Cowboy Trouble

by Joanne Kennedy

  "So you're telling me…"

  "It was Mike who shot Cash, Libby," Luke said.

  "After Cash shot me?"

  Luke shook his head. "He didn't shoot you, hon. He never got the chance."

  "I saved you, Libby," Mike said cheerfully.

  "What?" Nothing was making any sense.

  "It's true," Luke said. "Those gunshots were Mike's. He got Cash just as he was about to pull the trigger on you."

  "But—but you disappeared," Libby said to Mike. "After you, um, broke into my house."

  "I was hiding," Mike said. "In the woods, out behind Cash's place." He hung his head. "I'm sorry I scared you, Libby. But I was so afraid the sheriff would hurt you. That's why I guarded you."

  "That's why you were in my house."

  "That's right. I thought he was there. And, I don't know, I'd been thinking about it a whole lot, and Luke says sometimes I go overboard about stuff. I thought he was there, and I knew, I just knew he was going to hurt you. So I came in and I was waiting for him. Then when you came up behind me, I thought you were him." He sighed. "Luke says I gotta lay off the Mickey Spillane. He says it's going to my head."

  "But how did you know Cash was a bad guy?" Libby asked.

  "I knew about him and Della," Mike said. "I told him I was going to tell. So he killed my little dog, my Barney, and he said he'd kill me too if I told."

  "Oh, Mike. He told me you killed the dog," Libby said. "But he couldn't have killed you."

  Mike stared down at the floor. "He killed Barney. And he could have put me in jail. He did, once, to show me what it was like. I didn't like it in jail, Libby. I didn't want to go back. So I couldn't tell. Then he poisoned your dog. The puppy."

  She couldn't bear to tell Mike she'd thought he was responsible for that too. But he knew.

  "He tried to make you think I did it. He took my stuff, the stuff in the bottle, so you'd think it was me."

  She remembered how quickly Cash laid the blame for Rooster's poisoning with Mike. He'd promised to pick up Mike for questioning if the toxicology tests said arsenic. But he never did.

  "Nothing's more important to me than proving Crazy Mike killed Della," he'd said. "Nothing."

  No wonder. If he "proved" Mike killed Della, no one would ever uncover his secret. Everyone would stop looking.

  Even Libby.

  "So when I saw the dogs running loose, I could tell something wasn't right. And I grabbed my gun and I came in and I shot him." He grinned. "Those little dogs saved you."

  "No, Mike. You did," she said, dredging up a faint smile. "You're the good guy," she told him. "Just like in your books. You're the one who rescued the dame."

  "I know," he said, squirming with pleasure. "So are you going to write about it? In the paper? With my picture?"

  She smiled. "I sure am," she said. "I think The Holler might sell a lot of papers that day."

  "Heck, you should write a book," Luke said.

  "I should," she said. "I could."

  "You have all the stories," Mike said. "From my folder. I kept all the stories about Della."

  Libby looked over at Luke. "That explains it," she said. "It was Mike's folder."

  Mike nodded enthusiastically. "Luke said we shouldn't tell it was mine. He said you'd think I was ob… obstressed. But it'll help you write the book."

  A surge of excitement surfaced from Libby's drugged lethargy, leaving her dizzy and weak. "I was right in the middle of the story," she said.

  "You sure were." The light went out of Luke's eyes. "But that never should have happened. I should have followed my instincts. I should have warned you about Cash."

  "And said what? That the guy gave you the creeps and you didn't know why?" Libby shrugged, then winced as a jolt of pain zipped up her arm. "I wouldn't have listened."

  She looked up at a rap on the door frame to see David framed in the doorway. "You would have listened to me," he said. Josie stood beside him, her gray eyes sol emn. "Because I knew."

  "You knew Cash killed Della?" she said. "And you didn't tell?"

  First excitement, now anger. Her head was spinning, and the concussion was the least of her problems.

  David ducked his head, and Josie put her arm around his shoulders and gave him a quick squeeze. The chef breathed deep, then released his confession in a rush of words.

  "I knew she'd, um, spent time with him. I didn't realize how long it went on, though. I told her to stay away from him." He sat down, hands shaking slightly. "I thought she ended it. She told me she wouldn't see him again. She promised."

  "Della was a good friend," Josie said. "But she liked to keep secrets. Even from the people who cared about her."

  "When she disappeared, I tried to tell myself it couldn't have been him," David continued. "I thought she'd kept her promise. I wanted to believe her." He hung his head. "And I sure didn't want to go up against the sheriff. I knew he'd find a way to get me if I told. I'd end up back in prison, Libby." He slumped his shoulders. "If I'd known what would happen, I'd have told, and to heck with the consequences. You have to believe me, Libby. I'd have gone back gladly if I'd known it would save Della."

  "It's not your fault, David," Libby said, reaching for his hand. He squeezed hers, and she squeezed back. "She made her own choices." She smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "Women just don't listen."

  "You can say that again," Luke said.

  Mike was standing awkwardly by the door, shifting from one foot to the other. "I gotta go," he said. "Stuff to do at home."

  "Well, thanks, Mike." The words sounded weak after all that had happened, but they were the best Libby could do. "Thanks so much."

  He waved away her gratitude and grinned. "Okay."

  "Come see me again."

  "I will."

  "Mike." Luke's voice was low and stern. "Didn't you forget something?"

  Mike hung his head and nodded. Digging in his back pocket, he pulled out Libby's change purse. "I'm sorry," he said. "I—I don't know why I do it. I just like to have stuff—you know, from people I like. So I can kind of be with them. When I get lonesome." He glanced over at Luke. "I'm going to stop doing it, though. It's kind of crazy, I guess. That's what Luke says."

  Libby took the coin purse from his outstretched hand. "It's okay, Mike. I understand."

  And she did. She knew about being lonesome. She looked down at the puppies lying across her lap and remembered how they'd helped ease the isolation when she'd first come to Lackaduck. Hoisting Rooster up into the air, she gave him a quick kiss on the nose, then handed him to Mike.

  "Here," she said. "He's yours, Mike. That way you won't be so lonesome anymore, and you won't have to take stuff."

  She'd expected Mike to grab the puppy and run, but he actually recoiled. Maybe she'd misjudged him. Maybe he didn't want another dog after what had hap pened to Barney.

  "Aren't you afraid I'll hurt him?" he asked.

  Libby shook her head. "I know you'll take good care of him."

  "Wow." Mike reached out and gently took the dog, then stared down at the little animal as if he'd been given a Fabergé egg or an honorary degree from Harvard. "Thank you." He clasped the puppy gently to his chest and his voice dropped to a whisper. "I love him already." He shuffled out of the room, his broad shoulders hunched, his head bowed over his new best friend.

  "We're out of here too." David patted her leg. "We just—I needed to see you were okay. And we wanted to tell you, Josie and me—we're—we're good. We're together."

  Josie smiled, and for a moment Libby remembered the snapshot of the teenaged Josie Wales grinning through her braces, sunny and confident, her whole life in front of her.

  "Life's too short, you know? Too short to put things off." Josie took a deep breath, and her voice barely shook as she said, "Della taught me that."

  Libby watched the two of them leave, feeling very, very small. "I was so wrong about everything," she said.

  "You couldn't help it." Luke patted her hand. "You had Cash around, f
illing your mind with garbage, telling you lies."

  "I didn't have to believe him."

  Penny jumped up onto the sofa and wriggled her way between them. They sat quietly, stroking her soft fur.

  "That was a good thing you did for Rooster," Luke said. "And for Mike. But I wonder how the rest of the dogs will be with the horse."

  "Horse?"

  He grinned. "According to Ron Stangerson, you have a very delicate, um, backside, or something like that."

  "What? Oh, yeah. I told him I wanted a Paso Fino."

  "Well, now you've got one."

  Libby snapped upright, ignoring the pain in her head. "What?"

  "Skydancer needed a home, so he and Glenda trucked him over here. He's out in that little stable David fixed up for you. He's calmed down a lot, but he's still scared to go outside. Cash kept him hidden so long he's scared of the sky. He let me touch him today, though."

  Libby felt tears burn behind her eyes. "Will he be okay?"

  Luke nodded. "It's going to take some time, but yeah. He'll learn to trust people again."

  Libby remembered the desperate, panicked animal racing through Cash's barn, slick with sweat, crazed with terror. "I don't know how to help him," she whispered.

  "He'll be fine," Luke said. "You two can heal to gether." He stroked his fingers through her hair. "You'll help each other, and I'll help you both."

  Libby nodded, picturing Skydancer pacing her pad dock, his hooves flashing in that unique, twinkle-toed gait. She imagined riding him, gliding across the endless plains outside her window, getting to know where the birds nested, learning the placement of every rock and tree. Maybe then the land would really belong to her, and more important, she'd belong to the land.

  She must have dozed off, because when she opened her eyes, the sky outside the window was dark. Luke was still beside her, though, slouched on the sofa fast asleep, with her hand still clasped in his, her legs draped over his lap.

  "Luke?" she said softly.

  He opened his eyes and gave her a gentle smile, and love hit her with a blow that almost knocked her off the couch.

  "Did they find her? Della?"

  He nodded.

  "Does Mrs. McCarthy know?"

  He nodded, his expression sobering. "The state troop ers told her."

  Libby edged closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

  "At least she can stop looking now," he said. "Stop looking, and start grieving. At least she has closure."

  Libby felt tears burning behind her eyes. Could there ever really be closure? For Mary? For herself?

  Maybe. She felt like she'd laid a ghost to rest. A ghost that had haunted her, and Mary, and the entire town of Lackaduck.

  Libby knew Della now. She wasn't the perfect pretty teen she'd conjured from her portrait on the web. She was a girl, almost a woman, flawed and foolish as Libby herself, who'd chosen the wrong man and suffered worse consequences than anyone ever deserves.

  Libby could identify with that. But the hurt she'd suf fered was a hurt that would heal.

  Chapter 49

  "SO," LUKE SAID. "DAVID AND JOSIE ARE TOGETHER. Are we…?"

  Libby looked up at the ceiling in mock contempla tion. "I don't know. Will you wear the chaps?"

  Luke nodded.

  "To bed?"

  He grinned. "You want me to put them on now?"

  "Not necessary," she said. "Not necessary at all." She pulled him down beside her, wrapping her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

  And kissed him some more. He returned the kiss, gently and tenderly, stroking her sore ribs, handling her with all the care he could, but she pressed hard against him, arching her back. He'd planned to take care of her, to help her rest, but now she was all fired up. Resting seemed to be the last thing on her mind.

  "Don't you have a headache?" he asked.

  "I suddenly feel a lot better," Libby said. "We ranch women are resilient."

  Wow. Maybe he'd get lucky after all.

  But he was already lucky. Lucky she'd come to Lackaduck in the first place. Lucky to be here beside her. Lucky to have her in his life.

  "We should get married," he said.

  "Whoa." Libby pulled away. "You're moving a little fast here."

  "We cowboys are like that," he said. "We rope 'em and tie 'em in 12.5 seconds."

  "The roping and tying might be interesting," she said. "But I was hoping things would take a little longer."

  "I was talking about baby cows," he said. "With women, I like to take my time." A mischievous glint lit his eyes. "But I'll bet I can get you to moo."

  "Is that a dare?"

  "No. It's a promise. And I always keep my promises."

  "I know you do," Libby said. "I know."

  She rested her head on his shoulder, and suddenly the mood in the room changed as surely as if the lights had dimmed and "Sea of Love" had swelled from the stereo. He kissed her, sweetly and slowly, taking his time. All the desperation of their previous encounters was gone. The last time he'd kissed her, he'd thought they might never touch again. This time, he knew it was forever. It was a keeper kiss—long, luscious, and so precious he swore he'd hold it in his mind forever.

  "You should be in bed," he murmured when the kiss broke. "We should be in bed."

  "I don't know." She gave him her most seductive smile. "I was thinking we'd christen the sofa. It's French Victorian Baroque Provincial, you know."

  "And that means…"

  "That means we could do it all four ways. That kiss was the French part."

  He glanced nervously over his shoulder at the carv ings on the sofa's high back. "I don't know. Victorian— that doesn't sound too exciting."

  "Hey, you don't know how wild those repressed women could get. You snap off those corsets and there was no stopping them."

  "No?"

  "No."

  "Show me." He tugged at her T-shirt, feeling a shiver skitter over her skin. He slipped his hands beneath the soft fabric and cupped her breasts.

  She moaned.

  "That was a moo," he whispered.

  ***

  Libby moaned again, just to prove it wasn't.

  He took her hand and tried to tug her off the sofa. She made a little mew of protest. Cows, kittens—she was a regular barnyard festival. If the chicken thing didn't work out, she could always get a job with Looney Tunes.

  "We're fine right here," she said, tugging at his shirt. She hooked a finger inside the waistband of his jeans. "Come on," she whispered.

  "I can't," he said. "Not on the sofa."

  "You can't?" She scooted back on the cushions. "What do you have against my sofa?"

  "It's them," he said, pointing to the carved cherubs on the back. "It's like having babies watch us. It's wrong, somehow. And besides, they're flailing around with that ribbon thing. It's like they're going to swoop down and capture me or something."

  "Hmm," she said. "You're worried about being captured by babies. Sounds like a commitment issue to me."

  "Not a chance," he said. His face grew serious. "I'm yours, and you know it. Always."

  "Always?"

  "Always. Babies, whatever. Heck, we've already got puppies."

  We, she thought. He'd said we. What other man would be willing to take on the Terrors? He was committed, all right. Or at least, he should be.

  To an institution.

  ***

  Luke bent down and wrapped one arm around Libby's shoulders while he tucked the other one under her knees and hoisted her up against his chest. He kissed her all the way to the bedroom, and then he laid her on the bed and kissed her some more, moving his hands over her body, stroking and smoothing, touching and teasing.

  He looked down at her face, feeling helpless and powerful all at once, possessed and possessive, and caught his breath, stunned by the look she gave him. It was as open and soft as her body had ever been. It offered him everything, her thoughts, her feelings, her life—her trust. He'd never realized how wounded she'd been
until he saw her healed, never realized how much hurt she'd held inside until she finally let it go.

  "Make love to me," she said. "It's not the concussion, I swear. I know exactly what I'm doing." She tugged at his shirt, releasing the snaps one by one. As they opened, she recited, "I, Libby Brown…" snap… "do solemnly swear…" snap… "that I am of sound mind and body…" snap… "especially body…" snap…