Come Sundown

by Nora Roberts

  tunnel, felt someone drag her back as she tried to surge forward.

  Then nothing.

  She saw, horribly, she saw Clintok’s finger pull the trigger. One, twice, a third time.

  And nothing.

  The baffled look on his face might have been funny if the ground hadn’t undulated under her feet. As it did, Callen strode over it. The roundhouse was pure fury, sent Clintok flying back before he landed. And stayed down.

  “You could’ve hit my woman, you miserable son of a bitch.”

  He picked up the gun, checked it. “Empty.”

  “Rory figured he had one in his truck.” Pale but game, Chelsea gripped Rory’s arm. “So he checked.”

  “A good salesman reads people.” Moving easy, Rory walked to Callen, took the gun. “So I unloaded it.”

  “I owe you.”

  “Not a thing, but I’ll take that drink.”

  Callen glanced back at Clintok, not just down, he noted, but out. “We’ve got to do something about that.”

  “I’ve done it.” Holding up her phone, Jessica stepped back outside. “The sheriff’s on his way.”

  “Oh, now, Jessie, why’d you go and do that?”

  She only gaped at Callen. “Why? He tried to kill you.”

  “She’s right.” Chase reached out, drew her to his side. “I know how you feel, but she’s right.”

  “She’s damn right.” It took all Bodine’s willpower not to simply explode. “If Rory didn’t have more sense than I’ve ever given him credit for, you’d be dead or close enough. He’s not just an asshole, he’s a crazy asshole. He’s not just a coward, he’s a murdering—”

  Because he heard touches of hysteria, Callen moved to her, took her arms. “Okay. Okay. You probably want to take a breath or two.”

  “Don’t tell me to take a breath.”

  “Or two.” He kissed her, said, “Shit,” when the contact stung, then leaned in to whisper. “Don’t cry. You’ll hate yourself.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Drinks all around,” Callen told the bartender while he kept his eyes on Bodine’s. “I’m good for it.”

  “You’d better be.” With a last look at Clintok, the bartender slapped his bat against his palm again. “He got what was coming to him.”

  * * *

  Maybe so, but clearly Tate didn’t look pleased when he pulled up some twenty minutes later.

  He looked at Clintok, sitting on the ground, his hands secured behind his back with a zip tie, his face bloody. Looked over at Callen, leaning against the wall of the bar, sipping a beer along with Bodine, her brothers, and the other women.

  He crouched down beside Clintok. “I told you to steer clear.”

  “I was having a drink, and he busted in with his goddamn posse and started it.”

  “And you decided to finish it by pulling a gun?”

  “Wouldn’t have had to if you’d done your job and locked that murdering bastard up.”

  “I’ve done my job right along, just like I’m going to do it now. You busted your bail carrying a gun in the first damn place. Curtis, lock him up in the back, and we’ll take some statements, see what the hell’s what here.”

  He walked over to Callen. “Told you to steer clear, too, didn’t I?”

  “We all decided to go out and have a drink,” Bodine said. “We wanted to show Jessica some more of the local color.”

  After a long stare, Tate scrubbed his face with his hand. “Bodine, that’s just insulting.”

  “It’s not altogether untrue,” Callen put in. “But it’s also true I knew Clintok would probably be here, and it was surely true I planned to knock him on his ass.”

  “I could toss you in the back with him, charge you with assault.”

  “Well now, you could.” Studying his beer, Chase spoke thoughtfully. “It’s not going to stick real well seeing as Clintok threw the first punch, then went for his gun. You can ask the bunch in there if that’s how it went down, and when you talk to Sandy Rhimes, he’ll be sure to tell you he pulled Clintok’s gun—the one he had on him—away from him before he could use it.”

  “Miss Baazov said Clintok had a gun aimed at Callen outside.”

  “He got that one out of his truck after Callen beat him in a fair fight. I unloaded that one,” Rory added. “I had to figure he had one in his truck, and since he’d already shot Callen once, tried to do the same again inside, it seemed prudent to take that precaution.”

  Now Tate used both hands to scrub at his face. “Jesus suffering Christ.”

  “You forgot about the broken glass. He smashed a bottle,” Chelsea continued, “charged at Cal with it. He didn’t fight fair till he had to, and even then.”

  “Does your ma know you’re out here, getting in bar fights?” Tate demanded.

  “She knows I’m with Rory. Or I expect she does. I live in the Village, but I talk to her most every day.”

  “A bunch of sass, that’s what I get. Curtis, you go in, start with Sandy Rhimes. Get his statement. Miss Baazov—”

  “Jessica.”

  “Jessica, we’re going to take a walk over to the vending machine, since I can’t have a good shot of whisky as I want. I’m going to assume you’re the one standing here with the most sense. So you’re going to tell me every step of what happened.”

  “I’d be glad to.”

  Callen took another pull on his beer as they crossed the lot. “He’s going to be pissed awhile.”

  “He’ll get over it.” Bodine shrugged. “He knew you’d hunt Clintok down, and he knew he’d have done the same himself given the circumstances. What he’ll be longer than pissed off is disappointed. Not in you, but in Clintok.”

  * * *

  It took more than an hour, and by the end of it Callen felt every bruise and scrape. He thought fondly of the bag of peas Bodine had tossed in his freezer—and only wished she’d tossed in a half dozen.

  Still, he considered every twinge, throb, and ache well worth it. Garrett Clintok would look through bars for a very long time. He supposed Jessica’s comment before they’d all gone their separate ways hit the mark, too.

  Clintok needed some serious head shrinking.

  If he gritted his teeth against the banging in his ribs when he got out of the truck, he could remind himself Clintok had worse.

  “Do you want to go tell Sundown he’s been avenged?”

  “I’ll tell him in the morning.”

  With some sympathy, Bodine put an arm around his waist. “You can lean on me.” And looking up, she sighed at the moon. “I have to say this ranks as the prettiest night in my experience for a fight. Jessica got some strange and arty-type pictures of the Step Up and some of the patrons while Tate gave you the final lecture.”

  She opened the door, took off his hat, tossed it aside. Then brushed her fingers over his face as she surveyed the damage. “You won’t look pretty for a few days, but you broke his nose.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Don’t ever shove me aside like that again.”

  Now he arched his eyebrows—even that hurt. “I can guarantee you, should some fuckheaded asshole ever wave a gun around in your direction, I’ll shove you aside again.”

  “Then next time I’ll be ready, and shove you first.” She gave him a little one, tugged him back to unbutton his shirt. “Let’s have a look at the rest of you.”

  He gripped her hands. “It stopped my heart, shut it right down, the idea of you getting hit.”

  “It didn’t do mine any good, either, when you stepped aside and gave him a clear shot at you. Damn Gary Coopering.”

  “Clint Eastwooding. Chase is more Gary Cooper.”

  He grabbed her face, kissed her hard so pain and lust and pleasure all burst and tangled.

  Hot, so instantly hot, she gripped his shoulders, struggled to gentle her hold. “You’re in no shape to get me revved up tonight, Skinner.”

  “I’ve got to get this done.” Fast, he pulled off her shirt, shoved her back
against the door. “I’ve got to have you. Just let me have you.” He flicked open the catch of her bra, dragged it aside, filled his hands with her breasts. “Let me have you.”

  “I wanted to tear your clothes off since you threw the first punch.” So she did, starting with his shirt. “Don’t complain later when I hurt you.”

  When she crushed her mouth to his, he dragged her to the floor.

  All the heat, all the fire, all the passion he’d banked to fight cold and clear surged into him. That need to pound flesh now burned as a need to possess it. Possess her.

  And, with a madness, snapped free.

  He felt pain as her hands, rough and greedy, pulled at his clothes, dug into muscle. But distant, almost unconnected, all but buried under this fresh, wild hunger.

  He didn’t wait for her, couldn’t wait, but rammed himself into her as soon as he’d stripped her down far enough. Then he rode like his life depended on it.

  She arched up on a breathless cry, gripping his hair like a rope to keep her from falling off a cliff. His eyes had gone green, reflecting hers, with an almost feral intensity that kept her gaze locked to them.

  It tore through her, a wildfire, a lightning bolt, leaving her senses as scorched earth. She bucked under him, driving him harder, faster. If he plundered, she ravished. And when that bolt struck again, she rode the lightning until they burned themselves out.

  Shuddering, slicked with sweat and some blood from wounds opened in the madness, she wheezed in air. His heart hammered against hers even as he lay—full weight—spent over her.

  She thought of the moment Clintok had raised his gun—that spinning, the sensation of the ground shaking—and thought this was nearly the same.

  “Here’s what you’re going to do.”

  “Bodine, I think there are multiple reasons I’m not going to be able to move right this minute.”

  “I warned you not to complain when I hurt you. What you’re going to do is go in and take a hot shower. When you come out, you’re going to take some Motrin, some whisky, and we’re going to ice down what needs icing, treat and bandage what needs that.”

  “I’m fine right here.”

  “That’s sex adrenaline, and it’s going to pass really soon.”

  “Sex adrenaline.” She felt his lips curve against her throat. “Ought to be bottled.”

  “You kicked ass that needed kicking tonight, and you topped that off with the best hot and crazy floor sex in my personal experience.”

  “Mine, too.”

  “That’s about as manly a night as it gets, in my estimation. But you’re hurt more than you might think. It’ll be worse if we don’t see to it.”

  Gently, almost tenderly, her hand stroked over his back. “Do that for me, Callen.”

  She never asked, not really, and never in that way, that soft way. So he had no choice.

  And when he moved, the gasp and groan escaped before he could stop them.

  “Your ribs took the worst. Left side.”

  “I know it.” But for the first time he looked down, saw the spread of black-and-blue, hits of angry red. “Well, shit.”

  “It’ll look and feel worse tomorrow, so let’s get ahead of it.” She yanked off the single boot he still wore, and the jeans that had been caught on it. Rising, she offered him a hand. “Come on, cowboy, hit the shower.”

  He gripped her arm, got slowly, painfully to his feet. Then just stood looking at her. “You’ve got to know what’s coming.”

  Her heart stuttered a little. “Maybe, but I don’t think it should come when you can barely stand and the standing we’re doing is naked.”

  “You’re probably right. It’ll wait.”

  She pulled on her jeans again while he limped off to the shower. It would wait, she thought. She didn’t need a lot of fuss, but if and when the man she now realized she’d been walking toward all her life told her he loved her, she’d at least like him to say so when he wasn’t bleeding.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  He didn’t mind the black eye or the bruised jaw, the nicks and cuts or swollen knuckles. The ribs gave him some trouble, but after a day or two they didn’t scream every time he moved wrong.

  Since it struck close to the truth, he spun a tale for guests, especially the kids, of getting into a saloon fight with a bushwhacker.

  And he talked Alice into taking a ride with him.

  She lavished affection and attention on Rosie, and the young mare responded to it with utter devotion.

  With Maureen, Alice planted the sister garden. In the kitchen, she cooked simple dishes with Clementine. With the weather warming, she often sat with the grannies on one of the porches crocheting.

  The big day came when she agreed to drive with the grannies to Bodine House, to look it over, to consider if she’d be happy living there.

  They stopped by the BAC—he learned later, at Alice’s request. Even from a distance, he could spot her nerves, so he detoured and led the two horses he’d chosen for an upcoming trail ride toward the women.

  “Ladies, and here I thought this was as pretty as a day could get. You proved me wrong.”

  “I do like a flirting man.” Miss Fancy winked at him.

  “We went to the house, the Bodine House. Ma and Grammy live there when they don’t live at the ranch. I could live there. I could live there. I don’t know.”

  “You don’t have to decide now,” Cora soothed. “We just wanted you to see it.”

  “There’s a barn, it’s just a little one. Rosie could stay there. Wouldn’t she get lonely? It’s hard to be alone.”

  “She’d have fine boys like these two to visit with all day long.”

  Alice studied the two horses, moved in to stroke them. “Lots of horses in the paddock. Lots. Who’s that?”

  He glanced back. “That’s Carol. She works with me.”

  “With the horses. She has long hair, and she works with the horses. It doesn’t look like it did.” She looked all around, hugged her elbows. “I can hardly remember how it looked, but not like this. She works here. You work here. It’s close to Bodine House.”

  “I like to sneak over and mooch lunch sometimes when your ma and Miss Fancy are around. Maybe if you decide to try living there, you’d come over here sometimes and help me out.”

  She stopped looking everywhere with those nervous eyes. “Come here, help out? With you? With the horses? Like I do for Sam and Chase at the ranch?”

  “Yeah, like that. I can always use somebody who knows their way around horses like you do.”

  “I’m good with them. They’re good with me. Who’s that?”

  “That’s Easy. He works here, too.”

  “Is that a name? I don’t know that name.”

  “It’s Easy’s name,” Callen said and signaled him over. Alice immediately stepped back, grabbed Cora’s hand. “I just want him to take these boys into the paddock over there. We’ve got people coming to ride them.”

  “Because he works here,” Alice whispered, and clung to Cora’s hand.

  “Ladies.” Easy tapped the brim of his hat.

  “Easy, how about taking these two in, getting them saddled?”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  “Because you work here,” Alice murmured, staring at him.

  “I sure do, ma’am. Best job there is. Cal, Carol said she’ll