“Keep lookin’ at me like that, Doc,” he said, in a voice so low it vibrated in the little trailer, “and you’re gonna get more than you bargained for.”
Her gaze flew to his at the soft warning, and she flushed when she realized the direction her thoughts had taken her—and when she realized his blue eyes had darkened with a craving that matched her own.
Suddenly the trailer seemed to shrink several more feet, until there was space only for the two of them and not nearly enough air to go around. She hitched in a quick breath as he stepped forward, knowing what he planned to do just as she knew she should stop him. She opened her mouth, intending to rebuff him, but somehow only a soft, breathless sigh whispered out just as his mouth settled on hers.
She had been kissed by a few rodeo cowboys before, the summer she turned sixteen and had been traveling with Billy Joe and Peg. After years of wishing and hoping and trying every trick she could find to encourage them, she had suddenly sprouted breasts the winter before and she had been foolish enough to wear tight T-shirts every chance she had to show off her new attributes.
It had earned her a bit of attention and a few stolen kisses from some of the rowdier young cowboys before she had gotten a lecture from Peg, of all people, about the dangers of putting out an advertisement for something you’re not at all sure you want to deliver.
Judging by the memory of those experiences, she would have expected Colt’s kiss to be rough and demanding, an exercise in machismo.
His gentleness, then, took her completely by surprise. Their lips barely touched, just enough for her to taste some kind of minty toothpaste, but they fit together perfectly.
Her eyes fluttered shut and her hands, trapped between their bodies, came up to rest on his chest, her fingertips absorbing his heat and leashed power. His hands circled her, coming to rest on her back.
She’d been right. His arms offered safety and comfort, all the things she needed so desperately right now. And his mustache didn’t tickle at all. It was more like a silky caress.
They stayed like that for several seconds, barely touching, adjusting to each other’s scent and taste. She heard a soft, contented sigh and realized with some shock that it came from her. At the sound, Colt made a noise low in his throat and started to deepen the kiss, when small footsteps suddenly clattered up the metal stairs outside.
Footsteps that, if she wasn’t mistaken, belonged to a five-year-old boy who would be wearing chaps and a sheepskin vest.
Maggie had only enough time to spring away from Colt before Nicky yanked the door open and charged inside with all his customary energy. Right behind him was Cheyenne, carrying a bag of soda pop. She took in the situation with an amused glance—it was hard to miss, since the air practically snapped with electricity. The girl’s attention zinged between Maggie’s flaming cheeks and disheveled hair and Colt’s obvious tension. To Maggie’s overwhelming relief, her stepniece said nothing, just lifted all-too-knowing eyebrows.
“Howdy, Mom,” Nicky said, oblivious to the scene he had interrupted. “Look what I bought at the store!”
She tried to make the appropriate admiring remarks about the candy he’d purchased, while she put the finishing touches to their impromptu picnic and tried to still her churning, seething insides.
How stupid could she be? She should never have put herself in this situation. She couldn’t blame Colt. He was right, she had all but handed him an engraved invitation to kiss her.
No, the fault rested squarely on her shoulders. She was just going to have to do everything in her power to make sure it didn’t happen again—no matter how much she might want it to. She would have to avoid him as much as possible and especially dodge any situation that could put them in this kind of close proximity to each other.
She simply couldn’t afford to lower her guard toward him. It left her too off balance, made her too vulnerable.
And where Colt McKendrick was concerned, she was afraid she could be very, very vulnerable, indeed.
As screw-ups go, this assignment was turning into a royal doozie.
In an unused corner of the rodeo grounds, Colt looped the rope over his head and circled the practice iron steer head he’d borrowed from one of the other ropers, trying to find the sweet spot for his throw.
The first round of the Butte Vigilante Rodeo was scheduled to start in less than an hour, and he had all the concentration of a gnat. If he didn’t get in a little practice time before the competition, he was going to be laughed out of the arena.
But with each throw, his frustration with himself grew more intense. Damn, he was a complete idiot to kiss her like that. He hadn’t been thinking about the job at all. He’d forgotten about Michael Prescott and finding evidence against DeMarranville and all the reasons he was here. He’d forgotten everything but the two of them and her soft, willing mouth and the want in her eyes.
And, of course, the need that had been smoldering in his gut since the day they’d met.
He had totally lost his head, and in the process he appeared to have also lost whatever progress he’d made up to now, trying to gain her trust.
He bit out an oath as his swing went wide. If he needed evidence that he’d completely botched the job, she had given it to him on their picnic at the little park across the way. She had been stiff and cool, refusing to meet his gaze and flinching away if his hand so much as accidentally brushed her skin. He could see the guilty regret in those cinnamon-colored eyes every time she looked at him.
Damn it to everlasting hell. He’d spooked his prey just like a green kid on his first hunt. Now he had to start all over again. His task would be that much harder now, because he knew damn well she had spent the whole afternoon reconstructing the barriers between them.
He coiled the rope again. With a twist of his wrist, he sent it spinning over his head, then watched it float around the steer head. Now if he could only have the same kind of aim when he faced a quick little calf from the back of a horse at full run in an hour. He might even go home with the calf-roping purse.
He blew out a disgusted breath. Wouldn’t that be a pretty damn sorry situation, if he found more success with his cover than he did with the actual assignment?
Several more times he went through the same process, and each time the loop found its mark. He yanked it tight for the last time with a grunt of satisfaction, just as he heard the sound of mocking applause coming from behind him.
Colt whirled, instinctively reaching for the small, efficient Glock 9mm concealed in the small of his back. His hand froze when he recognized the figure who had somehow managed to approach without Colt being aware of it while he was concentrating on his throws.
“Dunbar?” He stared. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”
The agent looked conspicuously out of place. Although he had shed his usual tailored dark suit, he wore Wranglers still creased with just-off-the-rack sharpness, shiny new black boots, a pearl-buttoned shirt and a cowboy hat so white it put out a glare. He looked exactly like what he was: a city slicker trying—and failing miserably—to fit in.
“Shouldn’t you be working on the case instead of out here playing around with your rope?”
Colt scanned the area quickly, furiously, hoping like hell Maggie didn’t see him talking to such an obvious outsider. “What are you doing here?” he repeated in a hissed whisper.
“Checking up on you, since you’ve been characteristically stingy with information.”
“What are you trying to do, blow my whole cover?”
“Of course not.” The other agent adjusted his hat. “This job is every bit as important to me as it is to you.”
“Did Beckstead send you?”
Dunbar nodded. “He has tried to contact you several times in the last few days but couldn’t get through. He finally sent me to try to figure out what you have been up to.”
“I told him I’d check in when I had the chance.”
“You always say that and you never do.”
It was a long-standing bone of contention between him and FBI brass. He liked to work at his own pace without having to run every little decision past a damn committee, which didn’t always sit well with his superiors.
“I turned the phone off,” he growled. “What would have happened if Beckstead had called sometime when I was with Prescott’s widow? I seriously doubt a down-on-his-luck cowboy would own a high-tech cellular phone that cost more than he could reasonably be expected to make in a whole month of rodeos.”
“I know you like to think of yourself as some kind of lone wolf, McKendrick, but you have to stay in communication, to keep us apprised of the investigation’s progress.”
He bit down his frustration. “I’ll make contact when I have something significant to report,” he said coolly. “And not until.”
“Dammit, McKendrick. You know the rules. Agents in the field are obligated to check in with the special agent in charge.”
“You don’t like the way I’m doing the job, why don’t you do it yourself?” He held the rope out with a mocking grin. “Here. You’re more than welcome to ride for me tonight.”
His glibness earned him a glare. “I told Lane you would be difficult,” Dunbar growled.
“Well now, I wouldn’t want to disappoint you. I know how much you hate to be wrong.”
He didn’t like Lewis Dunbar. Never had. His unease around him was nothing he could put a finger on, he just didn’t trust him. The agent had a good reputation at the Bureau, but in Colt’s estimation he was a pompous idiot who did everything by the book, who refused to bend the rules for anything, even when the whole investigation was at stake.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to work with him often. Once was more than enough, though, with an attitude like this. “I don’t like you checking up on me like I’m a kid who just got the keys to the car for the first time. I know what I’m doing.”
“Have you found the money and the disk?”
Colt shook his head. “I’ve been concentrating on earning the doctor’s trust. She wants to talk but she’s holding back.”
Thanks to his stupidity in hitting on her this afternoon, now he would have to start all over again. But of course he didn’t mention that little tidbit of information to Dunbar.
The weather wasn’t all that hot—in fact, a cool breeze drifted down from the mountains—but the Montana sun must have been getting to the agent. He removed his hat and rubbed a handkerchief over his balding head. “We’re on a short clock here, McKendrick. We need to find them.”
“I don’t think she knows where they are.”
“Before Carlo wasted him, Prescott plainly implied the doctor had everything. We’ve combed through every inch of her apartment and can’t find the disk or the money. She must have them with her.” His expression was suddenly intense, almost savage. “Find them. ”
Colt studied him through narrowed eyes. It wasn’t like Dunbar to get so upset over a case. He was usually cool and unemotional. “Why the sudden urgency?”
“There’s nothing sudden about it.” Again in control, the agent tucked the handkerchief in his back pocket. “This assignment has always been about finding the records and the money before DeMarranville finds the widow and the kid.”
Colt’s grip on the rope tightened. “Are his people closing in?”
“Probably.” Dunbar shrugged. “With Damian, it’s not a question of if but when.”
A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature blew down his spine with icy breath. What would DeMarranville do to the wife and child of someone who had betrayed him? Especially if he thought they had something that belonged to him or information that could bring him down? Colt didn’t even want to think about it.
“Find that money, McKendrick,” the other agent said as he started moving toward the arena, already filling up with eager spectators. “I don’t care what it takes. Find it.”
Chapter 6
“Colt’s next! Colt’s next!”
Maggie grabbed her son by his belt loop and pulled him back—again—from the metal railing that separated the rodeo spectators from the competitors.
“If you won’t settle down, I can’t let you watch. You’re going to fall over the railing into the arena.”
Nicky gave her a disgruntled look. “I’m bein’ careful, Mom. I just want to see Scout and Colt.”
“You can see them just fine from back here on the bleacher seat. Now park it.”
“It’s his turn. I’m gonna wave and see if he waves back.” He proceeded to shake his arm like a metronome. “Colt! Hey Colt!”
Cheyenne, sitting on his other side, snickered. “I don’t think he can see you from way over there, Nicky. Besides, he’s probably too busy concentrating on the ride right now.”
“Maybe he can.” Undeterred, Nicky continued waving.
“Sit!” Maggie said again when he leaned one more time over the railing. Finally he settled back so she could relax and focus on the competition instead of her high-strung little boy.
She didn’t have the chance to watch the rodeo events often, but it had been a quiet evening so far. Either these particular circuit cowboys at the Butte Vigilante Rodeo were all in remarkably good condition, or the fates had decided to spare them the usual assortment of bumps and bruises that came with the rough sport.
When Cheyenne and Nicky had stopped by the medical trailer a short time earlier to ask if they could watch Colt ride, she had given in to a sudden, inexplicable impulse to join them.
She just needed a diversion from a slow night at work, she tried to assure herself, a chance to enjoy the pageantry and excitement of the competition. Her presence here was completely unrelated to her growing fascination with Colt McKendrick.
Bull. She winced as her brutally honest conscience pinched at her. That darned fascination was exactly the reason she was here, with the smell of horses in the air and the jostling, colorful crowd surrounding her.
All day she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him, about their soft, devastating kiss in her trailer earlier. Her mind had replayed the scene a thousand times since then—his strong arms around her, his cotton shirt beneath her fingertips, the gentle touch of his lips on hers.
Was she so starved for tenderness after her disaster of a marriage, then, that she completely turned to mush when she found gentle warmth so unexpectedly in a tough and rugged cowboy? It wasn’t an idea she was at all comfortable with.
The gravelly voice of the announcer crackled from the loudspeaker, jolting her back to the arena. “Folks, let’s give a warm welcome to our next contestant, a cowboy named Colton McKendrick, coming to us from down by Ennis.”
Colton? She hadn’t realized Colt was an abbreviation. And he was from here in Montana? How many other things didn’t she know about him?
The crowd applauded politely for him, except for Nicky who yelled like a banshee when the chute workers released the gate. A calf with hide the color of sandstone loped through the dirt. Poor misguided thing probably thinks he’s making a break for freedom, Maggie thought sympathetically, just as Scout lunged into the arena behind him.
Her heart hammering, her fingers clenched in her lap, she sat forward on the bench, caught up in the drama.
Calf roping had always been one of her favorite events, maybe because it didn’t have the violence inherent in most of the sport. Unless you were the calf, she supposed. The fastest roper won, and the best cowboys could do the whole thing in less than nine seconds.
And apparently Colt McKendrick was among them. Scout had just galloped into the arena when Colt threw the rope with unerring accuracy, jumped from the saddle and raced with raw grace to the calf. In the time it took her to draw a breath, he had the calf on its side and whipped his hand around once, twice and a third time before raising his hands to signal he was finished.
“Now that’s the way it should be done,” the announcer drawled. “A fine showing for Montana cowboy Colton McKendrick.” The crowd applauded with considerably more enthusi
asm now that they recognized he was definitely a contender for the week’s purse.
“Did you see that, Mom?” Nicky’s eyes widened with excitement. “Colt was awesome!” He turned back to watch his hero unhook his rope from the calf.
“He’s good,” Cheyenne commented quietly. “And not bad on the eyes, either. Tall, dark and gorgeous. I can sure see why he makes your heart beat faster.”
Maggie sent the teen a swift look. To her embarrassment, Cheyenne returned it with a knowing gleam in her green eyes. Maggie’s attention shifted from her stepniece to her son to see if he had overheard her comments. Fortunately, Nicky was too involved watching Colt to pay any mind to the two females.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she finally said, her voice stiff and cool. “We’re just friends. Not even that. Casual acquaintances, really.”
Cheyenne just grinned and flipped her long red ponytail. “If you say so. I gotta tell you, Aunt Maggie, I wouldn’t mind having a few casual acquaintances who looked at me like that.”
“Like what?”
The girl’s expression softened, her mouth curved with envy. “Like they wanted to carry me away and never let me go.”
She rolled her eyes, even as her heart gave a little bump of excitement at the idea. “You’re imagining things. I hardly know the man. He and Nicky just struck up a friendship when we camped next to each other last week. There’s nothing more to it than that.”
Cheyenne shrugged. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Aunt Maggie. I was just making an observation.”
“Well, you’re way off base.”
“It’s none of my business, anyway. I was just saying he’s one gorgeous piece of work. And if he looked at me like you say he doesn’t look at you, I’d grab on with both hands and just enjoy the ride.”
Cheyenne was entirely too self-assured for a fifteen-year-old. Maggie opened her mouth to argue with her, then slammed it shut again. Protesting only made her appear more foolish, she realized. She decided to bow out with as much dignity as she had left. “I suppose I’d better return to work. Will you two be all right?”
The Wrangler and the Runaway Mom Page 7
