by Vicki Tharp
Then the guy in the bell bottom jeans who had pushed her out of harm’s way, yanked one of the men off Levi, landing a punch to the guy’s jaw and dropping Levi’s attacker like a stone.
With a roar, Levi broke free from the other man’s grasp and rushed the man who’d restrained him, taking the guy to the ground in a pile of arms and legs, grunts and groans.
The bartender and the cook fought through the crowd and pulled the men apart. The cook stood with his arms outstretched, a palm on Levi’s and the other man’s chest. The bartender pointed his bat at the man Levi had been fighting and said, “Matty, get your boys and get the hell out of here before I call the cops.”
Matty spat blood on the ground, his eyes going back to Levi. The bartender stepped into Matty’s line of sight. “Try me, asshole.”
Shifting his eyes to the bartender, Matty took a step back. Levi didn’t relax until the guy bent and picked up his hat and said to his friends, “Let’s go, boys.”
To the rest of the bar’s patrons the bartender said, “That’s it. We’re closed. Everyone pay up and go home.”
A chorus of complaints went up, but the crowd started to disperse. Levi stepped over and offered Cora a hand, helping her to her feet. She hissed in a breath as her weight shifted to her knee and she almost went down again.
“You okay?” Levi asked.
“I’m—” She was going to say ‘fine’, but then she glanced up at Levi’s face, at his left eye that was already starting to swell and the dribble of blood at the corner of his mouth. “Better than you.”
He’d always been reserved and slow to smile. There’d been a darkness to him when they’d dated. Not as if he was dangerous, but as if he couldn’t allow himself to have any fun.
“Sorry,” she said. “This was all my fault.”
His eyes locked on hers for a beat then he cracked a small smile. “It’s okay. I needed to let off some steam.”
Levi righted the table and headed toward the back hall and the restrooms, as she found her hat and hobbled to the bar and paid her and Levi’s tabs. By the time she finished, the bar had cleared out except for her, Levi, and a guy packing a camera into a bag at the end of the bar.
To him she said, “Maybe I should pay your tab as well.”
The man glanced up. His right cheek sported a scuff, his knuckles were bloodied and there was a rip in his shirt where the sleeve met the shoulder. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“You’re the one who helped Levi. If it hadn’t been for me—” she cut herself off before her voice cracked and she started crying like a little kid. He was a stranger, yet he’d stepped in while others had stood back and cheered. She swallowed hard. “Why’d you do it?”
He zipped up his bag and tossed back the last of his drink. “It wasn’t a fair fight.”
Levi returned, the blood washed from his face. He stuck out his hand to the man. “I owe you one, brother.”
“You know him?” Cora asked.
Levi glanced at the man as if deciding what to say. “We shared a drink,” was what Levi went with.
The man held out his hand to her. “Ian Murphy.” Before she could say anything else, he added, “I’m from up north.”
“No kidding.”
Levi tapped the bar and said, “I’m outta here.”
“You need a ride?” Cora asked.
“It’s not far. The walk will do me good.”
The bartender cleared the bar top of empty bottles and dirty glasses, the beer bottles breaking and shattering as he tossed them into the trash bin. Ian shouldered his bag and came around the end of the bar.
“Why weren’t you surprised I’m from up north?”
She fell into step beside him as they headed for the door. “The New York accent for one.”
Ian got to the door first and held it open for her, her knee bitching and complaining and generally making her regret ever letting Josephine talk her into going out. The cold wind slammed into her, biting through her clothes. She hadn’t bothered with her jacket because she hadn’t wanted to lose track of it at the bar.
“What’s the other?” He asked.
“The other what?”
“The other reason you knew I wasn’t from around here.”
“This is me,” she said as she stopped at Josephine’s truck and unlocked the door. She waved her hand up and down his body. “Your clothes.”
He glanced down at himself. “That’s what I’ve been told. What’s bloody wrong with my clothes?”
“I know it’s the fashion, but no one down here wears bell bottom jeans, and we wear leather boots, not loafers. We have belts with large buckles, and that button up shirt reminds me of something a city slicker would wear to a board meeting.”
“Ouch,” he said, though the smile spread over his face.
“You asked,” she said. “I’m not judging.”
“Fair enough.” When a shiver went through her, he pointed at the truck. “Better get in before you freeze to death.”
She climbed in and he closed the door behind her. She rolled down her window, the wind nipped at her nose as it whistled in.
“You okay to drive?” He asked.
“Yeah. I think that spike of adrenaline sobered me up.” She put the key in the ignition and went to depress the clutch. Pain shot up her leg, and she cried out.
“What’s wrong?”
She grabbed at her knee, but it did nothing to ease the pain. Her stomach dropped. She wouldn’t have to worry about knocking down the barrels if she couldn’t even ride. “My knee. I can’t work the clutch.”
He popped open her door. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride to where ever you need to go.”
She hesitated. She didn’t really know this guy. Sure, he helped Levi, and he was easy on the eyes, but before tonight, she’d never seen him around before. He could be a serial killer or—
“I promise I’m not an ax-murderer.”
She offered a wary smile. “I’m pretty sure that’s what all the ax-murderers say.”
He held out his hand. “Come on, I’m freezing my nuts off out here.”
Oh yeah, her eyes went straight to his crotch. In her defense, it was near enough to eye level to not be blatantly obvious. She hoped. You need to get laid. Josephine’s words echoed in her brain. Too bad Cora only slept with cowboys.
And non-serial killers.
But it was either accept the ride or she’d have to walk. She glanced around. The cook and the bartender were locking up, and there was no sign of a pay phone out front.
He raised a brow at her and she finally took his hand and let him help her out of the truck. She rolled up the window and locked the door. They walked to his truck and he handed her into the passenger seat.
When he climbed in on the other side, she said, “I have a black belt in karate so don’t try—”
He busted out a laugh as he dropped his bag on the floorboards by her feet. He looked her up and down. “You don’t know karate.”
“How do you know?”
He held her gaze. She swallowed hard. When he looked at her like that, it made her feel vulnerable, like he could see deep down at all that she was and—more frightening—all that she could never be. “You don’t have killer eyes.”
“I do too.” She didn’t have to force the indignation. She could look dangerous if she wanted to. She narrowed her eyes at him and gave him the look.
He chuckled, his eyes going bright. “Lass, the only thing you’re going to slay with those eyes is someone’s heart.”
The breath she blew came out as a vapor cloud. “Okay. You’re right. I never took karate. But I once shoved a kid in fifth grade when he wouldn’t let me climb on the old tractor tires on the playground at recess.”
Ian’s grin got wider, and her stomach did a belly flop. He really did have the most amazing smile. The amusement lingered in his eyes. “Duly noted. You get first dibs on tractor tires.”
The starter cranked and cranked before it caught and roar
ed to life. “Where to?” Ian asked.
“The rodeo grounds, it’s—”
Somehow, his grin got even grinnier. “I know where it is. That’s where I’m headed, as well.”
“You’re a cowboy?” The incredulity pitched her voice high enough that he might have taken it as an insult. She expected his smile to slip, but it didn’t.
“Even better.” His smile said he was about to surprise her with an incredible gift. “I’m a photographer.”
3
Ian hadn’t expected to go through the whole explanation as to what he was doing at the rodeo and why, but if he was going to fit in, if he was going to be trusted, he couldn’t lie from the start.
On the way back to the rodeo grounds, he gave Cora the grainy, black and white, low light, quick-snap version of leaving home, about his dream of the future, of traveling the world. It sounded silly, and idealistic, and frankly unachievable when he voiced it out loud.
No wonder his Da had laughed in his face.
He pulled into the parking lot, half expecting Cora to laugh as well. She had such a full-color, Kodachrome laugh, he almost wouldn’t mind if she did.
But she didn’t.
“That’s amazing. Your parents must be really proud of you.”
Amazing. Proud. He had to laugh. “Hardly.”
She got a look on her face and for a second there, he thought she would make him explain. She pointed. “That’s me over there.”
He pulled to a stop in front of a trailer. The back section of the trailer had horizontal slats open to the air, for hauling horses he suspected, and what looked like a small enclosed area in the front. Including the horse compartment, the length was shorter than his camper. How did she fit in there to sleep?
He threw the truck into Park. “Seriously? This is where you live?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. There just doesn’t seem to be a lot of room.”
She popped the door. “We make it work.”
We? Now he had to see this.
He climbed out, and over the roof of his truck she said, “Where are you going?”
“I want a tour.”
“It’s after midnight.”
“Humor me. It’s not like it will take long.” He didn’t know why he pushed. It wasn’t like he really cared what the inside of her trailer looked like. He just didn’t want the night to end.
She studied him a moment, the overhead street light was at her back, throwing shadows over her face. “Fine.” She took a step and with a muffled cry, grabbed onto his side mirror to keep from going to her knees.
He ran over and took her hand, helping her to stand. “I thought you said your knee was okay.”
“It was. It is. I mean—” she hissed as she tried to take another step, the pain twisting up her pretty face. “It must have stiffened up from the cold.”
He put her arm around his shoulder and he held her around her waist. “Put your weight on me.”
Together, she hopped-hobbled to her trailer, and only pulled her arm from around his shoulder to get the key out of her pocket. He helped her inside. All his life, he’d never considered how a sardine felt packed in a can, but now he knew. There was hardly enough room for the both of them to stand.
Cora clicked on a battery powered lantern and shined the light up. Standing straight, Ian’s head almost brushed the metal ceiling. On the wall between the front and rear, there were two bunks attached to the wall. To his right, someone had rigged a clothes rod. In the nose of the trailer were two folding camping chairs, with four plastic milk crates stacked between them two by two.
Light from the pole outside shined through the front window that followed the curve of the trailer’s nose. Cora eased herself onto the bottom bunk and let out a soft groan. Ian tried to ignore it. She was groaning from pain, not pleasure, but he’d be hard pressed telling that to his dick.
Ian pushed that thought from his mind. Like he’d told Levi, he wasn’t here for sex. He was here to make his career.
Cora stuck her leg up in the air, her booted foot at his waist. “Pull. I can’t bend my knee to get it off.”
He gave her boot a yank and tossed it in a corner. He grabbed the other one and did the same.
“Thanks.” She pointed to the stack of milk crates. “Can you toss me an extra pair of socks, so my feet don’t freeze tonight?”
He found a pair but didn’t bother handing them over. If she couldn’t get her boots off, she wouldn’t be able to get the socks on. “Gimme your feet, lass.”
This time she did laugh at him. It was full and fun, and it warmed his chest instead of lighting his temper.
“Lass?”
“Sorry.” He flattened out his accent. “My parents were Irish immigrants. As much as I try to keep it in check, it tends to slip out when I’m tired or have been drinking. I’ll have to practice saying darlin’ with a drawl.”
“Don’t. I kinda like it.”
“You do?”
“I do.”
He motioned for her to give him her feet, feeling like a bloody fool that the smile he couldn’t smother made his cheeks ache. She braced the soles of her feet against his stomach as he slipped the extra pair of socks on one by one.
His thumb brushed across her instep and her head fell back and a soft moan tumbled from her lips. He pressed harder into her arches, and it took everything he had not to drop his voice a register and say, ‘What else do you like, Cora Hayes?’
As he massaged her foot, she lifted her head. Shadows covered her face, but in the quiet of the trailer he couldn’t miss the hitch in her breath or the way her tongue slid across her bottom lip.
He dropped her foot. He couldn’t tell if she was glad or mad as she scooted her legs onto the bunk. Didn’t matter. He was here to do a job, not her. “You have any ice for that knee?”
Stupid question.
She glanced around. “I seem to be fresh out. But I’m okay. I’m sure it will be feeling better in the morning.”
“Fine,” he said, though he didn’t agree. “Where’s your heater? I’ll turn it on before I go.”
“No heater.” Cora reached for a blanket at the foot of the bunk and pulled the covers over the top of her.
He tapped at the thermometer stuck to her wall. “It’s literally freezing in here.” Then he pointed to the front window, at the condensation that had built from their combined breath and the way it had crystallized on the glass. “There are icicles forming on the inside.”
“It’ll be fine. Cowgirls are tough. We don’t melt in the rain, or shrivel up in the heat, or freeze in the cold. If I bury my head under the covers, I won’t even shiver much.”
He stared her, his hands on his waist. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.” She couldn’t stay here. He yanked the covers off her. It wouldn’t do any good to give her a choice.
“Hey!” She grabbed for the blankets. “I’m gonna lose all my heat.”
He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “You don’t need it. You’re coming to my trailer. I have a real mattress and a heater. I don’t want to find out you froze to death in the middle of the night.”
Her face scrunched up and he could tell she was about to argue when she sighed. “You win. But only because I’m tired, and my head hurts, and I hate being cold.”
“Thank you.” He laughed to himself. How did he end up thanking her?
In the end, he gave her a piggy-back ride over to his camper to keep her off her sore leg. Once inside, he dumped her at the end of the U-shaped bench seat that wrapped around the kitchen table at the front of his camper. He dropped his camera bag at the other end. The dirty plate and empty chip bag he shoved to the far side of the table.
“Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.” He fiddled with the thermostat until it clicked and the blower for his propane heater turned on. He blew into his hands, trying to relieve the cold and stiffness. He pointed to the back of the trailer where he had a full-size bed
. “You can sleep there. I don’t have a change of sheets, but I’ve only been on the road a few nights, so they shouldn’t be too hideous.”
The kitchen lined the wall opposite the door. Propane stove, sink, counter with gas refrigerator underneath. “Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge.” He pointed to a sliding door across from the sink. “Bathroom’s there.”
Cora stood and limped over to him, using the counter to help keep her weight off her leg. “I really appreciate this. I’ll get out of your hair first thing in the morning. I promise.”
“No rush. You’re welcome here as long as you’d like.”
“You’re very sweet,” she said as she worked her way to the bed. She sat on the edge, but didn’t get in.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I don’t want to get spilled beer and peanut shell bits on your sheets, and my pajamas are back at my trailer.”
Ian stared at the door the same way Cora did, as if they could will her pajamas to appear. Regrettably, they couldn’t. It was late, he had a ton of work to do, and he was just now starting to thaw out.
“How about I lend you a T-shirt to sleep in for the night?”
She hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. Of course, she would be. They were practically strangers.
“Never mind,” he said. “Stay in your clothes. You aren’t going to ruin the sheets.”
“No. It’s okay. A shirt would be nice if that’s all right with you.”
He dug through one of the drawers under the bed, pulled out an old Mets T-shirt, and handed it to her. Her fingers brushed his and the blood in his veins warmed. “I’ll...um...” He pointed to the front of the trailer. “I’ll be over there. I won’t look. I promise.”
Her eyes had a mischievous glint. She knew exactly where his mind had gone, and she didn’t seem put off by it. Damn good thing she only went after cowboys.
She smiled, and before he thought of a way to prove to her all the creative ways that photographers were better than cowboys, he moved to the other end of the trailer.