One Fine Cowboy (22 page)

Charlie needed a distraction. The anger she’d summoned up to face Nate was still simmering, building up pressure, threatening to burst out any moment. She wasn’t sure she could control it, so she needed to find an appropriate target.

That was easy.

The idea of being anywhere near Sandi made her sick to her stomach, but with any luck she could pick a fight and get some relief from the rage that was clawing at her throat.

She climbed the porch steps two at a time. Maybe she could get the woman talking about her special weekend overnight beauty school. That would be interesting.

“Need some help?” She tried to act casual, leaning one hip against the doorjamb and scanning the countertops. They were strewn with debris—onion skins, paper towels, a half a green pepper canted on its side.

“I sure do.” Sandi threw herself into a kitchen chair like she’d just finished making a seven-course meal. As far as Charlie could see, all she’d done was chop an onion and slice a pepper in half.

“What are we having?”

“I put a brisket in the slow cooker this morning.”

“Great.” Charlie didn’t bother asking if she’d prepared anything for the vegetarians. For all Sandi cared, Charlie and Phaedra could go out and graze in the pasture with the horses.

“You want me to cut up some carrots? Potatoes?”

“Sure,” Sandi said, wiping a hand across her forehead. “I’m taking a break.”

Charlie busied herself washing potatoes, then rummaged through the utensil drawer for a peeler. She didn’t dare use a paring knife; she might be tempted to turn around and stab the bitch.

“Seems like you’re all recovered from your accident,” Charlie said.

Sandi nodded. “Yup. Tougher than I look.”

That was for sure.

“So you’re okay? They ran tests and everything?” Charlie sliced a length of peel from a potato and let it dangle into the sink. Carefully, she edged her peeler round and round, keeping the long spiral intact.

“No.” Sandi was still sitting at the table, totally unconcerned with the fact that Charlie was doing all the work. “I got out of there as fast as I could. I hate hospitals.”

“Oh,” Charlie said.

Sandi and Nate had been gone all night.

Now she really felt nauseous.

“You were gone a while,” she said.

“Yeah. We went and parked down by the quarry, like we used to in high school. Nate and I had a lot of talking to do.” Sandi simpered and tittered out one of her annoying giggles. “A lot of
making up
to do.”

Charlie’s peeler slipped and she sliced through her careful spiral. It dropped into the sink, the neat coil splaying in disarray. “What?”

“We got things all worked out.” Sandi tossed her hair. “We’re back together now. We’re selling the ranch. Moving to Denver. Didn’t he tell you?” She grinned. “I can’t wait. This is what I’ve always wanted.”

Charlie turned her attention back to the potato, but her hands were shaking. Nate
had
told her. He’d said he had to move to Denver so he could watch Sam while Sandi went to school.

She hadn’t realized what that meant. She hadn’t realized they were moving there
together.

She remembered her halting confession of love and winced. She’d completely misinterpreted Nate’s reaction. What had he said?
You don’t have to be afraid.
In the clear light of the kitchen, she realized that was hardly the declaration of love she’d taken it for. What else had he said?

You deserve an explanation.

He’d been trying to break up with her.

She tried to picture Nate and Sandi in the dark pickup by the quarry, talking things out. She couldn’t. No way could Nate carry on a conversation that long.

No, while she’d been sitting in the night-shrouded kitchen with Taylor, picturing her cowboy weeping over a body bag, he’d been doing some serious bimbo-busting down on Lover’s Lane.

And tonight, he’d found her crying in the barn and said a few kind words she’d totally misinterpreted—just as she’d misinterpreted all his looks and touches over the past week.

A week. That’s all it had been. How could she have thought she was anything but a rebound fling—a roll in the hay to help him forget the woman he really loved? How could she have been so worried that
she
would hurt
him
?

She’d been delusional.

“Oh, hold on. I almost forgot.” Sandi rummaged in her pocket. “He wanted me to give you this.” She pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to Charlie. “Here.” She narrowed her eyes. “He said I should give it to you so you can go.”

It was a check—reimbursement for the full amount of Charlie’s deposit, plus an extra hundred dollars.

“I don’t know what that extra hundred’s for,” Sandi said. “Nate said you’d done some… special things.” She winked and Charlie felt a blush warming her face. Surely Nate hadn’t told her what had happened between them.

And surely he didn’t want her to leave. This had to be Sandi’s idea.

She looked down at the check, figuring she’d see feminine handwriting, but it was penned in masculine block letters, with Nate’s signature neatly scripted below. That was bad enough, but the memo line struck her like a knife in the heart. “For services rendered,” it said, in those same neat block letters.

Charlie took a step backward and grabbed the back of a chair. Nate never would have come up with those words on his own. He would have written “thank you,” or, more likely, nothing at all. Charlie pictured Sandi shoving the check at Nate, telling him what to write.

She pictured him dutifully obeying. He had to know those three words would sting like a slap in the face.

Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself. She didn’t know which emotion was going to win—anger, regret, or embarrassment—but she wouldn’t let Sandi see any of them. She wouldn’t let Nate see them either. She’d swallow this bitter medicine and count herself cured.

“Thanks,” she said, shoving the check in her pocket. “I’ve been waiting for this. Waiting about a week too long.”

Had it really been just a week? She counted back. Yup. It was a week ago she’d kissed her first cowboy. A day later she’d ended up in his bed. Two days ago, she’d started to think she loved him, and tonight she’d bared her soul and told him so.

She felt as naked and exposed as the peeled potato in her hand. Hacking it in half, she tossed it into the slow cooker and stalked out of the room.

Charlie flounced into the bunkhouse, slammed herself down on the bed, kicked off her shoes, and punched the pillow as hard as she could.

Taylor looked up from the table where he was playing Texas Hold ’Em for pennies with Doris and Phaedra and grinned. “What’s got into you?”

She hated it when men did that. For some reason, she was apparently vastly entertaining to the opposite sex when she was angry. She felt tears start in her eyes and dug her fists into the sockets to push them back where they’d come from. She’d probably just smudged her mascara into a raccoon mask, but at least Taylor wouldn’t get to see her cry.

“You were right,” she said. “He’s selling out.”

“And you’re surprised.”

“You bet I’m surprised.” Charlie bounced up and paced the length of the floor, her fists balled at her sides. “I mean, the guy has his flaws, but I thought he loved this place.” She’d thought he loved her too, but she wasn’t about to air that piece of information. The thought of what she’d said to him—her confession—made her want to hide under the bed until the embarrassment blew over in about twenty years. “I thought he’d fight for it, at least for Sam’s sake. But he’s going to lay down and let that woman run roughshod over both of them.” She whirled and paced the other way. “I mean, he can sell his own soul for Sandi. Whatever he wants. But I can’t believe he’d do this to Sam.”

“What’s he doing to Sam?” Phaedra asked, looking up from her cards.

Taylor gave Charlie a subtle shake of the head. “He thinks he’s doing what’s best for her. What he has to do.”

“Then cowboys are even stupider than I thought,” Charlie said, then blanched as Doris let out a throaty chuckle. “Present company excluded.” She shot the actor a hard look. “Maybe.”

She glanced around the room at the matching coverlets and the daisies in their glass jars, and remembered giving in to her nesting instinct, foolishly making herself at home. Then Nate had come in, and she’d given in to another instinct altogether. She felt her face warm again, and muttered a curse under her breath. She’d never blushed before coming to Latigo. She’d always been solitary and self-possessed—but now she was an embarrassment to herself, and probably to Nate too.

She’d done nothing but screw up since she’d arrived. She loved the ranch, but now she had to admit the place was toxic. There was no way she could stay and watch Nate and Sandi together, patching up their relationship.

Pulling her suitcase out from under the bed, she grabbed a few scattered pieces of clothing and shoved them inside.

“Well, I’m out of here,” she said, hoping they couldn’t tell she was holding back tears. “I’ve had enough.”

She kicked off the boots Nate had bought her and shoved her feet into the old metallic red torture devices she’d brought from Jersey. Her toes protested, but it felt good to punish herself. After all, the boots were a perfect symbol of her mistake. She’d actually begun to think she could belong here, but she didn’t know a damn thing about it.

“Whoa, girl,” Doris said. “Slow down. Don’t you have a job to do?”

“To hell with it,” Charlie said. She glanced over at Phaedra. “I mean heck. To heck with it.”

“Aren’t you overreacting a little? Did you talk to him about this?”

“Talk to him? Yeah, I talked to him. He just… never mind.” She swallowed, remembering just how much she’d talked. How she’d bared her soul to a man who’d just made up with the love of his life. Maybe Nate didn’t talk enough, but she had the opposite problem.

She didn’t listen.

She grabbed her luggage, scooped her car keys off her nightstand, and headed for the door.

Phaedra shot to her feet. “No,” she said. “Don’t leave. You belong here, remember? Nate said so.”

“He was just being nice,” Charlie said. “He didn’t mean it.”

Phaedra looked wounded and Charlie felt a pang of regret. Setting down the suitcase, she gave the girl a hug. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I have to go. But we’ll keep in touch.”

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Taylor called after her.

“I’m fine,” she said, breezing out the door.

Sure.
She tossed her suitcase into the Celica’s hatch.

Just fine.
She slumped down into the driver’s seat and slammed the door behind her.

A light drizzle was falling, and the windows were pebbled with rain. She hit the steering wheel with the palm of her hand and swore as a sob exploded from her chest. It hurt. If she hadn’t been able to look down and see her intact T-shirt, she’d have sworn her heart had just torn itself in two and fallen out of her chest.

Stupid,
she told herself.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.

How could she have fallen for a cowboy? The two of them were so different—such total opposites. They should be oil and water.

But they weren’t. No matter how much she tried to hate him, she knew they were two pieces of a puzzle, meshing perfectly, completing a picture. Her strengths were his weaknesses, and what he lacked was what she had to give. Sure, he didn’t talk much, but she prattled on enough for both of them. And she tended to go off like a firecracker at the slightest touch of a flame, while he was steady and unchanging as the eternal Wyoming plains.

Except when it came to love, or sex, or whatever it was that had happened between them.

She sighed. She couldn’t blame him. She’d pulled him close, then pushed him away. She’d told him straight out he had no place in her life. She’d been scornful rather than supportive when he was devastated by Sandi’s news about Sam’s parentage. Why would he want to have anything to do with her?

Why would anyone?

All her life, she’d been a fighter, not a lover. She’d pushed away every man who’d tried to get close, for fear he’d abandon her like her father had. She’d nurtured her combativeness, built up an impenetrable shield, and now she was upset because she’d finally fallen in love and the man she wanted couldn’t hack his way through the thicket of thorns that surrounded her heart.

It had never mattered before. But she’d never met a man like Nate before either—a man who put his daughter first, who would give up everything he loved to keep his child safe. A man who was clearly the opposite of her father.

Whatever woman ended up sharing Nate’s life would always hold second place to Sam in his heart. That was as it should be—but it made Charlie the loser in Sandi’s high-stakes game of tug-of-war.

And the loser needed to clear the field.

The pitted dirt road rattled the Celica to its core, pummeling out some of Charlie’s anger. By the time she reached the paved road, there was an ominous grinding sound coming from the right front tire and a rattle somewhere in the back. It sounded like the car was going to self-destruct, leaving a trail of nuts and bolts all the way to Jersey.

But it would make it. It had to.

She putt-putted onward, pausing at Purvis’s one-and-only streetlight, then gunning the motor to head east. The car shot through the intersection—but some crucial part of it stayed behind, tumbling with a loud clang to the pavement.

Judging from the 50-decibel lawn-mower growl emanating from the Celica’s chrome tailpipes, that crucial part was probably the muffler. Charlie spun a wide circle in the empty intersection and pulled over next to the sidewalk. Throwing the shifter into neutral and giving the parking brake a vicious yank, she stomped out of the car and retrieved the runaway hunk of metal from the middle of the road. She didn’t know much about cars, but this thing looked like it was Celica’s liver, or maybe its kidney. Something crucial, anyway. Muttering a soft but heartfelt string of obscenities, she pitched it into the hatch and collapsed into the driver’s seat. Setting her hands on the wheel, she laid her forehead on top of them. What was she going to do now?

She could keep going. She hadn’t seen a cop for a good two hundred miles before she hit Purvis, so it wasn’t likely anyone would care if her car sounded like a convoy of three hundred Harleys running wide open. But that also meant she couldn’t count on any help if the Celica gave out in the middle of nowhere.

It looked like Ray Givens was her only hope. She’d have to stay the night, and have him look at the car in the morning.

She stood on the sidewalk, glancing left and right. She could sleep in the car, but a hotel would be better—if Purvis had such a thing. She tried to remember her drive through town with Nate. Had there been a hotel? A bed and breakfast? Anything?

Glancing to the right, she caught a flash of neon—an arrow, pointing down toward a dimly lit one-story building that crouched in by the sidewalk. “Vacancy,” it said. And no wonder. The place looked like the last refuge of the homeless.

Sighing, she stepped out of the car and hauled her suitcase out of the backseat. The kidney, or whatever it was, would have to stay. If someone stole it, fine. It wasn’t working anyway.

She jerked the suitcase handle to its full length and squared her shoulders. Sighing, she headed down the street, the suitcase trailing behind her like an obedient rectangular dog. She stared down at the cracked concrete as she walked, lost in a sea of self-pity.

Suddenly, the suitcase tilted and lurched. A metallic
ping
sounded behind her and the right wheel popped off and rolled into the gutter.

Damn. Couldn’t anything in her life go right?

She was struggling to collapse the handle when the sharp toot of a horn almost made her look up, but she kept her eyes firmly pinned to the sidewalk. Probably some cowpokes out on the town. Next they’d whistle and holler suggestive comments.

“Hey!”

Sure enough. She flipped them the bird and kept wrestling with the suitcase. A little New Jersey sign language should get them out of her hair.

“Charlie!”

She turned to see Doris’s enormous truck barreling down on her, angling across the street to pull to a stop at the curb. The door opened and the wiry ranch woman jumped from the cab, landing right in front of her like a wizened leprechaun dropping from the sky.

“Doris?” Charlie felt her face go hot. “Sorry I flipped you off.”

“That’s okay.” The woman grabbed Charlie’s arm. “But come on,” she said. “We need to talk. I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Hold on.” Charlie gestured toward the suitcase. “My suitcase threw a shoe.”

Doris picked up the wheel and scrutinized it. “Bet a good mechanic could fix that. Nate’s father-in-law, maybe.” She grabbed the suitcase’s handle and slid it home in one smooth motion. “I’ve got it,” she said, hoisting the heavy case with one hand. “Now come on.”

“I don’t want a drink.” Charlie set her jaw. “And sorry, but I don’t really want to talk either. I need to get going.” Doris would try to convince her to stay, but leaving was the right thing to do—Charlie was almost sure. It was clear she wasn’t ready to trust a man, and besides, she had a life to live in Jersey.

A picture flashed in her mind of Sandi haranguing Nate at the dinner table. Bossing him around in the barn. Making demands. Issuing ultimatums. She shook her head. She couldn’t save him. He’d have to save himself.

“I didn’t ask what you wanted to do.” Doris tugged Charlie’s arm, dragging her forward. “We’re drinking. We’re talking.” She scanned the street. Three bars shed squares of yellow light on the sidewalk, but every other business was shuttered and dark. “Pick a bar,” she said. “I’m buying.”

Charlie eyed the various establishments. Hogs ‘n’ Heifers was ruled out by the convoy of Harleys parked out front. Doris was obviously feeling pugnacious, and the woman would probably end up in a fight with some 300-pound tattooed hog driver.

At first glance, The Snag looked interesting, with concert posters plastered in the front windows and a blinking “Live Music” sign over the door. But when they stepped closer, Charlie saw the posters advertised mostly country acts, including a selection of washed-up Opry stars that could have formed the cast of one of those D-list reality shows—
Nashville Rehab
or something. No doubt the mood music would reflect the owner’s taste, and Charlie was sad enough without listening to the sorrowful twang of Loretta Lynn or George Jones. After all, her own life had turned into a country song. “My Baby’s Baby Ain’t Really His Baby, so I Can’t Be His Baby No More.” It was so pathetic it was bound to be a top forty hit.

Next came The Crown Bar. That looked about right. Its storefront window was almost completely covered with planks of rough, dark-stained wood so only a small rectangle of glass remained, barely big enough for the neon Budweiser sign. Hardly any light seeped from the place, so it would probably be dingy and dimly lit. Perfect for her mood.

“The Crown,” she said.

Doris nodded sharply and headed for the lighted doorway. Swinging open the door, she stepped inside, dragging Charlie behind her.

A scarred, stained oak bar fronted by a row of red vinyl-topped stools stretched the length of the room. A few men crouched over drinks, and several others occupied the booths lining the opposite wall. Heads turned as Charlie and Doris stepped up to the bar and ordered two Bud Lights.

The two of them sat down, Charlie hunching over her beer like a noonday alcoholic. Doris perched beside her and fixed her bright eyes on Charlie’s face.

“You ought to give Nate another chance. Boy’s miserable with you gone.”

“I don’t think so.” Digging in her pocket, Charlie pulled out the check. Thrusting it at Doris, she stabbed a finger at the bottom line. “Look at this and tell me if you think he deserves another chance.”

Doris scanned the check and her lips tightened when she reached the memo line. “Services rendered? That doesn’t sound like our boy,” she said.

“No, it sounds like his girl,” Charlie said. “But our boy let it happen. They’re back together.”

“That can’t be true,” Doris said. “I sure haven’t seen ’em together.” She sighed. “He loves you, honey. Anybody can see it.”

“He doesn’t love me,” Charlie said. It was true. She should have known it from the start. What kind of love stayed so silent and stoic? Cowboy or not, he would have said something. “He loves Sandi. I guess it’s one of those toxic relationships, but that’s not my problem.” She sighed. “Anyway, I’m done with him.”

She stared down at the check, scanning his neat handwriting, his tidy signature, and that bottom line:
services rendered
. Doris looked over her shoulder and scowled.

“He didn’t write that,” Doris said. “I’m willing to betcha. Look at the letters.”

Charlie squinted down at the words. They were written with the same pen, in the same block lettering—almost. But Doris could be right. They slanted a little differently. Charlie leaned across the bar and held the check under the lamp.

“Look at ‘d’ in
rendered
,” Doris said. “It’s different from the ‘d’ in
dollars.
The ‘s’ is different too.”

Charlie traced the letters with her finger and felt a surge of hope. Doris was right. The letters were clearly different.

“Sandi wrote that,” Doris said. “She knew it’d piss you off. And you’re playing right into her hands, running away.” She smacked Charlie’s thigh with one bony hand. “She’s a devil and a liar, that one. She’s manipulating you, and you’re lettin’ her get away with it.” She shook her head, staring sadly down into her beer. “I can’t believe you’d just turn tail and run. I had you pegged as somebody stronger than that.”

“I’m not running away.”

“Looks like that to me. Why are you so anxious to believe Nate wrote that on the check? You know him better than that. You’re just looking for an excuse to run.” She pointed an accusing finger. “You’re scared. What the hell happened to our kick-ass princess?”

Charlie stared down at the check. Doris was right. She
was
scared.

“And if she lied about him writing that, what else did she lie about? The beauty school, for one. What else? The woman’s psycho. A pathological liar.”

Charlie nodded. Doris was right. Sandi was lying about everything else. Why was Charlie so willing to believe she and Nate were back together? She was probably lying about that too. Maybe it was just a ruse to get Charlie out of the way. The woman was probably gloating at this very moment, glorying in the success of her scheme. Charlie pictured Sandi rubbing her hands with satisfaction, like a wicked witch contemplating her next evil spell.

Downing the rest of her beer, Charlie slid off the barstool and stood up. “You’re right. I can’t let her get away with it.”

Doris grinned. “Atta girl,” she said. “I knew you’d stay.”

“I’m not staying,” Charlie said with a toss of her head. “But I’ll go back and straighten things out before I go.”

Doris tightened her lips disapprovingly. “You belong here, girl.”

“No I don’t.” Charlie stared down into her beer. “I’m a city girl born and bred, Doris. I’d never fit in here.”

Doris grinned. “I was a city girl too,” she said. “I think I fit in okay.”

“You?” Charlie scanned Doris from her windblown, sun-dried hair to the toes of her battered cowboy boots. The woman didn’t just fit in; she was practically a part of the Wyoming landscape. “Thought you were a native species.”

“Nope.” Doris grinned. “I’m from Boston.”

“No shit.” Charlie blinked. “I mean, no kidding.”

“Came out here on vacation with my folks when I was eighteen years old. Met my Eddie and never went back. I loved the wide-open spaces, the animals—I just felt at home here. And I loved my Eddie. So I stayed.”

They swung out of the bar and headed for the truck. Charlie knew her red metallic cowboy boots looked ridiculous, but the heels made a gratifyingly authoritative sound as she clicked out of the bar and down the sidewalk. She almost wished she had spurs, just for the tough-guy clanking sound they’d make as they hit the concrete. She’d sound like a legendary gunslinger stalking the mean streets of Purvis, spoiling for a fight.

Which wasn’t too far from the truth.

She paused beside her car and looked back at Doris. “Follow me, okay? I’m not sure this thing’ll make it back to the ranch.”

Doris grinned. “Sure. I’m your wingman. Let’s go kick Sandi’s ass and get you a cowboy.”

Charlie grimaced. “I didn’t say I was staying,” she said.

“No, you didn’t.” Doris started up the truck and pulled into the street. “But you’re headed in the right direction.”