Walking Disaster (Bad Boy Romance) (Cocky Bastards & Motorcycles Book 3)

by Faye, Amy

  She wanted him to. She was so close, she could already feel it. If he just kept going a few more seconds, gave her just another minute of pleasure, then she would be able to finish. She felt him push inside her, harder than the last time, and her vision went white as every muscle in her body started to tense.

  She felt him spasming inside her, felt the hot warmth fill her up. A feeling that she hadn't wanted to admit how much she missed.

  After he'd spent himself inside her, Glen rolled off, laid down in the bed next to her. After a moment he leaned over and took a kiss from her lips.

  Seventeen

  Catherine rubbed her head. She shouldn't have done what she did. God had she wanted it. She couldn't deny that. But the fact was, she had made a damn fool of herself, and that wasn't exactly acceptable either.

  What was he going to think of her? That she was some kind of hussy, who would spread her legs for anyone? Would he be right to think that, for that matter?

  She didn't like the thought. It stung more than she had thought it would to imagine. She had done that because she had to. She had to tell herself that, because otherwise she was going to go crazy.

  The questions were piling up, and all her intention of relaxing… well, that was gone now. She was probably never going to be able to relax again at this rate.

  They were riding straight on to Rawlins. Glen had offered the morning after to drop her off at the ranch, and maybe she should have taken him up on it. She couldn't bring herself to it, though, and it would only add another couple hours.

  They'd be able to resolve the issue, give the Sheriff what they knew, and then they would be able to go back. Easy.

  She didn't like the idea that Rod Dawson's name had come up. She knew him, and that meant bad things for everyone. She had more than enough unpleasant memories of all Billy's gambling friends to make a lifetime of them. Come to think of it, she'd made one the night before with Glen.

  Oh, she didn't have any reason to figure that he would make her regret it. She'd done that because she wanted to, but the pattern… it was hard not to laugh. What an idiot she was. Always with the same problems.

  The last time she'd fallen in with a man like Glen, she'd wound up pregnant, moved out here, and lost her own ranch to her idiot husband's proclivities for gambling.

  She'd lost a lot more than that, if she was honest. A whole lot more.

  But all of that had given her Ada. Had given her Grace and Cole. She shook off the bad mood that she'd been making for herself. At least she had them. That by itself was enough to more than make up for whatever Billy had done. She had to remember that.

  "Only another twenty minutes or so," she said. She could just about see the town through the haze of the afternoon sun. With luck they'd be back home by sundown, and she'd be able to cook up some supper for the children.

  Then she could return to her own bed, finally get a good night's sleep. That it would be returning to bed alone didn't matter near as much as the comfort of being in her own bed. At least, she let herself hope so.

  Glen nodded his understanding and they kept going. He was quiet today. Unusually quiet, and she wasn't sure why but it was definitely getting under her skin.

  Glen let himself sulk a little longer. He'd made a mistake last night, and no doubt. What had he been thinking? Far as he knew, she was still married to Bill Howell, which made him an adulterer.

  He'd taken advantage of a woman's loneliness. All for his own pleasure. Oh, sure, he could blame it on the drink—but should he? He could've said no. Should have. He didn't, and now he had to face that.

  As they broke into the buildings, he traced the route back to the Sheriff's office. The first time he'd come to town it had taken the better part of half an hour to find the place, but now that he knew where it was, the trip was short, and he wanted to keep it that way.

  The less time he spent with Catherine, the better. For his self-control, as well as his sanity. Why he'd let himself lose that control before, he couldn't say, but he wasn't going to let it slip again.

  The Sheriff's office was dark when they pulled up, but he wasn't going to let that stop him. After all, it was barely five on the clock. So he rapped on the door.

  A minute later he rapped again, harder. His knuckles stung with the force of knocking, but it didn't much matter. After all, he had to get the man's attention, didn't he?

  A minute later, as Glen rubbed his knuckles to prepare them for the pain that was about to come, Jim Barnes opened the door. He looked tired, like he'd barely slept the night before. Perhaps they'd woken him, even.

  "Sheriff, we need to talk."

  "Oh, it's you. Mister, uh… Riley, was it? Can it wait?"

  Before Glen had a chance to answer, the door was already closing in his face. He put up a hand to stop the door, heard the shades hit the inlaid windows.

  "No, it can't."

  The Sheriff licked his lips. "Then give me a minute to put on a pot of coffee."

  The door tried to close again, and Glen put up a hand again to stop it, stepped inside.

  The place was a mess. It looked as if someone had staged a bar-room brawl inside. A pretty-looking girl, her face as red as Glen's shirt, came through, barely dressed enough to be seen in public.

  Glen let it slip out of his mind. He didn't have much room to judge, did he? After what he'd been up to the night before, what right did he have to criticize?

  But even still, it rubbed him the wrong way. Catherine busied herself opening the blinds while the Sheriff poured out a coffee and straightened up his shirt.

  "I'm sorry you had to see that," he said finally, settling into his chair. The tin cup steamed in front of him, but he still took a deep sip. Acted like the heat didn't phase him.

  "Missus Howell and I have done some asking around."

  "Missus Howell and you, huh?" The Sheriff raised an eyebrow. "And what, pray tell, did your investigation find?"

  Glen didn't notice the look Catherine was giving him. If he had, he might have wondered what the two of them weren't saying.

  "We found a man, one Avery Beck, who claims that one of the rustlers made an offer to sell to him. To sell him, among others, my cattle. And Missus Howell's."

  "Well, well. That sounds pretty damning to me. Did he give a name?"

  "Mister Beck gave a description as well as a name." Glen licked his lips. "You want to get out a piece of paper, maybe write this down?"

  The Sheriff took a moment to react. "Huh? Oh, yeah. Sure." He opened an already-askew drawer, pulled out a pad and pencil. "G'ahead."

  "Reported the seller as one Rodney Dawson, tall, red headed, with blue eyes, and a light-colored long coat."

  The Sheriff stopped writing halfway through. "Who did you say gave you this report?"

  "Rancher, sixty to seventy years old, name of Avery… Beck."

  "Right. He say where we could get hold of him?"

  "Only that he had a ranch, a few miles north of Caspar."

  The Sheriff finished writing.

  "Right. Well, I'll tell you now—Mister Dawson is a respected member of the community, so we'll have to take this report with a certain amount of doubt. But make no mistake, we will give it its due investigation. We'll get back to you when we have more information."

  Glen's face hardened.

  That was another lie. Sheriff Barnes gave off a good impression. He'd clearly been working on it for some time. But Glen was beginning to find himself souring on the man.

  Eighteen

  Catherine rubbed her hands off on her apron. Ada had finally gone to sleep. It seemed like after she'd gotten back, Ada especially had latched on to her about as tight as anything, and wouldn't let go.

  She hadn't realized how much it would panic the girl to be gone more than a few days. She usually just went into town to get a few men to come back and drive the cattle. The ranch wasn't far out, so a drive rarely meant more than a day out of the house.

  It didn't occur to her until later how much the girl
must have worried about her mother, about the idea that they weren't going to come back. Not until Ada had thanked Glen for making sure her mama didn't get lost.

  Catherine's eyes had burned with the beginnings of tears when she heard that, but she had to keep herself under control. She wasn't going to let the girls see her cry. Four years later, she wasn't going to let the first time that Ada saw tears in her eyes be because of her.

  So she'd kept herself together and now that she had a few minutes… she shouldn't have been crying so much. Not like she had lately. Four years had passed. She'd gotten control of herself a long time ago.

  Why, all of a sudden, was every little thing setting her off? The hard wooden chair was right there, so Catherine slumped down into it and let herself feel sad a minute. How much had she overlooked? If she missed how worried Ada had been, what else had she missed?

  Was she letting her own troubles get in the way of what she needed to do? She could hear Ada's cough again. It was persistent. She didn't like that, not one bit.

  Once the cattle drive was done, just a few short months, they'd be able to see to it without having to worry about the money.

  But if it got much worse, she thought grimly... well, they wouldn't have much time to wait. She let herself breathe out.

  She heard movement from the children's room and hurried to wipe her eyes before she heard Ada's voice.

  "Mama? I'm… not feeling very good."

  "Oh, sweetie. I'm sorry. Come here."

  Catherine bundled the girl up in her arms and kissed her forehead. She could feel the heat radiating off her. Waiting for November wasn't going to happen.

  Ada needed a doctor. Tonight.

  Glen had never had business to take a train, and now he hoped he never would have to again. He didn't like the way it jostled one bit. Like it would toss him out the window any time. How Union Pacific managed to make this a preferred form of travel, he would never know.

  He stepped off and put his hat back on, brim low to keep the evening sun out of his eyes. The problem of who to ask… if he even should ask anyone for directions, was fore in his mind.

  He settled on asking the man behind the ticket counter. At least he'd get an answer that way.

  "You know where I can find a Marshal?"

  The man scratched his head a minute. "There's an office in town. That-a way. Take a right, then a left, 'n it'll be on the right side of the street."

  "Much appreciated."

  Glen followed the directions. The thought that the Sheriff had felt like nothing needed doing was a little worrying. It had occurred to him that he might be wasting his time. After all, whatever the Sheriff thought wasn't worth looking into, might well be the case that the Marshal wouldn't, neither.

  Or perhaps the man was being bribed to look the other way. The idea wasn't a pleasant one, but it was still more than a little possible. That worried him more, because it meant that the same man responsible for paying off the Sheriff could have just as easily found more money for a Marshal.

  Maybe the prices were different, or a Federal Marshal took his job more seriously. Or maybe, they were too far out for Dawson to think that they were worth paying. Maybe he was right.

  The place was shuttered up, but he knocked anyways. The door opened obediently to show a lamp-lit room and a thin man in his shirtsleeves.

  "How can we help you, sir?"

  "You the Marshal?"

  "I'm a sworn deputy. You need help with something? Sheriff should have a fella on duty, still. I'm just closing up before I head home for the night."

  Glen frowned. "I'm not from around here. I just got off the train from Rawlins, sir."

  The man nodded for a moment. "Alright, well… give me a minute."

  Glen let him close the door. It reopened a minute later and the man was wearing a jacket that showed a shiny badge with the words 'United States Deputy Marshal' across it.

  "What's the problem?"

  "My cattle are getting stolen, is the problem. I went to the Sheriff with it, but it seems as if he's not going to do a whole lot. I've heard from others, he hasn't been looking into rustlings for going on four years now. Maybe longer."

  "You don't know?" The man had settled into a chair and was leaned back. The man looked gaunt, but he moved well. Glen wouldn't have enjoyed tussling with him, in spite of their size difference.

  "I just moved into the area."

  "Any reason this hasn't been brought to our attention sooner?"

  "I couldn't say. We did some digging, and got ourselves a name from a man who says they tried to sell him the cattle."

  "And I take it that you've given that information to Carbon County's Sheriff's office?"

  "Of course. But I didn't get a good impression from the man. If you could just come look around, maybe talk to the fella we got the name from and see what your office can do…"

  The man pulled a cigarette from his pocket, tried to straighten it where it had bent, and then gave up and offered it to Glen. He shook his head, so the Deputy put it between his lips and lit a match on the bottom of his boot to get it going.

  "I can, but it's a little late. You think it'll wait until morning?"

  "Sure. Where should I stay so you can find me?"

  "There's a good hotel down the way. Big sign, you can't miss it. 'Grand Hotel.' Big red letters."

  Glen thanked him. In the morning, he'd either be coming back with someone who might do something about their little problem, or he would have some very useful information for the future:

  The knowledge that he was on his own, and the law wasn't going to step in to right things.

  Part of him liked that idea, the same part of him that had been whispering since the whole thing had started. The part that was still itching to test his new gun.

  Nineteen

  She couldn't leave the twins alone. They were too young to handle it. At the same time, Glen had taken the only horse into town. It was three, maybe four hours on foot to the doctor, and judging by the sky it would be dark for hours yet.

  Catherine cursed under her breath, held Ada tight.

  "Baby, you're fine, it's gonna be alright."

  She should have gotten ice, she thought. Something, anything that would help cool the girl down, but they didn't have an ice chest. How would they have kept it?

  She laid Ada down, ignoring the girl's protests, and used her sternest voice to tell the girl to "stay right here."

  To Catherine's surprise, there wasn't much argument. Ada was worse than she thought. Ada hadn't ever listened to her, not this well. She had too much of her mother in her. The thought made her smile as she poured out a bowlful of water and wetted down a towel.

  It wasn't much, but it would have to do. They could wait for Glen to return. They'd have to wait. Catherine just had to hope that Ada would be alright. Hope, pray, and whatever happened next, happened.

  She set her book aside, pulled up a chair beside Ada's seat on the couch. Cole came padding out of the room.

  "Momma?"

  "What is it, sweetie?"

  "Can't find Ada."

  "I know, sweet. She's right here. G'on back to bed, now."

  "Oh. Okay."

  She breathed out a sigh of relief. Things could be better, that much was for sure. But they could sure get a heck of a lot worse.

  She watched out the window. Tonight of all nights was not the time for anyone to be going for her cattle. She pulled the rifle off its place over the mantle. Catherine had to watch out. The minute she could take her daughter out of here, take her to see a doctor, she'd take that opportunity.

  Anyone who tried to stand in her way would be explaining it to the Lord.

  Glen took off the gun belt and left it on the bed. He wasn't going to need it. Truth be told, he shouldn't have been going down at all. But he'd seen some folks at the table, sounded like they were playing cards, and he had a night to kill.

  More than that, though, was the knowledge that if he just made a little more money the
n the ranch expedition he had gotten himself tangled up in got that much easier.

  He checked his billfold. Twenty dollars and change. If he went slow, he could double it before he needed to turn in for the night. Maybe better than that, if they were some real suckers.

  "You mind if I join you?"

  Glen pulled out a chair without waiting for an answer. If they minded, he would get back up, but no one said anything so he pulled himself up to the table. Middle of a hand, they went around.

  It was good that they did, he thought. Gave him time to figure out who was playing, and how they played. He recognized a few faces. Traveling sort of folk, he guessed.

  Lee Bridges, who told too many stories about his time prospecting out in California. He was the first, he claims, to have hit on the gold rush out there. If he had, then he wouldn't be at the tables.

  Others he didn't know by name, but he'd seen them before. Over the years he got to know a lot of the folks who were out around the scene. An empty chair sat with a still-burning cigarette hanging off the edge. A sure-enough sign that whoever it was, he was coming back.

  The cards came out, one at a time. None for the empty seat. Glen looked at his cards and grimaced. Nothing worth keeping. Might as well have dealt himself a new hand entirely.

  When the betting started, he kept it slow. Lee was already working the table, anyways. They'd have to split the profits, but then again, Glen had never tried to show off. That was the key to winning—letting them think it was luck. That any minute, they'd turn it around.

  Nothing flashy, never take a guy's last dollar, and always let the hand develop first. It helped to make folks think that he was just playing by ear. If Lee recognized him, it was only as another traveler. At least, that was what he hoped.

  He kept the ace and drew four new cards. Still nothing. When the betting came around he tossed the cards back into the pile. Not worth losing any more money than he'd already bet. He could use a drink. There was something about sitting at the card table with a beer that made him seem relaxed, as if he were just playing to blow off some steam. That was what he hoped to look like, anyway.