The Cowboy & The Belly Dancer (Heartbeat)

by Charlotte Maclay

  It took all of his willpower not to laugh out loud and he really didn’t want to make her feel the fool. She’d obviously never been in a grocery store before. He imagined he wouldn’t do any better trying to manage a herd of camels, or whatever it was her family had done for a living in her homeland.

  “No, sweetheart, that’s food for dogs and cats, not ground-up pets. Trust me.”

  She still looked a bit skeptical as she warily moved down the aisle. Parker found himself wishing he could teach her more than just the ropes of grocery shopping, delights of a far more intimate nature.

  Not a good plan, he told himself. For all he knew, given her bizarre story about being locked up in a lamp for nine hundred years, she might be an escapee from the local psycho ward.

  In the meat department, she peered at the cellophane-wrapped packages. “I do not see any sheep’s brains,” she complained. “I had wanted to prepare my specialty for you. With dates, of course.”

  He silently thanked the butchers for their fortuitous omission.

  “Wrong season,” he assured Nesrin, hustling her toward the produce department.

  At the fresh corn, they came on Rutherford Mildon, the man who had ordered the mustangs from Parker. He appeared to be sorting carefully through the bin in order to select the specific ears of corn best suited to expanding his size fifty-six waist.

  “Well, howdy, Parker,” he said. “How’s it going with the mustangs?”

  “Right on schedule. I’ve rounded up your twenty, plus some extras. We’re working our way through saddle-breaking them now. Ought to have them in good shape with time to spare.”

  “I’m almost sorry to hear that, boy.”

  Parker frowned. “Why’s that?”

  “Well, now—” Rutherford dropped two ears of corn into an already full plastic bag “—there’s this fella’ up in Wanita Hot Springs who’s selling his mares for near half the price of yours.”

  “We’ve got a contract, Rutherford.”

  “I know that.” He dropped the sack into his burgeoning grocery cart. “Never broke my word yet, and don’t intend to start now. Still...if for some reason you cain’t deliver them horses on time, it shore wouldn’t hurt my pocketbook none.”

  “I’ll deliver, Rutherford. You can count on it.” The future of Parker’s ranch depended on it.

  * * *

  AS PARKER WAS ABOUT to put the groceries into the back of the truck, Nesrin said, “Could we walk through the town? It seems such an interesting place.”

  “There’s really not much to see.”

  “Please, Uncle Parker,” Kevin pleaded. “There’s a video store down the street. Maybe they’ve got some cool games.”

  Amy gazed up at him with big melt-your-heart blue eyes. “I saw an ice-cream store,” she said, her sweet request another tie that wrapped Parker around her little finger.

  The three of them were ganging up on him. Again.

  Oh, what the heck! Their first visit to town ought to be something special.

  So Kevin rented a month’s worth of video games, and Amy got her ice cream. To his surprise, Parker discovered he liked hanging around with the kids. They were smart as little whips—good enough to keep him on his toes—and they saw life as still full of possibilities. It made him realize how jaded he had become over the years.

  Even so, as they headed back toward the truck, Parker wondered at his lack of firm discipline with the youngsters. Just because the kids had lost their parents didn’t mean he had to give in to their every request.

  Just this once, he assured himself. Then he’d start being strict with them, though not as demanding as his father had been, he promised himself.

  In front of a pair of swinging doors, Nesrin came to a halt. There was music coming from inside. She heard laughter and detected the thick scent of tobacco mixed with the aroma of fermented grains. Suddenly she was swept with memories of dancing for her father and his friends. They had applauded wildly. For once, her father had been proud of her.

  “What is this place?” she asked, trying to peer under the swinging doors.

  “It’s a bar. The High Mountain Saloon.” Parker slid his arm around her waist and hurried her past the entrance. “A seedy honky-tonk filled with cowboys. You don’t want to go in there.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder. No, she supposed she did not want that. But she did wish she could do something that would make Parker proud of her.

  She had been troubled because he disbelieved all that she had told him about her past. She’d seen the doubt in his eyes and that worried her. How could he match his own formidable powers against Rasheyd if he did not recognize the strength of his adversary? And she feared there would come a time, in order to protect her from the wizard, that Parker might place himself in danger. Though her life was of little value, she did not want him to be injured...or worse, condemned to spend eternity in darkness as she had been.

  By the time Parker got Nesrin and the kids back to the truck, he was fit to be tied.

  It was bad enough every guy on the street had tossed an appreciative look in Nesrin’s direction. And worse that she was so damn friendly she smiled back at every one of them. But the thought that she’d wanted to wander into a low-life bar had been the limit. Forget that Parker had spent a good many hours in that same saloon before she and the kids had arrived at his ranch. He knew what went on in there. How the guys talked. And what was on their little pea-brained minds.

  The same damn thing that was on his mind.

  If he had good sense, he’d bed her, brand her—metaphorically speaking, of course—and make damn sure every cowpoke in the county knew she belonged to him.

  He wouldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be fair to Nesrin. But he was damn well tempted.

  He yanked open the truck door for the kids.

  “Uncle Parker, could we—”

  “No!”

  At his sharp retort, both kids came close to jumping out of their skins. Parker cursed himself. He didn’t normally let himself slip so far out of control. And there was no reason he should take his frustration out on the kids.

  He beat Nesrin to the passenger side of the truck, capturing her between the heated metal and the twin barriers of his outstretched arms. He was standing close to her, too close, and he caught her erotic scent, both foreign and tantalizing. Jeans had never looked so good on a woman. So damn sexy.

  “Parker?” she questioned.

  “We need to talk.” His voice scraped roughly along his throat.

  “Again?”

  “Yeah.”

  Resting her small, delicate hands on his chest, she looked at him quizzically. “About what?”

  About how he wanted to make love with her. Here. In the middle of town. With her propped on the fender of his truck. And how he didn’t want any more cowboys looking at her without knowing she belonged to him.

  Sweat beaded his upper lip. Nesrin wasn’t the crazy one. He was. Crazy jealous.

  “About...” He swallowed hard. Frantically he searched for a way out of the mess he’d gotten himself into. A way to cool down, when what he wanted was to feel the fire he sensed lurking behind Nesrin’s innocent eyes. “About how to cook some of the stuff we bought at the grocery store.”

  “I had thought to ask Louanne.”

  “Good. Right. She can help you.”

  With the same force of will drilled into him by his father and the academy, Parker commanded himself to step back. He wasn’t going to lose control. Not here. Not in front of the kids and half the town.

  He would have moved, too, if he hadn’t seen a spark of unadulterated curiosity in Nesrin’s dark eyes. Heated interest, he mentally corrected. She was no more immune to him than he was to her. Hell, there wasn’t any vaccination known to man that would stop the electricity that leapt between them.

  His gaze swept her face, her finely sculpted cheeks and the sensuous curve of her lips. How could he get this riled up about a woman he hadn’t even kissed? Not really. B
ut he’d certainly thought about it enough.

  “Parker...” Her voice was a low, sultry whisper that teased his overheated libido. “Are we going to stand here much longer?”

  “You got a problem with that?”

  “I think the children would like to go home.”

  Silently swearing at himself, he dragged his gaze from Nesrin’s face and stared beyond the facades of the shopping center, to the shimmering blue-white sky beyond. He tamped down the raging desire that had him thinking like a wild man. His fingers flexed.

  “Parker?”

  This time there was a trace of fear in her voice, and who could blame her. It was enough to bring Parker blinking back to his senses.

  For a moment he fingered the long, silken strands of her dark hair, then he shoved away from the truck to release her from the prison of his arms. He opened the door. “Let’s get going,” he ordered, turning away before he could change his mind.

  Nesrin sat with her hands folded in her lap during the silent ride back to the ranch. The children seemed equally subdued. Something had happened when Parker had trapped her beside the truck. There’d been a change between them, a rising of tension like ropes pulled taut on a tent. Nesrin found the sensation both unnerving and exhilarating.

  She had never felt more feminine. Not even when she danced. Only Parker had made her feel this riotous need for something more.

  The need to submit.

  That realization terrified her. To want something so much, and know insufferable agony would result, was a greater cruelty than she had ever imagined. A shiver of fear stroked through her insides. She would have to remain very strong in order to wage a successful battle against that which was her own weakness.

  As they reached the ranch, Nesrin turned, sensing a sudden alertness in Parker she had not previously observed. His posture had gone rigid; his gaze darted from house to barn and back again as he slowed the truck to a stop well away from his usual parking spot. Tension rippled a muscle in his jaw and tightened his forehead.

  There was something wrong.

  Fear fluttered through Nesrin’s middle.

  Rasheyd!

  Chapter Six

  Ten years of service in Special Forces gave a man a sixth sense for danger.

  Parker’s kicked in with a vengeance the minute he drove into the ranch yard. It was like an invisible storm of static electricity raising the hairs on the back of his neck. The sudden awareness was so strong he felt like a porcupine.

  Maybe it was the way the mustangs were milling erratically around the corral. Or maybe because Rusty’s ol’ barn dog was on his feet moving when he should have been resting in the sun.

  Parker pulled the car to a quiet stop in front of the house. He switched off the ignition.

  “I want you guys to stay right here,” he ordered in the tone he used to command troops. “In the car. Don’t move until I tell you.”

  Going as rigid as plebes at their first inspection, they didn’t argue.

  He slid out of the car. Soundlessly he closed the door. His senses were at full alert, his gaze sweeping the terrain. There was something wrong, and his mind flashed on the swarthy characters who had been asking questions about Marge.

  A muscle rippled at his jaw. Years ago he’d given up carrying a weapon. There shouldn’t have been a reason to on a horse ranch in the Rockies. Except for snakes. And he suspected there was a snake of the two-legged variety lurking somewhere nearby. Maybe more than one.

  In this case, his hands and a good deal of stealth would have to be weapon enough. There wasn’t time to get inside the house, get a gun from the locked rifle rack in the den, and then go in search of whoever had trespassed on his land.

  From the back of the house he heard the thwack of the screen door slamming. Seconds later, before Parker could make it to the rear porch, a motor revved. A motorcycle, by the sound of it, a powerful one.

  The guy on the bike rounded the corner of the house slowly. Until he saw Parker. Then, in a panic, he twisted the throttle, gunning the engine and sending gravel spewing off the back tire.

  Lowering his shoulder, Parker made a dive for him. He connected in a satisfying collision that sent the pair of them crashing to the ground along with the bike, wheels spinning. The motorcycle whipped around like a mammoth, writhing snake. Parker twisted out of the way, then pinned the trespasser.

  He lifted the cyclist’s tinted helmet visor.

  “The damned panhandler from town! What the hell are you doing here?”

  Recognition flashed across the young man’s face. “Hey, man, I didn’t know this was your place.”

  Fisting the panhandler’s collar, Parker lifted him to his feet. He couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred twenty-five pounds. Scrawny and younger than he had realized, the kid probably hadn’t seen his eighteenth birthday yet. Definitely wet behind the ears. A runaway, Parker suspected, though he couldn’t guess from what, given the expensive bike he was riding. “Just whose place did you think you were breaking into?”

  “I didn’t know. Honest, I just heard some guys talkin’. You know, like this place might be a good mark.”

  “Be a little more specific, buddy, or you’ll find yourself with a couple of broken arms.” The kid was already terrified, but a little rough talk wouldn’t hurt. “What’d they say?”

  “They said some stuff about emeralds.”

  “Emeralds?”

  “Yeah, you know. Jewels. Like you had a bunch of jewels stashed around here.”

  Not likely, but the reference to emeralds sent a prickle of apprehension down Parker’s spine. Nesrin had said... “What did these guys you’re talking about look like.”

  “I don’t know. Kinda foreign. They had accents.”

  “So you were hanging around, eavesdropping, and you just happened to hear something about emeralds?”

  “Well, kinda...” the kid hedged. “They sorta gave me a few bucks to come check out the place.”

  “Check out?”

  “Yeah, you know. They wanted me to see how many hands you’ve got, if there’s an alarm system. That kinda thing.”

  The kid had been casing the place, Parker realized, and that made him all the more anxious about the men who were snooping around town. He was about to ask the kid more questions, but Nesrin hadn’t stayed put as she’d been ordered.

  “You?” she asked incredulously, staring at the young man. “Did I not give you enough coins?”

  “Yes, ma’am, you were real nice. I was just trying to tell your old man that I didn’t know this was your place.” Fearfully the kid’s watery gray eyes darted from Nesrin back to Parker. “Shoot, I wouldn’t hit on somebody who’d already given me some bread.”

  “Bread?” Nesrin questioned. “But I thought you wanted money so you could go visit your mother.”

  “It’s an expression,” Parker said. “I’ll explain later.”

  “But he was going to take a bus,” she persisted. “Why would he do that when he has a perfectly good machine that would take him anywhere he wanted to go?”

  “Nesrin! Will you let me handle this.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and nailed the panhandler with a withering look. “In my country, beggars do not lie.”

  Parker rolled his eyes. “All right, kid, what did you manage to filch from inside the house?”

  “Nothing, really.”

  “Let’s see it.”

  The young man shrugged out of his backpack, opening it for Parker’s inspection. Nesrin peered over his shoulder.

  “Cans of soup?” Parker asked. “That’s it?”

  “Couple of apples.” The kid hung his head, staring at the scuffed toes of his work boots.

  Parker wasn’t quite sure what to believe. The kid certainly wasn’t a hard-core criminal, and there sure wasn’t anywhere on the motorcycle to hide a computer or TV. Outside of that, there wasn’t much of value in the house that could be stolen. He rarely kept cash on hand.

  He made a pe
rfunctory search of the pack, then righted the motorcycle so he could check the saddlebags. He came up empty as far as any stolen merchandise. In fact, if the contents of the saddlebags represented the kid’s entire worldly possessions, it didn’t stand for much.

  “Can I go now?” the boy asked.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  He straddled his bike and tested the throttle.

  Nesrin tried to take the backpack from Parker, but he held back.

  “He is hungry, Parker.” Her voice was low and confidential.

  “He lied about needing bus fare,” he reminded her. And was probably setting them up for a robbery, he mentally added.

  “I know.” Her fingers flitted across his chest, brushing imaginary dirt from his shirt. “And you are a most generous man who does not hold a grudge.”

  He caught her fingers, like trapping the fragile wings of a hummingbird. “There’s a sucker born every day.”

  “And only rarely does a truly good man appear. Like you, Parker.”

  He knew her words were flattery, said so she could get her softhearted way. But something in her eyes made him a believer, if only long enough that he tossed the pack to the kid.

  “Get outta here,” he ordered gruffly.

  “Yeah. Sure. Thanks.”

  The kid gunned the bike, and the motorcycle raced away, an elongated cloud of dust rising as he headed toward the highway.

  Rusty’s lop-eared old dog finally decided to bark a warning.

  More responsive to Parker’s orders than Nesrin, Kevin and Amy piled out of the truck after they sensed everything was all clear.

  “Keep the kids busy for a few minutes,” Parker told Nesrin. “I want to check inside.”

  “You think there may still be someone—”

  “Just a precaution.”

  “I want to go with you.”

  “Stay with the kids.” He looked her squarely in the eyes. Damn, she was gorgeous, a rare combination of seduction and innocence. “I mean it this time.”

  Since the hair on the back of his neck had settled down, he figured it was safe enough to leave Nesrin and the children while he checked out the interior of the house. He wanted to get a look at what the panhandler had been up to inside besides snitching cans of soup. And he didn’t want the kids underfoot.