Cowboy on the Run (2 page)

Why couldn’t he have been any other cowboy in the saddle brown, leather Stetson and rugged Levis? She attempted to compose herself, squeezing her eyes closed in a useless effort to wipe away the lingering image.

Damn him and his cocky smile. It remained imprinted in her memory, the smirk reminding her of the way he’d always been able to read her every thought.

She cursed under her breath, angry at her own weakness—because her initial, pathetic thought had been one of bittersweet relief. Nate Walker had come back for her.

She fought to calm the erratic beating of her heart.
Think rationally
, she told herself, refusing to let him waltz back into her life as if he hadn’t left her in the dust of his taillights. Not an easy task. His body, molded against hers, shredded any hope of resistance.

Inhaling a deep breath, she grabbed a full mug of beer off the tray and whirled around, shoving the thick glass into his hand. “Here, drink this and go.” She stepped to the side so she was no longer imprisoned between his body and the bar.

Big mistake.

The averted route only repositioned her so she was even more accessible to him. Stopping him from coming any closer, she placed her hand on his chest. The second her hand met his body she gasped, startled by the electric charge which shot through her palm.

Jessie forced herself to ignore the spark. “I mean it, Nate. Go.”

He answered by taking a deep pull of his beer, his sapphire gaze pulling her in, holding her captive.

An ocean of outrage spiked through her.
Same old Nate, still so confident and cock
y. Through her rage, a small taste of guilt surfaced, reminding her to be more compassionate considering his father just died. The prodigal son had returned for the funeral, not for her.

She was merely a plaything to him at the moment, a diversion to sidetrack him from what he needed to face. And despite his angry actions severing the family ties, he must still be dissecting the news his father was gone forever.

She, of all people, knew how it felt to lose someone you loved. Like your heart had been ripped clean out of your body. Nate had done it to her.

Her anger trumped the guilt. She grabbed a cleaning rag off the bar and stomped away, not sure if she was more upset with him or herself. With short, furious strokes of the bleached-soaked rag, she cleared a corner pub table.

The strong fumes of the sterilizer caused her eyes to sting. Frustrated, she wiped at the unwelcomed tears with the back of her hand and heard the familiar sound of his boots cross the wood planks of the floor behind her.

“I told you to go,” she spat out, refusing to face him with tears streaming down her face.

His hat whisked by her head in a brown blur stirring the stagnant bleached air around her with the scent of leather before landing with a soft thud on the table. She jumped in surprise, touching the side of her head where the worn brim had brushed. Despite the sudden shock to her system, she composed herself, continuing to clear the surface, wiping around the hat as if nothing had happened.

Warmth flowed into her back as his arms came into view. He placed a hand on each side of her, enclosing her between the tall, pub-styled table and his hard, muscular torso. Once again, he managed to encompass her in an embrace without even touching, trapping her in his heat.

His damned, memory-provoking hands found their way to her waist and wrapped snugly around her. Her breasts responded to the attention, defiant nipples taut against the thin cotton of her tank top.

Damn it
, she cursed, fighting the tight pull of her breasts. When he was around, she never could control her own body, much less her thoughts. The forward gesture, or perhaps just the reminder of what his magical hands could do, almost undid her, making her legs weak and unstable.

“We are going to finish what we started,” he whispered into her ear.

His words caressed her skin like fine cashmere. Even after all these years, the sound of his deep, raspy voice still gave her chills, and she hated herself for this lack of control. Her breath caught in her throat as his nearness caused a surge of excitement to course through her veins, overcoming the last little bit of her perseverance.

Sinfully, she allowed herself to relish, only for a moment, what they once had. Jessie caught herself inhaling his manly scent—a distinct mixture of leather and masculinity. The heady fragrance rekindled faded memories she’d tried like hell to forget.

Flashes, like scenes from a movie, of a time when they had been inseparable. Nights spent holding hands and staring up at the stars in the back of his beat up pick-up. The dreams they shared, the hay barn, the creek...

“I’m not leaving here without you,” he stated, leaving no room for argument.

As if she could. The thought filtered away as quick as it appeared, replaced by the blissful heat of his mouth scorching her neck. She closed her eyes as the longing she’d denied for years returned full force.

A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine, and she abandoned all thoughts. He reached for his hat, his body leaning into her and pulling her out of the lust enhanced stupor.

She opened her eyes, drawn to a bouquet of small, purple flowers in the spot where the worn Stetson had been. A forgotten memory jolted her senses as she stared at the wildflowers, unsettled by the romantic gesture.

“Not this time,” he said huskily, seducing her with his words once more before making his way out of the bar.

This was the Nate Walker she remembered. The man who disappeared into the night. She’d witnessed the exact departure years ago.

Shouldn’t she be angry? Or even, Lord forbid, a tearful mess?

Jessie continued to stare dumbfounded at the door. Awareness flushed through her as if she had been reawakened, her judgment no longer cloudy.

Crystal clear.

The daunting realization penetrated Nate’s spell. She cursed again, this time out loud. “Damn it. Damn it.
Damn it!
”

It was official. She clearly wasn’t over Nate Walker.

Chapter 2

A person could run from his past, but those demons always caught up to you, Nate realized, standing in his father’s kitchen. He had known coming home was going to be anything but easy. But how could a person live this way?

The kitchen was destroyed. A complete wreck. The room looked as if it was the aftermath of a tornado, and he was standing in the middle of it. A man-made disaster. To top it all off, everyone was gathering here to show their respects after the funeral. In three days.

He scanned the room, jotting down a quick inventory of the destruction. The sink, filled with dirty dishes stacked up well past the edge. It appeared his father didn’t believe in buying dish soap. Or a trash can.

His mood blackened, accelerating from a deadened sense of disbelief to one of complete disgust. Garbage covered the linoleum, replacing the tired and torn flooring with a colorful accumulation of empty pizza cartons and various other fast food wrappings. And the smell...

Gagging at the stench, he made his way to the kitchen windows. After opening them and the door, he started on the garbage. He bent down to grab a discarded carton of eggs, but the cardboard, stuck to the linoleum, resisted. Several attempts later, he pried the container free and tossed a stringy mess of eggs and broken shells into the garbage bag.

What had he expected? This had been a normal sight growing up, Nate’s mother long gone by the time he hit his teenage years. He could leave, too. Jump onto his black cherry Harley and allow the relaxing rumble to take him far away from this hellhole. A nice concept, one of his better choices, but he couldn’t leave yet. Not without facing those demons. And not without the one person he came back for.

Jessie.

Damn, if she hadn’t been a sight for sore eyes. He’d forgotten her temper. Picturing her furious face and the irate green glare she’d directed at him, he chuckled out loud. It didn’t matter if she was angry at him or not, she was still the sexiest woman he had ever seen.

Nate recalled the moment her flesh melted into him and tucked away the pleasant memory for later. A grim smile wrenched the corners of his mouth and returned to the endless task at hand. As much as he’d rather think about Jessie right now, he had a mess to deal with first.

The pollution was not just in the kitchen, stepping into the living room. The entire house, a cesspool, needed to be condemned. He kicked a pizza box out of his way, questioning once again how the old man could have lived in this filth.

Then again, he recalled the fair share of damage his dad and Johnny Walker Red could leave behind. Nate kicked an empty bottle of the culprit out of his way. The glass skidded across the wood planks of the living room floor until it reached the kitchen, sliding smoothly across the aged linoleum floor.

Family. Johnny Walker is family,
his drunken father would say, the words slurred.

Family
.

Nate sneered, fully aware of how capable Johnny Walker, his father’s preferred poison, destroyed families. He glanced down at his clenched fists, ashamed by the memory of the first and only time he had used them against the man, closing the door on their estranged relationship.

He returned to the kitchen and finished picking up the garbage, shaking off the bad memories clinging to him like a dark cloak. He tied up the second garbage bag, reached for a third and began filling it with dirty dishes, not even toying with the idea of washing them. Nate had never planned on returning to Ennis, never wanted to set foot on his father’s land again.

Now, it was his land. He could sell—the spread had several hundred acres. He could get a pretty penny out of the land. Although, he didn’t need the money. Not according to Dylan Walsh, the private detective who had hunted him down and given him notice of his father’s death.

According to Walsh, he’d been fairly easy to find, too. A thought Nate found unsettling. If he was so damn easy to find, why had his father not tried to contact him before the cancer ate him up? Why had his father not returned his calls, especially when he found out his condition was untreatable?

They could have...

Could have what? Reconciled? Washed away the past while sharing a bottle of whiskey?

Nate tied the third garbage bag up and reached for another.

There was also the money, over three hundred thousand dollars just sitting in the First National Bank.

“Three hundred thousand,” he said out loud, still finding it hard to believe.

When the detective had told him, he was sure he misheard the man. Walsh simply shrugged his heavy set shoulders, the lines on his aged poker face guarded and impassive, then mentioned something about a well-placed bet and handed Nate an envelope the size of a postcard.

He should probably have read the letter his dad left behind, but still wasn’t quite ready to deal with the emotional drama. Of course, he may never be ready, and the curiosity of what his father wrote just wasn’t strong enough to overpower his stubborn reserves.

Nate carried two of the bags of garbage outside and threw them into the back of the old Chevy parked in the driveway. Smiling, he gave the truck a good once over and kicked the tires. Seeing the vehicle stirred up good memories, recalling the many hours he’d spent learning how to drive on the ancient relic. Placing his hands on the rusty tailgate, he glanced over the property. His land.

Perhaps the spread could still prosper. He could raise horses. The idea drew his attention to the large, red barn on the verge of collapsing. A three-railed fence with broken and missing boards encircled the barn, ideal for breaking in a green horse.

Nate considered the possibility. It had always been a dream of his, and he surveyed the land with more intensity. There was a lot of work to do on the property. Too much work. For now, the fence would just have to stay broken.

Returning to the wrecked house, he decided to rent out the bar for a night so people could pay their respects. The old man would have preferred the bar anyway.

Besides, he hadn’t made a dent in the cleaning. He would have to hire a cleaning crew after all. Or light a match. He grinned, considering the appealing idea as he sat down on his father’s favorite recliner.

The chair had seen better days—the strong odor of sour whiskey and the lingering smell of stale cigarettes clung to the plaid fabric of the recliner like a heavily sprayed perfume. And his dad.

Closing his eyes, he embraced the repressed flood of memories. Swamped with emotion, a wave of self-awareness washed over him. He had come full circle. And he couldn’t stand it.

The itch under his skin returned with a fury, and he clenched his fists. He had to get out of there, away from the memories, from the stench of his father’s presence...even in death.

****

Jessie, making her usual early morning rounds, hesitated as she neared the shadowed mound interrupting the straight planes of the landscape. Her heart skipped a beat. Another one of her cattle.

She spurred forward, pushing her horse closer to the kill. The animal resisted, snorting and pawing at the ground in response, smelling death in the air. The needless destruction of a life was undeniable. The steer was dead. Had been for some time, killed during the night.

Killed? Crucified is a better description
. Jumping off Lilly’s back, she recognized the wild look of fear in her horse’s eyes and calmed her mount before releasing the reins. She was scared, too. This was the third steer found like this, belly split wide open, guts seeping into the hard ground.

She circled the animal’s remains. A slow, cruel way to die, bleeding out. Like the other two kills, the steer was not cut into ribbons as if victim of an animal attack. If the Long Horn had been prey, his flesh would have been torn from his body, at least some of his meat missing.

The steer, however, was in one piece, other than the large, ugly laceration down its middle. Only a man could have done this.

Jessie stepped closer as the disheartening realization overcame her, chilling her to the bone.
But why?