The Troubled Texan

by Phyliss Miranda

“You hellion! If that’s your answer . . .” With both hands, he plopped her on her feet, grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her, not too gently, onto the ticket counter.

  In a flash, he removed his handcuffs from his hip, and clicked one cuff on her wrist and the other to the wrought-iron grill. “Well, this ought to give you some time to reconsider your answer.”

  “Let me down.” She spaced the words evenly, before rushing on. “I’m going to file abuse charges. I’ll send you to the penitentiary, t-to . . .”

  Rainey cast a scorching gaze from Deuce to the floor and back up to the fiery-eyed man and considered her options.

  No doubt kicking was out of the question. With legs not much longer than a good-sized man’s arm, she could never touch him. Jumping off the ledge wouldn’t be advisable. She’d end up dangling like a watch fob on the end of a chain.

  She blazed a stare at her captor. Simba faced Mufasa.

  Madder than a hornet with the hives, Rainey tried unsuccessfully to keep her eyes above his waist, but with him standing so near, her attention was drawn to his bulging crotch. For a moment, she allowed the images of what lay behind his tight-fitting jeans to ramble through her mind.

  Heat crept up from somewhere deep in her stomach. Christ on crutches! Now wasn’t a good time to blush like a schoolgirl getting her first glimpse of a Playboy magazine.

  Sheriff Deuce Cowan dusted his palms off, reached for a nearby ladder-back chair, and turned it around. Straddling the seat, he tilted back his Stetson with a thumb and shot her one of his killer smiles.

  “Well, ma’am, I warned you to stay out of my way unless you wanted trouble.” His words were as cool and clear as a mountain stream. “So, the way I see it, you can either settle down or I’ll leave you there until you learn to behave.”

  Chapter Four

  Deuce draped his arms over the chair back and watched the green-eyed vixen attempt to stare him down. Although still appearing too fragile to cause such a ruckus, Rainey’s coloring had improved. A rosy shade of strawberry blotched her cheeks and neck.

  Suddenly, a rush of heat ramrodded his body, settling way down south in the damnedest sensation he had experienced in a while. Or at least since he swore off females and booze after he woke coyote-drunk and realized he’d rather gnaw off his arm than wake the woman next to him.

  Considering Rainey’s proclamation of being a married lady, his thoughts were anything but gentlemanly. He struggled to swallow and forced his attention away from his uncomfortable state and back to the problem at hand.

  “Okay, Mrs. Michaels, if that’s what you prefer to be called, what do you plan to do now? And don’t even think about going after my cojones again.”

  “Let me down this minute.” She jerked at the restraints. “And, that is not what interests me in a man—”

  “Oh, yeah, it was my brains you were aiming for—”

  “One and the same,” she said dryly.

  “You can make this hard on yourself if you want—”

  She cast her gaze downward. “It doesn’t appear I’m the only one that I’m making it hard on.” She turned her face upward, returning the spitting-nails stare he knew was plastered on his face, with a sassy, disdainful, and purely sensual smile.

  Shrugging her shoulders, she said, “You scared the bejeezus out of me and you know it. I didn’t assault you. Not exactly.” Her grin rapidly disappeared into creases between her brows and tiny dimples at the corner of her mouth. “It was your fault,” her silky voice challenged. “But, I’ll try to behave. Okay?”

  Not much of a promise. Hoping to loosen the tightness in his jeans, Deuce shifted his weight to one hip, cautiously eyed her, and considered his choices.

  As much as he dreaded to stand, he pushed up from the chair, stuck his hand in his pocket, and fingered the key to the handcuffs. “All right. If you’re sure I’m not going to have any more trouble out of you, Mrs. Michaels.”

  Deuce closed the distance between them, bringing them face to face.

  Eye to eye.

  Lips to lips.

  He halted when sensual, emerald eyes brought him up short, sending his heart head over teakettle. It had been fourteen years since he’d seen Rainey . . . rather, Maressa. When in the hell had she gotten so sexy? Lookin’ so good? Why hadn’t he seen her that way before? He’d had more than his share of youthful raging hormones, yet he’d never thought of her as anything but a gal friend. A pal, yeah! But never a woman.

  She may have changed a lot about herself, and certainly her razor-sharp tongue hadn’t dulled a millimeter, but she was as keen and witty as always. Still not taking any crap off anyone, particularly Deuce.

  Damn! How in the hell did he get so turned on seeing her shackled and fuming? He fought off the desire to take her in his arms and apologize. Apologize? You idiot. For what? Doing his job? No! He had defused the situation. Deuce was the professional with the criminal justice degree. And after all it wasn’t personal. Was it?

  Jerking the key from his pocket, he uncuffed her. His large hands encompassed her slender waist and he lifted her down, setting her on her feet.

  “Thanks, Ace.”

  As though being blinded by a cornerback blitz, her comment staggered him temporarily. He’d almost forgotten about the nickname. Few people, hell, nobody except Rainey called him that. Anyone else would have been met with a fist in his gut.

  “You meant Deuce. It’s Deuce Cowan.”

  “Sorry.” She stiffened. “I won’t make that mistake again.” She rubbed her wrist. “And I have every right to be here. I leased this place from Harold Wilson, but I think you already knew that.” Each word dripped with vinegar. “And call me Rainey.”

  Reaching for the gym bag, she produced the lease agreement, jabbing the paper at him.

  “And I have the responsibility to protect this county.” He skimmed the first page, although Harold had informed him of the arrangement. “Seems to be in order, but I think you already knew that,” he mimicked her, folding the document and handing it back to her. “How would I know you aren’t a drug dealer? You cruise into town, or rather speed through, with almost no luggage, with out-of-state plates, no proof of insurance, and offer no explanation for being here. What was I supposed to think?”

  “So, you’re an equestrian?”

  “Don’t answer my question with a question. Of course, I know how to ride. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I was just wondering, because you are so skilled at jumping to conclusions.” She tilted her head back, and raised an eyebrow. “You know me better than to think I’d be involved with something illicit. Anyway, how many drug runners drive a four-year-old Malibu?”

  “That isn’t the point. And no, I don’t know Rainey Michaels, but I used to know Maressa Clarkson.”

  Gnawing at her lower lip, she glowered. “I knew you knew who I was all along, so why didn’t you say so?” Eyes flashed as sarcastically as her voice.

  “Of course, I recognized you.” He curtailed an impulse to roll his eyes at her. “That’s my job, as a badge-toting, whatcha call it? Oh, yeah, I remember: buffoon. And I can assure you that I don’t wear this .45 for the hell of it.” His hand patted the butt of his holstered Glock. “When are we going to stop this game of cop and robber and get down to business?”

  And the business he wanted to get down to had nothing to do with law enforcement. He had questions, and she held the answers. He charged on. “Why did you leave an exciting job to move to this one-horse town? And I’ll know if you’re lying.”

  “It’s a long story and I am not lying. All I have to say is that life dealt me a wicked hand, like the dead man’s hand in poker. . . .” Irritation deepened her dimples. She stood deathly still and bit her lip. “Uh, I-I fell in love, relocated to New York, and well, things got complicated.”

  “So, he dumped you?”

  “No!” Her gaze bore into his and she prickled up like a cactus. “He certainly did not.”

  “So you lef
t a promising career, and I heard before I left Denton that you were on the fast track to becoming the next LA County DA, to follow some man across the country? Come on, Maressa . . . Rainey, or what in the hell you want to be called, you graduated with top honors from the University of Texas.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine a focused, keep-your-head-stuck-in-a-lab project bookworm like you letting a man separate you from your goals.”

  Deuce chided himself for adding such a seedy barb, but it was too late. He looked away, avoiding the hurt in her eyes. Wishing the darkness would swallow him, he took a deep breath and knew he had twisted the dagger he had already driven in her heart. “So, what was his name?”

  “His name? Uh, Edward. Edward Michaels.”

  “A man with two first names. And his middle name?”

  Her eyes darted around the room. “Burlington. Edward Burlington Michaels.”

  “Convenient.” Deuce followed her gaze to an array of vintage metal locomotive signs. Rock Island. Santa Fe. Burlington. “Want to start over on your story?”

  “I am telling the truth!”

  “The lady doth protest too much.”

  “Hamlet.”

  “Gertrude. His mother.”

  Not yielding the floor, she filibustered on. “It’s not that simple. You, of all people, know how it is when you fall in love.” She pulled a Kleenex from her pocket and wadded it in her hand. “On second thought, a guy like you with a turnstile in his bedroom wouldn’t know. My husband was a, uh, a lawyer and a great man. I didn’t mind giving up my career for him. We hadn’t been in New York City long when it happened. . . .”

  She touched her nose as if checking to make sure she hadn’t developed the Pinocchio syndrome. Apparently satisfied, she crossed her arms.

  Something stunk to high heaven, and it wasn’t the moldy old railway station either.

  “What happened?” He added a degree of warmth to his voice.

  “He got killed. Y-yes,” she stammered, as though the idea was foreign to her. “He was doing charity work in the projects and was killed. Such a good man.” She dabbled at nonexistent tears.

  “Killed,” Deuce repeated.

  “Y-yes. He fell off a ladder, hit his head and died before the paramedics got there.”

  “I’m sorry,” Deuce offered, but knew his voice didn’t reflect true sympathy.

  Such a good man and nary a real tear? Oh, yeah, Widow Michaels, tell me another one.

  “Deuce, please believe me.” As though she read his mind, her eyes seemed to plead for understanding. “I was frightened and scared, and just couldn’t live in such a big city without knowing anyone. At least in LA, I had friends. Trust me, I didn’t leave my life behind. . . .” She leveled a piercing stare straight at him. “Or anything else for that matter, just for the hell of it. It was for the best.” Her nervous dimples faded and sheer terror shrouded her features.

  This wasn’t his first time at this rodeo, and he recognized the signs of fear as quickly as lying. Most definitely Rainey wasn’t telling all of the truth. But, one of the many things he hadn’t forgotten, she was honest. So honest, in fact, that she wouldn’t swipe a grape off the school lunch line, unless she paid for it first. The feisty person he grew up with wouldn’t run without a very good reason.

  The woman he knew, news flash, Cowan—thought I knew, was stable, self-assured, and had goals. So what had caused her to change her physical appearance, take on a new identity, and relocate to a quaint Texas town?

  Nothing seemed right about the circumstances surrounding her sudden appearance in Kasota Springs. Hopefully, once Danny completed his investigation, some of the missing pieces would fall into place.

  “Now, it’s my turn.” Rainey threw back her shoulders, straightened her collar, exuding a renewed confidence. “How did you end up as the sheriff here?”

  “After my pro career ended because of my shoulder injury, which if you watch television any you know as much about it as I do—”

  “Oh, yeah, I couldn’t turn on any station without seeing your picture splattered everywhere for weeks.”

  “Have to admit, I was pretty disappointed, but I accepted a position with the Steelers as a specialty coach. Never really had my heart in it. I wanted to play ball, so when I couldn’t do that anymore . . .” He took a deep breath, hoping his voice didn’t betray his emotions. “Anyway, when Dad got killed I came back to take care of Mama—”

  “She’s in Kasota Springs, too? Do you live together?”

  “No. She’s . . .” He hesitated before completing his sentence. “I have a little house near headquarters out on a little spread I bought. The Slippery Elm.” He studied her for a few seconds. “Been around for over a hundred years. Shares a fence line with the Jacks Bluff.”

  “I’ve heard of the Jacks Bluff since they were rodeo stock contractors, but not the Slippery Elm since I didn’t grow up in the Panhandle. I never figured you for a rancher.”

  “It’s just an old cow-calf operation, but I had a unique opportunity to buy it and couldn’t pass it up. I’ve got a foreman running the ranch, so I mainly sleep and bark orders out there, if I don’t stay in town.”

  “Sounds like a perfect place to me.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Deuce, I’m truly sorry about your dad.”

  Her touch, soothing like silk against a wound, chased away some of his uneasiness and old fears.

  “A basket of roses and a donation to the American Cancer Society couldn’t begin to tell you how I ached for your family.” She tore her hand away as though suddenly aware that it rested on a hot stove.

  “Thanks. Time heals, a little. Dad lived each day knowing that’s the way it might end and went out a hero, just like he wanted. And Mama—”

  “Your mom is the reason I decided to open an antique shop here in Kasota Springs.”

  “I’m not surprised. I remember what great friends you were when you worked for her after school.” He pulled off his hat and pushed back that renegade lock of hair that hung over his forehead, glad that she had interrupted him before he told her more about his mom than he wanted to. That conversation would have to wait until he saw whether Rainey was serious with her plans to stick around.

  “I can remember you lugging in the”—she quoted with her fingers—“‘good stuff’ your mom got at garage sales and thrift stores, so she could open a bigger shop someday. Did she?”

  “No. The old house in Denton is like Noah’s Ark. She has two of everything.” Deuce replaced his Stetson and chuckled, thinking about the crowded rooms filled with antique furniture and shelves of glassware, not to mention boxes upon boxes of her treasures stacked in the garage.

  He shook off the memories, which were just that . . . memories.

  Deuce resisted adding, Like you, life dealt Mama a sorry hand. Instead, he quickly changed the subject. “Yesterday, Wilson called and said he had leased the building for an antique shop, but he didn’t give me your name.”

  “That was my original plan, but after seeing its disrepair.” She looked around and a wistful expression etched her face. “I might have bitten off more than I can chew. It’s rather, uh, big.” She dropped her lashes, but not before he saw her disappointment. “Are you going to charge me with assault?”

  “Haven’t made up my mind. Where do you plan to spend the night? There’s no running water and it’s drafty as a wind tunnel in here. And I bet Wilson told you it had a great living area, too?”

  “Something like that, and from what I see, it’s like the accommodations a weary traveler who missed his train might expect.”

  “Yeah. Where this place is concerned, someone put a stop payment on Wilson’s reality check.” He tried to lighten the mood, not wanting her to head for the hills when he had plenty of questions only she could answer.

  “I’ll get a rent by the week hotel room.” She shrugged, as though answering a pointless question.

  “Let’s see.” He rubbed his thumb along his jawline. “There’s four rooms above the Silver Dol
lar, which is one of our watering holes, and you don’t need to spend the night with the creepy crawlers that hang out up there. The two motels are filled with road crews working on the bypass, so there’s little choice. You could—”

  “I’ll sleep in my car,” she said a little too quickly.

  “Come on.” Possessively, he grasped her arm. “I’m taking you out to the ranch. You’ll be safe there.”

  “I can’t do that.” She hastily pulled out of his grip.

  “Sure, you can. I have plenty of room and if you’re worried about what people will think, I’ll just tell the old hens that you’re my long-lost cousin.”

  A smile fought its way through her mask of uncertainty. “Thanks, but it’s best that I make other arrangements.”

  “Other arrangements? That’s nothing but pure ol’ stubbornness. Either come along willingly or I’ll reconsider the assaulting a peace officer charge and snap those wrist cuffs back on you so fast it’ll make your head swim. You can see just how comfortable those cots are in the hoosegow.”

  “That’s being a bully, but under the circumstances I have little choice. I know the law and would rather take the deal than plea bargain for hours.”

  “Smart girl. You might be the lawyer, but I’ve got the handcuffs. So, let’s get out of here so the things that go bump in the night can come out and play.”

  “If you promise to be a gentleman—”

  “Now, Brainy Rainey, when have I not—”

  “You don’t want to go there, Ace.”

  Chapter Five

  Rainey halted just inside Deuce’s living room and wondered how in the blue blazes she had ended up at his place. After all, a Rhodes Scholar surely knew how to say “no” to the macho quarterback-turned-sheriff.

  Although, Deuce wasn’t the typical jock, either. Attending Texas A&M on an academic, as well as a football scholarship rather than hinging his whole future on being an athlete, he was capable of understanding the word “No.”

  Only a ribbon of soft light from the porch flanked the floor. She smelled the room more than saw it. The atmosphere hung heavy with the manly scent of leather, cedar, and Deuce.