Chase the Lightning

by Madeline Baker

  Curious? her conscience chided. Is that why you kissed him? Because you were curious?

  “Oh, shut up.”

  She’d said she was going to wash her hair, so she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Maybe she should make it a cold one, she thought. Maybe that would drive him out of her mind.

  It didn’t.

  She washed her hair. She put a fresh Band-Aid over the cut in her hand. She did her nails. She applied her make up carefully, and refused to think of why she was going to so much trouble. She pulled on a pair of stretch jeans and a tank top, put on her shoes and then, with a sigh, she sat down on the edge of the bed. How could she face him after the way she had run out of the room?

  She almost jumped out of her skin when he knocked on the door.

  “You ever coming out of there?” he called, and she heard the laughter in his voice. “I’m getting hungry.”

  Just like a man, she thought irritably, always expecting to be waited on. Taking a deep breath, she stood up and opened the door. “I was just coming down.”

  He looked at her, one brow arched.

  “Well, I was!” she snapped.

  He wisely refrained from saying anything further as he followed her down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  He stood in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest, while she opened the refrigerator and slammed things down on the counter.

  She had just finished making two sandwiches when the doorbell rang.

  Trey automatically reached for his Colt, swore under his breath when he realized it was still under the seat in the car. He was getting damned careless, his mind too much on this woman. He pulled the big Bowie knife from its sheath on his gunbelt, which was still draped over the chair where he’d left it the day before.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her eyes wide. “This isn’t the Wild West, you know. Put that thing away.”

  The doorbell rang again.

  Amanda looked at Trey, who was still holding the knife. With a shake of her head, she went to answer the door.

  “Rob!” Dressed in a white sport shirt, a pair of gray slacks, and black loafers, his blond hair freshly cut, he looked as handsome as always.

  “Hi, honey bunch. Thought I’d surprise you.” Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her soundly, then grinned at her. “I see the horse came back.”

  “Yes,” she said, her mind whirling. How was she going to explain Trey to Rob?

  “You got anything to eat?” Rob asked, closing the door behind him.

  “Sure, I was just making lunch.” Taking a deep breath, she went into the kitchen.

  Trey looked up as she entered the room. “Who was at the…?” His voice trailed off at the sight of a man entering the kitchen behind her. Trey stared at the stranger, certain they had met before, but of course, that was impossible.

  “Trey, this is my fiancé, Rob Langley. Rob, this is Trey. He’s…he’s a friend of…of my family’s. From Montana.”

  Trey looked at her, one brow arched. Montana?

  Rob glanced casually at the wicked-looking blade in Trey’s hand. “Heck of a mayonnaise knife,” he said.

  Trey wasn't sure what mayonnaise was, but he certainly understood the casual challenge in the other man's words. He shoved the Bowie back into its sheath as Rob stepped forward, smiling, one hand outstretched. “Whereabouts in Montana are you from?”

  “Billings,” Trey answered, shaking Rob’s hand. At the moment, it was the only Montana town that came to mind.

  “Always a pleasure to meet a friend of Amanda’s.” Rob sat down at the table. “I didn’t catch your last name.”

  “Long Walker,” Trey said.

  “Sounds Native American,” Rob said. “Or do you prefer Indian?”

  “It’s Apache,” Trey said. Native American? What the hell was that?

  Rob grunted. “Apache, you say? I’ve met a few in my time.” He glanced at the gunbelt draped over the chair. “I reckon that’s yours. Looks like fine old hand-tooled leather. Mind if I have a look?”

  Trey handed it across.

  Rob examined the leather work with appreciation, touched the haft of the knife. “Do you mind?”

  Trey hesitated a moment, then shook his head. Rob slid the knife from the sheath, handling the blade in the manner of a man familiar with weapons.

  “Hand-made, or I miss my guess,” Rob said. “And by a master smith. Impressive.” He slid the knife back into the sheath and turned his attention to the empty holster. “Authentic—not one of these stiff-leather Hollywood things. Is there a six-gun that goes with it?”

  “It’s…” Trey paused, wondering how to explain that his Colt was in Amanda’s car.

  “I’ll go get it,” Amanda said quickly, and left the kitchen.

  Rob raised his eyebrows. “You let her handle your firearms?”

  “Seemed safe enough,” Trey ventured. “Although she said they make her nervous.”

  “Weapons make her nervous?” Rob said with a chuckle. “Do tell. That’s something she’ll have to get over, since she’s marrying a bounty hunter.”

  Before Trey could come up with a suitable reply, Amanda was back, holding his Colt with both hands. Rob held out his hand expectantly. She glanced at Trey for approval then offered Rob the pistol, butt first.

  “Good girl,” he said with a smile of approval. He thumbed open the loading gate, spun the cylinder with familiarity. “One empty chamber under the hammer,” he said. “You’re a careful man. I like that. So am I.” He punched the five live rounds out into his palm and stood them neatly in a row on the table, then turned the weapon over in his hands, aimed it at the far wall, checking its balance.

  Next he examined the barrel, reading the patent and proof marks. His brows furrowed thoughtfully.

  “I took this for a replica,” he said. “Look at that bluing. Damn thing looks almost new, just a little holster wear. But the barrel markings—is this an authentic Colt .45?”

  “I don’t use any other kind,” Trey said.

  “Well,” Rob said, looking at Amanda, “I am very impressed. Your friend walks around using an authentic Colt for his Old West getup.” He hefted the gun again. “I could get three thousand dollars for this if I could get a dime.” He looked at Trey. “I don't suppose you’d consider parting with it? How long have you had it?”

  “I'll hang onto it,” Trey said. “I got it in Tucson, a few years back.”

  He didn’t say he’d paid forty dollars for it brand-new. This man knew too much about guns. Like everything else in this century, the price of weapons seemed to have sky high, though he couldn’t imagine anyone paying three thousand dollars for a gun.

  Rob nodded as he handed the weapon to Trey. “I’ll be going to Tucson on business in a couple of days. What’s the name of the dealer where you bought that Colt? I’d like to pick one up. I collect old guns. The real thing when I can find them; reproductions when I can’t.”

  Trey opened the gun’s loading gate, replaced the ammunition, and holstered the Colt. He wasn’t sure what a reproduction was, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let good old Rob know that.

  “I'm sorry,” he said. “The fella I bought it from is dead.” Bound to be, Trey mused, since the sale had taken place over a hundred years ago.

  “Too bad,” Rob said. “Guess I’ll just settle for lunch.”

  “And it’s ready,” Amanda announced as she finished making Rob’s sandwich. She put a plate in front of Trey and one in front of Rob. “What would you two like to drink?”

  “Iced tea if you’ve got it,” Rob said.

  Trey looked up at Amanda, a question in his eyes. She frowned at him, her expression clearly saying, don’t ask.

  “I’m having coffee,” she said. “Trey, would you like some?”

  “Sure.” He watched as she opened the refrigerator door, took out a pitcher, and filled a tall green glass with what looked like weak coffee. She added a spoonful of sugar, stirred it, and set it on the table in f
ront of Rob.

  “Hey,” he said, taking hold of her bandaged hand. “What happened here?”

  “It’s nothing,” she said. “I cut it on a knife.”

  “You sure it’s okay? Did you have a doctor look at it?”

  “It’s fine.” Sliding her hand out of his grasp, she poured two cups of coffee and put them on the table, then grabbed her own plate, and, with a smile, sat down between the two men. “So, Rob,” she said brightly. “Tell us about your trip. Did you catch your man?”

  “Honey, don’t I always?” Rob took a bite of his sandwich, and washed it down with a long swallow of iced tea. “He’s cooling his heels in jail where he belongs.”

  Trey grunted softly. “Bounty hunting pay good these days?”

  “Not bad,” Rob said, turning his gaze on Trey. “Bail bondsmen have a lot of bail money at stake when some dirtbag skips out on a court appearance. “What line of work are you in?”

  “Banking,” Trey replied calmly. He bit back a grin when he saw Amanda’s eyes widen.

  “Good steady work,” Rob said, though it was clear, from the tone of his voice, that he thought banking was about as exciting as working in a shoe store.

  Trey glanced at Amanda. “I’ve found it to be profitable.”

  Amanda almost choked on her coffee at that. Rob leaned over and pounded her on the back.

  Trey took that moment to make his exit. “I’ll give you two a little privacy,” he said.

  Slinging his gunbelt over his shoulder, he clapped his hat on his head, and picked up what was left of his sandwich. Turning away from the table, he grabbed an apple out of the bowl on the counter and headed out the back way.

  The stallion whinnied softly when he heard the kitchen door open.

  “Hey, boy,” Trey said, approaching the corral. He held out the apple. “Here ya go.”

  The stallion tossed its head, then plucked the apple from Trey’s hand. Juice dripped from the stud’s mouth as it noisily ate the fruit, core and all.

  Trey leaned against the fence post. “Did you see him, that bounty hunter?” he asked the stallion. “Hell, he was so pretty, I felt like tippin’ my hat.”

  The stallion blew out a breath, which sounded strangely disdainful.

  Trey ginned. “Yeah. What does she see in that tenderfoot?” Finishing his sandwich, he wiped his hands on the sides of his jeans. “He doesn’t look like any bounty hunter I ever saw. Not like old Wolf Langley… Now there’s a man to be reckoned with, but…”

  Trey swore as his mind made the connection. Langley! No, it couldn’t be… No wonder the man looked familiar.

  Impossible as it was to believe, Trey would swear that that greenhorn up at the house was related to Wolf Langley.

  Chapter Twelve

  Amanda sat back in her chair, listening to Rob as he related how he had tracked Jeb Bolander to his family��s house in West Virginia.

  “You should have seen that place,” he said. “Looked like something out of Deliverance. His old lady came after me with a rolling pin. And his two brothers threatened to skin me alive.”

  “Rob, that’s awful!”

  He brushed off her concern with a wave of his hand. “Not really, it happens all the time.”

  “Well, I’m glad you made it home safe.”

  Her mind wandered as he reminisced about other cases he had been on. Once, she had been fascinated by his stories; now, she found herself wondering where Trey had gone. Trey Long Walker. She recalled wondering if he had Indian blood when she first saw him. Now she knew.

  Once, she had thought Rob the handsomest of men; now, she found herself comparing him to Trey; now Rob came in a poor second.

  Once, she had been excited at the thought of being Rob’s wife; now…

  “What?” She gave a guilty start as she realized Rob had asked her something and she had no idea what it was.

  “I said where would you like to go tonight?”

  “Go?”

  “Sure. We always go out to dinner when I get home. What are you in the mood for tonight? Italian? Chinese? Hey, there’s a new sushi bar in town.”

  “Sushi!” She grimaced.

  “I’ll get you to try it sooner or later.”

  “I doubt it. Anyway, I probably shouldn’t go…”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, I have company, and…”

  “I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  “I’m sure he would, but it would be rude of me to go off and leave him here alone.”

  “I see. So, you’re more concerned about his feelings than mine, is that it?”

  “Of course not,” she said quickly, but…”

  “I wasn’t going to mention it, but you didn’t sound too happy to hear from me when I called the other night.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “Yes, that.”

  “I was just…you know, just distracted.”

  “By Long Walker?” he asked sharply.

  “Yes. No. I…” She looked at Rob helplessly, not knowing what to say.

  “So that’s the way it is. I think I’d better be going,” he said, pushing away from the table. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your ‘guest’.”

  “Rob…” She stood, torn between asking him to stay and wanting him to leave so she could go out and see what Trey was doing.

  He brushed a kiss across her cheek. “I’ll call you next week,” he said.

  “Fine.”

  She watched him walk out of the room. Why wasn’t she more upset that he was leaving? Why hadn’t she tried to placate him, the way she usually did? She hadn’t seen him in almost a week, yet she wanted to be with Trey more than she wanted to be with Rob.

  “I don’t love him,” she murmured. “Maybe I never did.” She looked at the ring on her finger, then slowly slid it off and put it in the empty candy dish on the mantle. Surprisingly, she felt suddenly light and carefree.

  Going to the window, she looked outside. Rob’s car was a distant cloud of dust, but it was Trey who held her attention. He was standing inside the corral, talking to the stallion. Her gaze moved over him. He was tall and lean and rugged, a feast for her eyes from his thick blue-black hair and broad shoulders to his slim hips and long, long legs. He had strapped on his gunbelt and the wicked looking knife. The Colt looked good on his hip, as if it belonged there. A few years back, he would have been the perfect model for the Marlboro man.

  She glanced at the dishes on the table. They could wait, she decided, and went outside, her heart pounding, her stomach fluttering with excitement.

  “He didn’t stay long,” Trey remarked as she approached.

  She shrugged. “I think he’s mad at me.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, he asked me to go out with him, and I said no, that I didn’t want to leave you here alone.”

  Trey raised one brow. “Afraid I’ll steal the family silver?”

  “Of course not. The truth is, I just didn’t want to go.”

  Trey grunted softly. “I thought you were in love with the guy.”

  She lifted one hand and studied her nails for a moment before replying, “I thought so, too.”

  Trey’s gaze moved over her. She was prettier than a little red heifer in a field of flowers. “He’ll be back.”

  “Maybe.”

  Trey fought down an unreasonable wave of jealousy. “No maybe about it. The man would be a fool to…”

  She looked up, meeting his eyes. “To what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Why the gun?”

  “I thought I’d take Relámpago out for a while.”

  “Oh.” She hesitated a moment. “Would you mind… Can I come along?”

  “We’d have to ride double.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Okay by me.” Trey opened the corral gate and whistled softly. Relámpago followed him back to the barn. Trey saddled the stallion, then lead the horse out of the barn. Returning to the corral, Trey lifted Amanda onto the horse’s b
ack, then swung up behind her and took up the reins. “Where shall we go?”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Where were you going?”

  “No place in particular.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Trey clucked to the stud and the horse moved out. Once clear of the yard, he followed what looked like a game trail.

  “What are you doing living out here by yourself,” Trey asked. “It’s not safe for a woman alone.”

  “I’m just as safe here as anywhere else. There’s violence everywhere these days, especially in some of the bigger cities. Gangs…young men with guns and a grudge against society, are a big problem. Lots of kids, and adults, too, are doing drugs…”

  “Drugs?”

  “Yes. There’s all kinds of things out there that are illegal that make you feel good—marijuana, crack, heroin. Unfortunately, some of them also make you crazy in the head.” She laughed softly. “Life was probably safer, and saner, in your time than it is now.”

  Trey grunted softly. His time. How was he ever going to find his way back to his own time? And did he really want to?

  They rode in silence for a while. Trey tightened his arm around her waist a little, and she leaned back against him. Her scent filled his nostrils. A few strands of her hair fluttered against his cheek. He moved his arm a little, and felt the warmth of her breasts.

  He shifted in the saddle as his jeans grew suddenly tight in a particular area of his anatomy.

  It was pretty country. Red hills, blue sky, the desert blooming from the recent rains. For the first time in years, he felt tongue-tied, awkward, like some green kid with his first girl. Hell, he hadn’t been this nervous with his first girl. Of course, she hadn’t been a girl, but a woman in her prime, a little overblown, with a lot of experience where men were concerned. She had been patient with him and after he had taken her, rough and quick the first time, she had showed him there was a better way.

  Amanda looked at him over her shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”