by Vicki Tharp
“That’s Monte’s trailer. Someone just went in there.”
“Yeah,” Josephine said, “Probably Monte.”
“Uh, uh. Monte’s chillin’ at the Chop House with some of the guys. And his truck’s still gone. Maybe whoever is in there is trying to cut Monte’s rope, like he did the rest.”
“Silas thinks Monte’s the one who—”
“Nope.” Cora grabbed her arm and dragged her along like an old hag bound for the glue factory. “Monte’s an ass, but he’s no killer.”
Josephine dug her heels in. “Would you stop?”
Cora stopped but didn’t loosen her grip. “We can’t let him get away.”
“And how do you expect to stop him? If it is even him. And if it is, we know he’s got a knife. He probably won’t be afraid to use it.”
“You go get help, then.” Cora dropped Josephine’s arm and started creeping toward the trailer. “And I’ll make sure he doesn’t get away.”
“Cora.”
Cora tiptoed to the back of the trailer.
“Cora.” Josephine whisper-yelled.
Waving her hands, Cora shushed her. And gestured toward the rodeo office. Right. Help. Josephine needed to get help before Cora did something stupid.
* * *
Silas sprinted for the back lot, his boots beating a steady rhythm on the asphalt. He’d sent Josephine into the office to have Maynard alert the rodeo security while he ran to help Cora.
The women shouldn’t have split up like that, leaving one to confront a potentially dangerous man.
Silas’s boots slid as he came around the corner of Monte’s trailer. Someone was pounding on the inside of the door. Cora was sitting on the steps, her back braced against the door, her belt looped from the doorknob to the grip handle on the side of the camper.
“L-l-let me out.” Bam, bam, bam. “Open this f-fucking door.”
Cora smiled up at Silas. “I’ll give you three guesses.”
He only needed one. Rowdy Boyd. “That sonofabitch.”
Silas leaned against someone’s faded red pickup and tried to catch his breath. His head pounded as if a herd of Brahman were stampeding through his brain. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that only made him dizzy.
“L-let me out.” Rowdy pounded again.
After catching his breath, Silas stepped up to the trailer and hammered his fist against the camper door. It shook on its frame. “I’m happy to let you out, Rowdy. How much damage do you think I can do before the sheriff’s boys get here, asshole?”
Rowdy stopped pounding.
Silas thought so.
“Get me o-out of here.”
“Not until you tell me what you’re doing in Monte’s trailer.”
“I needed to borrow—”
Silas made the sound in the back of his throat he’d used as a kid when his dog had tried to dig under the fence. “Try again.”
Silence. It dragged on. A wave of dizziness made Silas sway, and he latched onto the trailer handle for support.
Through the door, Rowdy said, “L-ook, man. No one was s-supposed to get h-hurt.”
Silas yanked Cora’s belt off the knob and threw open the camper door. Rowdy stood in the entrance, his eyes wide and an oh fuck frown on his face. Silas reached in and dragged him down the two steps. With a shove, he rammed Rowdy against the side of the camper, a hollow thump as Rowdy’s head dented the thin metal siding.
“No one was supposed to get hurt? No one was supposed to get hurt?” Silas hollered, his vocal cords stretched and strained. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Silas grabbed him by the front of his shirt. Cora tore at Silas’s arm trying to pull him off Rowdy, but he ignored her. Rowdy went out of focus, but Silas managed to blink him clear. He shoved the bastard against the camper again.
“Easy man.” Rowdy said, his stutter diminished with his agitation. “When Navarro got knocked out, that rope busting probably saved his l-life.”
Silas saw red. Sound blanked out. Rowdy’s lips moved but hell if Silas knew if the clown was stuck in a stutter or if Silas was so hopped up on adrenaline he couldn’t hear anything.
It didn’t matter. The shit-head nearly killed Silas’s best friend. He landed a punch to Rowdy’s face. Goliath hammering David. Rowdy cratered. One second he was standing, the next he was sprawled out on the hot asphalt.
Stupid prick.
One hit wasn’t enough. Bending down, Silas scooped up fistfuls of cotton T-shirt and reared back to take another swing. Silas heard the holler a nano-second before Cora landed on his back. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck.
“Silas, Silas. Cut it out. You want to get arrested, too, you big dummy?”
He stood, and between his lingering dizziness and Cora’s added weight, he staggered back a couple steps. “Okay, okay.” He peeled her arms from around his neck, and she dropped to her feet.
Behind them, Josephine and Maynard and a couple of deputies rushed over.
“What’s going on?” One of the deputies asked. He was clean-cut with reflective sunglasses that he propped up on his broad forehead.
“I caught him breaking into Monte’s trailer.” Cora waved a hand in Rowdy’s direction.
Rowdy moaned and rolled around on the ground as he started to regain consciousness, the blood from an obviously broken nose marring the white face paint.
“And what happened to his face?”
“He tripped,” Silas said.
The deputy cut his eyes to Cora. Clearly, he wasn’t buying Silas’s story.
“Rowdy is rather clumsy.” Cora threw on one of her aw-shucks smiles on her face that usually got her a free drink or two at the bar. “He is a clown after all.”
“He cut the bullropes and sabotaged the rides. He admitted as much.” Silas stepped closer to Rowdy, wanting nothing more than to drive the tip of his boot into Rowdy’s ribs for Toby’s sake. Who was the idiot who said you couldn’t kick a man while he was down? Silas couldn’t think of a better time to do it.
The second deputy patted Rowdy down for weapons and found a switchblade stuffed in one of his socks. He rolled him onto his stomach and cuffed him, then manhandled him to his feet.
“Come on,” the first deputy said, indicating Silas and Cora. “We’ll head down to the station for questioning.”
“Ho, now.” Maynard stepped in. He even took the cigar out of his mouth so he could speak clearly. He must have been serious. “Look, deputy. I know you’re just doing your job, but Foss here is one of the stars of the show. He’s like the fourth Beatle. You can’t have a show without all the stars, and I’ve got the biggest show of the year going on, starting in the next couple hours. Take Rowdy in and leave these two. I’ll personally drive them down to the station when they’ve finished competing tonight.”
Sunglasses looked at the second deputy who shrugged his shoulders as if to say your call. To Maynard, Sunglasses said, “I’ll tell the Sheriff to be expecting you.”
They took Rowdy to a Black and White that another one of the deputies had driven over. The nosebleed had slowed along the way. They dumped Rowdy on the back seat, the door open, his feet hanging out while someone jogged off to get a rag to help staunch the rest of the bleeding.
Josephine stepped up to Silas, and despite what had happened the night before, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to the side of her head, glad that she was safe. Glad that they were all going to be safe now.
She took his hand and brushed her thumb over his skinned knuckles. “How’s the hand?”
He flexed and extended his fingers. His pulse throbbed in his knuckles, and the movement was slow and stiff, but no broken bones popped or cracked. “It’ll do.”
“That was a stupid thing to do. If you’d broken your hand on Rowdy’s face, you wouldn’t have been able to ride tonight.”
After what she’d pulled last night, he should be angry, not grinning down at her and loving the flash of vinegar in her eye
s. “Awh, you do still care.”
He meant it as a joke. Meant to make Josephine laugh, but instead, red rimmed her eyes, and she blinked fast, swiping at her cheek, which only seemed to make her madder. “Of course, I care. Last night…I never would have…” She glanced away, her cheeks flushed, but then she met his gaze. “I never would have done what I did, if you weren’t important to me.”
He knew that. That’s why none of this made any sense. They belonged together. He had no doubt of that, but convincing Josephine was proving harder than he’d ever expected.
A station wagon drove up. Monte and a few of the other bull riders piled out of the vehicle.
“What’s going on?” Monte said.
Monte approached one of the deputies. Silas leaned in and said to Josephine, “Have dinner with me tonight. After your ride. We’ll go into town and talk.”
She took a step back. “I promised to go out with the girls tonight. It’s our last night before—”
“No, Josephine.” He dropped his voice so it wouldn’t carry. “It’s our last night.”
Monte glanced into the back of the deputy’s car and hitched a thumb at Rowdy over his shoulder. “What the hell happened to him?”
Cora walked up to Monte. “Silas happened to him. We caught him in your trailer. It’s him. He’s the one who’s been cutting the ropes.”
“Why would he do that?” Monte directed his attention to Silas, but Silas ignored the question. He had more important things on his mind besides some two-bit, washed-up, no-good, bullfighter.
“Then meet me after you’re done.” Silas kept hold of her hand even as she tried to pull it free. “I don’t care what time.”
Monte walked over, reached inside the car, and jerked Rowdy out, holding him up until his toes almost came off the ground. “Why would you do that? What is wrong with you?”
“Dinner’s not a good idea,” Josephine said. “The finals are tomorrow. I rode hard all season. None of it matters if I blow it on the last ride. I need a clear head. Not to rehash our relationship. I’ve made my decision. You need to respect that.”
Respect that. How could Silas respect it when he didn’t even understand it? He loved her. Even though she hadn’t said it back, he knew she loved him, too. She wouldn’t have done what she had last night, he wouldn’t have felt what he’d felt, if she didn’t.
Monte voice rose and cut through the small groups of curious people who had gathered around. “I knew there was a reason I hated your punk ass.”
Sunglasses stopped his conversation with Maynard and hurried over to the cruiser. “Put him down or I’ll haul your ass to jail, too.”
Monte didn’t even spare the deputy a glance. His focus was on Rowdy who was trying to say something, but Silas was too far away to hear what. But Silas was too far to see Monte’s face flush with anger and watch him shake the deputy off like he was a weak, runt calf. “You cut ropes. For attention? For pussy?”
Monte reared back to land his own punch.
The second deputy grabbed him from behind and pinned his arms behind his back. “You’re under arrest.”
Josephine’s hand flew to her mouth, and she looked back at Silas. Right then, he didn’t care what sick, messed up reason Rowdy had for trying to get attention, to make himself look good, all Silas cared about was talking some sense into an unreasonable woman.
“Tomorrow night. After the rodeo then. We’ll talk.” He wasn’t asking this time.
Josephine took a half-step back. “I really need to get Comet warmed up.” She took a couple more steps back, and he was forced to drop her hand.
“Promise me,” he said.
“Tomorrow night.”
She turned and walked away. Cora caught up with her as the deputies stuffed Rowdy and Monte into the back of the car. Tomorrow night. She’d agreed.
But she hadn’t promised.
12
At the end of the crowded bar, Silas raised his hand, and the bartender brought him his third whiskey. Or was it his fourth? His head spun, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol, the after-effects of the concussion, or the hour of questioning back at the Sheriff’s office.
“That drink’s on me.” A tall skinny kid said to the bartender, pointing to Silas’s drink. “Gimme whatever you have on tap.”
Silas had seen the kid around the circuit. Some hayseed from Kansas or Idaho or some such place. Bob, he thought his name was. Silas had talked to him a few times. Given him some pointers. Nice enough kid. But Silas was in no mood to make nice.
The crowd shifted, and he got a good look at Josephine and Cora, a couple of the other can chasers, and some of Maynard’s drill team riders crowded around a table near the dance floor. Drinking and laughing. A never-ending supply of men in tight jeans and big buckles doing drive-bys, asking them to dance, or sitting and buying one or two a drink.
Some asshole, rodeo wannabe took Josephine’s hand and leaned in and whispered something into her ear. Silas took a sip of his whiskey instead of barging over there and ripping the guy’s hand off his body and beat him with it.
“That’s a long face for a guy at the top of the leaderboard.” The kid took the empty stool next to Silas.
“Look, Bob now’s not the—”
“Ron,” the kid said with that same star-struck smile he had the first time they’d been introduced. “The name’s Ron.”
Bob. Ron. Three letters. An ‘o’ in the middle. Silas had been close.
“Thanks for the drink, but I’m sitting alone at a bar for a reason.” Silas gripped the glass tighter as Wannabe led Josephine to the dance floor and rubbed his belt buckle against her hard enough to rub the silver plating off. “Asshole.”
“I buy you a drink, and I’m an asshole?”
Jesus Christ. Silas couldn’t win. “Not you.” He pointed to the dance floor. The song had ended, but Wannabe kept Josephine out on the floor waiting for the next song to start up. “Him.”
The kid’s smile got bigger, and Silas saw a gap in his front teeth wide enough to drive a hundred head through. “Him who? All I see is a beautiful woman with a world class ass, and a rocking rack that I’d kill to—”
Silas slammed his glass on the counter, shutting the kid up. It wasn’t the kid’s fault. The kid didn’t know Josephine belonged to Silas. Still, Silas didn’t need to be reminded of what was probably running through Wannabe’s head. Besides, Silas could read it on the douchebag’s face. Silas shook the spilled whiskey off his hand and stumbled to his feet.
The kid caught him by the arm, but Silas waved him off. Dancing with Wannabe was more than drinks with the girls.
He shouldered his way to the dance floor as a slow Waylon Jennings song blasted through the juke box’s speakers. Wannabe pulled Josephine closer, her eyes going wide as his hands slid down the curve of her ass. She pushed against his chest, but he was a big man. Almost as big as Silas. Wannabe nuzzled her neck, his meaty paws squeezing her flesh.
Silas tapped the guy on his shoulder when all he wanted to do was bury his fist into the guy’s smug face.
“Buzz off,” the guy said, not bothering to look up.
“What do you want?” Josephine didn’t sound happy to see him. Her eyes didn’t light, they narrowed.
“I’m cutting in.”
Wannabe lifted his head from where he’d had it buried in her hair and met Silas’s glare with one of his own. Wannabe’s jaw was thick and square like a bulldog. Silas probably would bust his hand on the guy’s jaw if he threw a punch, but it would be worth it to knock the cocky smile off the man’s face.
“Go find your own woman,” Wannabe said.
“This is my woman.”
Wannabe dropped his hands from Josephine’s ass and took a step back, not as if he were going to run, but as if he welcomed the fight. A couple bumped into the back of Silas as they danced by, but he ignored them.
Silas widened his stance and put a little bend in his knees, ready deck the guy if he made a move. “Show me
what—”
Cora squeezed between him and Wannabe, taking the guy by the hand and dragging him to another part of the dance floor. “Trust me,” she said to Wannabe, “you don’t want in the middle of them.”
Josephine crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not your woman.”
“The hell you’re not. What are you doing with him?”
“It’s called dancing.”
She glared. He glared back. The song ended, and the dance floor cleared, leaving him and Josephine to their standoff.
He stepped closer. She refused to back away. Leaning in, he whispered in her ear, “You can deny me all you want, but you can’t deny last night. That was all you, hotstuff.” He breathed in her scent. She smelled of hay and horses. And another man’s cologne. “Now get your things I’m taking you back—”
“I said, we were done, Silas. I meant it.”
“Oh, no baby. We’re certainly not—”
By the set of her jaw and the spit of fire in her eyes, Silas couldn’t tell if she wanted to deck him or jump him.
Monte stepped over, his hand on Silas’s shoulder. “Don’t do this here.”
Silas glanced around. The band had returned to the stage to start their next set, people were talking in groups and clusters, but most everyone’s attention was riveted on the dance floor. On them. On him.
“Don’t make this worse than it already is.” As soon as the words dropped from Monte’s mouth, Silas knew they were true, and it chapped his ass that Monte Shaw was right.
He shifted his gaze back to Josephine. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks and disgust twisted her lips. What the fuck had he done? He reached out to her. “Babe, I’m so—”
She shook her head and stepped away. The room spun, and the first chords of the band echoed in his brain. Monte clapped Silas’s shoulder. “It’s over.”
Silas didn’t know if Monte meant the conversation or the relationship. Both, if Silas had read Josephine right. Monte ushered Silas to his truck and pointed the old Chevy in the direction of the rodeo grounds. The streets were full of people in town for the rodeo, using any excuse to party. Monte weaved his way through the parking lot dodging pedestrians.