Too Hot To Trot (#3, Cowboy Way) (13 page)

“I didn’t want him to hurt himself again, but I’ll call him on his phone to apologize,” Zack replied, with a huffed breath.  “I’ve got to go.” Zack got the hell out of the kitchen, before he got into an accidental argument with his best friend too.  He walked outside, and hurried to his truck which was still parked in front of his travel trailer near the barn. 

Please let it be unhooked, he prayed, walking to inspect the hitch.  It was, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he didn’t have to go back inside and ask Ryan to help him.  The best thing he could do for everyone right now was get in his truck and haul ass to Heather’s apartment. 

He got into the truck and cranked it, put his hand on the stick, but stopped. 
God, please don’t let her be scared—help me get her out of this mess.  You know she doesn’t deserve to be there.

It couldn’t hurt.

***

A scraping noise woke her up, and Heather looked over her shoulder to see the guard slide her lunch tray through the slot.  “Better get up and eat this time.  This is the last meal you’ll get for a while.  Your escort is here, so as soon as you finish, you’re leaving for Tulsa.”

Swallowing down the bile that burned her throat, Heather sat on the edge of the cot.  Her last meal.  If she refused the tray, they would take her now.  On wobbly legs, Heather stood and walked to the cell door to pull the tray inside.  The aroma of the food wafted up to her nose and she gagged as she turned back toward the cot.  She sat down, balanced the tray on her knees and stared at the congealed processed turkey and gravy which was slopped beside a half-browned piece of toast, and the glob of greasy greens.

When she finished this slop, they were taking her back to Tulsa.  Back to face the devil, and pay her due for refusing him.  At least her price would not include letting Jack Thomas touch her again.  She’d rather spend her life in prison than let that happen. 

Somehow she had to eat this.  Slowly.  As slowly as she could.  That would at least buy her a few precious moments to get her mind wrapped around the fact that she was actually going back to Tulsa, to probably live out her life in a prison cell. 

Picking up the plastic spork from the tray, Heather scooped up a small bit of the greens, and her hand shook as she brought it to her mouth.  The smell floated to her nose, she gagged, and set it back on the tray.  After a few fortifying breaths, she held her breath and brought it up to her mouth again and shoved it inside.  The greens tasted as bad as they smelled, so she didn’t wallow them around in her mouth as she planned, she swallowed.  But it took a few minutes for the greens to decide if they wanted to move up or down.  They finally decided on down, but hit the acid in her stomach and it lurched.

Heather just sat there and breathed for a minute, before she laid the spork down to pick up the toast, thinking maybe it would soak up the acid so she could eat the rest. Gnawing off the edge, she soaked it in her mouth, until it was soft enough to chew.  Keys jangled in the door, and the bread lodged in her throat.  The door opened, emotion welled up to her eyes, and the bread stopped the wail from escaping her throat.  Heather fought to hold the tears in, she really did, but they leaked out to slither hotly down her cheeks. 

Her time was up, they must have decided she didn’t need lunch after all.  She sat the tray on the cot, and stood as the guard walked inside. 

“Looks like you have visitors, so your lunch will have to wait,” he said gruffly, wiggling his finger at her.  “Get a move on, your lawyer wants to see you now.”

“I don’t have a lawyer,” she croaked, taking two staggering steps toward him.

“I said the same thing—that’s what your file says—you confessed and didn’t want an attorney…”  He shrugged, and grabbed her arm.  “But he’s here, and he says it’s to see you, so you’re going to see him.  Turn around.” 

Heather turned and automatically put her hands behind her back.  The guard cuffed her and she walked toward the door, before he could push her.  Feeling like she was wearing lead boots, instead of the ugly, orange flip flops they’d made her change into last night, which matched the two-sizes-too-large orange jail jumpsuit rolled she’d up at the hem because it was six inches too long for her, Heather walked to the connecting door and stopped. 

The guard let her through and she headed toward the interview room, knowing that’s where she was supposed to go.  This was a useless meeting, she had already admitted to stabbing Jack.  She didn’t tell them what he’d done to lead up to her stabbing him though.  That would be just as useless.  Heather knew they’d never believe her, so she didn’t bother. 

Jack Thomas was a cop, above the law, and Haley Morgan had been suspended from school more than she’d been in attendance, a troubled youth they said.  Incorrigible.  Even though she’d tried once to tell them why she was like she was, those bastards hadn’t cared to look at her home life before they labeled her.  Why would they listen to her now?

No, Heather had saved them a whole lot of time and herself the breath.  After three days of harassment, she confessed and left it at that.  That saved her having to see Jack again, or having to be dragged through the mud in court.   But if that bastard showed up at her sentencing, they better make sure she was handcuffed, or she might make the sentence worth her time, and just kill him. 
God why hadn’t that knife just killed him?
  The world would have been done a huge favor, and she wouldn’t regret being here so much.

At the door of the interview room, Heather waited while the guard leaned around her to open it.  When he swung it open, her eyes skated past a small-framed man in a business suit to lock onto angry blue eyes, set in a hard face framed by shiny blonde curls. 

Her heart dropped to her toes, as embarrassment and shame like she’d never felt before her, made her chest feel like it would burst. “I can’t do this,” she said, shaking her head as she turned back toward the guard, her voice barely a whisper.  “Please, just take me to Tulsa.”

Chapter Thirteen

After a glance at them, the guard shoved her inside the room and shut the door.  Zack finally breathed again, but Heather still didn’t turn to face them.  Her shoulders slumped, as she stared at those damned ugly orange thongs on her feet.  He stared at the silver handcuffs cutting into her wrists, and his anger tripled.  That brief look at her ravaged face when she stood in the doorway, which included a black eye to match her ratted black hair, pissed him off. 

Zack was going to find out who the hell gave it to her and give them a matching one, he thought, as he scraped his chair back to stand and stalk over to her.  He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to lead her to the empty chair at the table.  “You’re not going anywhere until you talk to us,” he grated.

Heather didn’t sit down, Zack had to push her down into the chair.  What he wanted to do was pull her into his lap and hold her.  All he could think was she probably looked right now how she looked twelve years ago at fifteen when she fled Tulsa.  Scared, dejected, defeated and hopeless.  But he knew those twelve years had hardened her, so soft reassurances weren’t going to get through to this hardheaded woman. 

What she needed was a dose of reality, and some tough love. 

Zack put his finger under her chin and made her meet his eyes.  “You accused me of being a pussy quitter one time.  I guess it takes one to know one doesn’t it, sweet thing?”

“I’m not quitting,” she replied, jerking her chin to the side.  “I’m just facing reality, and that reality is I’ve confessed to stabbing Jack, and there’s not a thing you or your attorney can do for me now.  It’s over, Zack.  Just go back to your ranch, and leave me the hell alone.”

“I’m not his attorney, I’m yours,” Rex Sanderson said calmly.  “And if what Zack told me about the situation is true, that confession doesn’t mean a thing.  We’ll talk to the prosecutor.”

Heather’s eyes flew to his, and Zack stepped back.  “My stepfather is a cop, or ex-cop.  They aren’t going to believe a damned thing I say.  I was a juvenile delinquent according to the lovely people at my high school, and now I’m  a…” Heather cast a hot look at Zack, inched up that stubborn chin of hers and finished, “I’m a stripper.”

Zack opened his mouth to correct her, but Rex held up his finger.  “Young lady, I don’t care if the man was the President of the United States, and neither will a jury.  He abused a fifteen-year-old
child
in his custody.  Just because you stabbed him and admitted it to the police doesn’t make you a criminal.  You were justified in your actions, and we are going to tell them the rest of the story.  After that, we’re going to file charges against Jack Thomas.  He’s no longer a patrol officer, he’s in a much more dangerous position now.  A
juvenile
probation officer.  Imagine the other young girls he has the opportunity to abuse now.”

Heather rolled her eyes, still holding onto her tough girl front, not looking like she believed or had faith in a word Rex said.  “Jack Thomas is as slick as they come.  Hell, my own mother wouldn’t believe me.  If any of those girls were abused, I can guarantee you they won’t talk either.  He’s good at threats, and backs them up with a badge and a gun.”  She pushed up to her feet.  “I’m done with this.  It’s been twelve years, long past time for me to drag up this bullshit.  I’m just going to do my time, and get on with my life.”

“You still have five months to file charges for lewd conduct with a juvenile,” Rex said, flatly.  “You’ll do at least ten years if you don’t do something to save yourself.  Just think, you’ll be nearly forty years old, by the time you get out, maybe older.”

“Ten years?” Heather repeated, breathlessly, sinking back into the chair. 

Rex had her attention now, and that was a good thing.  “Ten years, “ Zack repeated.  “And they won’t be an easy ten either.  I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to clean around there.”  One day would be too much.  Zack wasn’t going to let it happen, but he had to stay tough.  It was the only way to get through to her. 

Heather looked at him, then back at Rex.  Her lower lip trembled.  “They’re taking me back to Tulsa today.”  Rex dragged his eyes to Zack, and nodded.  

Zack cleared his throat, and met her gaze.  “I talked to the bail bondsman and I can put up a property bond on the ranch to cover your bail.  The judge said if I did that, they’d let you remain here until your trial date.  We’ll have to go to Tulsa for the trial, unless the charges are dropped by the prosecutor.  Rex is going to send him a letter, but he can’t represent you there.  He’s going to help us find an attorney there to help get them dropped.”

“Us?
We
?  Why do you give a crap?” Heather asked bluntly.  “This isn’t your problem, Zack, or your family’s.  Risking your ranch for me is stupid.  You said yourself I run from problems.  I ran from Tulsa.”

Zack didn’t miss the fear in her eyes or voice.  “You ran because you were afraid of a man you had every right to be afraid of then,” he corrected calmly.  “You don’t have to run anymore, Heather, or be afraid of him.  You’re coming back to the ranch with me.”

Heather stiffened her shoulders.  “Why do you believe me about Jack?” she asked, sounding slightly belligerent.  “How do you know I didn’t feed you bullshit about Jack and make you believe it?  Maybe I wasn’t afraid of him.  Maybe I just buried that knife in his side because I was pissed, and ran because I didn’t want to go to jail.”

“The only bullshit you’re dishing out is what you’re feeding me right now,” Zack replied confidently.  “I know it when I hear it.  You weren’t bullshitting when you had that nightmare, or when you fell apart in my arms afterward.  You were just as scared then as you were when it happened.  I believe you, Heather, and so will that jury, if it comes to that.”

Heather got up and started pacing.  Zack watched, and listened to the back of her plastic shoes slap against her heels.  Waited until she stopped in front of him.  “I’m not letting you do this. You aren’t risking the ranch.”

“I already have.  The bondsman should be here any minute,” Zack replied smugly.

Blood rushed to her pale face, her cheeks practically glowed with anger.  “How
dare
you!” she shouted, bringing her foot back.  Zack sidestepped just in time to avoid her foot contacting with his knee.

“How dare I what, angel?   Save you from yourself?” Zack asked with a laugh, when she stumbled forward and he caught her.

She pulled away, and head thrown back on her shoulders, eyes shooting green fire, she fumed up at him like a teapot ready to whistle.  “You said you were
done
saving me—I don’t
need
you to save me!  I
need
you to mind your own business!” 

Zack held her gaze, and crossed his arms.  “Well, from what I’ve seen, you
need
a keeper, angel.  And that would be me now, until this mess is sorted out.”  Zack believed her, but he did not trust her not to run again.  This woman was as wild inside as an injured animal, and he wasn’t taking a chance with his ranch.  She would be with him twenty-four hours a day until those charges against her were dropped.

“I’m not going back with you. I’m going to Tulsa,” she said, her agitation evident when she started pacing again, this time on the far side of the table.  “You can’t make me go with you.”

Keys jangled, the door opened and the bondsman came inside.  He nodded at Zack, and handed him a stack of papers.  “I just need your initials at the bottom of every page, and your signature on the last.”

Zack took the pen he offered, sat the papers on the table and read every page before initialing.  If Heather ran, the bond would be due and he’d have to get a mortgage for fifty-thousand dollars, and not to improve the ranch.  It would be pissed away in the wind, and that gave him a moment’s pause, when he met her angry eyes, before he signed the last page.  Dragging his eyes back to the page, he signed it in a mockery of his signature, because he couldn’t grip the pen tight enough. 

Before he went back home, he was going to have to go see the doctor.  He’d done something to his arm, and it needed to be fixed.  This wasn’t about bull riding now, it was about functioning in life.  Zack couldn’t be useless at his own damned ranch.   He handed the paperwork and pen back to the bondsman. “Thanks for coming so fast.  How long until she’s released?” he asked, not daring to glance at Heather who was boring holes in him with her eyes.

“Thirty minutes.  They’ll probably give her back her clothes to change, and have her sign exit paperwork,” the man replied, walking to the door to rap his knuckles.  It opened, and he nodded at the guard as he passed through the doorway. 

“Looks like you won’t be going to Tulsa after all,” the guard said, walking over to Heather.  He led her out of the interview room to a window on the far side of the room. 

“She’s out,” he announced gruffly to the guard who had his back to them at the filing cabinet, behind the bars.  He removed her handcuffs and walked off without another word.  Heather rubbed the circulation back into her hands, and the guard still didn’t acknowledge her.

“He said I’m out,” she said loudly, but the guard still didn’t turn around.  “I need my damned clothes or I’m walking out in this orange suit.”

“Go ahead.  You get past the door in that suit, and you’ll be arrested for theft,” he said nonchalantly, as he rifled through the papers in the file.  Frustration had Heather grinding her teeth as she stood there a full fifteen minutes, before he finished his filing and shut the drawer.  He sauntered over to the window.  “Name?” he asked.

“Heather—um, Haley Morgan,” she said, the name sounding totally foreign on her lips.

He walked away, down a hall, and was gone another fifteen minutes.  He sat a brown paper bag down with her name on it on the counter, then shoved a sheaf of papers and a pen under the bars.  “Sign that,” he said flatly.

Heather read through it, and saw her name was Haley throughout, so that’s how she signed it at the bottom.  After she gave him back the papers, he finally shoved the brown bag under the bars.  “Check your stuff.  Make sure it’s all there.”

“I don’t care,” she said, but then opened the bag to look.  “My boots aren’t in here.”

“I’ll go look again, but it could take a while,” he said smugly.  “It’s my lunch break, now, and I’ll be gone an hour.”

Zack walked up beside her and shot the man a look.  “Forget it,” he growled.  “I’ll buy you another pair of boots.” He put his arm around her shoulders, and led her toward the public bathrooms, then nudged her toward the door marked women’s. “Go change, and I’ll wait for you on the steps.  I can’t take another minute of this place.”  He scrunched up his nose and headed toward the front door.

Neither could she, Heather thought, as she pushed open the heavy gray door.  She didn’t want to say she was thankful that Zack had managed to get her out, because what he’d done was just stupid.  He didn’t know her from Adam, could lose everything if she decided to take off like her feet were urging her to do.  But she was.  So damned thankful. 

Walking into a stall, she was careful not to touch the door, as she changed into her shorts and shirt.  She had to keep the orange flip flops, because they’d lost her damned boots, and she wasn’t about to walk on this nasty floor barefooted.  Heather wadded up the orange jumpsuit, and threw it into a marked receptacle on the wall, then exited.  The too-large shoes flapped against her heels as she walked to the double doors.  She pushed through the doors, but stopped there to close her eyes and suck in a deep breath of the fresh air that rushed in. 

“I wouldn’t take another step outside that door in those shoes, or you’ll be coming right back inside,” the guard who’d been in the release booth said gruffly from behind her. 

Heather turned back toward him.  “You lost my damned boots!” she shouted, letting the door ease closed to round on him.  “What am I supposed to wear out of here?”

“Your bare feet I guess,” he replied without compassion. 

The man wasn’t moving or giving an inch, so Heather slid her feet out of the shoes and bent to pick them up and shoved them into his chest.  “Maybe one day you’ll be lucky enough to only have a pair of these to wear.”

“I’m not a criminal, so I won’t have my boots go missing,” he replied smugly.

“I’m not a criminal either, but you sure know how to make people feel like one,” she shot back, her voice choked on the emotion that dammed up there. 

The door swooshed open behind her, and suddenly Zack stood beside her.  He took her hand in his, and shoved the door open with his hip.  “I thought you’d have wanted to get out of here, not stand here arguing with an idiot.”

The guard frowned, took a step toward them, and Heather knew the look on his face.  She turned and pushed Zack back through the door.  The last thing she needed right now was Zack to get arrested, because of her.  “Just go, my feet are fine.” 

He walked down the steps but quickly turned back toward her.  “This damned lot is nothing but pea gravel.  Your feet will be bleeding by the time you get to the truck.”

His concern touched something deep inside of her, and her heart did a funny little flip in her chest.  One side of Heather’s mouth kicked up, in the nearest to a smile she’d worn in over a week, and she reached up to touch it.  “I’d walk over hot coals to get out of here—broken glass,” she said, truthfully.  Never had air smelled sweeter, the face looking up at her handsomer.  The sun shone down on his golden hair, making it look like he was wearing a halo.