Authors: Patti Berg
“Cros tells me you’ve been pretty much the same way while I’ve been gone.”
“Cros talks too much.”
“Yeah, but I heard the same thing from Bill and Hank. Probably would have heard a similar story from Benny if he was a little more prone to talk.”
“Losing hundreds of cows didn’t settle well. That’s all.”
Jack never once looked at Mike, he merely stared at Satan and at the sun rising on the horizon. Mike knew the blizzard and the toll it had taken on the herd didn’t settle well with Jack, either, but Mike knew there was more on his mind.
“You know I’m not big on butting in,” Jack said, “but how much longer are you gonna mope over Charity?”
“What makes you think that’s what I’m doing?”
“ ‘Cause I know you better than you know yourself. Seems to me you should be spending your energy trying to figure out how to catch a showgirl instead of standing out here trying to figure out how to tame something you already caught.”
“Full of wisdom, aren’t you?”
Jack laughed. “Those were Sam’s words right before she sent me out here to bug the hell out of you. She says if you don’t go after Charity you deserve to be miserable the rest of your life.”
“I asked the woman to stay on more than one occasion. Told her I loved her.”
“That’s not the way I heard it.”
“Yeah, what did you hear?”
“That you told her you loved her, even though you didn’t want to. That’s a hell of a thing to say to a woman.”
“Where’d you get that information?”
“From my wife, who got it from Lauren, who got it from Max, who heard it direct from the jackass’s mouth. You gonna deny it?”
“Why bother? It doesn’t matter much now.”
“Guess not. Charity’s got a boyfriend, anyway. Logan somebody. A cop, the way I hear it. I’ve heard stories about him handcuffing her, too.”
Mike felt his jaw tightening. He should have known she’d go back to Vegas and fall in love. Should have known she wouldn’t long for him the way he longed for her. Of course, why should he have expected her to want him, when he’d let her leave thinking he was still in love with Jessie.
It wasn’t the truth. She would have known that if he’d made her listen. Instead he’d let her run off to catch a plane.
Maybe he’d realized that letting her leave was easier than telling her the truth. How could he tell her that it wasn’t grief or love that kept Jessie in his thoughts, that it was guilt keeping him awake all night. He couldn’t bring himself to tell anyone what he’d done, that he’d let his wife die because he’d hated seeing her plugged in to the machines that kept her alive.
Why couldn’t he have told Charity there was only one woman he loved? A woman who had the passion for life that he’d never had, a woman who’d made him want to live, really live.
For the first time he could remember, he turned to his friend for help. “You know, Jack, I’m supposed to be the one with all the answers. I’m supposed to be the one who knows how to deal with the problems of the world, but I don’t have a clue how to solve my own.”
He’d thought revealing that weakness would make him feel less of a man, unworthy of his calling. Instead it brought him back down to earth and made him realize that, as he’d told Charity once, he wasn’t a god, merely a man. Nothing less. Nothing more.
“Ever thought of going after her?” Jack asked.
“Every minute of every day. Suppose it wouldn’t do much good now, if she’s got some guy hanging around.”
“I’ve never known you to let obstacles get in your way when you wanted something.”
“Tossing a lasso around a horse or cow isn’t as tough as trying to toss one around a woman—especially a lady as wild as Charity.”
“Maybe you’re trying to catch her in all the wrong ways. You know she doesn’t like ropes. You know she doesn’t like being fenced in.”
“You got any suggestions?”
“Hell, no. You’re the man with the answers.”
Jack slapped him on the back. “You want Charity badly enough, you’ll figure something out.”
Something without ropes, something without fences? But what? He was a cowboy and that’s all he knew. But he wanted Charity—maybe it was time to find another way to gentle her and make her his own.
A PAIR OF SHOCKING PINK STILETTOS flew across the tiny apartment, landing in the proximity of the bedroom. “Now if only I can find my makeup bag,” Charity muttered as she propped open the front door to let the warm spring breeze in through the screen, then went back to rummaging through the clutter on the living room floor.
“If you’d put stuff where it belongs, you wouldn’t have this problem.”
Charity shot Logan a murderous scowl. “If your feet were as tired as mine when you got home from work—
if
you worked—you’d kick your shoes off inside the front door, too.”
“Yeah, well, there’s no chance of my feet hurtin‘, cause I don’t plan on working for a good long time.”
Charity hated the ominous tone in Logan’s voice. She knew he’d quit the job he’d once loved, knew he hadn’t looked for another, and so far he’d seemed content, even relieved. But she’d known him a long time, and right now she knew something was wrong.
She stopped digging through the shopping bags, the laundry basket full of towels she had yet to hang up or even fold, and the toppled-over pile of library books on the floor, and peeked over the coffee table at Logan. “What are you talking about?”
“I finally decided to get out of Vegas.”
What
? How could he possibly up and leave when he was the only true friend she had in town? She could feel deep frown lines forming between her eyes, and knew he could see her dismay as she folded her arms atop the coffee table and tried to sound calm and completely comfortable with this cataclysmic announcement. “Do you have any plans?”
“Thought I might buy a cabin in the mountains and kick back for a year or two. Fish, play the guitar.”
“You’ll be bored stiff in a week.”
He shrugged. “Might hire myself a pretty housekeeper to keep me company, a busty blonde— Scandinavian maybe; twenty-two, twenty-three— someone who’s more interested in sex than cleaning.” He took a sip of beer. “You want to apply?”
“I’m not blonde, I’m not Scandinavian, I’m twenty-five and I’m not interested in cleaning
or
sex.”
“Yeah, I figured that out on our first and only date.”
Charity climbed up off her knees and plopped on the couch beside Logan. She’d known for years that a steady diet of blood, guts, murder, mayhem, and vice was wearing him down, but he was so dang dedicated to being a cop that she’d never expected him to quit.
“You aren’t really going to leave Vegas, are you?”
He slung his arm over her shoulder and tugged her close. Friend, confessor, and big-brother figure, she couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving, and felt tears welling up behind her eyes. “I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you. Maybe this is it.”
“Sure. Why not?” she said half-heartedly. “I’ve got an audition in an hour, I’m not dressed, can’t find my makeup, and I’m a bundle of nerves. Go ahead, dump your bad news on me.”
“All right... I sold my house yesterday—”
“How could you? You didn’t even tell me you were putting it on the market.”
“ ‘Cause you would have tried talking me out of it. Because you would have gotten upset, which is exactly what you’re doing now. I didn’t know it would sell so fast, before the realtor could even put up a sign. But I’m glad it did. Hell, Charity, I’ve gotta get out of this town and if I don’t do it now—”
“Fine! Go! Leave me alone and miserable.”
“
That’s
part of the reason I’ve stayed as long as I have, so you wouldn’t be alone and miserable. I hoped you’d fall in love and get married, or go to Florida with your brother, or stick around Wyoming with that minister and that horse you’ve mentioned half a dozen times a day for the past couple of months, but you stay in this hell-hole of a town and get beaten into the ground every time you turn around.”
She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “This town might beat me into the ground, but having you leave is gonna feel like someone dug a grave, shoved me in, then buried me alive.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Feeling sorry for yourself?”
“I’m losing my best friend. So, yes, Mr. Wolfe, I’m feeling
very
sorry for myself.” She pulled away from his brotherly embrace and again searched for her makeup bag. “I don’t know what’s going on in your life,” she said, yanking a crimson teddy she’d forgotten all about from a Victoria’s Secret bag. Clutching it to her chest, she looked at Logan and sighed. “I don’t know why you quit your job, but I know it wasn’t just burnout. I’ve asked but you won’t tell me. I’ve pried and you’ve ignored me.”
“It’s simply a case of too much Vegas and not enough life.”
“Liar.” She smiled and tossed the teddy at her friend. “So when are you leaving?”
“Soon as I find the perfect cabin, the best fishing hole, and the big-busted Scandinavian maid.”
Logan shoved off the sofa and dropped down to his knees to join Charity in her search. “What exactly are we looking for?”
“A makeup bag. It’s chartreuse, it’s plastic, it’s about nine inches by twelve inches, and it says ‘Makeup’ on the side. Trust me, you can’t miss it.”
Logan’s face was only inches from hers when their eyes met. His were brown and warm and crinkled at the corners from too much sun and a lot of laughter—once upon a time. “I’ll miss you, Charity.”
With that, she burst into tears. They’d been threatening for months, ever since she’d run away from Mike, yet she’d managed to hold them back. Logan’s abandonment was the last straw.
She threw her arms around him. “I’ll miss you, too.” He held her tight, his big hands soothing as they stroked her hair. God, she was going to miss him.
Even the sun seemed to mourn her impending loss, the balmy rays coming through the open door disappearing behind a ... She frowned. It wasn’t a cloud she saw when she looked through the screen, but a minister, a devilishly handsome man with a lock of blue-black hair falling over his brow.
“Seems I’ve come at the wrong time.”
Wrong time
? Yes. No. Maybe.
Charity scrambled up from the floor, tightening the ties on her short paisley silk robe, tugging the back hem over her derriere, and the only thing she wore beneath—an amethyst thong.
Logan seemed to be the only one composed enough to go to the door, and he opened the screen wide, as if he assumed—due, more than likely, to the sheer disbelief that had to be registering on her face—that she knew the man standing outside.
“I’m Logan Wolfe.” He stuck his hand toward Mike and Charity watched the two men shake.
“Mike Flynn.”
“The minister?”
“Among other things.”
So much for introductions.
Charity gave the ties on her robe another tug and struggled for composure. “Want to come in?”
Mike’s gaze burned a path across Logan, then blazed for a moment on Charity’s bare legs and thighs. “Maybe I should come back later.”
“No need,” Logan said. “I was just getting ready to leave.”
It had looked quite the opposite. Considering the clench she and Logan had had around each other, a casual observer might have thought Logan was going in for the score, for the big one, right there on the floor, in the middle of the clutter, and that he’d been in no hurry to leave.
But he dug into his pants pocket for the keys to his truck and stepped around Mike and onto the cement landing just outside her apartment door. “Call me after the audition,” he said, then blew her a goodbye kiss and disappeared as Mike stepped inside.
The screen door slammed with a decided twang, and she could feel the floor shaking when Logan bounded down the stairs. She was shaking inside, too, now that she was alone... with Mike. Alone, and running late, and ... and she had to find her makeup bag and get ready for the audition.
“Help me, will you?” she asked beseechingly, searching through half-a-dozen Baby Gap and Kmart packages filled with baby boy things she planned to send Lauren. “I need to find my makeup bag. It’s chartreuse, plastic, about nine inches by twelve inches, and it says ‘Makeup’ on the side. I’ve got an audition in ...” She glanced at the digital clock on the VCR. “Oh, jeez, I’ve got to be there in half an hour, I’m not dressed, I’ve still got to put on my makeup, if I ever find it.”
She tossed an easy-chair cushion onto the floor and was about to lose her mind when a strong arm wrapped around her waist and tugged her bottom against a familiar pair of hard, masculine hips. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
Mike’s other arm shot in front of her and there, in all its glory, was her makeup bag.
“Oh, thank you.”
She snatched it out of his hands and raced to the bathroom, knowing full well that she was ignoring her guest, but he’d come uninvited and if truth be told, she was nervous enough without him adding to her jitters.
Pulling her once-again black hair into a pony-tail, one that would dance right along with her at the audition, she tried not to look at Mike as he leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms over his chest. But it was impossible not to notice him as she dabbed on foundation, powder, and blush and tried to put on lip liner with shaky fingers. At last, when his staring didn’t cease, she turned around.
“I think Logan opened a bag of chips a while ago and there’s bound to be a can or two of nuts somewhere in the kitchen. There’s beer in the refrigerator and a bottle of merlot. Why don’t you help yourself.”
“I don’t drink.”
She leaned her bottom against the edge of the sink. “I guess I should have known that.”
“Why should you? We might have chased a wild horse together, might have slept together, but we never shared a meal. There are a lot of things I don’t know about you and a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Is that why you’re here?” She was far snippier than she’d wanted to be, but she chalked it up to nerves. “Did you want to invite me to dinner so we can learn more about our culinary likes and dislikes?”
“Dinner’s a thought. I don’t have any immediate plans.”
“But I do,” she said, turning back to the mirror. “I’ve got an audition and I can’t be late.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m perfectly comfortable standing right here.”
Unfortunately, she wasn’t the least bit comfortable. His piercing green eyes watched her every move. She could see it all in the mirror, the way he focused on her bare feet, her ankles, the length of her legs, and her behind, which peeked out from under her robe every time she raised her arms.
His silence was maddening, but right now she could think of nothing to say. Besides, she had more important stuff on her mind.
Pulling a few fake lashes from her eyelash kit, she started to glue them one at a time to the outer corners of her eyelids. Mike distracted her completely when he moved to the side of the vanity and leaned against the wall. She could smell his aftershave. Was it Obsession? It smelled delightful, more sophisticated than the rugged brand he wore at the ranch.
He wasn’t dressed the same, either. He had on highly polished black cowboy boots, black slacks that fit him very, very well, and a creamy white sweater. Cashmere, maybe? Something lightweight. Something that hugged the muscular contours of his chest, shoulders and arms.
His face was freshly shaved, and she longed to put her fingers against his cheek, to touch the smoothness of his skin, to see if it was warm or cool, to feel his lips against hers again.
They’d been apart more than two months, but she hadn’t forgotten the taste of him, even though she’d tried.
“Are you going to be here long?” she asked, trying again to appear in control of an apprehensive moment.
“A week ... maybe. Like I said, I don’t have any plans that can’t be changed.”
“Do you have friends in Vegas?”
“Just you.”
“So why’d you come?”
“To tell you I’d caught Satan.”
“I’d heard that already.”
“So why didn’t you call to give me a piece of your mind?”
“What good would it have done? You’re stubborn, mule-headed, and ... and ... oh, hell! You’d do exactly what you wanted to do no matter what—like stay in my bathroom when I wish you’d leave.”
“You’re awfully pretty when you’re angry.”
Her hand twitched and the eyelash she was trying to apply dropped on the bridge of her nose, and stuck.
“Let me get that for you.”
Mike plucked the eyelash from her skin, his callused fingertips brushing lightly over her cheek. She looked into his eyes and trembled. So much for thinking she could get him out of her mind and keep him out.
“Who’s Logan?” Mike asked as she attempted to put the eyelash in the appropriate place.
“A friend.”
“Boyfriend?”
She grinned at him out the corner of her eyes. “Jealous?”
“Just want to know what competition I have for your attention—other than auditions.”
“He’s a friend. Nothing more. And besides auditions, I’ve got a job singing in a club every night from ten till two—”
“What club?”
“Why?”
“Curious.”
She brushed her brows, making them whisk upward just a tad. “The Torch. Downtown. Not a big place but the tips are good. Other than that I’ve got ballet lessons on Tuesday and Thursday and voice lessons Wednesday afternoons.” She pressed her hands against the sink. “That’s my life, Mike.”