by Lucy Farago
“No.” But try as she might, she was unable to prevent her lips from curving up. He’d listened when she’d said other kids got Cinderella bedtime stories. What was his angle?
“I thought you might enjoy the carriage ride. No strings, no expectations,” he said in earnest, apparently having read her mind.
Grace glanced between him and the carriage. Then staring at Daniel’s large outstretched hand, she pushed down all the conversations she’d had with her father about strange men and allowed him to help her in. Cushioned benches of white leather made up both sides. Cheesy, if not first class, all the way. “You didn’t tell me where we’re going.”
“To a place on the River Walk,” he said, taking a seat beside her. “We can walk back if your shoes are up to it.” He grinned down at her black pumps. “Or we can grab a quick cab.”
“I’ll have you know I used to waitress in my college days and in higher babies than these,” she said, her need for personal space somehow not kicking in. She twirled her foot with a smirk. “Made good money too. It’s amazing how sexy shoes and long nails can open a guy’s wallet.”
Daniel laughed. “Took advantage of poor innocent slobs, did you?”
“Hey, they were not innocent. If I had a quarter every time one of them tried to grab something that didn’t belong to him, I wouldn’t have had to waitress. Not that my dad approved.” Livid didn’t describe his reaction when she’d told him she was waiting tables.
“He’s the protective type, is he?”
“Protective? No, that would be expected of a man who only had one daughter. He was insane. He put mace in my backpack.”
“Well, in his defense, college campuses are not free from assaults.” He leaned forward and told the driver where they were headed, then sat back again.
“I was in elementary school. A private elementary school. For girls.”
He was trying not to laugh, but his eyes lit up with amusement.
“Go ahead. You try explaining to your teachers why a seven-year-old is carrying mace. He nearly got me expelled. My mother wouldn’t talk to him for a week.”
“If I had a daughter, I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same.”
“El-e-men-ta-ry school. And I didn’t grow up surrounded by gangs and drive-bys.” The carriage swayed as they started to move and their arms bumped, or rather her shoulder hit his elbow.
“Did he tell you what to do with it?”
“No.” She paused for effect. “My self-defense teacher did,” she said dryly. “For the life of me I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t talk about it at show and tell when all my other friends were allowed to discuss their weekend activities. It took me a long time to figure out other dads didn’t take their kids to the shooting range.”
“In the South that’s not abnormal.”
“I grew up in Chicago.”
“Oh,” he said. “Still, he was only trying to protect you.”
“Why are you defending my father? You’ve never even met him.”
“I’m not defending him, just rationalizing his behavior. Believe me, I understand dad issues. But your father’s heart was in the right place, if a bit extreme. You said he was shot in the line of duty?”
She nodded. “I know why he is the way he is. But would it have killed me for him to tell me one fairy tale?” she asked, smoothing her hand over the leather seat. “Little girls should be entitled to some make believe.” It wasn’t that he didn’t encourage her imagination, but when you’re drilled with stats and warnings about all the things that can and do go bump in the night, it’s hard to fantasize about a world with candy canes and rainbows.
“What about your mom? Didn’t she tell you bedtime stories?”
“She claims he wouldn’t allow it. They were divorced after the second attempt on his life. And she cheated on him. I was seven. She couldn’t handle the stress of being married to a cop. My dad got custody and she moved to California to find herself.”
“And did she?”
“No. She was killed by a careless driver on her way to work. She was a nurse.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, giving her hand a tight squeeze.
She shrugged. “Such is life.” And it was life. It didn’t just kick you when you were down. It rolled over you until you were days-old roadkill. She hadn’t even got over the shock of the divorce and her mother’s decision to move to another state when again life ripped the carpet from beneath her tiny feet.
“Well, you have your princess carriage now, and should anyone try to take it away, there’s a rifle under your seat.”
He’d said it with a such a straight face, she nearly looked. Instead she elbowed him. They barely knew each other and here she was joking around with him. “Not funny. My dad would do that.”
“A little funny,” he countered, this time smiling.
He had a beautiful smile. It wasn’t just sexy, although it was, but it made a person feel… important, of all things. Like his smile was for you and only you. She’d better be careful. Daniel was a charmer. And charmers shouldn’t be trusted. “I bet you had all the little girls fighting to carry your books home from school.”
“What makes you say that?” sounding like he’d genuinely been caught off guard.
“Come on. You turn on that good old boy charm like it’s a second nature. I’m betting you’ve had it your entire life.”
“Nope. I’ve been saving it just for you.”
She laughed. “Please tell me you don’t use that line to pick up women. It’s horrible.” Not that he needed a pickup line. One look from those baby blues and the only line required would be for the women wanting a piece of him.
“Now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings.” He sat back, arms and ankles crossed, feigning those hurt feelings.
She snickered. Yup, the line would go around the block and down the street, one very, very long street.
They chatted all the way to the restaurant. She didn’t know anything about horses but from the description Daniel painted, the senator was purchasing one beautiful animal. Lucky girl, his granddaughter. The carriage stopped and Daniel got out first, lending her his hand. This time she felt no qualms about accepting his help.
The driver handed Daniel a card. “Call me. I might be free when you’re done with your date, and I’ll pick you up.”
“Thanks,” Daniel replied, pocketing the card.
Date? They weren’t on a date. But Daniel hadn’t corrected him. Maybe he thought this was a date. Should she be concerned?
“The restaurant is over here.” He pointed to his right. “Are you okay with eating outside by the river? Or would you prefer inside?”
Choosing a romantic setting probably wasn’t a good idea. Inside would be the safest choice. “Outside,” she heard herself say.
Cowboy followed Grace and the hostess as she led them to their table on the River Walk. Inside his back pocket, his phone vibrated. He pulled it out and snuck a peak at call display. Monty. Earlier this afternoon Chief Irvine had told him nothing had come out of interviewing Stanton, but Cowboy wanted to make sure Irvine wasn’t holding back. Otherwise, why was he so intent on keeping his daughter away from the man? And if there was a problem with Stanton, Cowboy needed to know who he was protecting her from. But it wouldn’t be the first time the cops said one thing but meant another. Monty had this talent for getting transcripts not meant for their eyes. If Irvine lied, his pal could sniff it out.
He shot Monty a quick text—“twenty minutes”—enough time to order a drink and then excuse himself. Although this wasn’t a date, not really, it was still rude to make a call and leave the lady hanging. And he really wanted the little pessimist to have a nice dinner.
The hostess led them to a table for two on the side closest to the river. The outside patio was elevated enough to avoid passersby while still affording a great view. He held the chair for her, then took a seat of his own. The menu was Mediterranean and, although he preferred steak and more steak, he was always op
en to trying new dishes. He’d even managed sushi once. He wouldn’t repeat the experience even if it hadn’t been all bad. He’d have flippers if he’d been meant to eat raw fish.
“So,” Grace said after they’d given their drink orders, “you know more about me than I know about you.”
And he was going to keep it that way. “Not much to tell. I find things people want. This week it’s a horse.”
“You’re a broker?”
“Of sorts.” If she only knew. “My boss thought I would be perfect for this job as I was a rodeo rider for years. Still am when I have the time.” When Ryan didn’t have him flying all over the country, sometimes the world, looking for shit no would believe even if he ever told them. He had no idea why the team had needed a mummy and no way did he want to know. The damn thing had creeped him out.
“So horses are your thing. Makes sense. And you grew up on a farm. What state?”
He could lie but the Texan was too embedded in his skin for anyone to think he was raised anywhere else. “Texas.” Cities were a different matter.
“And what kind of farm was it?”
Damn. This was going to be a game of twenty questions. “Cattle. My dad owned a ranch.”
“Past tense?”
“He died. A few years back.” The ranch was still owned by his mom and two brothers.
“Oh, no interest in staying in the family business?”
“Ranching was never my thing and my dad and I weren’t close. I left home at an early age.” How early would stun her.
“Is that how you ended up in the rodeo?”
“Pretty much. I loved to ride. It seemed the natural way to go. And I love animals.” Sometimes more than people, but he wouldn’t tell her that. He didn’t want to give that cynical brain of hers any more fuel. He was a loner, once out of necessity, now so much a part of him that he often forgot he didn’t need to be. “And I like the challenge of finding things.”
“Have you been doing this long?” she asked.
“Long enough to be good at it. I dabbled in PI work, sort of still do sometimes. Finding what people want requires the same skills.” He had to find a way to get her to open up about Jessie. Telling her he’d tried his hand at investigative work might intrigue her enough to pick his brain.
The waitress returned with their drinks, a beer from him, pinot grigio for Grace. She set them down and, seeing they had yet to open their menus, told them she’d return. Lifting his bottle, he made a toast. “To fairy tales and happy endings.”
“Normally I wouldn’t drink to something like that,” Grace said, raising her own glass, “but I could use a happy ending.”
Here was his chance. “Things not good in your life?”
“Honestly,” she said leaning in, “a friend of mine disappeared a couple of days ago. I’m worried… and I’m scared.”
“You think something happened to him?”
“Her, and yes. My dad is on the case, but frankly it doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“You don’t trust your father?”
“I didn’t say that. I just… I don’t know. I feel helpless. Every day, every hour—hell, every minute—she’s missing is another minute, hour, and day farther away from ever finding her.”
“Are you certain she’s missing? Maybe she doesn’t want to be found. Could be she and her boyfriend had a fight and she wants to chill.”
“No, Jessie doesn’t date, and she doesn’t go to the corner store without telling me. We’re a great pair. She’s particular about someone knowing where she’ll be, and I worry if she doesn’t call in. It goes back to our college days.”
“It’s great that you look out for each other, but what do you mean she didn’t date? Like, ever?” Had Stanton done a number on Jessie’s psyche?
“She isn’t interested in dating—men or women. I set her up a couple of times, but I think she went along just to make me happy. I don’t push relationships on people. If she didn’t want that kind of companionship, then it’s her choice.”
“It wasn’t for… say, religious reasons or something like that?”
She laughed. “Are you trying to find a nice way to ask if she’d chosen celibacy?”
He wasn’t, not really, but he’d go with that. “People have done crazier things.” He grinned, wanting her to know he was kidding and to believe he wasn’t fishing for information.
“Then she’d have dated and not… you know…followed through.”
Had Stanton done that to her? He hoped Stanton had a nice spot by one hell of a bonfire. That asshole was the kind of cruel gift that kept on giving. “How about you?” he asked, not knowing why that question came out of his mouth.
She quirked an eyebrow. “Are you asking if I date…or follow through?”
“Neither,” he said, backtracking. “It isn’t any of my business.”
She looked away, the river view they’d been given suddenly catching her interest. Had he insulted her? “But on the other hand, I wouldn’t want someone to come along and punch me in the face for having dinner with his lady. Then I’d have to punch him for being stupid enough to let you out of his sight.”
She turned her head to stare at him, an odd look of disbelief across her pretty features. “That is the corniest thing I have ever heard a man say.”
“Shucks,” he shrugged. “I’m just a dumb cowboy.”
She tossed her head back and laughed, giving him a great view of her slender neck. It was a great neck, the kind a man would surely enjoy kissing.
“I sincerely doubt that.” She folded her arms in front of her onto the table and leaned in. “Yes, I date and no I’m not seeing anyone. By choice,” she added. “Relationships are messy and time consuming and not worth the effort. If I want to scratch an itch, I find someone I like, someone who respects me, and I sleep with him. Itch scratched, life uncomplicated. Was that the answer you were looking for?”
“You sound like a man.” And while he shared her sentiments, he wasn’t sure he was glad about it.
“And that’s wrong why? Unlike most men, I make it clear up front what I want. No games, no insincere emotions. I’m not looking for love. Are you?” she asked, catching him off guard.
“Not at this particular time in my life.” He hadn’t ruled out falling for one woman. He just planned on it happening when he had enough money to retire so he could find an identity, stick with it, and be a person a woman could love. The go-to guy with a dirty past wasn’t love material.
“So you never go out and get laid?” she asked.
“Dang, you’re blunt.”
“Am I embarrassing you?” she asked with an unapologetic grin.
“Nah, I just gotta get used to it.” He guessed he could be blunt or at least honest too. “I used to sleep around. I don’t anymore.”
Now he could tell he’d surprised her. “You’re kidding. You don’t sleep with a woman unless you’re in a relationship?” she asked, not buying what she thought he was selling.
“I didn’t say that and why not? Not all men are sleaze.” Most, but not all.
“While I can’t lump every man in the sleaze category, I think if you give a man a choice of food, water, or sex, ninety percent would choose the sex.”
“And the other ten?”
“A sense of moral fidelity… lack of equipment or bald-face liars would choose food or water.”
He’d have laughed if he didn’t think she was serious. It was sad. “You don’t have much of an opinion of men.”
“On the contrary. I like men. Sometimes more than women. If you’re not sleeping or competing against them, they can be better company. Evolution says men are not meant to be monogamous. Considering over half of marriages end in divorce, maybe it’s time people recognized that. Me, I chose to not kid myself. Humanity is what it is or certainly what it’s turned into. I accept that there are nice people in the world. But bad things happen to nice people,” she said, and he didn’t doubt she was thinking about Jessie.
And on that note he figured he should excuse himself to call Monty. He stood. “I’ll be right back. I’d ask you to hold that thought but stuff like that will give you an ulcer.” He gave her a lopsided grin, set his napkin back on the table, and left.
If she were a man, he’d say she needed to get laid, but he didn’t think that was her problem. He made a mental note to ask Monty to get more intel on her. What had happened that made her hate life that much? Considering his own, if anyone should be wary it should be him. True, he’d spent a lot of time with a bottle and a warm body in his bed, but never once did he think the world and everyone in it sucked. If he’d thought that, he could pretty much predict he wouldn’t be here. Better a nonexistence than a miserable one. That world was not black and white.
He chose to make his call outside the restaurant where no one could overhear him. Monty picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, Cowboy.”
“What do you have for me?” He hadn’t been hired to find Jessie, but he didn’t like the idea that something might have happened to her.
“Have your meeting with Stanton yet?”
“This morning. Good intel on the horse.” Monty had found out the senator was horse hunting.
“I figured it was something you couldn’t screw up. I set the meeting up after Ryan told me what he had planned for you.”
His dad had raised thoroughbreds and although as a kid he’d never been interested in the family business—because his father was a dick—Cowboy had always been fond of horses. “Feeling the love, asshole. Now tell me what you found out.”
Monty snickered. “Interestingly enough, Mrs. Stanton left for rehab the day after Jessie was reported missing. I’ll send you the one shot we got of her in the gardens. It’s one of those short stay places. Three weeks and your guaranteed to come out a new person.” He snorted. “The judge suggested rehab before her sentencing. Odd right? Normally that’s done after.”
“Who’s the judge?”
“Hang on.” Keys clacked on the other end. “Judge Piper.”
“Do some homework on him. See if he’s clean”
“Her and sure. Anyway, the place has a solid reputation but it’s steeped more in religion than anything else. So far she’s been cooperating. She’ll come out claiming she’s reconnected to God in hopes that everyone will be stupid enough to think that will keep her off of the bottle.”