taxidermists use to preserve animal skins?"

  "No. What?"

  "Arsenic."

  "Arsenic," Libby said. "Oh, no."

  Luke hissed out an exasperated sigh and headed for the door. "I'm out of here," he said, flailing one hand to ward Libby and Cash. "You two can trump up anything you want on our poor disturbed neighbor. I don't want any part of it. No part of it at all."

  He stomped out, letting the screen door slam behind him.

  Chapter 24

  TOO CLOSE TO TWO MEN IN ONE NIGHT, LIBBY THOUGHT, as the sheriff sat down in Luke's chair and took her hand in both of his. She tried to tug herself loose, but he pulled it toward him, eyeing her cuts and scrapes.

  "What have you been doing, Libby? Were you and Luke outside?"

  She remembered her appearance—the twigs in her hair, the scratches on her skin—and blushed. "No, I was in the woods. By myself. Then Luke came over."

  "I think something was going on when I came in."

  "Not really. Well, almost. But no."

  He sat back. "Good," he said. "Luke's a good guy, but he's not for you, Libby. Still living with his parents, pinning all his hopes on that ranch, when ranching's not a viable way of life anymore… he's not a good prospect."

  She pulled her hand away. "I'm not looking for a prospect, Cash. I'm looking for a friend, and Luke's a good one. So is David, as a matter of fact. And they don't go butting into my love life, like some people I know." She stood up and busied herself with the few remaining dishes, clattering them into the sink and squirting them with a shot of Palmolive.

  "Who said anything about your love life?"

  "You did. Talking about 'prospects.' You sound like my mother." She turned on the hot water.

  Suddenly, Cash was behind her, his hands on her shoulders. She twisted a dishrag into a glass, scrubbing hard, and took a step back, hoping to push him away, but he was solid as a wall at her back.

  "I'm not your mother," he said softly, his breath hot in her ear. The proof of his statement was pressing into the small of her back, making her very aware of her unfin ished business with Luke. He gently turned her shoulders until she faced him, her back pressed against the sink, her front pressed against—well, you know. She clutched the edge of the sink behind her with her wet, soapy hands.

  "I want to take care of you, Libby," he said. He was breathing heavily, his hands holding her shoulders a little too firmly.

  Libby ducked her head, glancing left and right. No escape.

  "Cash, no," she said. "I told you, I can take care of myself."

  He stepped back, but dropped his hands to hers, pry ing them away from the counter and clasping them in a fervent grip. Dishwater and soap bubbles dribbled to the floor as he struggled for words. "Libby, you're wrong," he said. "You're out here all alone, with nobody to pro tect you. What if Crazy Mike comes back? What if those vagrants show up? What if Luke gets the wrong idea? There's nobody here to protect you."

  She shook the bubbles from her hands and turned back to her dishes. "I don't need protecting, Cash," she said. "Especially not from Luke. If anything, he protects me more than you do."

  Even as she said it, she wondered if it was true. How well could Luke protect her when he believed the man who had come to her house and threatened her was some overgrown teddy bear?

  Cash got quiet. Very quiet. His silence lasted a beat too long, so Libby turned to see what was wrong. His face was flushed from some inner tension, and he was breathing hard as if trying to gain control. Obviously, the guy had a jealous streak.

  "You'd better go, Cash," she said warily.

  "I'll go. But I'll be watching out for you. And if some thing happens, I'm the one who'll be there to help you."

  "I know, Cash," she said, placating him. "I know you will. And I appreciate it, I really do. I just need to be on my own right now."

  "That's what you think," he said grimly, and stalked out the door.

  Chapter 25

  THE HOUSE WAS QUIET—TOO QUIET. LIBBY HAD MOVED to Lackaduck for the quiet country life, but sometimes she missed the city—and this was one of those times. All she could think about was her change purse in Mike's drawer, that crayon heart on the calendar. She needed distraction.

  She needed company, and maybe a drink. Maybe two.

  Throwing on a sparkly top and some jeans, she ran a brush through her hair. She was just admiring her tidy self in the mirror when the phone rang. The dogs scam pered into the room, barking, and frolicked around her legs, hampering her rush to the phone. She picked it up on the seventh ring.

  "Libby? Mary McCarthy. I hope it's not too late to call."

  "Oh, no. Not at all."

  "I have the numbers for those two girls. Della's friends." She rattled them off, and Libby jotted them down on the wipe-off board she'd hung near the back door.

  "So have you found anything?" Mary's voice sounded doubtful, but there was an
optimistic upturn at the end that made Libby wish she had something to offer.

  "Not really," Libby said. She paused, wondering how to get the information she needed without giving too much away. "I just have a couple of questions. First, what might have been in Della's purse? In case I find anything."

  "Well, she always had gum. Trident sugarless, usu ally. And she had a little hairbrush, and makeup—she usually used Cover Girl."