The Trouble with Texas Cowboys (14 page)

He scrambled up the ladder like an agile little boy. “Y'all comin', or you goin' to stand down there and look stupid?”

Jill started up with Sawyer right behind her. Where in the hell they were going once they reached the top was a mystery, but it was definitely the only way out, other than going back to the bridge. With her fanny practically in his face, Sawyer couldn't control the pictures that flashed through his mind.

Her butt would fit so well in his hands, especially if they were both naked and in his big king-sized bed.

“Okay now, we hit this here button and watch what happens,” Tilly said.

A hatch opened up on the roof, letting in sun and cold air. Jill followed him on up the ladder and through the opening to find that the porch roof was level with the road over to the right. And right there was a swinging bridge about twenty yards long, wide enough for one person at a time.

“Cute, ain't it?” Tilly said. “Let me get to the other side before you get on it. Don't know how much weight it would bear. One at a time, and then we'll hitch up Bessie to the wagon and get on our way.”

Bessie, the old gray mule, had two speeds: slow and stop. A stick of dynamite could not have put any more giddy-up in her pace, but Sawyer wasn't complaining. He could be walking all the way into town and dodging Gallaghers and Brennans on the way.

Jill smiled at the right places when Tilly told the first story, but when he started on the second one, her eyes grew heavy, and she slumped against Sawyer's shoulder. He shifted his weight so that he could hold her steady with one arm.

Tilly looked back over his shoulder and smiled. “She'd be a keeper, son. I can see why the Gallaghers and the Brennans both want her. She'd be a prize even without the water rights on Fiddle Creek. Damn fools ought to know better than to kidnap her, though. They ought to be sweet-talkin' her and bein' nice. But then so should you. She's got that special glow when she looks at you.”

Sawyer chuckled. “And what would you know about a glow?”

“Ah, now, there's a lot you don't know about me, son, and I've seen that look in a woman's eyes one time before when she looked at me. I was a young man back then, and I ruined it all. Take my advice and don't let go of the best thing you might ever have. Now where was I? Oh, yeah, I was tellin' you about the day I found my little bit of land and why I bought acres on both sides of the road,” he said.

Sawyer listened with one ear and kept an eye open most of the time. Tilly didn't seem to want or need any feedback. He wanted someone to listen, and Sawyer could do that and doze at the same time.

He awoke with a start when the wagon wheel fell into a hole, but Bessie brought them out of it with very little effort. Jill didn't even move. She still had hay in her red hair, and her cheeks were rosy from the cold. Lashes rested on her cheekbones, and the sunlight brightened the few freckles sprinkled across her nose. The curve of her hip coming away from the tiny waist intrigued him. Tilly was right about her being a looker, but he didn't have a damn thing to offer Jill Cleary. He'd saved enough money through the years to put a down payment on a small ranch, but banks were a lot stingier with loans in today's economy than they had been in the past. Still, there was something about her that made him wish he had everything Quaid and Tyrell did, so he could give her what she deserved.

Two trucks passed them on the way into town, and both times they honked and waved, but neither stopped. If it was the feuding families who'd kidnapped them and stolen his truck, they evidently didn't want to tangle with Tilly or his mule, either one.

He groaned. “My truck. I hadn't thought about that. I'll have to call the insurance company and the police as soon as I buy another cell phone.”

“What about your truck?” Tilly asked.

Sawyer filled him in on the story, and Tilly shook his head. “Them bastards. Get you a mule and a wagon. Don't have too many people wantin' to steal old Bessie, and if they did, she'd probably bite the shit out of them. She can be a mean-tempered old bitch when anyone crosses her. Well, would you look at that? You can see Gladys's store. In another five minutes, old Bessie will have us pulled right up to the door.”

Jill pulled away from Sawyer and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Are we almost there?”

“Just up ahead. Town sure looks dead, even for a Sunday. Ain't seen but a couple of trucks since we left the holler. Did you get a little rest?” Tilly asked.

“I can't believe I slept that long.” Jill rolled her head from side to side to get the kinks out. “Thank you for helping us, Tilly. It sure beat walking all morning.”

Tilly pulled the wagon up to the front door and hopped down off the wagon seat. “It's dinner time. Reckon we might fix us up a bologna sandwich in the store before I start back?”

“I'll fire up the cookstove and make you a steak, if you want it,” Jill said.

Tilly grinned as he held his hand up to help her down. “I got steak and pork at home. But it ain't often I get a big old bologna sandwich.”

Jill put her hand in his. “With lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, onions, and mustard.”

“Now that's a meal fit for a king,” Tilly said.

Sawyer jumped down from the back of the wagon and groaned when his knees protested the treatment they'd been given in the past twenty-four hours.

“Best heed the advice I gave you, son. You ain't gettin' no younger.” Tilly laughed.

Jill found the spare key inside a fake rock in the flowerpot beside the door. She opened the lock and swung the doors open to a warm store. On her way back to the meat department, where she fully intended to slice a couple of pounds of bologna to send home with Tilly, she removed her coat and hung it on the rack.

“What do you want, Sawyer?” she asked.

“Ham and cheese, mayo, and everything you're putting on Tilly's sandwich. I'll get a bag of chips and some pickles, and we can eat at the checkout counter,” he answered.

“That's a sissy sandwich,” Tilly said.

“Not if you eat more than one to prove you are a man. I'm having two for starters, and then maybe a half a bag of those chocolate doughnuts right there,” Sawyer told him.

“You want two?” Jill asked Tilly.

“Yes, ma'am. I reckon that would be right fine,” he answered. “And”—he winked at Sawyer—“maybe I'll have some of them doughnuts too.”

“What are you drinking?” Sawyer headed for the cold soft-drink case.

“Root beer.” Tilly didn't hesitate for a second. “This picnic gets better and better.”

Once Tilly started eating, he didn't say another word. He enjoyed his food without conversation. When he finished, he leaned the chair back and propped his boots on the counter. “Well, now, this has been a profitable trip, yes it has. The company has been good, but it is time for me to get on down the road. Bessie will be expecting to get out of that harness come dusk, and she does get bitchy if she doesn't get her way.”

“Flour, sugar, and what else?” Jill asked.

“Dinner has paid for the trip, but I will pick up supplies while I'm here,” Tilly said. “You ring it up, and I'll pay for my purchases. I'll start out with two pounds of bologna, sliced thick, and one of them big old ham bones for Otis. He'll pout because he didn't get to come along with us.”

He filled a cart and Jill conveniently forgot to ring up several of the items. When she totaled his bill, he slapped his leg and laughed out loud. “Young lady, I want you to check me out every time I come in here from now on. Don't be thinkin' that you pulled the wool over an old man's eyes. I had the bill figured, along with the tax, before you ever keyed in the first bag of flour. But thank you, and if you ever need a ride out of the holler again, you come on down to my place. Me and Bessie will take good care of you. Sawyer O'Donnell, you remember what I told you.”

“Yes, sir, I will,” Sawyer said.

“Y'all want me and Bessie to take you on to wherever you live?”

Sawyer shook his head. “Bessie needs to get on back home. It's not that far for us to walk, and my legs need some stretchin'.”

* * *

It felt normal when Sawyer tucked her hand inside his as they started toward the bunkhouse. But then they'd gone past the simply friendship stage a while back. She wasn't sure when, because it had kind of snuck up on her. Thinking about it didn't scare her, but felt as right and comfortable as her hand in his.

She stopped so quick that he'd taken two more steps and dropped her hand before he saw what she was pointing at. He shook his head. It must be a mirage, because he was so weary, but there sat his truck, not a dent in it, no slashed tires, not even a busted taillight.

“Your truck,” she whispered. “Don't touch it. The police will want to check for fingerprints.”

“We're not calling the police,” he said. “And besides, they were all wearing gloves, so they wouldn't have left fingerprints. This isn't the Hatfields and McCoys. They would have already brought out the rifles and killed each other. That's the way folks fought in those days. This is the Gallaghers and Brennans, and they do things different.”

He opened the door, found all three of his guns safely hidden away, his billfold, pickup keys, her purse, and both of their cell phones on the passenger's seat. He was more convinced than ever that the Brennans did the job so they could swoop in and rescue Jill and she'd be indebted to them. Then the Gallaghers found out about it and figured they'd steal the Brennans' thunder with the same plan. Why else would someone drive his truck home? Hell, a car thief wouldn't even know where he lived. And why would they leave all the money, credit cards, and three high-dollar pistols in the truck? Yes, ma'am, it was the workings of the pig war, and if he could prove a single bit of it, they'd all be in jail for what they'd put Jill through.

She had her hands out, reaching for her purse and phone when he turned around with them. “You're right about calling the police. Other than Tilly, who would back us up? And no one would ever believe such a wild story. I'm glad to have my purse and phone back. I need a shower, and then I might feel like a whole woman again. But believe me, Sawyer, they are going to pay for this shit.”

“I figured you'd want a long bath,” he said.

“That would take too much time. I'll be quiet, I promise.”

He opened the bunkhouse door for her. “What's that got to do with anything?”

“You should have the first shower, since it's your bathroom and since you let me snooze almost the whole way home,” she said. “So go on, and I'll be quiet while I get cleaned up. I'll even tiptoe when I'm done so I won't wake you.”

“You go first. I'll get the sofa ready and find the golf channel.” He grinned.

“And lock the door?”

“Little paranoid now, are you? They won't try that tactic again. They'll be holed up in their fortresses, plannin' the next move. But for peace of mind, I will lock the door.”

She made a run through her bedroom, shedding her boots and coat and picking up underpants, flannel pajama pants, and an oversized sleep shirt. Then she grabbed her travel pack, a carryall that hung on the back of a door and contained shampoo, deodorant, toothpaste, a hairbrush, and her own shower gel and lotion.

She looked in the mirror before she got in the shower and gasped, “Oh. My. God.”

Makeup smeared, hair a total mess with hay still sticking in it, bags under her eyes. She quickly shucked off her jeans, shirt, and underwear, all of which still bore the smell of beer and cigarette smoke, and sighed when the pulsating hot water hit her tired and sore muscles. She tried to be quick, but it took three times of lather, rinse, and repeat before her hair quit shedding hay and the water ran clear. After seeing her reflection, she scrubbed her body down twice with shower gel and hoped the stink of sleeping in a barn that smelled of rat piss and cows was finally gone.

Now
you
bitch
about
the
sleeping
quarters,
her inner voice said.
Last
night
you
were
glad
to
have
a
roof
over
your
head.

“Oh, hush,” she said aloud. “A roof didn't keep it from smelling bad.”

She took time to towel dry her hair and run a brush through it, to recheck her reflection and sigh when the bags hadn't disappeared from under her eyes, and get dressed before she left the bathroom.

“I started the fire so you wouldn't freeze. I'll get the sofa bed ready when I get out. My phone is turned off and charging. You might want to do the same with yours,” Sawyer said.

She sat down on the edge of Sawyer's bed to wait for him. Together they would make the sofa into a bed when he finished his shower. It wasn't that she couldn't do that job alone, but that she was too damn tired to want to.

The heat was taking its own good time getting from the living area into his bedroom, and the wood floor was cold. She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. Her toes were like icicles, sending shivers all the way up to her hair, still damp from the shower. Maybe she'd get warm if she pulled the fleecy blanket on top of his bed up over her. It would be a means only to get warm. Now, getting under the covers would be a different thing.

The blanket was like warm clouds on a hot summer day when she tucked her toes under it. She eyed the pillows. One still had the imprint of his head, so the right side was his. She was a left-side person. She promised herself that she would lie down on the spare pillow for a few seconds. It looked so inviting, and she was so tired. She'd be long gone before Sawyer finished in the shower. The water stopped running and she could hear his electric shaver going.

* * *

Sawyer could hardly keep his eyes open long enough to shave, but if he let his heavy dark beard go any longer, the electric razor would bog down trying to get the job done. The room should be semiwarm by now, and the golf channel was already on television. He'd bet dollars to pig shit that Jill had the sofa bed out and was already snoring.

He hurried across the cold floor, only to find the sofa empty. Evidently, she'd given up on him and gone to her room for a nap. Disappointed, he did a quick tiptoe back to his room and stopped in his tracks when he found her sleeping on his bed.

“Got to admit, it's bigger and more comfortable than the sofa, and, darlin', I might share my blanket, but you ain't gettin' all of it,” he murmured.

She rolled toward him and threw a leg over his body when he pulled the throw up over them. He slipped an arm under her and buried his face in her still slightly damp hair. It smelled like coconut and ocean breezes. It would be easy to get involved with Jill. They were together twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, but if it didn't work out in the end, they could wind up enemies. And he liked her too well to ruin their friendship.