The Cowboy Way

by Linda Lael Miller

  His heart went out to her, and he wasn’t sure it was going to find its way back where it belonged anytime soon.

  He reached across the narrow table, took her hand, gave her fingers a light squeeze. “Another time,” he said, watching her. Thinking he might just fall right into the blue of her eyes, tumbling head over heels forever, never hitting bottom.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Fair is fair.”

  “If you don’t feel like talking, Melissa, that’s all right.”

  Melissa looked straight into his eyes, didn’t move to pull her hand from his grasp, but it was a long time before she spoke. “His name was—is—Dan Guthrie. He wanted to get married, and he had these two great kids. I said yes. But every time we tried to go through with the plan and actually throw a wedding, I’d back off. Eventually, Dan got tired of that, and he—well—he’s married to someone else now. They’re going to have a baby.”

  Steven wanted to ask if she still loved this Guthrie yahoo, but he figured there had been enough soul-baring for one night.

  Besides that, he wasn’t sure he could stand hearing the answer.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  PINK AND GOLD CRACKS split the dawn sky as Melissa rose from Steven Creed’s bed, being careful not to wake him, crept into the bathroom for a hasty shower and slipped back into the sundress she’d worn the night before.

  Common sense said to get out while the getting was good—she definitely didn’t want Brad or Meg to find her there at that hour, if they had to bring Matt home early for some reason, for instance—but she couldn’t resist leaning down to plant a whisper-light kiss on Steven’s forehead before leaving. And when she did, he took her by the shoulders and eased her down beside him.

  Startled, she gave a little shriek as she landed. Then she laughed and scrambled right back up again, careful to stay out of his reach this time.

  Steven yawned luxuriously and cupped his hands behind his head, watching her with a glint of mischief in his eyes and a grin resting on his mouth. “Leaving so soon?” he asked, in a teasing tone.

  “‘Soon’?” Melissa echoed, pretending indignation. “I got here at six o’clock last night, and now the sun is about to come up. I should have left hours ago.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  She couldn’t help smiling; she felt so good. “I’m glad, too,” she admitted. “But I’ve got to go. All the neighbors will probably see me pulling in at first light as it is, and I’m due at the office in a couple of hours.”

  “Right,” Steven said, sounding resigned. Outside in the narrow hallway, Zeke gave an anxious little whimper. “Dog needs to go outside,” he added, sitting up and starting to throw back the comforter.

  Knowing only too well what was under that comforter, Melissa turned on her heel and rushed out. “Come on, boy,” she told the waiting canine. “I’ll let you out.”

  As she retreated, Zeke hurrying along behind her, she heard Steven chuckle.

  Moments later, he appeared in the doorway of the bus, barefoot and shirtless, with his jeans misbuttoned. Melissa had been waiting for Zeke to relieve himself so she could let him back into the bus before starting for town. Seeing Steven shook her resolve a little, though.

  Did he have to look so damn good, even five minutes after he got out of bed? He hadn’t shaved or showered or even combed his hair, and he still made her ache for more of the same.

  “Call you later?” Steven asked, shoving a hand through his hair.

  Melissa could still feel the silken texture of that hair between her fingers. “Okay,” she said. “Thanks for—” Heat surged into her face. “Thanks for supper.”

  He grinned. “Thanks for coming,” he said mildly.

  Another blush followed the first one, winding up at Melissa’s hairline, where she could feel it throbbing in time with her heartbeat. She was damned if she’d say, You’re welcome. “Okay,” she repeated, heading for her car as the dog frolicked toward his master.

  Melissa jumped into her car, started the engine and drove away. Fast. Her face didn’t cool down until she was almost at the town limits.

  After that, she thought about how conspicuous her car was. If she’d been driving a normal subcompact, or some kind of sedan, she might have a chance of going unnoticed. In a bright red replica of an MG Roadster—not so much.

  Melissa straightened her spine. Breathed in the fresh morning air, and tried to think sensibly. She’d had a relationship with Dan, after all, and the whole town knew it. Why was she so worried that news of her night with Steven Creed would get around?

  She bit her lower lip. It definitely wasn’t about shame or embarrassment—that much she was sure of. So what, then?

  It didn’t take her long to figure it out. Her time with Steven was precious and, therefore, private. She needed a while to process all that had happened, to make some kind of sense of things.

  Good luck with that, she thought.

  She was especially careful to stay within the speed limit as she cruised through town, because all she needed right then was for an early-rising Tom Parker to pull her over and give her a ticket.

  At home, she parked the car in her tiny detached garage instead of leaving it at the curb or in the driveway, feeling grateful that none of the neighbors seemed to be stirring yet. She made a dash for the back door, keys in hand, and ducked inside like some fugitive two steps ahead of the law.

  This morning, she was determined, would be like any other morning.

  She got into shorts and a sports bra and a tank top, pulled on some socks and her running shoes, left again by way of the front door, pausing on the porch to lock up before slipping her ribbon-strung key over her neck.

  The cuts and bruises from yesterday’s fall hadn’t been magically healed, but they didn’t hurt the way they did before, either, so she warmed up as usual and jogged through the gate and down the sidewalk, following her favorite route.

  Running always straightened out any tangles in Melissa’s brain, and this run was no exception.

  Mentally, she reviewed the situation. Fact: she’d slept with Steven Creed. Fact: she’d enjoyed the experience, and she wasn’t one bit sorry. Fact: she’d better watch out, if she didn’t want her heart smashed to bits all over again.

  She dried a stray tear with the back of one hand and picked up her pace.

  She jogged along Main Street, not stopping in for a bottle of deliciously cold water as she passed the Sunflower Café after lapping the town park three times, then headed for home.

  All was quiet at Ashley’s but, hey, she thought, with a small smile, it was early. The ancient ones were probably still snoozing away in their various beds, but who knew what they’d be up to after a hearty breakfast.

  Minutes later, cooling down in her side yard, Melissa heard the phone ringing inside, and the tone seemed oddly urgent. She unlocked the door and hurried inside.

  “Hello?” she sputtered. Not her usual way of answering.

  “Hello,” Tom responded. “Any chance you can come in early today?”

  A prickle danced up Melissa’s spine and then back down again. “I guess. Why?”

  Tom was quiet for a moment. “It’s the Carter kid—Nathan,” he finally went on. “One of my deputies ran him in last night for loitering—mainly so the boy would have someplace to sleep. This morning, Carter’s claiming that Pete knocked him around, and he’s got a shiner to prove it. Says he wants to press charges.”

  Melissa released a long sigh. Deputy Pete Ferguson, a solid citizen with a wife and four kids and a sterling reputation in the community. It was hard to imagine him abusing his authority in any way whatsoever.

  “Great,” she muttered.

  “You’re the prosecutor, O’Ballivan,” Tom said, his tone light, but grim, too. “Ferguson is being accused of a felony. And he’s beside himself over it. So you’d better get down here and decide whether or not the people have a case.”

  “I’ll be there,” Melissa confirmed. “Tell Pete to h
old on.”

  She took a quick shower, got dressed and skipped the makeup, except for mascara and a swipe of lip gloss.

  Melissa paused only briefly to check herself out in the full-length mirror before leaving the bedroom. Her tailored black slacks and peacock-blue silk blouse made her feel—and look—more like her old self. And that was important because, since last night, she hadn’t been quite sure who the heck she was.

  As soon as she set foot inside the municipal building, a sense of dread settled over her spirit. After pausing to steel herself for a moment, Melissa marched down the corridor to Tom’s office, drew a deep breath outside his door, let it out again and went in.

  Steven was standing by Tom’s desk, all spiffed up for the day and yet still managing to look like a man who’d just enjoyed a night of lively sex.

  Which, of course, he was. Moreover, he was a lawyer, there to represent someone—Pete? Nathan Carter?

  It was anybody’s guess, at that point, but one thing was for sure. Steven would inevitably side against her.

  Melissa felt dazed, as though she’d collided with an invisible brick wall, crazy as it seemed.

  Steven looked as cool as could be, in no apparent hurry to do anything.

  His mouth crooked up at one corner when his gaze connected with Melissa’s, after a slow cruise from her feet to her face. He was trying to unsettle her, of course, and it was working.

  Melissa felt strangely exposed, as though Steven had X-ray vision or her clothes had turned to cellophane.

  “Morning,” he drawled. His eyes and that faint grin said it all.

  He’d played her body the way Charlie Daniels plays a fiddle, during the night, and he wasn’t going to pretend it hadn’t happened, much as she wanted to do exactly that.

  Melissa hoped Tom hadn’t picked up on the note of intimacy in Steven’s tone. He’d razz her mercilessly if he knew what was going on.

  “Good morning,” she replied stiffly, as though she and Steven were mere acquaintances instead of very recent lovers. She glanced past him, as dismissively as she could, toward the cells, where Nathan stood behind bars, smirking at her.

  Pete Ferguson, who had been fidgeting at his desk, bolted to his feet. “It’s a lie, Melissa,” he blurted out. “You know I’d never rough up a prisoner—”

  Carter simply pointed to his eye, which was nearly swollen shut, the flesh around it shot through with varying shades of purple and green as well as bruise-blue.

  Nobody spoke for a few moments.

  Then Steven cleared his throat and said, “In addition to the injury Mr. Carter suffered, there seems to be some question of Deputy Ferguson’s reasons for detaining him in the first place.”

  Melissa felt as though she’d been kicked in the solar plexus. Hard. “You’re representing Mr. Carter, then?”

  Ferguson, tall and clean-cut, with a military haircut and pale blue eyes, looked sick. Tom just looked disgusted.

  “It would be more accurate to say I’m advising him,” Steven said. His tone was even, though a bedrock of resolve ran beneath it.

  Melissa turned on Nathan Carter. He looked her over insolently, and the effect was quite different from when Steven had done almost the same thing. “What happened?” she asked.

  “He was hanging around the park, and it looked like he didn’t have any place to spend the night,” Pete put in. “So I bought him a hamburger and let him sleep in the cell.”

  “You’ll have your turn, Pete,” Melissa said calmly. “Right now, I want to hear Mr. Carter’s side of the story.”

  “I told the deputy I was fine with sleeping in the park,” Nathan said. The smirk was gone now, replaced by a cagey narrowing of his eyes. “He said that was vagrancy and he had to take me in. When I argued with him, he put his fist in my face.”

  “That’s not true!” Deputy Ferguson protested heatedly.

  “Pete,” Tom said, very quietly.

  “But Carter already had that black eye when I approached him,” Pete insisted. Color pulsed in his neck and his round, earnest face.

  “I guess it’s his word against mine,” Nathan said, his tone dejected.

  “Or not,” Steven said mildly.

  Melissa ignored him. “Were there any witnesses?” she asked, looking at Nathan.

  Tom gave a derisive snort.

  Melissa flashed him a look, which he returned in kind.

  “Unless specific charges are being brought against Mr. Carter,” Steven interjected, “I would suggest releasing him.”

  Melissa held her temper, while Tom made a production of jingling his keys, crossing to the cell and unlocking the door.

  “You’re free to go,” he told the erstwhile prisoner.

  “Whoop-de-do,” Nathan mocked, waltzing through the opening and crossing the room to stand next to Steven. “How about locking up the deputy, there?” Again, he indicated his shiner. “I’m accusing him of police brutality.”

  Pete turned crimson.

  Tom shut the cell door with a clang.

  “Be quiet,” Steven told Nathan, who remained in the sheriff’s office.

  Melissa turned to Pete. “What’s your story?” she asked him. He was an old friend, like Tom, but if he had struck Carter without adequate provocation, there would be repercussions.

  Miserably, Pete recounted the events of the night before. He’d been on routine patrol, he said, and spotted somebody skulking around the bandstand in the town park. He’d gotten out of his car and walked over, with a flashlight, to investigate.

  Carter had flipped him some attitude, but it was nothing serious. The boy had ridden in the front seat of the squad car, without cuffs, and they’d both had burgers and fries from the drive-through at McDonald’s. Pete added that he’d thought about taking Nathan home with him, letting him sleep on the couch, instead of parking him in a cell, but he’d decided against that because of the wife and kids.

  “Are you going to arrest him or not?” Nathan barked, when the tale ended.

  “No,” Melissa said. “Not without a credible witness to verify that Deputy Ferguson actually struck you.”

  “Then I want to sue the Stone Creek County Sheriff’s Office,” Nathan said. “I want to sue the whole damn town! My rights have been violated here!”

  Melissa didn’t look at Nathan Carter, but at Steven. “Have at it,” she said.

  “Just go,” Steven told the younger man, holding Melissa’s gaze with no problem at all. He produced a wallet from the inside pocket of his spiffy suit coat and handed Carter some money.

  Nathan hesitated, then snatched the bills from Steven’s hand and stormed out of the sheriff’s office.

  Over by the water cooler, Elvis yawned loudly, making his presence known for the first time, and then shook himself hard, so that his ears made a loud flapping sound.

  That broke the silence that had descended after Nathan’s outburst.

  “Go on home,” Tom said to Pete Ferguson.

  “I’m not suspended, pending some kind of investigation?” Pete asked, turning to the sheriff.

  Tom shook his head. “No,” he said.

  Pete left, giving Melissa a wounded glance as he passed her.

  Tom, meanwhile, focused on Steven. “I guess your work here is done, counselor, for the moment, anyway.”

  In other words, Melissa thought, Get the hell out of my office. She was inclined to agree.

  Steven smiled, nodded politely and headed for the door.

  Melissa would have waited until she was sure he was gone to duck out, but the fact was, she wasn’t any more eager to deal with Tom than with Steven at the moment.

  Steven was waiting in the hall. Melissa ignored him, walking on by. He stopped her by reaching out and taking a light but firm hold on her elbow.

  Her temper flared. “I can’t believe you would actually consider representing that scumbag!” she whispered, her fury at such a fever pitch that the words just formed themselves, seemingly independent of her brain, and came tumbling out of her
mouth. “Pete Ferguson would step off the sidewalk and into the street before he’d squash a bug under his shoe, let alone manhandle anybody. And as for Carter—”

  “Whoa,” Steven said. “Everybody has a right to counsel. Or were you out sick when they covered the fundamentals the first week of law school?”

  Melissa jerked her elbow free, in no mood to be reasoned with. “Yes,” she agreed tartly, “everybody does have the right to counsel. But before you take on any more clients, you might want to take the trouble to find out what kind of people they are!”

  “It doesn’t matter what kind of people they are,” Steven replied moderately. “The law is the law.”

  She took a step back. “Pete Ferguson’s father was the last sheriff,” she said. “Before that, it was his grandfather, and before that, his great-grandfather. The Fergusons are some of the finest people in this community—”

  Steven leaned in, so his nose was nearly touching hers. “Beside the point, counselor,” he said. “If your friend, Deputy Ferguson, gave Nathan Carter a working over, I’ll nail him for it.”

  For a long moment, they just glared at each other.

  Then Steven turned and walked away.

  Melissa didn’t move until he’d disappeared through the outside doorway. It took her that long to calm down enough to set foot inside her office.

  She was immediately met with a whole new Andrea. Gone were the jeans, the hair spikes, the too-tight T-shirts, the heavy eye shadow and the white lipstick. She was wearing a nice skirt, a white blouse and modest makeup.

  Melissa couldn’t help staring. “What happened to you?” she asked.

  The girl straightened her spine and lifted her chin. The expression in her eyes was completely earnest, and she held Melissa’s direct gaze without looking away. “I’m turning over a new leaf, that’s all,” she replied, with a little sniff. “Byron says it’s important to look professional.”

  Melissa barely kept herself from smiling at that one. “Oh?”

  Andrea nodded and then pushed back her chair and stood. “I even made coffee. It should be ready by now.”

  Melissa raised both her hands, palms out. “Sit down, Andrea,” she said. “I was only teasing before. Making coffee really isn’t in your job description.”