Cowboy with a Cause

by Carla Cassidy

  “Cameron,” Adam called, greeting the tall, handsome man with a somber nod. “How are you doing?”

  “As well as can be expected with two cold-case murders burning a hole in my gut.”

  “No news on either case?” Adam asked.

  Cameron shook his head and leaned forward on the handle of the shopping cart in front of him, as if the burden of the entire world weighed him down. “We’ve got a hundred theories, but no evidence to back up any one of them. I’m just hoping whoever killed Candy and Shirley are finished with the mini killing spree. I hope he’s moved out of town and we won’t lose anyone else. How is life treating you lately?”

  “Good.” Adam hesitated a moment and then added, “I’ve been attending AA meetings in Evanston once a week.”

  “Good for you,” Cameron said with respect gleaming in his eyes.

  “Thanks, and I just moved into the Brooks house. I’m renting the upper floor from Melanie.”

  Cameron raised an eyebrow in surprise. “What prompted that? You and Nick fighting?”

  “On the contrary, things are great between me and Nick. But with him and Courtney and Garrett starting to build a real life together, I was feeling like an intruder who just happened to show up for dinner each evening. I figured it was time to give them some space and time alone. Have you met Melanie Brooks?”

  “Briefly at Olive’s funeral. Seemed like a nice woman. Was eager to get things taken care of here and head back to New York.”

  “New York? That’s where she’s from?” Adam asked with interest, eager to glean whatever information he could about the pretty blonde who had become his landlord.

  “According to Olive, Melanie left Grady Gulch when she graduated from high school and went to New York City to become a professional dancer. Her mother was quite proud of her success. According to what she told me, Melanie had been in several Broadway musicals.”

  Adam was stunned by this news. “She’s in a wheelchair now. I wonder what happened to her,” he said, more to himself than to Cameron.

  Cameron looked equally surprised. “I didn’t know she was in a wheelchair. From the gossip I’ve heard around town, I think lots of people thought she’d left town and the house was empty. Others have said she’s still grieving over her mother’s death and has become a hermit. I guess she doesn’t get out much. Maybe the wheelchair explains why.”

  Cameron shot a quick glance at his watch. “I’ve got to get back to the station. I’m just in here picking up some items for the guys. Jim Collins insists he makes the best Crock-Pot chili in the entire country.” He flashed Adam a quick smile that momentarily alleviated the tense lines around his mouth. “We’ll find out later this evening if Jim is part chef or all blowhard.”

  Adam laughed and the two men parted ways. As he drifted from aisle to aisle, picking up what he thought he’d need or want to eat for the next week or so, Adam’s thoughts returned to Melanie.

  A dancer.

  She’d been a professional dancer and now she was confined to a wheelchair. Going into a wheelchair as young as she was would be difficult for anyone, but for a dancer it had to be particularly challenging.

  Definitely a tragedy, he thought. What had happened to her? Was it permanent? Was it any wonder she had a reputation for being sour and bitter? Apparently life had tossed her a live grenade that had exploded and destroyed the existence she knew.

  It would appear he and Melanie had more in common than he’d thought. Adam’s grenade that had exploded without warning had been his brother Sam’s arrest for attempted murder. When that particular bomb had detonated, it had driven Adam into a downward spiral that had ended in the bottom of a bottle of whiskey.

  Nick’s twenty-three-month-old son, Garrett, had been the catalyst that had finally pulled Adam out of his self-pity and booze and back to the land of the living.

  When that cute little kid looked at him with big adoring eyes and a sweet smile, Adam wanted to be the best man that he could possibly be. He didn’t want to be the uncle that embarrassed the kid, who couldn’t be trusted to be around him alone. Garrett had been Adam’s salvation.

  He knew all about raging at the unfairness of life; he understood what a cancer that rage could cause. He had a feeling whatever had happened to Melanie had cast her into an anger that could be self-destructive and could keep her isolated from all that life had to offer. As he checked out and paid for his groceries, he reminded himself that she wasn’t his problem. He couldn’t fix her health issues and all he really needed from her was a roof over his head.

  His sole responsibility at the moment was to attend his weekly meetings in Evanston, a small town thirty minutes away. His simple goal right now was to take care of himself, to stay sober and figure out exactly who he was and where he belonged in life.

  * * *

  “Craig, I’ve told you a million times that I have no intention of selling. I’m sorry I wasted any of your time, but can’t you see that my situation has changed? Why can’t you just take no for an answer?” Melanie raised a hand in greeting to Adam as he entered the kitchen, laden with shopping bags.

  She continued her phone conversation. “I’ve also asked you a dozen times to stop calling me and quit coming by here. We have no business together and I’m not going to change my mind.” She didn’t wait for Craig to answer, but rather slammed the phone receiver into the cradle.

  “Problems?” Adam asked as he set the bags on the countertop.

  Melanie moved from the telephone on the counter to the table and released a sigh of frustration. “Problems of my own making, I guess. When I first arrived back in town and realized my mother was terminally ill and her death was imminent, I contacted a real estate developer named Craig Jenkins.”

  Adam frowned. “A nasty piece of work. He’s had a lot of business dealings here in Grady Gulch and left behind a lot of angry people. He’s definitely a smooth-talking shyster.”

  “Yeah, well, I initially intended to take him up on an offer for the house. It’s prime property for commercial business, although I thought Craig had given me a lowball figure. Then my circumstances changed and now I’m no longer interested in selling, but Craig refuses to take no for an answer. He’s become a real irritation.”

  Adam pulled what looked like a couple of thick steaks out of one of the grocery bags and stored them in the freezer, then turned to look at her. “The circumstance that changed is what put you in that chair?”

  As always, a mention of her reality shot the taste of bitterness up the back of her throat and blew a wild wind of despair through her very bones. For a moment she couldn’t speak and she simply nodded.

  “I ran into Sheriff Evans in the grocery store. He told me that you were a dancer.”

  “I used to be a dancer,” she replied, the bitterness sneaking in to lace her words.

  “According to Cameron you were a successful working dancer.” He continued to unload the groceries he’d bought.

  “I was.” Why was he asking her about it? Didn’t he realize the entire subject was painful to her?

  He turned from the freezer door and his gaze was dark, sympathetic, as it lingered on her. She hated that. She hated his sympathy.

  “But that was then and this is now,” she said with a lift of her chin.

  “So what happened?” He closed the freezer door and leaned against it with his back.

  “The official diagnosis is drop foot and peripheral neuropathy and a bunch of other doctor jargon. In other words my brain isn’t speaking to my right leg and foot and the nerves have all gone crazy. I’ve been to a dozen neurologists and been tested for everything from multiple sclerosis to diabetes, but none of them were able to find the source of the problem. So it is what it is.” The bitterness was back in her voice.

  “Can it be fixed?”

  “I’ve been told to learn how to live with it.” “Just shut up about it,” she wanted to tell him, but instead she bit her lower lip.

  He seemed to be attempting to loo
k inside her soul, and she broke eye contact with him, not wanting to see any more sympathy in the depths of his eyes. She had enough self-pity. She didn’t need anyone else’s.

  “Tough break,” he replied.

  “Yes, it was. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m feeling a bit tired. I’m going to lie down for a while.”

  With a need to escape whatever further conversation he’d planned to have with her, she scooted out of the room and into her bedroom, where she closed the door as tears stung her eyes.

  The phone call from Craig had upset her and she felt too fragile to have any meaningful discussion about her life in a wheelchair. There was nothing to discuss.

  She was in a wheelchair and therefore had no life.

  She wheeled herself over to the window and stared out at the backyard. She’d spent most of her childhood and teenage years in the yard, practicing leaps, stretching for a perfect arabesque, and dreaming about the big lights and city streets of New York.

  She’d had a small group of friends in high school, but none of them had understood her drive to succeed, to leave the small town and make a life doing what she loved. They had talked about getting married and having children, becoming hairdressers or schoolteachers right here in Grady Gulch.

  Her mother used to joke that she’d come out of the womb dancing. Dancing wasn’t just something Melanie had done; it had been the sum of her being. And she didn’t know how to be without it.

  She hadn’t seen any of her old friends since returning to town. Initially she’d been too busy nursing her mother for any kind of social life. Besides, she hadn’t seen the point in renewing old acquaintances since her intention was to bury her mother and head back to New York.

  Now she didn’t want to see any of those old friends or anyone else in town. They would all look at her with pity and she couldn’t handle that.

  Thankfully she didn’t have to worry about having any more intimate discussions with Adam. After she’d napped, she returned to the kitchen and heard no noise from the upstairs. A glance out the front window let her know Adam’s truck was gone, so he wasn’t home.

  It was ridiculous, the kind of tension his very presence wrought inside her. She was far too aware of him as a sexy male, when she needed to look at him objectively like the cash cow that was going to save her house.

  Still, it was hard to stay objective when he focused those gorgeous eyes on her, when the clean male scent of him eddied in the air around her and his energy filled the corners of the room.

  She was twenty-eight years old, and her reaction to Adam reminded her that although her leg and foot were dead, apparently her hormones were not. Not that it mattered.

  She spent the remainder of the evening watching television in the living room and then at nine o’clock once again went into her bedroom to prepare for bed.

  As she got into her midnight-blue silk nightgown, she wondered where Adam was and who he might be with. None of your business, a little voice whispered in the back of her brain.

  He was just a tenant, renting a couple of rooms. He had a life of his own and what he did, where he went had absolutely nothing to do with her. She had to somehow figure out how to rebuild her life without dance, without her mother for support.

  As she lay in the dark, her thoughts drifted to her mother. How she missed her. She’d scarcely had time to grieve for her before the fall down the stairs. Now what she’d like more than anything was to hear her mother’s laughter, see her beloved face wreathed with a smile one last time.

  How she wished she could hear her mother tell her that everything was going to be all right, that Melanie was strong enough to get through anything.

  Olive had been Melanie’s rock, a no-nonsense woman who had, despite her better judgment, bought into Melanie’s dreams of dancing and had believed in her talent. Olive had worked all day at the post office and then had often taken other part-time jobs to make sure Melanie could continue with her dance lessons.

  After Melanie had moved to New York, she and her mother had talked on the phone nearly every day. Melanie would get care packages from her mother with baked cookies and fuzzy socks and a little hard-earned cash tucked into an envelope. After several years of working, it was Melanie’s turn to send envelopes with extra cash to her mother.

  She wished her mother was here right now, to tell her to suck it up, to quit whining about lemons and get to work making lemonade.

  Olive had never been the type to indulge in any kind of self-pity. She was the strongest woman Melanie had ever known. Even when her husband had walked out on them when Melanie was two, Olive had tamped down her sadness and resentment. She had sucked back her tears and had set to work to build the best life she could for herself and her daughter.

  Since her mother’s death and with the onslaught of her medical condition, Melanie had never felt so alone. She told herself again and again that she didn’t want anyone in her life. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and she didn’t want to need anyone, because she was certain there would never be anyone there for her.

  Still, when she heard the front door open and then close just after ten and the sound of Adam’s footsteps heading up the stairs, a strange sense of security filled her. She realized that at least for the rest of the night she was no longer alone.

  * * *

  He stood beneath the big maple tree in her front yard. Around him the darkness was complete; even the stars and the moon were hidden beneath a thick veil of clouds. At one in the morning even the dogs and cats of Grady Gulch didn’t stir.

  It was his favorite time to stand and look at the house and think of her.

  Melanie.

  Her name was a pressure tight inside his chest, half choking his breath from his body. It rang in his ears with a discordant chime that hurt his head.

  She didn’t belong here.

  He clenched his fists tightly as a surge of anger threatened to drive all reasonable thoughts from his head. What he wanted to do right now was break through her front door, take her from her bed and punish her.

  It wasn’t enough that fate had already chastised her for her ambition by putting her in the wheelchair. She deserved more punishment...so much more.

  It would be so easy to gaslight her, make her think she was losing her mind. He clapped a hand over his mouth to halt a burst of laughter that threatened to escape at the very thought.

  He could drive her a little crazy, make her doubt her own sanity and then take her and punish her for all her sins for good.

  He should have taken her last night or the night before. He’d had no idea that somebody would appear to rent part of her house. That complicated things.

  Still, he was a patient man, and he knew that if he watched and waited long enough, the perfect opportunity would present itself.

  He slowly uncurled his fists and drew a deep breath of the cool night air. As he moved away from the house, he was reminded that autumn was the time of death. He wouldn’t be satisfied until Melanie Brooks was as dead as the leaves that crunched beneath his feet.

  Chapter 3

  A shrill scream pulled Melanie from her bed the next morning. In a panic she jumped into the wheelchair and left her bedroom, only to see Tilly racing down the stairway wielding a feather duster as a weapon, followed by a dripping wet Adam with just a towel wrapped around his waist.

  “It’s okay, I live here!” Adam exclaimed as he chased the frightened woman down the staircase. He spied Melanie and halted, obvious relief on his face. “Tell her,” he said to Melanie. “Tell her I’m not some crazy serial killer hiding out in a shower stall.”

  “Adam is renting the upstairs,” Melanie replied, surprised to feel her mouth threatening to stretch into a grin.

  Tilly sprawled on a nearby chair with a hand to her heart, her wrinkled face still holding the remnants of horror. “I went up to dust the rooms and he stepped out of the bathroom and I thought for sure he was going to kill me.”

  “What did you think h
e was going to do? Flip you to death with the end of his towel?” A giggle escaped Melanie as Adam’s cheeks flooded with color.

  “I’ll just go back upstairs and get dressed.” He backed up the stairs, as if afraid by turning around, his bare tush might show.

  Melanie had no doubt it was a fine tush, and for the first time since she’d returned to Grady Gulch, she released a full belly laugh. It felt good. It felt so darned good after so many months of having nothing to laugh about.

  Tilly looked at her in surprise and then straightened up on the chair. “Well, I’m certainly glad you find it funny. You might have warned me that Adam Benson had moved in here.”

  “He just moved in yesterday, so I haven’t had a chance.” Melanie tried to erase the vision she’d just had of Adam, but it was proving difficult.

  His broad chest was fully muscled and his abdomen above the towel was a perfect six-pack. His long legs were sturdy and masculine in shape and for a moment the sight of him had halted Melanie’s ability to breathe.

  “Are you sure renting the rooms to him is something you want to do?” Tilly asked, worry darkening her hazel eyes.

  “It’s something I have to do,” she replied. “Tilly, you know my situation. Mom’s estate left me nothing except the house and I was living paycheck to paycheck in New York. I need some extra cash coming in and Adam was the only person who came to see the rooms. I’ve had that For Rent sign in the window for months.”

  Tilly glanced up the stairs, where he’d disappeared. “Talk around town is that he’s cleaned up his act, but if he gives you any trouble, you just say the word and I’ll kick him to the curb for you.” To demonstrate her intentions, she stood and kicked out one skinny leg, which might move a gnat but certainly not a man as big, as built as Adam.

  “Oh, Tilly, I don’t know what I’d do without you!” Melanie exclaimed in a burst of gratitude.

  Tilly walked over to her and planted a kiss on top of her head. “You’d do fine without me. You’re brave and strong, but in any case I like doing things for you. Your mother was my very best friend in the world and she’d roll over in her grave if I didn’t do what I could to help you.”