One Tough Cowboy

by Lora Leigh

  Someone had killed her aunt, and Samantha swore she’d figure out who.

  She’d taken leave from the Detroit police department indefinitely. Captain Bradshaw officially gave her two weeks, but Samantha wasn’t leaving Deerhaven until she ripped the cover off the whole disgusting mess this county had become and revealed every bottom-feeder involved in her aunt’s death. If she lost her job, she’d just have to lose it.

  With another deep breath, she reached up into the cabinet for the extra plates she’d come into the kitchen for in the first place. She needed to get back out there. She didn’t give a damn about what the gossips had to say about her or her family, but she wouldn’t ignore it either. She’d learned that in every fabricated story, there was a fragile thread of truth. So, she’d smile sweetly, accept the hugs, the condolences, and listen closely to the whispers exchanged once her back was turned.

  It was her aunt Dottie who taught her to be “wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove.” There were many valuable lessons she’d learned from Aunt Dottie. That particular one was her favorite.

  Aunt Dottie was an intelligent woman of faith; however, she didn’t pander to religion. She was wise and imparted that wisdom to all her nieces and nephews. Some of that wisdom came from the teachings of Jesus, some from brilliant wise men and prophets such as Gandhi, Buddha, Martin Luther King, Jr., and some were from the sharp sting of Aunt Dottie’s wooden spoon.

  In the dining room, Samantha set the plates at the end of the highly polished mahogany table filled with covered dishes, casseroles, pies, cookies, and cakes. Of course, there was that one lone bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. She couldn’t help but smile at that. Lord but ranchers knew how to cook. Cowboys ate a lot. With so many people there, at least all the food would be eaten. If not, she’d take what was left down to the mission. If that mission were still there.

  Sadness was a whisper that settled over her softly. When her father’s job offer in Michigan had taken her away from Deerhaven, she left a part of herself behind. Now it felt like that part of her was gone forever. Faded away like a wisp of smoke as time in the little town trudged on.

  Everything changes.

  Samantha turned to face the assembly of people and expressed her appreciation as these strangers hugged her or laid a sympathetic hand on her arm as they whispered their condolences. Accepting hugs and touches from these people was becoming more and more difficult, yet she smiled, nodded, and thanked them politely while she attempted to focus on individual discussions going on around her.

  “… happens in threes, they say.” Samantha didn’t look in the direction of the women.

  “That’s true. So tragic, though. And all three of ’em was awful cozy, if you know what I mean.”

  “Oh, honey, I know. There was talk of—”

  The doorbell interrupted the ladies’ discussion. Samantha kept her smile in place as she made her way through the small crowd. Her jaw was beginning to ache from the forcing a smile, from clenching her teeth in frustration.

  “I’ll get it.” A woman waved to her as she stepped to the door and opened it.

  “Thank you,” she said as she leaned down to accept a hug from yet another little old lady who said she knew her when she was a baby. Then his voice captured her attention.

  She didn’t look up right away. Standing there stiffly, she smiled down at the lady. “Oh, Sheriff Steele is here. You remember him. Don’t you, dear? Maybe not so much. He’s a little older than you, I think,” the grandmotherly woman said gently with an impish gleam in her eye.

  Oh, Samantha remembered him.

  Hunter Steele, the righter of her accidental-on-purpose wrongs, the conqueror of irksome, wannabe bullies that she couldn’t resist provoking. He’d been her champion.

  She nodded to the lady. “Yes, ma’am. I remember him.”

  He’d never seen her as anything other than a pesky little kid because that was exactly what she had been. She had constantly pushed the boundaries and was forever getting into trouble.

  When she was seven, Hunter had swooped in and saved her from being beaten by the Collins boys for daring to defend her friend Jesse after they knocked him around and stole his Gameboy. Donnie and Robbie were three and four years older than her and twice as big, but she was mad and had lost all rationality.

  Hunter was popular around town. His family ran the well-known Steele Spur Ranch. Samantha had known him all her life, but when he made it clear he would bury the boys if he ever found out they’d picked on her or anybody else, in her mind she’d gained a champion. It only made her bolder and more mischievous. That’s when he nicknamed her Pixie Pest.

  Four years later her parents uprooted and moved away from her quiet, country hometown to the cold, often cruel city of Detroit. She’d been torn away from the only life she’d known, the rugged, beautiful open spaces, from friends she’d had since birth and grown up with, people she cared about and who cared about her.

  Several families came by to wish them well and say goodbye. Hunter had been there with his uncle. He’d smiled down at her as he tugged her ponytail and told her to behave and stay out of trouble.

  The next time she saw him was in town while she was visiting Aunt Dottie with her daddy, several years later. They were going into the restaurant as he was coming out with a very pretty lady on his arm. He greeted her dad with a grin, finally turning his gaze to her, and his expression went blank.

  She’d never forget that look on his face. He probably didn’t recognize her. But at the time Samantha was seventeen. All teenage angst and romantic dreams. He had been twenty-five then and apparently attached. His companion was stoic but didn’t let go of his arm.

  Samantha no longer saw him as her own personal bodyguard who kept bailing her out of her shenanigans. He took her breath away, made her heart race. Heat bloomed in her cheeks even now as memories flashed through her mind. She had been awkward but shameless in her attempt to attract him.

  He had looked at her like he didn’t know her and then completely ignored her. Lord, she hoped he didn’t remember.

  “Sheriff!” the sweet old lady called to him. Samantha cringed inwardly but managed a weak smile as she looked up and watched him saunter toward them, Stetson in hand.

  Always the gentleman.

  He hadn’t changed much. He seemed bigger, his shoulders broader. His signature thick, black hair was cut in a shorter style. As he got closer, Samantha noticed his face had changed quite a bit. Any boyish softness he’d once had was all gone and had been replaced with hard planes and angles, except for his full, well-defined lips. There were fine laugh lines fanning out from the corners of his steel gray eyes. Those eyes were more intense, hard. The easy laughter that lit them when he was younger seemed to be gone.

  “Ms. Bell.” He nodded in greeting to the diminutive lady.

  “Good of you to come by, Sheriff. Little Samantha is handlin’ all this by herself.” She winked and patted his arm. “She could use a little help, I’m thinkin’.”

  Samantha wanted to walk away. She also wanted to throw her arms around Hunter and hold on for dear life. Not just because he still made her heart pound, but because he was a part of her life she thought she’d lost. She wanted to hold on to a stable, warm part of her past where she was happy and safe. Seeing him again brought those memories and emotions all rushing back.

  “Hey, Sam.” The smooth, deep bass of his voice was quiet and soothing.

  “Hey, Hunter.” His name left her lips with more composure than she felt.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral, but I wanted to come by to extend my condolences, and to see how you’re doin’.” He stepped closer and rubbed her bare upper arm. “You holdin’ up okay?” His hand, a bit rough and callused from real work, was warm, reassuring.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m okay, Hunter, thank you.” She cleared her throat. “Everyone brought food. The dining room table is overflowing. Help yourself.”

  He followed he
r through the living room to the dining room. She turned and almost jumped back. He was standing inches away, looking down at her. His brows furrowed, his gaze sharply assessing her. He smelled incredible, and he stood so close she could feel the heat from his body.

  She opened her mouth to say something but forgot what she wanted to say. She must look completely ignorant gaping up at him like that.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Sympathy and concern shadowed his expression, softening the harsher lines of his face.

  “It’s been a long day. I’m fine, really.” She was a basket case, and not just because of her aunt’s death.

  Hunter gave her a gentle smile and pulled out a chair. “No doubt. Sit and talk to me for a while. I haven’t seen you in what? Ten years?”

  Samantha welcomed the chance to get off her feet and get away from the crowd for a bit. “Yeah, about ten years, I think.”

  He pulled out the chair beside her, turned it toward her, and sat, staring at her solemnly. “I’m real sorry about Dottie.”

  “Me too.” She looked into his eyes, assessing whether she could or should continue. “I really didn’t get enough time with her. I’ll always regret that.”

  Hunter shook his head. “Sam, you know Dottie thought the world of you. She knew you loved her and she loved you.”

  Had she? Samantha couldn’t help but question the observation. School, her career, and far too many emotions had seemed to always get in the way of returning to Deerhaven.

  “Yes, I know, but I look around at these people and think of how some of them probably knew her even better than I did, her own niece.” Samantha frowned and gestured toward a blue-haired woman sitting on the couch sobbing, clutching another woman’s hand. “Mrs. Holt is devastated.”

  She obviously had not talked to her aunt on the phone enough either, because Dottie had never mentioned the other woman.

  A small smile touched Hunter’s far-too-sensual lips as he lowered his head and leaned closer. “Sam, Irene Holt never even met Dottie. She attends any and all funerals and wails and carries on like that at every one of ’em.” Amusement touching his gaze.

  Samantha looked at him incredulously until he raised his hand and said, “Hand to God. Every one of ’em.”

  “Wow.” No wonder her aunt Dottie had never mentioned the other woman.

  “Yep.” Hunter’s smile broadened. “As for the rest of them, they’re just being neighborly or nosy. Most of ’em still remember your family and you. You were pretty hard to forget … Pixie Pest.” His brows lifted playfully. Teasingly.

  Samantha narrowed her eyes. “Ugh. That nickname. I don’t know which is worse, that or Sami Jo.”

  She protested it. Just as she always had. That flare of warmth she felt whenever it passed his lips was still there, though.

  “You earned it.”

  “Psh, whatever.” She’d actually worked at it at the time.

  Hunter chuckled and she nearly sighed. Lord, she’d missed his laugh, his smile, even the way he’d tease her. She’d missed him.

  “Aw, you know I was always fond of you, Pixie. You were a great kid, even if you were a pest that was constantly following me around and giving my girlfriends hell.”

  She had been such a tomboy with wild, young girl fantasies of being swept off her feet by the cutest boy in Deerhaven, or the whole wide world, for that matter. He’d called her his Pixie Pest whenever he’d seen her and tugged at her long, tangled hair.

  “I’m not a kid anymore.” She held his gaze and couldn’t imagine how she’d gotten so bold.

  Hunter’s gaze traveled over her body, a single black brow arching slowly in acknowledgment. “I’ve noticed. I’m trying really hard to remember what a pain in the ass you used to be.”

  Samantha lifted a brow. “I can still be a pain in the ass.”

  “I bet you can.” The look in his eyes was making her feel way too hot, way too needy.

  She didn’t want to go there. Not now. After Tom Novak, the very last thing she needed was another relationship. Besides all that, she was here to get answers, not to get laid.

  Clearing her throat again, she changed the subject to the one on which she had to keep her focus. “Hunter, what really happened to Aunt Dottie?”

  His smile faded and his gaze sharpened. “What do you mean?”

  “Aunt Dottie had a sharp mind. She didn’t overdose accidently, no way in hell would she overdose on purpose. What happened?”

  Hunter never broke eye contact. “We’re in a cornfield, Sam.”

  It took her a minute to realize he meant there were too many ears around.

  “Fine. I’ll ask you this question again later. But, just so you know, I’m not leaving Deerhaven until I get the answer.”

  Hunter nodded. “Understood.”

  Samantha stood. “I’m being rude sitting here. I better go mingle. Please, get yourself something to eat and fix a plate to take home.”

  His lopsided smile gave her pause as he stood and took a plate from the stack. “There’s iced tea in the kitchen. Make yourself at home,” she added warily.

  With a deep breath, she turned away and walked into the living room. There stood William Henderson, shaking hands with everyone, his practiced smile in place. He wore expensive suits and kept his hair slicked back and combed over to hide his bald spot. He thought himself attractive and carried himself like he was the king of everything.

  Samantha straightened her spine and pasted on a smile of her own as she forced herself forward. Henderson looked up and tilted his head, a sympathetic expression on his face.

  “It is good to see you again, Samantha. I do wish it were under better circumstances.”

  She took his hand. “Yes, thank you, Mayor.”

  “I’m truly sorry for your loss. Dottie was a fine woman and a beloved citizen. It’s a shame.”

  Samantha looked up at him. Mayor Henderson was intimidating physically. He’d had a little more than his share of fried chicken with gravy and biscuits. Add to that his broad shoulders and height, at least six three, the man tended to block out the light. He didn’t intimidate her, though. She’d taken down men his size before, both figuratively and literally.

  “Mayor.” Hunter held out his hand as he stepped beside her, surprising her. She hadn’t known he had followed her.

  “Hello there, Hunter. I thought I might run into you here.” The mayor smiled jovially.

  “Of course.” Hunter was an inch or two shorter than Henderson but had a lot more muscle and good sense. He wasn’t the least bit intimidated. The hard look in his eyes belied the tight smile that curved his lips.

  “Listen, Hunter, how about using your infamous charm to get little Samantha here to transfer back home? It’d be good to have her home again, and I hear she’s got a good reputation with the Detroit PD,” the mayor announced abruptly.

  A myriad of emotions flashed through Samantha all at once, and she steeled herself against letting them show on her face. Besides the misogynistic comment, he’d obviously been inquiring about her with the department. That didn’t sit well at all.

  Hunter chuckled easily. “I don’t know about charm.” He glanced at Samantha and what she saw in his eyes didn’t match the amiable smile that curved his lips. “But I’ll do what I can.”

  Samantha’s grin was more like a grimace. “While I appreciate the compliment”—she had to concentrate to unclench her jaw so as not to growl at the men through her teeth—“I have to say, regardless of the volume of charm being displayed at the moment, I’m happy with the Detroit PD and have no plans to leave.”

  Henderson’s grin was condescending as he shook Hunter’s hand again, slapping him on the shoulder with his other hand. “You do what you can, Sherriff. We could use another deputy.”

  “Excuse me.” Samantha managed an affected chuckle. “I should go … mingle.” And with that, she escaped without losing her temper.

  * * *

  Time plodded along as Samantha sat in the dim li
ving room with its bold magnolia prints and crocheted doilies. She listened to and laughed at stories of Dottie’s escapades. She answered questions about her parents and didn’t pull away when visitors held her hand and patted it sympathetically as she explained that her father had died three years ago of a heart attack.

  Their concern for her seemed genuine and the kind words and gentle touches were a surprising comfort to her. She found herself remembering that rare country hospitality she’d missed for fifteen years.

  It was late when the last person, none other than Mrs. Holt herself, hugged her, patted her cheek, and left. Samantha closed the door and leaned against it, shutting her eyes with a sigh. It warmed her heart that at least some of these people not only spent time cooking for her, but also gave up their entire Saturday in her aunt’s memory. The feeling was bittersweet in that she did have happy memories, but she’d been cheated out of so much.

  “Everyone finally leave?” Hunter’s voice, so unexpected, had her reaching for the weapon she hadn’t worn, then attempting to cover the move by propping her hand on her hip self-consciously.

  “I thought you’d left,” she exclaimed, her heart racing as she laid her hand over her heart a second later.

  “Sorry I startled you.” Hunter smiled, watching her with observant gray eyes.

  “It’s okay.” She pushed away from the door. “Everyone has left, except you.”

  Something in his eyes made her heart leap. She swallowed and gestured toward the dining room. “You should take some of that food home.”

  Hunter shook his head. “Already put up. There wasn’t much left, but it’s in the freezer, labelled, dated, and everything. Dishes are all washed and put up too.”

  He’d done dishes?

  “Well. Thank you.” She was a little more than surprised.

  “No problem. You’re tired. Hated for you to have to deal with the mess.” He stepped closer, his expression stern. “There’s a plate for you in the fridge. Make sure you eat it.”

  She smiled up at him, nodding. “Okay, I will.” She paused. “Is now a good time to talk? No more ears.” She gestured.