Slow Hand

by Victoria Vane

  “She said that?”

  “Yup. ’Course, I didn’t understand what it all meant. I was only seven, but the truth is that his work took him away for weeks at a time—and she was the cheater.”

  “Did he know that?”

  “Yeah, after a while. It’s why he finally walked out. My mom was already pregnant before the divorce, which meant she’d been stepping out on Daddy for quite some time. I was too young to put it all together at the time, but I did later when I discovered Shelby’s birth certificate.”

  “Shelby?”

  “My sister. Well, half sister. Her father was my first stepfather.”

  He looked surprised. “First? How many did you have?”

  “Three. They were all pretty much the same—drinkers and freeloaders—just different names and faces. It was the type my mom was attracted to. She was a real magnet for losers.”

  “Shit, that musta really sucked growing up like that.”

  “Yeah. It did. I left as soon as I was old enough. Packed up the day after my seventeenth birthday and moved in with MeeMaw and PawPaw.”

  He smirked. “MeeMaw and PawPaw?”

  She frowned back at him. “My grandparents.”

  “The ones with the chicken farm?”

  “Yes. They’re the only reason I didn’t self-destruct. Some of my best memories are from those couple of years at the little farmhouse. I might have stayed on indefinitely if not for PawPaw’s heart attack. He never recovered and MeeMaw had to sell the farm to pay for his medical bills and nursing care.

  “She had a stroke shortly after that. They died within months of one another.” She rubbed her eyes and sniffled. Her throat felt terribly raw.

  Wade’s arm tightened around her. “That happens a lot when couples have been together a very long time like that.”

  “I miss them, Wade. They were good people and did what little they could to be a stable influence. After they passed, I was pretty much on my own. I went a little wild for a time… I made a lot of stupid mistakes.”

  “We all make mistakes,” he said with a sympathetic look. “The trick is to learn something from ’em.”

  She sighed. “Well, that’s just rubbing salt in the wound, ’cause I keep making the same ones over and over.” She refused to acknowledge that the big warm cowboy beside her might be another one ready to happen. “So you see? I still don’t even understand why I came here. He didn’t even raise me. I hardly saw or spoke to the man for over twenty years.”

  “It still hurts though, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she confessed. She’d tried to deny the welling of emotion, but he must have seen it in her face. “I keep thinking it shouldn’t, but it still does. Am I irrational? Have you ever experienced that?”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “Yes. I know how it feels to lose someone when there were important things that shoulda been said.”

  “I feel so lost, like a whole hunk of my life wasn’t really what I thought it was. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded slowly. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  “How did you deal with it?” she asked.

  “Not very well, I’m afraid.” His expression went grim, color flushed his high cheekbones. But he didn’t elaborate. “Are you ready to leave now? Not that I’m trying to rush you or anything.”

  “You’re not rushing me, and yes, I’m ready.”

  “Then, c’mon. Let’s get you outta here.”

  With a steadying arm about her waist, he guided her out of the morgue. Once outside, Nikki dragged in a great cleansing lungful of fresh air. And then another in an effort to purge the scent of death. Nikki wasn’t even aware of the tears streaming down her face until he brushed a thumb over her cheek.

  “Are you OK?” he asked.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. I thought seeing him would give me closure, but it hasn’t. I only feel worse.” She couldn’t keep the quaver from her voice. “You were right, Wade. I wasn’t prepared.”

  “No one is.” He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket.

  “I didn’t know anyone still carried handkerchiefs.” She accepted it and blew her nose.

  “They come in useful at times. Most of the ranch hands carry them. It’s not uncommon to need a makeshift bandage when mending barbed-wire fences.”

  “Do you really do that?” she asked. “Mend fences?”

  “Yeah. I still do my share of ranch work,” he said.

  “On top of lawyering?”

  “There’s many folks in these parts who wear two hats. Partly because it’s so hard to make a living ranching full time.”

  “So why don’t they do something else?” she asked.

  “Because this is Montana and people here are proud of their heritage—often to the point of stupidity.”

  “Your brother?” she suggested.

  “Yeah. My brother. It’s what I have to talk to him about and it’s not gonna be pretty.”

  “I shouldn’t be there then. It’ll be awkward.”

  “It’ll be fine. If it gets too nasty, we’ll take it outside.”

  “Surely, you don’t mean that literally.”

  “Won’t be the first time my brother and I settled a matter with our fists.” He shrugged. “I figure it won’t be the last.”

  “But that’s ridiculous! You can’t resolve issues like that with violence!”

  “Sure we can.” He laughed. “Men aren’t like women, Nikki. We don’t think and feel the same way you do. Sometimes things between us are best settled by forceful means. It’s ugly as hell, but when it’s over, it’s over.”

  “So what happens now?” she asked. “About my father I mean.”

  “You can’t do anything until you have a certified death certificate.”

  “Which I can’t get until I have my license.”

  “Exactly. Once that happens you can dispose of the remains and then start settling the estate.”

  “Dispose of the remains?” she repeated with a frown. “That’s my father.”

  Wade flushed. “I’m sorry. That was mighty insensitive of me. I guess I’m just a bit hardened to this process after so long. It’s a hazard of the job when you handle probate.”

  “Apology accepted,” she replied.

  He steered her toward the parked truck.

  “How does probate work?” she asked. “I don’t know anything about it.”

  “It’s mostly a bunch of paperwork,” he replied. “Your first priority will be to post notices of death in all the area papers. Then outstanding debts and taxes need to be paid. You especially don’t want the IRS knocking on your door.”

  “Taxes? Debts?” A huge knot formed in her stomach. “I hope to God he didn’t leave any behind. I don’t think I could deal with that on top of everything else.”

  She hoped he’d left sufficient funds at least to cover the burial and prayed she wouldn’t be saddled with any of his outstanding debts. She had more than enough of her own, barely keeping her head above water with a dead-end job she despised.

  “You won’t need to worry about any of that,” Wade reassured her.

  “How would you know?” she asked.

  “Because I looked into a few things earlier today. There’s no harm in telling you that his affairs are in pretty good order and he left a will. I had Iris check with Evans on the off chance there might be one.”

  “Why would he have made a will?”

  “It’s smart to plan for the unexpected.”

  “Spoken like a true lawyer,” she replied dryly. They stood beside the truck, she spun to face him. “If you knew all this, why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “I didn’t know. He filed the will six years ago when he first established Montana residency—before I was in practice here. I didn’t mention it earlier today becaus
e I wanted to wait until we had your ID straightened out, but I figure there’s no harm in setting your mind at ease. You need to understand that I can’t disclose anything more to you at this juncture. You can rest assured, however, that there’s no debt burden for you to carry.”

  “Well, I guess that’s a relief anyway. So what now?” she asked.

  “I was going to take you back to the ranch, but I think maybe a change of plans is in order. Can I buy you a drink? You look like you could use one.”

  “You just might be right about that too,” she replied with a shaky laugh.

  “C’mon. I know just the place. The Pioneer’s the best watering hole in the entire Ruby Valley.”

  * * *

  The bar reminded Nikki of an old-time Western saloon, with its cedar shingles and siding, and the old-fashioned wooden placard outside. It felt even more like one when she followed Wade inside. The paneled walls were dark, with numerous mounted antelope, elk, and bison heads as well as an array of faded black-and-white framed photos from the turn of the century. The backbar was crafted of deeply stained, hand-carved oak with a huge counter-length diamond dust mirror.

  Wade tipped his hat to the barkeep, and then to several waitresses who seemed to light up in response to him. She guessed he must have that effect on lots of women. He was certainly no stranger to the place, but then again, this area was his stomping ground. He propelled her to a corner table, pulling out her chair before taking his own.

  “Come now,” she chided. “The gunfighter seat?”

  “Force of habit.” He chuckled.

  He’d no sooner doffed his hat before a brown-eyed bottle redhead appeared wearing a low-cut top that displayed attributes that would put the Hooters girls in the shade.

  “Hey, Wade.” She flashed him a huge smile. “Been a long time.”

  “Janice? I’ll be damned. I didn’t know you were back in town.”

  Her smile flickered for just a moment. “I never thought I’d set foot back here either, but I had nowhere else to go with my kid and all.”

  “I was sorry to hear about all that…” Wade shook his head. “What a gruesome way to go.”

  “It was.” She shrugged. “But he knew as well as anyone that it was bound to happen sooner or later. With the bulls it’s never a question of if you’re gonna get hurt—it’s just when and how bad. Least he didn’t suffer much, being that he never gained consciousness.”

  “I’m glad Dirk gave up rodeo, though the way it turned out for him, maybe joining the Marines wasn’t the best choice either,” Wade said.

  Her expression grew troubled. “I haven’t seen him around. How’s he doing?”

  Wade shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I guess, but he hardly leaves the ranch. You know about his injuries, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I heard.”

  “He’s changed a lot from what he was before.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “I’d expect as much.” She bit her lip, then asked, “He seein’ anyone?”

  “Dirk?” Wade shook his head. “Not to my knowledge.”

  “Think he’d mind if I dropped by?”

  Nikki had watched the exchange with a mild feeling of resentment until she realized it was Dirk and not Wade that Janice was actually interested in. Did she and Dirk have a history? She eyed the other woman with renewed curiosity.

  “Don’t know,” Wade replied. “But I think he could use some old friends—as long as you aren’t put off by his surly, badass behavior.”

  Janice grinned. “You’re kiddin’, right? I ain’t thin-skinned. Could never afford to be. You don’t know what it’s like to be a woman working the chutes with all those bulls and rough riders. For the record, I can give every bit as good as I get.” She paused. “Maybe I will call on Dirk one day.”

  “Forgive me, Nikki,” Wade said. “This is Janice—”

  “An old friend,” Janice supplied smoothly and extended her hand. “I grew up here and just recently moved back.”

  “Nikki Powell from Atlanta.” Nikki briefly shook Janice’s hand.

  “Welcome to Montana. First time?” Janice asked.

  “Yes, and likely my last. Wade’s helping me with some personal business. My father passed away here.”

  “Oh,” Janice replied, looking uncertain. “My condolences.”

  “We just came from the mortuary,” Wade explained. “I thought she could use a drink.”

  Janice smiled. “Then you came to the right place. Whatcha gonna have?”

  “The usual for me. The bartender knows.” Wade looked to Nikki. “Sorry, I don’t know your poison.”

  “I’ll take a shot of Patrón.”

  “Salt and lime?” Janice asked.

  “Of course,” Nikki said.

  “What?” she answered Wade’s querying look. “You thought I’d order some girlie umbrella drink?”

  “Yeah, it was pretty much what I expected, more than straight tequila.”

  “This seemed like a tequila occasion,” Nikki replied.

  “You are full of surprises.” Wade chuckled as Janice hustled away to fill their order.

  Their drinks appeared within minutes—a foaming beer in a frosted mug, and a shot glass sporting a paper umbrella that Janice set it in front of Nikki with a wink for Wade.

  “I suppose this is a joke?” Nikki said.

  Wade laughed, a low, warm rumble that ceased the second she licked the back of her hand to apply the salt. Meeting his gaze, she slowly licked off the salt. He locked on her mouth, his pupils flaring big and black. She took the shot, downing the tequila in a single choking swallow, then bit into the lime with a grimace.

  “That bad?” he asked.

  “The salt is supposed to reduce the burn, but I don’t think it works.”

  “Would you like something else?” Wade asked.

  “No, I don’t think it’s a good idea to mix liquors. I’ll stay with my friend Patrón.”

  He nodded at her empty glass. “You want another?”

  You know better, she told herself, staring at his dangerously tempting dimpled chin. He’s made no secret about what he’s after. The last thing you need is to let your guard down. Ignoring the voice of reason, she smiled back at him. “Sure. Why not?”

  Two shots later, Nikki felt a sweet lethargy, the kind induced only by drink or sex. Since they were still in the bar, she had a pretty good idea it was the drink. She ordered a third and took her sweet time licking off the salt. She rarely drank tequila and had ordered it purely to tease him. From his expression, it was working.

  “I think we need some music,” she said.

  “Why? You wanna dance?”

  “Maybe,” she answered coyly.

  “Too bad there’s no band tonight. The one that usually plays here packs the house.”

  “Are they good?” she asked.

  “If you like a mix of blues and rock in your country. Ten Foot Tall and Eighty Proof. They play all around the area. If you stick around long enough, I’ll bring you back to hear them.”

  “Do you dance, Wade?”

  “Not really, but if you feel like dancing”—he patted his lap—“knock yourself out.”

  “Keep dreamin’.” Nikki rolled her eyes with a snort. She then idly flipped through the playlist attached to the old-timey jukebox on the tabletop. “Got any quarters on you?”

  “Why? You got a favorite song?”

  She flashed him a dazzling smile. “I got your song, Wade.”

  “My song? Really? What is it?”

  “You’ll see.” With a throaty chuckle, Nikki dropped the coins he gave her into the machine, and then made her selection. The sultry tones of Carrie Underwood filled the air. “See?” She laughed. “I’ve totally got your number, Wade.”

  “‘Cowboy Casanova’?” He speared her with those ama
zingly clear and sexy light blue eyes. “Is that what you think I am?”

  “Yeah, I do. A big-time sexy cowboy player, but I don’t do players and for damned sure not sexy chin-dimpled cowboys.”

  “Sexy?” His brow kicked up. “You think so? Then, I’m confounded to understand this aversion of yours.”

  “It’s been acquired by experience,” she replied, carefully enunciating her words with lips that felt warm and a bit numb. “Every damn time I’ve fallen for one it’s bitten me in the ass.”

  “So you think one bad apple—”

  “One?” She laughed outright. “I’ve tried a whole crate full of apples, Wade. All bad. Worm-infested and rotten to the core, every last one of ’em.” She struggled a bit with the l but thought she managed to keep the slur out of her reply. Even her toes felt warm and tingly now.

  “Sounds like a real challenge to overcome such a fierce dislike of apples.”

  “Yeah. No more apples for me. Ever.”

  “Ever?” He cocked a brow. “Maybe you just need to try a hybrid variety.”

  “A hybrid? You mean like a Honeycrisp?”

  “Not quite the analogy I was aiming for. Maybe we need to progress from fruit to the animal kingdom.”

  “Whadya mean?”

  “I told you my brother Dirk has been crossing Japanese bulls with Angus cows to create a superior breed. I like to think I’m kinda like that.”

  “Like a bull?” Her gaze dropped to his groin. “That’s quite a boast.”

  He grinned back at her. “Not exactly what I meant, but I’ll go with it. Then again, maybe I’ll let you be the judge.”

  She frowned. “Not likely, cowboy. You see, you’ve already got a third strike against you.”

  “Three now, eh?”

  “Oh yeah. ’Cause I don’t like lawyers either. Never have. So three strikes means you’re out.”

  “Only in baseball, darlin’. But we’re mixing far too many metaphors now. I think we need to go back to your classification system. It’s flawed.”

  “Whadya mean?”

  “You ignore the fact that sometimes crossing two different breeds can result in the best combination of both.”