Cowboy Cop

by Lori Wilde

  Nick rolled his eyes toward the tile ceiling and wondered if this Monday would ever end.

  “But just imagine the publicity, Lester,” Lucy continued. “Vicious killer bees preventing entrance to the library.”

  He snorted.

  “Our patronage dwindles down to nothing. The staff protests the dangerous working conditions with a walkout. And the city council looks for a scapegoat.”

  “And I suppose everyone will assume this is my fault,” Lester said.

  “Well, you are the library director,” Lucy replied.

  Lester nervously licked his thin lips. “What do you suggest we do?”

  Lucy circled around to the front of the desk and hooked her arm through Nick’s. “I’ll take Mr. Holden into the office so he can recover and rethink this pesky lawsuit idea of his.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Can you handle the checkout line?” She motioned toward the long line of impatient patrons behind Nick and Hattie. “Mindy is still on break.”

  Lester nodded, his scanty mustache twitching nervously under his nose.

  Hattie patted Nick’s sore shoulder, and he had to steel himself to keep from flinching at the pain. “I’ll just go visit with the members of my book club until you’re through, dear,” she said, nodding toward a small circle of gray-haired women at a corner table. “Edith is telling her gall bladder story again, and I don’t want to miss out on the good part.”

  Nick didn’t say a word as Lucy led him into the cramped library office and closed the door behind them, flipping the lock.

  She pushed him gently down into a worn office chair, swiveling it away from the sight of Lester’s half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich lying on top of the desk.

  “Alone at last.”

  The hair on the back of Nick’s neck prickled. It had been a long time since he’d been alone with a woman, but he still recognized the subtle signs of physical attraction.

  The assessing glances. The flush of anticipation. The locked door. Then he reminded himself that this was a sweet, innocent librarian.

  And that he’d always had an active imagination.

  She turned around to face him, and he couldn’t help but notice the graceful way she moved and the soft flush in her cheeks. “Will you take your shirt off for me?”

  Nick blinked at her. “What did you say?”

  “Your shirt. I can remove that stinger for you.”

  Nick shook his head. “Forget it. I’m not going to sue.”

  “Oh, that,” she said with a beguiling smile. “That was just a ploy to get you alone.”

  He swallowed. Alone. Had he been that obvious in his attraction to her? He took note of the way she was looking at him with that hopeful gleam in her brown eyes.

  “Look, Marian…” he began.

  “The name’s Lucy. Lucy Moore. And don’t be scared,” she said, leaning over him as she briskly pulled apart the pearl snap-buttons on his blue chambray shirt. A stray wisp of her hair tickled his cheek. “It won’t hurt too much.”

  His breath caught in his throat as her fingertips grazed against his bare chest. He stared up at her in disbelief as she peeled his shirt back over his shoulders.

  “Now that I think about it,” she mused, frowning down at him, “squeezing it might make it worse.”

  He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “Squeezing what?”

  “The stinger. I think you’re supposed to scrape it off. Squeezing it injects more venom into the skin.”

  “Just get it out,” he said, trying to ignore the fact that she’d just half undressed him.

  She moved around to his back and tenderly traced one finger around the stinger. He closed his eyes at the bittersweet sensation.

  “I’ll have to use something else. Hold still.”

  He held still, every muscle relaxing under her touch.

  “Ouch!” he suddenly yelped, inching away from her. “What was that?”

  “My fingernail. I used it to scrape off the stinger.”

  “Huh.”

  “There,” she said cheerfully, lightly patting his shoulder, “all better.”

  “It doesn’t feel better,” he grumbled as he heard her fumbling through the desk drawers.

  “You really do have a low tolerance for pain, don’t you? Now sit still while I find some ointment to rub on it.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  “It’s no bother, and I promise it won’t hurt.” Her fingers gently smoothed a thick salve over his shoulder blade. “You might even like it.”

  His animosity faded.

  It wasn’t her fault this was a Monday. Or that a bee had stung him. Or that he still couldn’t figure out how to put together that stupid cod hat. She just wanted to help him.

  Besides, she was cute and quirky and harmless, if he overlooked how she’d scraped her fingernail across his back. And her touch did feel good as she slowly rubbed the ointment into his sore shoulder.

  Too good.

  “Listen, Lucy, I need to go…”

  “Your grandmother said you’d be perfect for me.”

  “What?” He shot halfway out of the chair.

  She pushed him back down. “Don’t move. I still need to put on a bandage.”

  He unclenched his jaw.

  Briskly she pressed a bandage across the sting. “I don’t know what you and my grandmother have cooked up, but I’m just not interested.”

  Nice, Holden, crush her poor little librarian’s heart.

  Lucy walked around to the front of the chair, wiping her fingers with a tissue. “But you haven’t even heard my proposition yet.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.” He leaned forward, his tone softening. “It’s nothing personal. I just don’t have room for any complications in my life right now.”

  “Even if I pay you?”

  Nick shook his head. She couldn’t be that desperate. “Sorry, I’m still not interested.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Your grandmother said you were stubborn, but this is ridiculous.”

  “I’m not stubborn,” he said. “I’m a total stranger. You don’t know anything about me.”

  She tilted up her chin. “Yes, I do. Hattie’s told me everything about you. I know your favorite color is blue.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I know your favorite meal is fried chicken with mashed potatoes and cream gravy and apple pie for dessert. And I know that you’ve got a scar on your left knee from a riding accident when you were eight years old.”

  “Did she tell you I’m married?” he countered, ready to put an end to her fantasies once and for all.

  She blinked. “No…but that doesn’t matter to me.”

  “It might matter to my wife,” he said indignantly.

  She shrugged her slender shoulders, her brow furrowed. “I don’t see why it should. Unless your wife objects to us spending time together.”

  “I think it’s how we’ll be spending that time together that she’ll object to,” he said, feeling more ridiculous by the moment for creating a hypothetical wife.

  “I see.”

  He didn’t have a wife. Didn’t want a wife. Not even as a figment of his imagination.

  “This is pointless.” Nick rolled his sore shoulder, trying to assuage the odd tingling sensation near the sting. “The bottom line is I can’t give you what you want.”

  She frowned. “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not attracted to you,” he lied.

  Something flickered in her brown eyes until she blinked it away. “Does that really make a difference?”

  He stared at her. “What kind of librarian are you?”

  “A very desperate one at the moment.”

  I’ve noticed.

  He plowed one hand through his short hair, almost wishing he was back in prison. Anywhere but with this luscious, love-starved librarian who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “Please?”

  “But don’t you think it’s just a little dangerous to as
k perfect strangers to sleep with you?”

  Her mouth fell open. And stayed open.

  Until Nick shifted uncomfortably in his chair and wondered if he might have possibly misunderstood her. Possibly made an asinine fool of himself. And just possibly turned this into the worst Monday on record.

  “So let me get this straight,” she said at last, her cheeks now a rosy pink. “You think I want you to”—she moistened her lips with her tongue—“to pay you to…”

  Nick cleared his throat. Twice. “Isn’t that what you meant?”

  “No. Absolutely not. It never even crossed my mind.” Her gaze fell to his bare chest and her blush deepened. “Will you please put your shirt back on?”

  He pulled the shirt back over his shoulders, ignoring the prickly sensation around the sting, while his fingers fumbled over each other in his haste to button it.

  “I’m sorry. I misunderstood…”

  “Obviously,” she said. Then a small smile tipped up her lips. “I suppose your wife would object to that, wouldn’t she?”

  Nick looked at her. “Well, actually…I’m not married.”

  Her smile faded. “You’re not?”

  He shook his head, his discomfort with the situation increasing at the same rate as the maddening itch on his shoulder. “I just wanted to make it clear that I’m not…”

  “Interested,” she finished for him. “I know. You’ve mentioned it at least five times now. I got the message loud and clear. You don’t need to worry anymore. Your virtue is safe with me.”

  “I—I don’t want you to get the wrong impression,” he stammered. “It’s not that you’re not appealing. I think you’re absolutely gorgeous.”

  She narrowed her eyes in disbelief.

  “All right, maybe not gorgeous. I mean…it’s been a long time for me, so any woman looks pretty good…”

  She raised one golden eyebrow, daring him to bury himself even deeper.

  Unfortunately, Nick could never refuse a dare. “You’re very appealing for a librarian. I’m sure if the circumstances were different I might even be tempted myself…”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Holden,” she assured him briskly. “The circumstances will never be different. I promise. Now, can we get down to business?”

  “Call me Nick,” he said, absently rubbing his shoulder against the back of the chair. “And what business? Does my grandmother owe a small fortune in overdue fines?”

  “No, but she said you’d be interested in working for me.” She held up both hands. “And before you get the wrong idea again, let me explain. I want to hire you to help my brother.”

  “Do I have to wear a hat?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. My grandmother obviously told you I’m looking for work, but I’ve already found a job.”

  “Oh.” Her face fell. “Then you really aren’t interested?”

  Maybe it was a sense of misplaced guilt for turning down what she’d never offered in the first place. Or the distracting itch in his shoulder. Or just a case of temporary insanity. Whatever the reason, he thought the least he could do was to hear her proposition.

  “What kind of job is it?”

  She hesitated, her teeth grazing her lower lip. “Well…I’d call it a research project, of sorts.”

  “Could you be more specific?”

  She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “My brother is in jail on arson charges. His trial starts in six weeks. Hattie told me you used to be some kind of crack investigator. I want you to help me find evidence that proves he didn’t do it.”

  Nick opened his mouth and then closed it again. At last he said, “And just how am I supposed to do that?”

  “By helping me find the person who did start that fire. And enough evidence to set Melvin free.”

  “Melvin. Melvin Moore,” he said, rolling the name over his tongue. It sounded vaguely familiar.

  “Hattie and I have already worked it out,” she told him. “I’ll be paying three hundred dollars a week for you. That pencils out to eighteen hundred dollars for six weeks’ work. That’s all I’ve got left in my savings account.”

  Three hundred dollars a week was considerably more than Farley’s Fish Hut. Maybe he could convince Capt’in Robby to delay his start date. Then he could do some respectable detective work before spending his days dishing up fish nuggets and tuna dogs. Dogs. Then it clicked.

  “Your brother is Mad Dog Moore?”

  She sighed. “His real name is Melvin.”

  “He torched the old Hanover Building downtown. Wasn’t it some kind of historic landmark?”

  “It still is,” Lucy said. “Most of the damage was due to smoke and water. That building can still be restored. Melvin knew it needed work when he bought it eight months ago. He planned to turn the ground floor into a sports bar and renovate the upper floors into apartment units. So why would he burn it down?”

  “For the insurance money,” Nick replied, remembering the articles he’d read in the newspaper. One of the few pleasures of prison life. “He took out a hefty insurance policy on that old building only a few weeks before the fire. It’s a simple open-and-shut case.”

  Lucy shook her head. “Somebody obviously framed him.”

  “Is this the same man who drove his motorcycle into the county courthouse and asked the judge if he’d like to go for a spin?”

  “That was a long time ago. He’s changed.”

  “And didn’t I read that he hot-wired the mayor’s car as part of a gang initiation?”

  “He was only fifteen at the time,” Lucy explained. “Besides, everybody makes mistakes.”

  Nick knew that only too well.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “If you don’t want to take the job, I’ll find someone who will.”

  “Maybe you should do that. Just how much did my grandmother tell you about me?”

  Her expression softened. “A lot. She’s very proud of you.”

  “Did she tell you where I’ve been for the last fifteen months?”

  “She said you had a job with the state.”

  He shook his head. Leave it to Grandma Hattie to make his prison stay sound like a career opportunity. “I suppose you could say that. I was at the Ferguson prison.”

  “Oh, were you a guard?”

  “Actually I worked in the laundry.”

  Her brow furrowed. “But I thought prisoners usually worked in the laundry.”

  “That’s right.”

  It took a moment for his words to sink in. “You mean you’re an ex-convict?”

  He nodded, waiting for the usual reaction. It would be interesting to see how she wriggled her way out of her job offer now.

  “But that’s wonderful! You’ll be perfect.”

  He blinked. “I will?”

  “Of course. Whoever framed Melvin isn’t going to surrender easily. It could get rough out there. I need someone tough and cagey on my side. Someone who thinks like a criminal.”

  “Don’t you even want to know my crime?”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. If you were only there for fifteen months, it couldn’t be that bad, right? Besides, we need to concentrate on Melvin. That is, if you’ll take the job.”

  He sighed. “You really think he’s innocent?”

  “No,” she replied. “I know he’s innocent. Despite all his brushes with the law, Melvin has never lied to me even when he did some bad stuff. My brother swears he didn’t start that fire. And now I intend to prove it, with or without you.”

  Nick closed his eyes. He admired her loyalty, but the word of a miscreant like Mad Dog Moore didn’t hold much weight with him.

  Which left him with two choices. He could take this woman’s money when he knew her brother was guilty. Or he could let someone else take her money while he mopped the deck at Farley’s Fish Hut. With a paper cod on his head.

  He reached back to scratch the persistent itch on his shoulder blade. Maybe he should just take the
job and prove to her that nobody but Mad Dog could be guilty. Prove it to her before she spent every cent she had on a worthless cause. Or before she let some greedy, incompetent private eye bleed her dry.

  “All right, I’ll do it,” he said, trying to ignore that guilty twinge in the pit of his stomach. Knowing he’d never take the case if Farley’s Fish Hut weren’t his only other alternative. “But I can’t make you any promises.”

  “I don’t need any promises,” she said cheerfully. “Just results.”

  “Speaking of results, I don’t think this stuff is working.” The ferocious itch spread in an ever-widening circle around the sting. “Just what kind of ointment did you put on my shoulder?”

  Her brown eyes widened with concern. “Why? Isn’t it any better?”

  “No. And the itching is making me crazy.” He rubbed the back of his shoulder against the cracked vinyl padding on the chair.

  She sighed. “That’s too bad. I thought it might work.”

  “You thought what might work?”

  “The peanut butter. It was all I could find.” She smiled innocently at him. “You know that old saying to put butter on a burn? I thought maybe peanut butter might work for a sting.”

  Nick closed his eyes and took two deep breaths. “You put peanut butter on my shoulder?”

  “From Lester’s sandwich. I rubbed it in really well.”

  He didn’t know whether to laugh or rip his shirt off and beg her to rake her fingernails across his back again. “I’m not allergic to bee stings, Lucy,” he said with a preternatural calmness. Even now he could feel the huge, itchy red welts rise up over his back and shoulder. “But I am allergic to peanuts.”

  “Oh, Nick, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have experimented on you.” Lucy nibbled her lower lip. “I hope this won’t make you change your mind about working for me.”

  “It’s not your fault,” he said with a sigh of resignation. “It’s a Monday.”

  Despite his discomfort and his lingering doubts, he’d given his word. He couldn’t walk away now. Or run, as some small part of his brain was urging him to do at the moment. Warning him that Lucy Moore just might be the most dangerous woman he’d ever met.

  He shoved that ludicrous thought back where it belonged, into his overactive imagination. Marian the Librarian didn’t have a dangerous bone in her delectable body. Her most risky escapades probably involved eating raw cookie dough and sneaking her own Coke into the movie theater.