Cowboy Trouble

by Joanne Kennedy

  "Let me guess." Libby pointed an accusing finger. "You let them sleep with you, didn't you?"

  He hung his head. "They seemed so sad. They really wanted to come up on the bed. Rooster cried, and I was afraid he might be sick again."

  She rolled her eyes. "It's okay. I just appreciate you taking care of them. Any calls?"

  "You bet! Most of them from the sheriff."

  "What did he want?"

  "Wouldn't say. But he wanted it awfully bad." David smiled archly as he shrugged into his denim jacket.

  "Yeah, well, he's not getting it."

  "You have to call him back, though. I promised. If you don't, he'll think I forgot to tell you."

  "All right," Libby said. "You don't need trouble with the sheriff, do you? I'll call him."

  "Or not," David said. He jerked his head toward the road and she saw the town's lone cruiser making its way toward them, bouncing over the rocky road. She sighed. An encounter with Cash was the last thing she needed right now.

  "You okay on your own with him?" David asked. "I'll stay if you want."

  "No," she said. "You go ahead."

  She didn't have to tell him twice. Hopping on his bike, he pushed off and pedaled past the cruiser with a casual wave.

  She headed inside. She wasn't going to stand there waiting for Cash. He'd think he was welcome, and he wasn't. The guy was a jerk, and she wanted nothing more to do with him.

  She tossed her bag on the bed, then returned to the kitchen just as the sheriff tapped on the door. She opened it, but she didn't step aside to let him in.

  "I've been trying to get hold of you," he said. "I wanted to apologize."

  "No need," Libby said. She started to swing the door closed, but he propped his boot against it to hold it open.

  "I'm sorry for how I treated you the other night," he said, as if she hadn't even spoken. "I should have had more respect for what you do. I'm just not used to women like you, Libby. Most of the women I know do need protecting. I don't mean to make ex cuses, though. I wasn't treating you as an equal, and I should have."

  She could tell he'd rehearsed his apology. He sounded like a high school jock trying out for the class play.

  "You're more than an equal, Libby." He was talk ing fast, anxious to get to the end of his self-assigned script. "You've gone after this case, and I think you've uncovered things I never knew about, even though I've been investigating for two years. I want you to know that I do respect you, and I'd like to work together on this thing. Maybe, between the two of us, we can come up with an answer."

  "Whatever," she said. She started to close the door, but his foot was a maddeningly effective doorstop.

  "Can I come in? Can we talk it over?" He took a deep breath. "Look, I know I stepped over the line in other ways too," he said. "I just—I lost control the other night after our meeting. I can't tell you how sorry I am about that. How ashamed. I'm not the kind of guy that forces himself on a girl. I promise, I won't so much as touch you."

  She hesitated. If she could re-establish a good rela tionship with Cash—a professional relationship—he might give her some useful information. And it sounded like he was finally willing to talk about Della McCarthy. Willing to share what he knew.

  "I know you're not interested in me. Not—that way," he said. "And I'm sorry I didn't pick up on that sooner." He lifted both hands in the air. "I'll lay off. Really, I will. To be honest, I just don't get turned down very often." He grinned. "You're probably good for me. Knocking me down a peg or two. I think I needed it."

  She had to laugh.

  "Okay." She stepped aside to let him in. "Long as you understand that."

  He settled into a chair at the kitchen table and an awkward silence settled between them. "So what's your next move on the Della thing?" he finally asked. "How can I help?"

  "Well, I went to Billings and talked to Larissa," she said. "Next comes Brandy."

  "Della's other friend?"

  "Yeah. Larissa said Della didn't share her secrets with her. It sounds like she was too judgmental to in spire confidence. But I think Brandy was different."

  "That's putting it mildly." He grinned.

  "What do you mean?"

  "She's different, all right. From what I've heard, Brandy marches to her own drum, and it's got a pretty crazy beat. Listen, you mind if I come along?"

  Her mind flashed back to the trip to Billings with Luke—the forced intimacy of the truck cab, the trip through the hailstorm, the night in the Sleepaway Inn. She wasn't about to risk that kind of situation with Cash, no matter what kind of promises he made.

  "I'm okay on my own," she said.

  "It's not a long drive. And I can fill you in on some details on the way down," he said. "Some stuff I didn't release to the papers."

  He'd found her tipping point. Putting up with Cash for a few hours was a small price to pay for exclusive in formation. And Cheyenne was less than an hour away.

  She'd go, she decided. It would be fine.

  She'd be perfectly safe.

  Chapter 31

  LIBBY PUTTERED AROUND THE KITCHEN UNTIL ALMOST midnight. The busy work kept her mind off Luke and what had happened the night before. It also helped her forget what hadn't happened this morning—how he hadn't kissed her. Hadn't touched her. How he'd acted like they were nothing but road trip buddies, and com pletely ignored the tremors that had rocked them the night before.

  She felt like she'd survived an earthquake that had shaken her world to its core, then woken up to find ev erything back in its place, broken crockery miraculously returned whole to its cupboards, collapsed walls rebuilt as if they'd never fallen.

  But they had fallen. And deep inside, they were riddled with cracks. She'd have to work twice as hard now to keep them standing.

  She finally decided she was tired enough to sleep. She was worried Luke would play a starring role in her dreams, but the puppies weren't going to allow her to have any kind of dreams at all. She'd herded them into their crate beside the bed, like usual, but they were used to sleeping with David and they weren't about to settle down until she gave in and let them join her.

  She wasn't giving in. After all, they weren't her dogs for good. She was going to find homes for them one of these days, and they'd settle in with their new owners much more easily if they learned to behave themselves. She chided them when they whimpered, then decided even that was probably making it worse; dogs are gratified by any response at all, even an angry one. So she tried ignoring them, but that was impossible. Five weeping, whimpering puppies and a mother dog who howls like a coyote were hard to ignore. She got up and pulled on her bathrobe.

  "Come on, guys," she said sternly. "You're sleeping in the barn."

  They bounced happily out the door, convinced they were going on a late-night family adventure. Libby was sure it was a rude shock for them when she pulled the barn door shut and went back to bed.

  She slid herself under the still-warm blankets, con gratulating herself on ensuring a good night's sleep. Opening one eye, she checked the glowing numbers on her digital alarm clock. Two a.m. She turned over and snuggled her head into the pillow. She'd get six hours of sleep if she was lucky.

  Half an hour later, the howling started up again, accom panied by staccato barks from Penny. Libby punched her pillow and swore. David had really spoiled those puppies. It could take weeks to break them of their bad habits. She could hear Penny flinging herself against the barn door as the puppies swung into a rousing choral number. Libby jammed the pillow over her head and prayed for silence.

  A loud bang made her throw the pillow aside and sit up. That hadn't come from the barn. It sounded like it came from the kitchen. There was a deep moan, then a shuffling noise that seemed to come from the front hall. Someone or something was in her house.

  Hiding under the covers and hoping the boogeyman went away was one option, but she needed to find out what was making all that racket. After all, there might be a perfectly reasonable explanation. Maybe
Luke had seen her car and dropped Ivan off. Or maybe a bear had gotten into the house. The high plains of Wyoming didn't seem like a likely place to find bears, but you never knew. The news was full of stories of wild ani mals invading towns and cities. It was also full of stories about lone women being murdered in their beds, but Libby didn't want to think about that.

  Could bears climb stairs? She'd heard somewhere that cows couldn't. If it was a bear, maybe it couldn't get to her. Maybe she was safest staying where she was.

  Still, she'd better be ready. She grabbed her flash light and swung her legs out of bed. The flashlight was huge—a heavy sheath packed with four D batteries that would knock an intruder clear to Colorado if she hit him right. She floundered into her bathrobe and slid her feet into her bunny slippers. Bare feet somehow make you feel vulnerable, and she needed all the cour age she could muster. Even pink bunny courage was better than nothing.

  "Ow! Damn!" Whatever was downstairs was no bear. It wasn't Ivan, either, unless hanging out with Luke had driven him to swearing.

  Cocking the flashlight like a Louisville slugger, Libby crept toward the head of the stairs and peered down into the dimness. A dark shadow shuffled across the hall.

  "I know you're here," whispered a strangely familiar voice in a menacing sing-song. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

  Libby ducked back into the bedroom, her heart thrashing like a grounded trout. Whoever was down there sounded completely insane. She suddenly regretted her single-minded pursuit of Della's case. Obviously, whoever had caused her disappearance was in Libby's house, ready to put a stop to her investigation.

  Her mind was spinning fast and getting nowhere. The phone was in the kitchen, beyond the hall where the intruder was stumbling through the darkness. Her cell phone was in her purse, and her purse was in the kitchen too. She could scream, but no one would hear her. She was more than half a mile from Luke's house, and he was her only neighbor.

  She pressed her back against the wall and glanced around the room. The windows were all firmly sealed with four generations of white enamel paint. She'd have to make it down the stairs and out the front door.

  The dogs' barking arced into a dramatic crescendo, drowning out the creaking boards as she crept down the stairs. They covered the sounds of the intruder too, but she was pretty sure he'd moved on to the living room. Maybe she could make it across the hall. She paused at the foot of the stairs, squinting into the darkness.

  There was heavy thud in the living room. It sounded like furniture overturning—the sofa, maybe, or her read ing chair. Glass shattered next, as her uninvited visitor knocked over the floor lamp.

  "Ow! Ow-oooo!"

  Her heart fluttered up into her throat as she recog nized the last line of Crazy Mike's rabbit puppet show. There was an insane taxidermist in her house, and he was looking for her. She took a deep breath and made a rush for the door, then turned the knob and pulled. Nothing. The door wouldn't budge. As she flailed at the deadbolt, Mike rushed across the room and flung himself at her.

  "Oh, no you don't!" he shouted, his high-pitched voice rising with excitement. "You're not getting away. I'm going to catch you, and everyone will know. Everyone will know what you're really like!"

  He slammed into her with a lineman's tackle, knock ing the flashlight out of her hands and throwing both of them to the floor. His arms were wrapped around her legs. She struggled to free herself, trying to kick him in the face, and flailed her arms in a desperate imitation of a snow angel. The heavy metal flashlight rolled away from the tips of her fingers.

  "No you don't!" he squeaked. He reached up and grabbed her right arm, twisting it behind her. For a second, his grip on her legs loosened and she kicked out fiercely, slamming her foot into the door. Then the pain in her shoulder immobilized her. She wanted to scream, but fear had taken her breath away, and she could only whimper.

  "Go ahead, cry, asshole," yelled her assailant. "You'll have plenty to cry about when everyone finds out you were here. Everyone's going to know you were sneaking around. Everyone's going to know you're a bad guy. A bad, bad guy."

  "You… bad guy," Libby said hoarsely, her voice muffled by the doormat. He was on top of her, pinning her to the floor. "You…"

  "Libby!" he bellowed in her ear. Now her head hurt too. "Call somebody, Libby! I got him, right here! He was in your house, Libby! I got him!"

  She lifted her head from the damp doormat.

  "I am Libby!" she spluttered. "What are you doing?"

  "Libby?" He released the pressure on her arm and she sat up. "Libby?"

  "Yes, Libby!" she shouted, rising to her knees. "Libby, Libby, Libby! Who the hell did you think I was?" She reached up and hit the light switch.

  "Oh my God," Mike groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Oh my God. I'm so sorry, Libby. He got away. I thought you were him."

  She stood unsteadily, rubbing her sore arm. Crazy Mike crouched on the floor, rocking back and forth, moaning.

  "Who got away? What on earth were you thinking?" She could hardly resist the urge to slap him. Every ounce of adrenaline in her body was flooding her veins, and her fear was gone.

  "I thought you were the sheriff, Libby," he said. "I'm sorry. I thought you were him, sneaking around your house. I knew he was here. I wasn't going to let him hurt you."

  "He was here, Mike, but he went home. And he didn't hurt me. He's the sheriff, remember? You're the one who hurt me. And now I'm going to call him, and he's going to come and get you."

  The big man burst into tears. "Please don't, Libby. Please." He grabbed the hem of her robe. "Please don't call him! You don't know what he'll do. You don't understand!"

  Libby kicked his hands away and headed for the phone in the kitchen. She'd just started to dial when she heard the door slam.

  Crazy Mike was gone.

  Chapter 32

  THE RED AND BLUE LIGHTS OF CASH'S CRUISER splashed the ceiling and walls as he and his deputies sur veyed Libby's demolished living room. The victim herself hunched in a spindly dinette chair, wrapped in a blanket. Cash barked orders while one of the deputies snapped photos of the overturned furniture and broken lamp.

  Satisfied they were recording the evidence correctly, he strode over to the table and stood in front of Libby. "Are you all right?" he asked.

  "I can't stop shaking," she said. "I'm so cold."

  "You're in shock, and no wonder," he growled. "You're lucky to be alive. Who knows what was going through that lunatic's head when he snuck in here and attacked you?"

  "He said he thought I was you. He had some crazy idea you were in the house, and he was looking for you. He thought you were going to hurt me."

  Libby looked up at Cash, her eyes glistening with tears. He frowned. He'd had enough of Crazy Mike. More than enough. He'd find him, and he'd make him pay for this.

  Libby shuddered, and he realized she thought his scowl was meant for her. Clearing his expression, he knelt down and took her hand. He'd promised not to touch her just hours before, but all the rules had changed now.

  "I'd never hurt you, Libby. He's crazy. You know that."

  "I'm just so scared," she said.

  Finally. She'd been so sure she could handle this situation on her own. Now maybe she'd admit he was right. He reached out to stroke her hair, but she ducked her head. He wasn't sure if she was trying to avoid his touch, or if she was just so frightened she didn't know what she was doing. There was only one way to find out, but that would have to wait. Once this was over, she'd be grateful to him for rescuing her, and she'd probably want to thank him with something more than words.

  His stomach clenched with excitement at the thought. He clasped his hands to keep from touching her again.

  "We'll find him, and we'll lock him up," he said. "You'll never have to worry about him again." He turned to go.

  "You're not leaving, are you?"

  He sighed. "I had to call Luke. He's on his way over. I can't stay, Libby." He dropped his tone to a whisper. "No ma
tter how much I want to."

  He circled her shoulders with one arm. She felt aw fully stiff—almost rigid in his embrace. Maybe she was a little bit of a prude. Needed to loosen up a little.

  Or maybe she was just scared.

  "But Luke doesn't realize Crazy Mike's dangerous," she said. "If he comes back…"

  "He won't," Cash said. "I'll see to that." He felt a thrill of triumph. Luke wasn't her savior anymore. That was his job. And once he found Crazy Mike, he'd have the job for good. "I wish I could stay, but I'll be back, okay? As soon as we get him, I'll be back."

  ***

  Luke climbed out of the pickup and stared at Libby's house. The blue and red lights of two police cars strobed across the worn clapboards, and every light was blazing. He felt his stomach twist with shame. He shouldn't have left her alone.