Authors: Ann Cory
Chapter Three
Montana had left for work early after the trailer’s lack of
airflow had strangled her lungs. With full intent to entice the
rough-and-tumble stranger who had plagued her sleep, she’d chosen to wear a
short black skirt with a lace-trimmed white tank top, sleek black boots and her
silver chain with the horseshoe pendant that hung suggestively between her
breasts. If he still planned to ignore her, she’d get creative.
She opened the back door of the bar and scooted inside. A
blast of cold from the fan in the back room hit her chest like a windstorm,
much to the delight of her scruffy boss.
“Happy to see me, sweetheart?”
“Dream on, Chuck,” she said and pointed to her breasts.
“Your hands will never touch these babies.”
He wiped a fake tear. “You’re breaking my heart.”
“I’d rather break your balls. Now leave me alone. My shift
starts soon.”
“You do realize we could have a better working environment
if you showed a little more skin. Don’t you ever want a raise?”
“Not if it means selling my soul, no.” She knew Chuck didn’t
have the money, regardless if she paraded around topless.
“You don’t have to be such an ice princess.”
Hand raised, she waggled her finger in his face. “And you
don’t have to be such a prick. You’re my boss, so I expect you to behave
better.” Satisfied with her lecture, she smiled and asked, “Now, are there any
specials today?”
“Wings. I’m doing up a ton of them, so make sure you hit up
everybody with ’em.”
She crinkled her nose. Her boss didn’t know a thing about
cooking. “I’ll think about it.”
Chuck hauled his body out of the chair, his eyes focused on
her chest. “Just do it.”
Disgusted, she crossed her arms. Only one man deserved the
honor of staring at her breasts today.
After Chuck wandered into the kitchen, she primped her hair
and streaked gloss along her lips. When the clock struck noon she meandered
through the bar, enjoying the momentary peace, and then unlocked the door. The
usual lineup of locals poured in to waste their time and get hammered.
“Wings are the special today, boys,” she shouted. “Chuck
made ’em so don’t expect too much.”
She popped a stick of gum in her mouth and hit a switch on
the wall. The television set crackled to life. All heads swiveled toward it and
the quiet disappeared.
“Hey, legs, I’d like some of them wings.”
She glowered at Bigsby. “Legs? I have a name. If you want
those chicken wings, you’d best pay me some respect.”
“If you want a tip, you’ll do as you’re told,” he retorted.
“Got me, sweetheart?”
Montana extended her middle finger. A collection of cheers
resounded along with a couple lewd comments. God she hated her job.
On her way to the kitchen she shouldered away a tear.
Restlessness mingled with her ever present despair. Nothing but a ghost kept
her tied down to a dead-end job and a broken-down trailer. A ghost of a woman
she remembered little about. But if she found a way to leave, she’d take it.
Her dreams of dancing lay in the compassion of a man who had slapped her in the
face with his rugged good looks and self-serving angst. She’d need to pull
herself together enough to snare the guy into taking her away. Otherwise she
didn’t have a hope to escape.
* * * * *
From the other side of the street, Lawson watched the deputy
toss his still-lit cigarette to the ground and disappear inside the jail. He
waited, in case Mitchum appeared.
Heat beat down on his back. Sweat stung his eyes.
The building looked bigger than he remembered with a fresh
coat of paint. He wondered whose money paid for that. Impatience tugged at him.
The impulse to walk inside and put three bullets into the son of a bitch’s
chest gnawed hard. He’d love to watch Mitchum’s eyes roll back into his skull.
Lawson pushed down the fury. It would wait. He wanted to see
what had become of the rest of the place.
Pity for the townspeople grew as he passed rows of rundown
buildings. Russ and Corbet weren’t lying about it being a nothing town. Broken
windows, torn shingles, smashed-in doors and scattered garbage filled his view.
The grungy odor mixed with the heat and made his throat constrict. He didn’t
understand how people lived this way.
His grandmother once described Cage Crossing as a blend of
Victorian splendor and western prairie. Now, a neglected ghost town seemed more
appropriate.
Between an old dress shop and an abandoned paper store stood
the bank. Like the jail, it appeared renovated. He’d enjoy leveling the place.
At the far end of the street, Lawson sucked in his breath.
His steps slowed. The hairs on his neck bristled. A large black depression,
void of vegetation and life, was all that remained of the house his grandfather
had built. The house he’d played in as a boy.
He stopped. He vaguely remembered the two-story spread with
its steep roof pitches, dormers, turrets and gable trim. Many afternoons were
spent sipping lemonade on the steps of the wraparound porch adorned with turned
posts and decorative railings. His body swayed. The sweet scent of strawberries
shocked his senses. Memories returned of tummy aches from eating bucketfuls of
fresh berries that he’d helped pick. And the strawberry-rhubarb pies his mother
baked.
Lawson knelt and circled his fingers through the dirt. Big
reeds of bluestem, up to eight feet tall, once grew along the backside of the
house, while purple rising stars and orange butterfly weed ran along the front
walkway. Each summer, his grandpa taught him how to recognize birds by their
song. He still recognized the call of meadowlarks and chestnut-collared
longspurs.
“I’m here, gramps,” he said. “I’m back to finish what they
started.”
A lump swelled in his throat. He stood and extended his hand
toward the ghost house. Swiping air, he whispered, “You’ll never be forgotten.”
His arm dropped. Lawson blinked. He didn’t have time for tears.
Head bowed, he released a hiss of breath and made his way back. As he passed
the jail, the
pfft
of a match being struck sounded sharp to his ears. He
raised his head in time to see the deputy approach.
“Something I can help you with, mister? Folks don’t like it
when strangers wander around these parts. Makes ’em nervous.”
He sized up the deputy. Young punk with a toy gun and zero
ambition. Harmless. If he wanted to intimidate, his plan failed. Two punches
and he’d roll like tumbleweed.
Lawson formed a half-smile. “Folks don’t like it, or you
don’t?”
The deputy lit his cigarette and waved the match flameless.
“Pardon?”
“I’ll be on my way.”
“How long you in town for?”
“Three days tops.”
Deputy Gutless rippled his lips as if he wanted to speak but
didn’t know any words. After a couple deep drags, he tossed his cigarette and
went back inside the jail, ending his mini-interrogation.
Again he waited for a sign of Mitchum, but one didn’t come.
The sun bore down on him as if it had an agenda. Lawson removed his hat and
mopped his forehead with his sleeve. All the dirt he’d kicked around had dried
his throat right out. He wanted a drink. He needed to think. And he longed for
another glimpse of the sweet little peach. A short stop in the bar sounded like
a plan.
Chapter Four
Montana plodded around in her heels stocking napkins,
toothpicks and coasters, in between serving drinks. The boys had bet on a
wrestling match and were hollering so loudly her head throbbed. She tossed some
change from her tips into the jukebox, but the music didn’t help.
Behind her, a voice slurred, “Hey, missy, we’ve got us
s-ssome empty bowls over here. Get us s-ssome peanuts.”
She speared the unkempt featherweight Martin a defiant
glance over her shoulder. “It’s Montana.”
“I don’t want to go to Montana,” he rasped and broke out
into a half-coughing, half-laughing fit. His buddies patted him on the shoulder
and burst into laughter along with him.
What she wouldn’t give to grab Martin by his emaciated neck
and crush his bones. Display her anger the way tall and sexy had, without a
care who got hurt. Maybe then she’d get respect. Instead she snatched the empty
bowl from his skeletal fingers. “I’ll get your damn peanuts, but if you aren’t
careful, I’ll stop pouring your beer.”
That sobered him up.
“Hey, now that ain’t right. You can’t tell me when to quit
drinking.”
“Actually, Martin, I can. I have the right to refuse any of
you losers a drink when I see fit.”
“Same goes with your tip there, missy,” Bigsby belted out.
Why did everyone threaten her livelihood? “Aw, you fellas
are too good to me.”
Montana tuned out the rest of their immature banter and made
a beeline for the bar. She knew better than to pick fights with the lot of
them. If she wanted respect it would require taking off her shirt and rubbing
her breasts in their unshaved faces, an idea they could keep in their
intoxicated fantasies. Her mother’s reputation didn’t help. She’d heard the
stories of her dancing topless on the tables for mere quarters, not caring how
many nicotine-stained fingers spread her thighs. What a shadow to live in.
From under the bar she grabbed a bag of peanuts and snagged
a pitcher of beer. Halfway back to Martin’s table, a strange quiet captured her
attention. Looking around, she saw every bleary eye facing front with mouths
frozen in mid-conversation. Montana glanced over her shoulder to see what had
prompted the change, and caught her breath. In all his rugged glory, the
gorgeous stranger demanded attention. He had hers in a heartbeat. This time,
Mister Succulent wore snug black jeans with a button-down shirt that hugged his
sturdy physique. She swallowed hard, aware of the arousal between her thighs.
Ignoring the stony-faced leers, he took a seat at an empty
table at the front. Noise resumed and she tossed Martin’s bowl of peanuts at
him. Now came the hard part. How to act.
Part of her wanted nothing more than to be close to this
guy, but at the same time she feared him. He was different, and represented a
dangerous territory she longed to explore. But what if he rejected her? Her
throat tightened at the prospect of hearing his voice.
Get a grip
, she
ordered herself.
Treat him like every other male in the bar.
It wouldn’t
be easy, but she’d give it a go.
Montana took a deep breath and approached him, all the while
heat fanning her face.
“Evening. What can I get for you?” Much to her dismay her
voice cracked. To compensate, she gave him a hard look as if she meant
business, but in the veil of his stare, it didn’t last.
His gaze stole over her like a rough caress. The kind of
caress she’d expect from him with his manly hands and impeccable strength. The
kind of caress she longed for.
“I’ll have a beer and something hot to eat.”
The husky timbre of his voice vibrated deep in her core. Hot
to eat? Montana shuddered at the thought of his face buried between her legs.
Now there was something hot to eat. Her mind relished the thought of his
sandpaper stubble tickling against her delicate skin, cock erect and ready to
burst from the seam of his pants. She nearly spilled the pitcher of beer in her
hands just thinking about his hard body slamming into hers.
Despite the vivid imagery, she gathered her composure.
“Sure. I think I can manage that.”
His eyes never left hers. “What’s good?”
If he played his cards right, she could be very, very good.
“The wings. They’re our special.”
“I’ll have some of those. Extra spicy.”
She shifted her weight, feeling the dampness along her
panties. “Fries on the side?”
He ran his gaze along her body in a way that made her melt.
“Sure. I like those long, thick and extra greasy.”
Taking an order had never been such a turn-on before, but
his words were wrapped in seduction. She had to tear herself from his
penetrating gaze now or she’d go crazy with need. “You got it. Be right back
with your order.”
Montana hurried into the back, her heart thundering. Did he
smell her desire? She knew better than to show her weakness to a complete
stranger, but damn if he didn’t turn her into a bundle of nerves. Pleasurable
nerves at that. His eyes stripped her bare. But did he like what lay beneath?
She wanted to be whatever he wanted and needed, if only for a night. Because
once she had him, she’d find a way to keep him.
* * * * *
Lawson dragged a hand over his whiskered face. His rapid
heartbeat drowned out the chatter from inside the bar. He came for a drink, but
the gorgeous brunette stirred up a hunger that he knew even food couldn’t
quell.
She returned from the back with his order, hips swaying to
the rhythm of his pulse.
“Enjoy.”
He tipped his chin to the plate of wings smothered in sauce.
At this point, nothing would satisfy his hunger like her sexy thighs around his
waist.
Grumbling, he bit into the chicken. Tangy heat nipped his
tongue and his eyes watered. He clamped the beer mug and brought it to his
mouth in haste, welcoming the cool liquid down his throat. Through a haze of
tears he caught the dark-haired beauty flash him a wicked grin. His body
seized. Lawson clutched the mug with his other hand before it took a nosedive.
What the hell?
He set his beer down and directed himself to keep focus on
why he’d come back to Rattler City, and not on the woman. He’d seen and been
with plenty. Miss Miles of Legs didn’t mean anything. Sure, her tight shirt and
nothing of a skirt showed off a knockout bod, and her perfect little hips… He
snatched a chicken wing and chewed as if it might fly away. He could do this.
Eat. Drink. Get the hell out of there. Good plan, good plan.
Distracted by the flickering television, he glanced over and
caught some asshole grab Miss Legs and thrust her onto his lap. Tension ripped
through his shoulders. He hated men who disrespected women.
His eyes sought hers—green, beautiful and flecked with fear.
Lawson turned back to his plate, desperate to ignore his
instinct. She worked in the bar. She probably dealt with the same idiots every
day and knew how to handle the situation. He almost convinced himself to remain
uninvolved. But the fear in her eyes made it impossible.
He propelled himself to his feet. The table wobbled and his
chair upended. Muscles taut, jaw clenched, he strode forward.
“Take your hands off the lady,” he snarled.
The asshole’s gray, watery eyes darted around the room
before settling on him. “Suppose I’m giving her a chance to earn a big fat
tip,” he cracked and gestured at his lap.
Lawson struggled to keep his wits about him. “I get that you
want to appear tough, seeing as how your friends all have their eyes on you.
I’d do the same in your situation if some stranger got up in my face.” He
waited a beat and then drew his face right up close. “But I’m not someone you
want to tangle with.”
The man squirmed. Lawson could only imagine what thoughts
swirled in his inebriated mind.
“I don’t know who you think you are…”
Lawson’s hand shot out and enclosed around the drunken man’s
throat. “If I thought it important, I’d have introduced myself. Now, let the
lady go and I won’t leave an imprint of my fist in your face.”
A rickety smile strained the man’s lips. “Ah hell, I don’t
want trouble,” he said and shoved her off.
“Smart move.” Lawson released his throat, grabbed a tuft of
his thinning hair and slammed his head against the tabletop. “Don’t touch her
again.”
Beside him the vixen stood, her lips curved in a way that
made him want to give up his drifter lifestyle forever.
“Thank you, mister.”
“Name’s Lawson.”
She stretched out her hand. “I’m Montana. Montana Lee.”
Her touch seared like a branding iron, forever embossed on
his flesh. Ribbons of pink dusted her cheeks with an irresistibility that roped
his throat and left it hog-tied. He turned his head to ground himself back in
the moment. His beer, a million miles away.
“Thanks for rescuing me,” she said, her voice gentle on his
ears.
The rope loosened from his throat long enough for him to
splutter, “You deal with that a lot?”
She shrugged, unveiling the soft curve of her shoulder.
“Only when they’re drunk.” Her eyes tracked a slow path from his boots to his
hat and settled on his face. “What brings you here?”
“Just passing through.”
Her brows slanted. “Hm. I don’t think so.”
“Think what you like. It don’t matter.”
Again she studied him. His temples drummed. He wished his
legs remembered how to move.
Another moment ticked by. A smile spread across her lips,
brightening her face. “I think I have you figured out.”
Lawson chuckled. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” She tapped her fingers against her chin. “You’re a
hard case and decided to find a little out-of-the-way dive of a place to pump
that ego back up.”
He smiled in amusement. “Go on.”
“You haven’t been laid in a few months, and all that pent-up
sexual need is taking its toll. You figured if you play hero to the only female
in the room, she’ll fall into your arms and let you whisk her off into the
sunset. Oh, and all that macho bullshit you fling around is just a way to cover
those inner battle wounds you collected in your youth.”
His mouth grew heavy. She crossed her arms and challenged
him with her precocious stance.
He tempered the urge to spew a tirade. “Hate to say you’re
wrong, but you’re wrong.”
Hands to her waist, she nodded, her long hair caressing her
shoulders. “I think I’m just right.”
Her long black lashes mesmerized him with the way they rose
and lowered. He wanted to reel the control back to his side, but she held the
line tight.
Lawson turned and, with heavy steps plodded back to the table,
righted the chair and downed his beer to the final drop. He thrust the mug back
down, ran his sleeve along his mouth and belched.
Fresh air beckoned him. He whipped a twenty-dollar bill from
his wallet and slapped it on the table. “Thanks for the grub,” he rumbled.
“Keep the change.”
Eyes straight, he strode through the bar, past the red-faced
asshole massaging his throat and into the muggy air. His lungs expanded. He’d
made a mistake walking in there. It wasn’t a bar. It was a lion’s den.
Montana’s cat-like eyes observed too much. She’d clawed away his defenses and
pounced on his pride. He declared the bar off limits.
Grumbling, he shuffled toward the Galloping Motel for rest
and to get his head on straight.
A dull scraping noise from behind turned his legs to lead.
He turned and faced a vortex of darkness. His eyes, slow to
adjust, searched the night. Why the hell were there no lights? Trash cans
moved, or so he thought. The heat made him delirious. Lungs tight, he cocked
his head and listened.
His pulse thumped.
Sweat beaded his brow and soaked his collar.
Moments passed and he didn’t hear anything more. Lawson
turned back around and took a few steps when the noise repeated.
He pulled out his gun and fired two shots into the night.
Careless, he knew, but he didn’t need someone firing a round of lead into him
before he’d finished his business.
Satisfied, he tucked his gun into his pants. Sleep, he
needed sleep. And he needed to keep his mind off the sultry vixen from the bar.
Nothing good would ever come from getting involved.
He couldn’t afford to care for anyone in a town he sought to
destroy.