“You're not using Battlestar words either,” Cassidy countered. Then she stood up and focused her attention on John. “Who?” Cassidy asked. John was starting to learn that parenting took a lot of mind numbing follow up.
The boy was currently rubbing his face on one of their pillows. Not that John could get the chicken pox and not that John was going to say anything because he was too exhausted but it was just plain gross.
“It's Mike Shannon,” John whispered.
“No, can't be,” Cassidy replied, her eyes wide. “There are lots of short, stocky bald men with power complexes populating the west.” She shook her head.
“Come here.” John said, as he tipped his chin toward the window. “Take a look.” He stepped back but not so far back that Cassidy's hip didn't brush against his body as she lined herself up to look out. Too much or too little flick of the curtain could get Mike Shannon wondering who was in room eleven. Cassidy knew that and she knew how to handle herself.
“God no,” she said after she had slowly put the curtain back into place. She turned to John. “What are we going to do?” She stuck her knuckle in her mouth, then she pulled it out. That habit of hers was new, something she'd picked up in the last six months. John liked it.
“If it's Mike Shannon,” Kevin announced, “we should go out there and say hi. Maybe he knows the Wi-Fi password especially if he's her husband.” Kevin finally pulled his scrawny body off the bed.
“No,” both John and Cassidy yelled in unison like the partners they used to be.
Kevin studied them for a moment. Then he raised his hands in the air. “Okay, just making a suggestion.” He rolled his eyes. “Don't have to give a guy such a hard time for being neighborly.” Sometimes, John decided, it was scary how much Kevin sounded like Logan.
But instead of going to his cot and going to sleep like any good thirteen year old boy would have done, the kid walked over to the other window. While muttering something about 'people being overly sensitive' under his breath, he tossed the curtain open. John lunged toward him while Cassidy yelled, “No,” again.
Never, ever would John think of calling Cassidy's flesh and blood a shit head or even worse a douchebag. But he wouldn't shy away from calling the kid a pain in the ass. Jesus Christ, Kevin was just trying to be difficult.
“Kevin,” Cassidy whispered at her son. “Don't look out.” It was good Kevin hadn't stuck his nose to the glass. If they were lucky Mike would only see a shadow if he looked their way. “Don't lean into the window and let the curtain go gently,” Cassidy directed.
“Why?” Kevin asked still holding onto the curtain. Then he glanced at John, his pox ridden body shifting into a menacing stance. “I know something is going down here and I want in,” he told them.
“This is adult stuff and—” Cassidy started to explain.
“I don't want insulting half truths to pacify the kid,” Kevin interrupted still holding that damn curtain back. “Because right now I think that besides being a gun toting Bible thumper, he's a sex addict,” Kevin challenged his mother.
“John's not—” Cassidy began.
“He's always looking at your chest,” Kevin cut her off as the curtain fluttered in his hand. “And, when he's not looking at your chest he's staring at your butt.” Then he turned to John. “Don't think I didn't notice what you were doing in the chutes back in Tulsa even though it was eight o'clock in the morning.”
John wasn't sure if he needed to defend himself or shut up. All this had most definitely caught him off guard. But maybe he could turn it around. He just had to think how.
“And I know he's going to Mike Shannon to get pills for his problem,” Kevin continued, “because he can't control his libido when he's around you.” The boy's body shook as he spoke, hence the curtain shook too.
Damn, the kid had one hell of an imagination or maybe that was chicken pox fever talking? Then again, in theory the kid was right. John couldn't keep his eyes off Cassidy's breasts or her butt and he was having a tough time controlling himself around her. The example that kept coming to mind was love making without birth control.
Cassidy harrumphed while John coughed into his hand. Then, she lifted her chin and pushed the hair out of her mouth. It seemed Cassidy was going to address these concerns of her son’s. But not before she tugged on the edge of her T-shirt and rolled her shoulders back.
Damn it, the woman made John look at her breasts again.
“If I tell you—” she started.
John interrupted. “Holy shit,” he announced, he turned to Kevin. “How the hell did you figure me out?” he asked the boy. He would continue to play the fool. He had an investigation to finish and he didn't need Cassidy telling her thirteen year old son all about it just because the kid thought John was a degenerate.
“I'm not stupid,” Kevin told them.
“Fuckin’ A.” John slapped his thigh. “You are not.” He turned to Cassidy with his hands out. She looked suspicious. “I can't believe a thirteen year old figured me out,” he told her. “Then again, it's probably logical,” he started, “I mean I began looking at breasts when I was—”
“I don’t care,” the kid interrupted John in a low voice. “Just stop staring at my mother. It's not right.” Kevin searched his brain for an insult, “It's perverted.”
“Kevin,” Cassidy snapped. “Don't say those things. That’s not the way it is between John and me.”
John sat on the bed. There was a means to an end concerning all of this, he just had to take another hit to get there. “All right,” he said slowly, he put his hands on his thighs. “Since you know everything about me, would you do me a favor and let that curtain go?” John gestured with his hand.
“No,” Kevin replied.
“Please,” Cassidy begged.
“Promise me, you'll stop looking at my mother,” Kevin demanded. The kid could set his terms with the best of them. “And don't touch her either,” he added as he eyed John suspiciously.
“Okay,” John agreed. “Just let the curtain go,” he requested again. Within a minute the fabric fell back into place and John Risk knew he would be celibate for the rest of his life. This business of loving only one woman and especially one with a prudish kid could get painful for a guy.
Chapter Ten
Cassidy woke up to the high pitched voice of a woman screaming about stupid, stupid clowns. She sat up in bed and glanced at Kevin sleeping next to her. Most of the calamine lotion was off his face and on the pillow but he was still sleeping. Through the darkness she could hear John shift on the cot. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.
Before he could reply, the woman yelled. “Why don't you just take that red nose of yours back to the rodeo and stop bothering me?” It was the inn keeper Mary. Cassidy really hoped this wasn't escalating into a domestic violence situation.
“Ah crap,” John moaned as they listened to the threatening sounds of Mike Shannon's muttered response. Obviously John was thinking the same thing.
Mary shouted, “Go to hell.”
“Do you think she's okay?” Cassidy whispered at John. The man didn't answer. But the cot springs squeaked.
“If you so much as lay a finger on me, Mike Shannon,” Mary threatened, “I will cut off your balls and bury them out back where nobody can find them.” Those words were followed by the thud of something slamming. Hopefully it was the inn keeper's door and she was throwing the deadbolt. Best way to not be a victim of domestic violence was to keep the perpetrator out. Yes, much easier said than done.
“You've been saying that for years,” Shannon replied with way too much confidence for a man about to become a eunuch. “You never follow through,” he added. “You know, your follow through has always sucked.”
“Go to hell,” Mary suggested. Unfortunately her voice was clear. She probably opened the door again. Stupid, stupid woman. Cassidy glanced at John as he stood and pulled on his jeans. With his belt hanging at his hips, fly undone and muscles flexing he looked like one of
those blue jean models in Times Square.
“Maybe if you dedicated yourself to a specific goal,” Shannon continued sounding like a demented career counselor, “you'd have a more successful life.”
Jeez, Mike Shannon had no right lecturing Mary about her life. If a man tried to do that to her, Cassidy would definitely consider burying his private parts outback. She glanced over at John again, he was on his knees and looking for something under the cot. Most likely his T-shirt. His smooth, bare back gleamed in a slice of street light coming through a gap in the curtains.
For such a tough man, John always had amazingly soft skin. But it wasn't natural. The man actually used moisturizer. Not fancy stuff but one of those brands in the big white pump bottle priced at three ninety-nine.
“Your shirt is on the television,” Cassidy whispered at him.
“You have no right talking to me like that, Mike Shannon,” Mary yelled again. However, the only way she was going to prevent Mike from talking to her like that, was to not allow the man to talk to her at all. Cassidy planned to have a chat about a restraining order with the inn keeper tomorrow morning. “The money from the inn made you what you are today,” she continued. “You wouldn't have become a rodeo star without me,” she added.
John snorted, “The man's a clown.” Now he was looking for his socks. But after a moment he gave up and slipped his bare feet into his boots. “Why the hell can't she just ignore him?” John muttered looking in the mirror and smoothing his hair down. “What's so damn hard about not letting someone get under your skin?”
While John spoke such utter nonsense—didn't the man know love and a thick skin were incompatible?—Cassidy studied Kevin. Amazingly her son's jaw was slack and there was drool running out of the corner of his mouth. The kid was sleeping soundly through all the commotion, probably because of the medicine she'd given him for the itching. “She loves him or she did love him,” Cassidy replied with an intimate understanding of how Mary was feeling. Love made women do stupid things like open doors and have unprotected sex.
“Well, it’s not a healthy love,” John remarked.
“If he hits her,” Cassidy whispered, returning to the issue she was most worried about. She climbed out of bed, but before she had a chance to finish her sentence, she tripped over Kevin's Converse sneakers. With a grunt she dived head first toward John. He caught her as her hands plastered themselves against his chest. They both glanced at Kevin to ensure he was still asleep. The kid offered a little snore.
“Christ, you're like a bull in a china shop,” John moaned. “Glad I never took you on any undercover missions.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her regain her footing. Then he kicked Kevin’s shoes under the bed.
“Ha, ha,” Cassidy replied into his chest. “You took me on too many undercover missions.” She eyed the bottom of his chin as she thought about how dangerous the Highwaymen had become during the two years Cassidy and John were involved. At first they worked locally, mostly growing and selling marijuana but by the end they were dealing guns with cartels in Mexico.
His face darkened in the already dark room. “You should have told me you had a kid.”
Cassidy wasn't going to resume that argument, there were more immediate issues for them to fight about. “If he hits her,” she started again. She knew she had to set some conditions with the undercover cop. “We must stop it.” Yes, John was on an active mission. And yes, this whole situation smelled a lot like what had happened to them a year ago with the girl. But, there was a woman in trouble and again John needed to make a decision about exposing his cover if the trouble got worse.
“Oh shit,” John moaned. “Why? She's already missing a few teeth.” He laughed sadly at his joke.
“I will pretend you didn't say that,” Cassidy warned. She was still in his arms. His hand rubbing up and down her back and dipping lower with each stroke. She took a step back and pealed his fingers off of her body. She would have a talk with him later about appropriate time and place.
“I'm not arresting him on domestic violence charges when I'm this close to getting him on being a prescription drug dealer,” John told her.
Cassidy shook her head.
“The number of cowboys at the rodeo addicted to OxyContin is ridiculously high and I’m sure this guy is their pusher,” John told her as he tucked himself in and zipped up his pants. “We're talking two years in the slammer for domestic abuse versus twenty-five for drug dealing.”
“You're going to sacrifice another woman,” Cassidy accused. He did make a good point about the drug dealing and addiction among the bull riders, but Mary the Inn Keeper was in trouble. Right now, the bull riders took a back seat in Cassidy's mind.
“What about all those cowboys and cowgirls who could die from the prescription drugs Mike Shannon sells them?” John asked her logically. John always told Cassidy a good cop had to learn when to cut his losses. It's a terrible way to look at things but it was for the 'greater good'. Yes, she was getting tired of that phrase.
She turned away from John and looked for her jeans. After all she was having this conversation in her granny panties and tank top. She had stopped wearing thongs after that horrible ride at Pikes Peak.
“Okay,” John conceded. “Maybe tonight there doesn't have to be any loses, not like the last time. Mike Shannon hasn't hit her yet, so let's wait and see what happens,” he suggested. “Sometimes these things settle on their own.” He started digging through the bed covers. “Where's my bracelet?”
Cassidy knew immediately what he was talking about. His good luck charm. When he was a kid, traveling through the west with his father, a Native American shaman gave it to him. The healer told John it would shield him from harm and predicted John would need lots of protection. Ever since John had worn it, except a few years back he’d stopped sleeping with it on his wrist. The leather was wearing out.
“Next to the sink in the bathroom,” Cassidy replied while realizing how easy it would be to fall back into their domestic routine. A routine she didn't necessarily mind except she wanted open communication and no undercover work. Plus, there was a thirteen year old that needed to be acknowledged regularly.
“I hope it didn't get wet.”
“Don't leave it there.”
“I thought it was safe.”
Before Cassidy could reply something crashed and Mary shouted about Mike being a, ‘dirty bastard in polka dot pants and she didn't have to store anything for him if she didn’t want to.’ Things were most definitely escalating.
Cassidy glanced at Kevin. Her son still hadn't woken up. She put a hand on his chest to ensure he was breathing. Yup, he was. She lifted the covers, resuming her search for her jeans. Unfortunately, they weren’t there. She turned to John, maybe he knew.
But it didn't look like he'd be helpful. The man was coming out of the bathroom with smoldering eyes and a sexy smile. As he admired her bare legs, arms, and shoulders, Cassidy knew she would spontaneously combust if she didn’t make him look away. Good God, they needed to focus on Mary. “You're not supposed to be looking at me,” she chided him in a low whisper. “Remember what Kevin said.” Finally she found her jeans. They were folded neatly on top of the night stand. She must have done it last night without realizing.
“Your thighs are thicker,” John remarked.
“Gee thanks,” she replied. She sat on the bed and put her feet through the pant legs. She didn't need John Risk judging her after she thought he was admiring her. “Haven't lost any of your charm, have you?” she commented wiggling her jeans up over her butt.
“No,” he moaned. “Jesus Christ, Cassidy. I don't mean it like that. Your muscles are beautiful. Your legs are incredibly cut. Bull riding has built you up.” He smiled that sexy smile again.
“Nice save,” she said but she was still hurt. She stood, tucked in her tank top and zipped up the fly. She decided to not look at him.
“I mean it,” John stressed. “You look good.” He actually seemed upset that h
e had insulted her. “I like the body builder Cassidy.” He held his arms up in the air and flexed.
He looked good too.
“I had to get strong to ride the bulls,” she explained, “especially my inner thighs.” Those squat thrusts had been brutal day in and day out but when a bull is twisting to the right, then bucking to the left, she knew she’d need her legs to stay on.
“Looks like your hard work paid off in a Xena the Warrior Princess, ass kicking, ball busting, teeth bashing sort of way,” he remarked.
Cassidy could feel herself blush. Awkward compliments from John always left her flustered. Before Cassidy could come up with something just as clumsy to say back, Mary yelled, “Get the hell off my land.”
Cassidy looked around the room. “We have to help her,” she insisted while slipping her feet into her flip flops. She needed a shirt. Then she remembered she had washed the one she was wearing before going to bed last night. It was hanging over the shower rod, most likely wet.
John wrapped his fingers around her elbow. “No,” he disagreed. “They’re just arguing. Let’s wait a little longer.”
“Even though he hasn't hit her,” Cassidy protested, “that woman is being abused.” She reached for one of John's T-shirts bunched up in the top of his backpack. It was big, but it would work.
“What the hell?” he asked. “That's my shirt. It's the only clean one I've got.”
“I washed mine and the rest of my luggage is in the car,” Cassidy told him. “I can't go out there in this.” She didn't have a bra on under her tank top and her nipples stood erect against the thin fabric. Did she want to make that no looking rule of Kevin’s painful for John? Yes, most definitely.
But he didn’t get a chance to look because Mary yelled, “Don't you come near me, I've had enough of you, Mike Shannon. I own this place now. I'm a respected member of the community, not a woman to be used.”
“I'm not going to use you, I just need a place to store inventory,” Shannon told Mary reasonably. Which was the way they all sounded before the fists started flying. “And I’d like to have a meeting here tomorrow.”
The Bull Rider Wears Pink Page 14