Cowboy Trouble

by Joanne Kennedy

  "What about a wallet? Or a change purse?"

  "Yes, she had a set I gave her. A wallet, a little change purse with a gold clasp, and an address book. Blue leather."

  Blue leather. A sick feeling surged in Libby's stomach.

  "Why?" Mary asked. "Did you find a purse?"

  Libby kept her tone light, but it was an effort. "No, I just thought that was the kind of thing that… that might be likely to turn up, that's all. Oh, and when was her birthday?"

  "July seventeenth," Mary said.

  "Okay. Thanks. I'll be in touch."

  Libby hung up and leaned against the wall, waiting for a dizzy spell to pass. She pictured her own change purse, nestled in Mike's drawer right beside Della's, and remembered the crayon heart scrawled on the calendar. In her mind, the heart seemed to pulse, a danger signal.

  Now she really needed a drink.

  ***

  There was a pool tournament in progress when she got to the Roundup, and the place was packed. Smoke hung in the air above the pool tables, drifting in the dim light while a posse of cowboys smacked the balls around. Crystal was behind the bar, her hands busy mixing drinks, her eyes shining as she flirted with a tall cow boy in a black Stetson. The various conversations in the room blended into a muffled hum punctuated by the al ternating cheers and groans of the pool players. Libby shouldered her way up to the bar and ordered

  a vodka tonic, then snagged one of the last empty bar stools and downed the drink in record time. She wasn't sure what had gotten into her, but she felt like throwing caution to the Wyoming winds and enjoying herself. Somehow, the vision of her change purse, right there beside Della's like they belonged together, made her uncomfortably conscious of her own mortality.

  "Hey." Cash was approaching, two drinks in his hands. One of them looked suspiciously like another vodka tonic.

  Damn. She'd been worried she'd run into Crazy Mike, or maybe Luke, who was probably still mad at her. It hadn't occurred to her she'd have to fend off the sheriff.

  Cash handed her the drink, then settled onto the stool beside her and gave her a smile that was probably meant to be seductive, but came off simply smug. "I got those test results," he said. "Positive for arsenic."

  She wobbled a little on her stool, and it wasn't just the vodka. Facts were starting to come together, and they all pointed in the same direction: straight toward the guy who'd stolen her change purse and kept it like a souvenir.

  "So did you talk to him?"

  "Not yet."

  "But you said you'd call him in for questioning."

  "I was jumping the gun, Libby. I'm sorry."

  "So Luke was right?"

  "Luke's always right," said a voice behind her. "Didn't you know that?"

  It was Luke, standing so close behind her she could smell the scent of starch and fabric softener wafting from his shirt. It reminded her of clean sheets. She shook that connection out of her head. She and Luke and clean sheets would probably never meet. The last time she'd seen him, he'd stormed out of her house, furi ous because she was siding with Cash against his friend Mike, and now she was with Cash again. And much as she wanted to believe Luke, she was even more certain now that Crazy Mike had something to do with Della's disappearance.

  She wished she had a "Team Luke" T-shirt. She didn't know how else to let him know she was on his side in all the ways that counted.

  "Hi," she said, feeling awkward.

  "Hi." His smile was easy, friendly. "Want a drink?"

  She smiled back. "Got one," she said, lofting the one Cash had brought, then stared in wonder at the half melted ice cubes rattling in the remaining half inch of booze. She really was in a dangerous mood.

  "I guess I could use another one, though," she said. "Maybe just a 7-Up."

  Luke stepped closer to the bar and set one hand on the counter, waiting for Crystal to finish flirting with her cowboy. His other hand was still on Libby's shoulder. He smiled down at her, and it was the smile of a man who didn't hold a grudge. They both held the gaze a beat too long, and she had an almost overwhelming urge to lean back against him, rest her head on his chest, and heave out a huge sigh of relief.

  Cash glowered from the stool beside her, then waved toward Crystal, who had her hand on the cowboy's arm now, and was earnestly explaining something to him.

  "Yo, Crystal," he yelled. "Over here!"

  A shadow of annoyance crossed Crystal's face, but

  she'd put her dimples back on by the time she made it to the end of the bar. "What'll it be, Sheriff?"

  "Bud Light for me and a vodka tonic for the lady." He turned to Libby. "See? Some of us around here know how to get things done."

  ***

  Luke made a faint gagging noise and felt Libby lean into him, stifling a giggle as Crystal handed her yet another tall drink. She'd wanted a 7-Up, but Cash had obviously missed that part. The sheriff got things done all right, Luke thought. Too bad they were all the wrong things.

  "Busy tonight," Cash said, oblivious to his own clue lessness. "Everybody's here."

  "I don't see Mike," Libby said.

  "Don't you worry about him, now." Cash inched closer to her, tossing Luke a dirty look. "You're with me. He won't bother you."

  Luke scowled. She wasn't with Cash. She'd come in by herself. He'd seen her arrive, and he'd struggled like a salmon striving for the spawning grounds to make it through the crowd to her side. Cash had beaten him to that barstool, but that didn't mean he was a better fish, or a stronger one. It just meant he'd hit a more favorable current.

  "I'm just surprised Mike's not here," Libby said. She tossed her hair. "I'm not worried. I'm not scared of him or anything."

  "Well, good," Luke said. "'Cause there he is."

  Mike shoved through the swinging door labeled "Bulls." He looked worn out, and Luke wondered how long he'd been up the night before. His hand was bandaged with an old rag. Blood had seeped through around the thumb, and the knuckles were gray with dirt.

  He caught sight of Luke and started to make his way through the crowd, his smile widening when he saw Libby.

  "Libby," he said. "And Luke. Luke and Libby." He giggled, the high-pitched chortle oddly mismatched to his hulking frame. He was making slow but steady progress through the crowd until he stopped suddenly about ten feet away. His smile flickered and died. "No, Libby!" he said loudly. "No!" He turned abruptly and headed the other way.

  Libby turned to Luke and shrugged. "Am I having a bad hair day? Or is it my outfit?"

  "Neither one," Cash said. "He's crazy." The sheriff put on his best lawman expression. Luke had seen it before. It made the guy look constipated. "Libby, you need to be careful," the sheriff said. "You know Mike could have poisoned your dog. He might really have it in for you. Why do you insist on getting involved with all these dangerous people? First David, now Crazy Mike—I don't get it."

  "I'm a reporter, Cash," Libby said. "I'm just doing my job."

  "I've told you everything you need to know about Crazy Mike, Libby. Remember what I told you about his dog?"

  "I remember." She toyed with her glass, making damp circles on the bar. "But I wanted to ask him something."

  "That's my job," Cash said. "You need to stay away from Mike. Now tell me what you wanted to ask him, and I'll do what needs to be done." He looked down at her as if she was a fractious but adorable child. "You need to keep your pretty little self out of this kind of trouble."

  He poked her nose with his index finger, and Libby looked like she was about to bite it off. Instead, she rose from her stool, probably so Cash couldn't look down on her anymore. Not physically, anyway. He was making it pretty obvious he'd always look down on her when it came to just about everything else. Luke felt like jumping off his stool and doing an end-zone victory dance.

  "My pretty self isn't in any trouble at all, Cash," she said. She downed the rest of her drink. "Matter of fact, my pretty self is about to solve the case you've been working on for two years. I know where there's evi dence tha
t'll just about clinch it." Picking up her purse, she headed for the door.

  "Wait a minute." Cash spun his stool and called after her. "You can't tell me that and then just leave!"

  "Sure I can, Cash. I'm a very capable woman. I can do whatever I want."

  Libby swung through the saloon doors and inhaled a deep dose of cool night air. Luke was right behind her.

  "You are, indeed, a very capable woman," he said. "I'm impressed."

  "With what?"

  "Your stunning ability to put Cash McIntyre in his place," he said. "You have no idea how much I enjoyed that."

  She laughed. "What is it with you two, anyway? You're like two dogs fighting over a bone."

  He looked down at her, smiling. "Exactly."

  "Well, what's the—oh," she said. "I'm not the bone, am I?"

  "I wouldn't have put it that way," he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "You're more like a really nice squeaky toy."

  "Thanks," she said. "I think."

  The gravel crunched under their feet as the jukebox music faded and the sounds of the night took over—a lone cricket chirping, the faint whistle of a train in the distance. Libby caught her toe on a rock and stumbled a little. Luke grabbed her arm.

  "Whoa," he said. "Careful."

  "Sorry." She shook her head. "Don't know what was in that drink. I only had two, or maybe it was three. I'm not sure." She giggled. "I feel like I had six."

  "That means Crystal likes you," Luke said. "Say it with Smirnoff—that's her motto."

  Libby laughed. "That's nice of her, but I'm not sure I can drive."

  "Want me to take you home?

  "I guess you'd better. Sorry."

  "Oh, don't be," he said. "I'm not."

  ***

  Libby climbed up into Luke's truck and fastened her seat belt. He swung up beside her and cranked the igni tion.

  "So," he said. "Where to?"

  "Um, home?"

  He gave her a sideways glance. "We could always stop somewhere. Remember I told you about Lover's Lane?"

  "No," she said reluctantly. "I'd better go home."

  "Okay," he said. "I was just kidding, you know. I wouldn't take advantage of you in your inebriated state."

  "I am not inebriated!" she protested. "I just felt kind of… funny once we got out to the parking lot, that's all."

  The truth was, she'd felt more than funny. Once she and Luke had left the noise of the bar behind, she'd felt dizzy with something much more potent that the drinks. It was desire, pure and simple. It was like that song they played on the radio: I know who I want to take me home… I know who I want…

  "I could take you on a little tour, though," he said. He looked at her like he wanted to take a very private tour—maybe an in-depth exploration of the terrain under her clothes.

  A flutter of arousal stirred inside her. She pictured the two of them in the back of the truck, his hands moving slowly over her body, slipping under her clothes, sliding over her skin.

  She glanced back at the bed of the truck. Yup. There was plenty of room back there.

  Luke must have mistaken her backward glance for nervousness. "It's okay," he said. His voice sounded forced, almost choked. "Sorry. I'll take you home."

  They bounced along in the dark, glancing nervously at each other from time to time, the air in the truck cab seeming to warm and thicken with every mile. Finally, Luke set one hand on her thigh. The warmth of it spread over her body like syrup over hot buttered pancakes.

  "Do you still feel funny?" he asked.

  She nodded. "A little."

  He moved his hand higher on her leg. She cleared her throat. "A lot, now. It's… it's a good kind of funny."

  "Yeah," he said. "I feel it too."

  His hand stroked her leg, his touch nervous, full of suppressed excitement. "Maybe I shouldn't be driv ing, either."

  "Maybe not," she said in a whisper. "Pull over."

  He steered onto the shoulder and stopped the truck, and suddenly she was in his arms. There were no careful kisses this time, no tentative touches. His hands were everywhere, his lips insistent, his body hot and hard. She kissed him back, releasing her own pent up tension in a flood of passion, and he upped the ante even more, pushing her down on the seat, pulling her beneath him, tugging at her T-shirt and ducking his head to mouth her breasts through the thin cotton of her bra. She arched her back to offer herself to him and he pulled the fabric aside with one hand while the other slipped under the waistband of her jeans. She felt herself softening, slick ening, warming to his touch as he sucked and licked and fondled and stroked, and she threw her head back and gave herself up to him. What harm could one wild night do? They were both drunk, or at least they could say they were. And she'd wanted this for so long.

  "Make love to me," she said. "Please."

  ***

  Need spiraled through Luke, pushing into his mind, urg ing him to expose every inch of the woman beneath him, lick and suck and fondle her, everywhere, all at once. He was so lost in desire he almost didn't hear her.

  "Please, Luke," she said again. She unsnapped her jeans and wriggled them down her hips to reveal a flowery pair of barely-there panties that clung to the dampness between her legs. She pressed his hand there and flexed her hips. She was soft, wet, ready, and way more than willing.

  He'd always known he'd make love to this woman, but he wanted their first encounter to be different from this. He intended it to be planned, orchestrated, arranged—perfect. But one look at her half-naked body sprawled on the bench seat shattered his self-control into a million pieces. He needed to touch her, to taste her, to set her rocking and moaning and begging for more, to fill her up and empty himself, to leave them both gasp ing and fighting for breath.

  "Make love to me," she said again.

  His senses were filled with her—the scent of her per fume blending with the sound of her voice, soft, husky, urging him on. Her secret self was laid out beneath him like a gift, and the look in her eyes begged him to take what he'd wanted from the first time he'd seen her. There was only a shred of cotton between his hand and the heart of her.

  A shred of cotton and one last scruple.

  He took a deep breath and forced himself back to reality—back to the truck cab, the ancient, stained up holstery, the scarred dashboard.

  "Not here," he said. "Let me take you home. And then…"

  "No," she said, pulling him toward her, whispering. "If you take me home, I'll think about it too much, and I'll change my mind. I don't want to think about it, Luke. I just want to do it." She tugged his shirt open and let her fingernails rake gently over his chest. "Now," she said. "Please."

  He looked down at her, one more time. Maybe he could memorize exactly how she looked in this mo ment—exactly how it felt to have her under him, naked and willing.

  Because it would probably never happen again.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "We can't. It's not right."

  "What?" She grabbed his collar and pulled his face close to hers. "No. Please, Luke." She flexed her hips into his, the pressure sending a wave of need straight to his core. "Now."

  "Libby, no," he said. "We can't do this. If you'd change your mind in the time it takes to get home, you'll change your mind afterwards, too. I don't want to be something you regret."

  "I wouldn't… oh." She took a deep breath and let it out. The misty look in her eyes cleared. "Oh," she said again. "Maybe you're right."

  "I don't want this to be once and done, Libby. I want it to be…"

  What did he want it to be? Forever?

  Forever.

  But he couldn't say that. Not now. Not here.

  She sighed and pulled her clothes back into place, shimmied her jeans up her thighs and over her hips. He looked down at his lap, trying to give her privacy, but his eyes kept sliding her way, watching the magic king dom shut down for the night.

  "It's not that I don't want to," he said. "Okay?"

  She stared out the window. "Okay," she sa
id.

  But she didn't sound like she meant it. It wasn't okay, and he knew it. It wasn't okay to tell a woman no when she offered herself to you like that. It wasn't okay to reject a woman who'd already been bashed around by clueless men, damaged and hurt and wounded.

  But it wasn't okay to take advantage of a girl who'd had a few too many drinks, either.

  What the hell was he supposed to do?

  Chapter 26

  LIBBY WAS UP EARLY THE NEXT DAY, CHUCKING FEED AT the chickens so hard the birds scattered like quail dodging buckshot. She ordered the dogs around like a bad-tem pered drill sergeant until Penny herded all her babies under the bed, and scrambled the morning eggs so fran tically the froth rivaled a French meringue.