Tall, Dark and Cowboy

by Joanne Kennedy

  “All right,” he said. “You can go. But there’d better not be any more trouble.”

  Lacey backed away, nodding. “There won’t be,” she said. “I swear. No trouble. None.”

  The cop, back in control, nodded briskly as he slid into the cruiser. “Good. And if you’re truly on the run, miss, I’d move on. This town doesn’t have the resources to protect you if your husband finds you.”

  Chase looked down at Lacey as the cop car left the lot and willed her to believe him. To listen to him.

  To forgive him.

  “Listen, can we start over? We got off on the wrong foot the other day.”

  “Which day was that? The day you insulted me, or the day you attacked me?”

  “The day I insulted you.” He scowled. “I didn’t attack you.”

  “I know.” She shrugged. “We were both to blame for that mess.”

  He winced. It hadn’t been a mess by his standards. It had been one of the finest moments of his life—until she changed her mind and put a stop to it. Which was the right thing to do. He seemed to have to remind himself of that fact every five minutes lately.

  “Look, let’s forget that even happened,” he said.

  Yeah, right. He’d never forget it. But until Lacey did, she wouldn’t let him help her.

  “All right.” She slumped her shoulders. “Start over. And let’s try being honest with each other.”

  Chapter 20

  Lacey looked up at Chase, biting her lower lip. He was standing close, still gripping her elbow with one strong hand. The other held the door open, so she was trapped between him and the truck. She could feel the warmth of his body, and she was suddenly overwhelmed with the scent of him—hints of leather and hay mixed with the more civilized scents of fabric softener and toothpaste.

  “Let’s talk about my motel room,” she said. “I just found out you paid for it.”

  He shrugged and turned away. “I didn’t mean for you to know. I just wanted to help. I don’t have a key or anything.”

  “I know,” she said, her tone softening. “I should thank you, I guess. I didn’t want to ask for help, but I don’t know how I would have survived.” She grinned. “I thought the guy that runs the place was getting senile and forgot about me. I kept sneaking past him so he wouldn’t remember I was there and make me pay.”

  “I was glad to help.”

  “Well, I appreciate it. But I’ll pay for next week.”

  “How?”

  “I have a credit card.”

  “They’ll trace it.”

  She looked away. “That’s a risk I’ll have to take.” She set her palm on his chest to push him back, but she couldn’t help pausing as their eyes met. He reached up and took her hand, then wrapped the other arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

  The door swung closed, trapping them against the truck. Lacey meant to pull away, or push him away, but neither one of them could really move so it wasn’t her fault she let him kiss her, and then, once his lips pressed warm on hers, it wasn’t her fault she responded. Any woman would respond to Chase’s kiss. His lips were soft and questioning, gliding gently over hers, but he upped the pressure as he pulled her hard against his chest. Suddenly she was back in the glade by the stream, only now it was night and kissing him seemed safer, more secret—like the sanctuary she’d run all those miles to find. Nobody could hurt her as long as she was here in his arms, in this circle of safety.

  A flurry of footsteps interrupted her thoughts, and something streaked through her peripheral vision. Something large, headed right for Chase’s head.

  Whap!

  Whatever it was hit him hard, shoving his face against hers and slamming the back of her head into the roof of the truck. She tasted the sharp, metallic flavor of blood and wondered if it was his or her own. Stunned by the impact, her vision clouded, and all she saw was light, bright light all around her.

  Oh God, he’d found her. Somehow, some way, Wade had found her.

  She put a hand to the back of her head and felt the sticky warmth of fresh blood coat her fingers. Blinking away the pain, she realized she was sitting in the truck, her hands clutching the door frame, her legs dangling. Chase was gone. She was a sitting duck, and she had about the same IQ as a dumb quacker too, sitting there in full view of whoever had attacked them.

  She slid off the seat and knelt on the floor, rummaging around for some kind of weapon. A tire iron would have been nice, but all she could find was a plastic flashlight and a wrench. Well, if anybody opened the door, she could blind them with the light and then bash them over the head. Pushing down the lock on the door, she put her hands over her head in crash position, the weapons clenched in her fists, and waited for them to come and get her.

  ***

  Chase spun away from Lacey and lunged for his attacker. He hadn’t really been hurt—whatever struck him was heavy but soft—but he’d heard Lacey’s head hit the frame of the truck. He heard the truck door shut and prayed she was okay as he hauled ass after the shadowy figure scampering across the lot. His attacker was long in the leg but ran with a mincing, tenderfooted gait, as if his feet hurt, or as if he was wearing high heels. In fact, he was wearing high heels. It wasn’t a man. It was…

  “Krystal!” He caught up to her and grabbed the strap of her purse—the purse she’d slung into his head. She tried to tug it away and keep running, but he held fast and jerked her to a stop. The two of them planted their feet and started an impromptu game of tug-of-war.

  “Give it, you bastard! Give it!” Her face was contorted with fury. “I’ll scratch your eyes out! I’ll scratch your eyes out, and then I’ll kill that slut, you lying bastard!”

  Her breath in his face bore the distinctive scent of whiskey. She and Jeb had evidently had quite a party.

  He let the purse go and grabbed her arms, wincing as she kicked at his shins with her sharp-toed pumps. “Krystal, stop. Stop!”

  “You said you weren’t seeing her! You told me…”

  He shoved her away and she stumbled backward, dropping her purse and coming at him again, all scarlet nails, witchy hair, and rage. He grabbed her forearms this time and shoved her away again. Theatrically, she stumbled and lowered herself to the ground in what was supposed to look like a fall but only looked like bad acting.

  “You knocked me down! You brute! I can’t believe you’d hit a woman! I’m going to call the cops!”

  She crawled over and snagged her purse, fishing out her cell phone and squinting at the screen.

  “Go ahead,” Chase said. “I’ll have them arrest you for assault.”

  “You hit me! I didn’t do anything!”

  “You clubbed me over the head, and I have a witness.” He pointed toward the truck. Fortunately Krystal didn’t notice there was no head and shoulders silhouette on the passenger’s side. He wondered where Lacey had run off to. Pam’s, probably.

  Krystal stumbled to her feet and faced him with her breasts heaving and her hair hanging in lank, drippy tendrils around her face.

  “I will get you for this, Chase Caldwell. I’ll get you for this, and I’ll make you pay. I’ll…”

  “I’ll pay. I’ll pay you your last paycheck.” He turned away. “You’re fired, Krystal.”

  “You can’t fire me. You just want to hire your new girlfriend, that’s all. You have no basis for firing me. I’ll sue. I’ll…”

  “Krystal, you got drunk and screwed your boyfriend on my desk and then you hit me in the head. I have every reason to fire you.”

  “We didn’t do it on your desk. We were going to, but then the cops came and… oh.”

  She looked left, then right, panicked as a weasel in a wolf trap. “Never mind,” she said in a small voice. Gathering up her purse and what was left of her dignity, she turned away and minced across the parking lot toward home.

  Chase sighed and rubbed his mouth. He’d bitten his lip when she hit him, and a streak of scarlet slashed the back of his hand. He needed to check on Lacey.
There was a figure on the porch across the alley, but it was Pam peering over at him.

  “Pam? Lacey over there?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. She’s in your truck.”

  “Shh.” That probably wasn’t information they wanted to broadcast. Mad as she was, Krystal was liable to turn around and commit homicide.

  “I’m here, Chase.” He heard the truck door open and looked back to see Lacey climbing out of the cab. Her hair was tousled, her face pale and drawn.

  Relieved, he stepped up to take her in his arms, but she held up one hand, palm out, and gave him a warning glare.

  “Let’s back it up, bud.”

  “Okay.” He stopped a few feet away. “But let me walk you back to the motel.”

  She took another step back, her posture stiff as she put more distance between them. “I think I can make it across the street on my own.” She watched Krystal stalk out of sight around a corner. “And anyway, this is too complicated. I need to think, Chase. Just give me some time to think.”

  Chapter 21

  Lacey looked around the shabby motel room, trying to dredge up the anger she’d felt when she’d found out Chase had paid for it. He should have told her. He should have asked her. She didn’t need him sneaking around, a knight in shining armor who saved her on the sly.

  But his silence about paying the bill meant he didn’t expect anything in return. He’d helped her.

  No hands.

  He’d lied to the cop for her too, and that was almost a bigger deal than paying for the room. Chase had always taken pride in his honesty, which was a good thing, because his lying was nothing to brag about. He’d told the story with a halting, fumbling hesitation Lacey was sure the cop saw straight through.

  The fact that the officer let her go was a testament to how much people instinctively trusted Chase. She didn’t know how long he’d been living out here, but either people here were gullible enough to believe the “Guaranteed Dependable” sign on the store or he’d earned their respect.

  Of course he had. People had always respected Chase. Even when he was a geeky kid, he’d been straightforward and reliable. Someone you could count on. Evidently, he’d earned that reputation in Grady too—and he’d put it on the line for her.

  She really ought to thank him.

  She went to the window and stared across the street. The town was quiet now, the only sign of life a light glowing in the trailer’s office window and Chase’s truck parked outside. He was still there. All alone.

  A transient woman, the cop had said. She’d taken that to mean she was a loner—but it also meant she was temporary. Just passing through.

  It was probably an accurate description. She didn’t see her way to a future in Grady. There were no jobs, no opportunities for a woman making her way in the world alone. Sooner or later, she’d either go back to Tennessee or move on—alone.

  She didn’t intend to ever marry or rely on a man again, but she’d seen the faces of old people who’d ended up on their own. They were scarred with regret, their wrinkles like the dry land outside Grady, parched earth furrowed with sorrow.

  That could be her in fifty years. She needed to take her chances where she could. Live life to the fullest.

  She needed to thank Chase now.

  ***

  He was standing against the counter right across from the door when she walked into the trailer, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops, legs crossed at the ankles. His posture was so perfectly casual, she wondered if he’d been waiting for her.

  Looking at him, she realized she’d been waiting for him—probably for years. She never would have guessed what kind of man he’d become, but somehow the image of him, just the way he was now, had been branded in her mind from before she knew him, from the first time she’d sprawled on her lace-bedecked canopy bed and stared up at the ceiling and pretended there was a man pressing down on her, touching her, pushing against her. She hadn’t known a thing about sex, but she’d somehow known how he would look at her, how his eyes would consume her and hold her with a mixture of love and hopeless, helpless adoration.

  She’d looked into the deep well of his eyes in her fantasies and imagined his touch and clenched her legs together, feeling the dizzy, helpless sensation of orgasm for the first time. She’d been overwhelmed not by love but by need and by the dizzying thought that he might need her too, whoever this man was, rugged and soft all at once, with his hard, stony face and his helpless, lovelorn eyes. That was what she wanted—not a man who took her and overpowered her, but a man who bent her to his will because he wanted her so badly he couldn’t help himself.

  She stared at him until his gaze turned questioning and she remembered why she’d come. “Thank you,” she said. “I know you don’t like to lie.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged, looking away.

  She smiled. “You weren’t any good at it in high school either.”

  “I never lied in high school.”

  Her grin widened. “Three words. Mr. Huber’s Volkswagen.”

  Chase groaned, but the memory brought a reluctant smile. Mr. Huber’s Volkswagen Beetle had ended up in the center of the school’s gymnasium, right on the foul line of the basketball court. It had been decorated with feathers and construction paper to look like a bird, a rough representation of the mascot of the school’s greatest nemesis, the Lathrop Eagles. The prank amused most of the faculty, including Mr. Huber, but the assistant principal had taken it upon himself to find and punish the perpetrators. Questioning every boy in turn, he failed to uncover the truth: that the cheerleading squad had been behind the operation.

  A bunch of girls in pleated skirts and bobby socks couldn’t move a car on their own, but they could definitely harness the manpower to get it done. And not one boy would jeopardize his chances with the prettiest girls in school by squealing on the ringleaders or their helpers.

  “I’d forgotten about that.”

  “You’ve forgotten a lot of things,” Lacey said.

  He gave her a questioning look.

  “Like the fact that we used to be friends.”

  His voice was low and husky, and she suddenly realized he was standing very close to her. Had he just stepped in, or had he been inches away from her all along? “I didn’t forget that. It’s just that I always wanted to be something more. You never wanted that.”

  “I want it now.”

  He’d kept his eyes averted until then, and she’d felt a barrier between them, as if he was holding up a shield, but now his gaze locked on hers like a weapon fixing on a target. He stepped forward, tilting her off-balance, and she looked up into those eyes and hiked herself up on her toes as he wrapped his arms around her and bent his head to hers.

  His lips were firm, almost hard, but they softened when she accidentally let out a little mew and hooked her arms around his neck. She interlaced her fingers and pulled him down so she could reach him and have him her way. He waltzed her through the doorway, kissing her with a new intensity, tasting and testing as he pushed her backward. She tried to take over the lead, but he kept her just slightly off-kilter so that she was forced to move with him, steering through the office door, across the small room, and behind the desk. When he fell back into the chair, it spun slightly and careened backward on its rolling base, slamming into the wall.

  The kiss never broke.

  He pushed his fingers into the thick fall of hair at the back of her neck and tucked his thumbs into the hollow just behind her jawbone, pulling her toward him and deepening the kiss. She’d pitched into his lap when he fell, straddling him, her knees bending so her hips slid into his and she ended up with her pelvis slung forward like a rodeo rider on the upswing. He was already hard.

  “You came to me this time,” he whispered. “I’m not attacking you, right?”

  She nodded and his hands slid down her neck and swept under the collar of her shirt, sweeping down the smooth, seldom-touched skin in the hollow below her shoulders, savoring t
he swell of her flesh and slipping under the lace of her bra. She pushed herself into his rough palms as he cupped her breasts, the backs of his hands pushing her bra away as the buttons on her shirt strained and popped open, one, two, three.

  He squeezed her breasts together, and his thumbs moved up to stroke her nipples. The kiss wasn’t conscious anymore; it was what she wanted, what both of them needed. For a moment she stepped outside herself and almost recoiled, seeing them like a stranger through the window with their mouths open, their tongues slicking wet against each other. There was no film-star romance in this kiss; it was as unthinking and intimate as anything she’d ever imagined. Then his tongue swept over her bottom lip and she was lost again.

  She skidded her butt back on his thighs and put her fingers to work, fumbling at his belt buckle, tugging at the leather and the metal, grabbing the snap of his jeans between two fingers and pulling so hard his fly was halfway down before she grabbed the zipper tag. He flexed his hips once and she tucked her hand into the opening, pushing her palm against the hardness of him and feeling his warmth through the stretched-thin fabric of whatever he was wearing. She slid her fingers over the bulge from one side to the other and ran the pad of her thumb over the top to feel the bead of moisture blossom at her touch. He tipped his head back, sucking in a breath, and suddenly he was helpless, rocked back in the chair, his long-muscled body entirely at her mercy.

  She was in charge. Suddenly shy, she watched his face while she moved her hand against him, watching his eyelids flutter as his jaw tightened and relaxed. She could read him, find the exact touch that made him helpless, made his breath catch and his heart quicken. Bending down, she licked the hollow at the base of his throat with a quick, scooping tongue. He was salty and hot. She licked him again.

  He groaned, pulling her against him with one arm while the other scooped under her bottom and lifted her off the chair. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing herself against his arousal while he set her down on the desk, tilting her backward so her hair fanned out over the gleaming wood. Her legs were still wrapped around his waist, but he stood over her now, quickly unfastening the rest of the buttons on her shirt and popping the front clasp on her bra. He peeled the cups away from her breasts so he could bend down and take one tight nipple in his mouth while his fingers toyed with the other, pinching and pulling while she pushed herself into his hand. Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes. His lips on her breast, his tongue flicking the aching, hot bead of her nipple—she had to grit her teeth to keep herself from letting out a cry of need and urgency.