Devil In Cowboy Boots

by Sylvie Kaye

  He resisted. Taking her here in the truck stop wasn't his style. Besides, they didn't have the time. He quit touching her, moved away, got out of his pickup.

  When he opened her door, she dropped down in front of him with a full body hug, giving him an instant boner in spite of his best intentions. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest and her crotch cradled his fly in an enticing way. As he reconsidered his decision about screwing in the cab of the truck, she pecked his cheek and sidled away, saying, “I wonder if they have donuts?"

  "Sugar and caffeine are a great high.” And so was sex with Mercy. He trailed after her tantalizing ass.

  The smell of brewed coffee buzzed his head as soon as they entered the building. After they filled their paper cups with coffee from the various-flavored urns and snapped on the plastic lids, he leaned back against the counter, taking her hand.

  "We're about an hour away. Are you sure you're up for this? Your uncle is the key to clearing up the unanswered questions surrounding Mark's death and my incarceration.” He studied her eyes for signs of stress. They looked clear and bright, but a crinkle of uncertainty touched the corners.

  "Do you think your, our, showing up so unexpectedly will make him disappear, only for good this time?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I honestly can't say what will happen."

  "My mother will be heart-broken if she never hears from him again. Even though he doesn't visit Mom and me often, he does stay in touch and we do love him.” Her eyes welled with unshed tears.

  "I understand sorrow,” he said. He certainly didn't want to inflict any into Mercy's life.

  Her suddenly cold fingers tightened their grip on his hand. “I know I said I trusted you to do the right thing. But if he tries to run, you won't lose control and harm him, will you?"

  "No.” He lowered his eyes from hers. Her doubt in him was too painful to watch.

  Hadn't she heard him when he'd said I love you? Did she think he took the words lightly? He'd never hurt her, and harming her uncle was part of her.

  She ducked her head to meet his eyes and regain his attention. Her voice sounded soft and sweet when she spoke next. “Thank you."

  He nodded but gritted his back teeth. A thank you for loving her wasn't what he wanted. He wanted her undying love and loyalty. Needed it, actually.

  He'd never felt so alone. Not in jail and not while with Mercy—until now.

  "We better get on the road.” He moved toward the checkout counter, digging a bill from his pocket to pay for the coffees. “And two donuts,” he told the clerk, winking at Mercy and tilting his chin toward a lighted, glass case filled with pastry, bagels, and donuts.

  Her eyes lit up, and she tapped her sneakered foot while she studied the showcase. He came over to stand beside her, just to feel her body heat and nearness. He took her coffee cup to free up her hands while she stuffed two powdered rings of pastry into a bag.

  Once she ate her sweets—licking the powdered sugar from her lips and wiping her hands on her jeans—he let her drive for a stretch to keep her occupied. He didn't want to speculate over the day's outcome or argue over it with her. He wanted to cement a future with her regardless of what happened.

  He watched her in the dancing lights of the oncoming traffic. Mercy behind the steering wheel of his truck. She looked adorable and capable. She'd bucked the clutch once pulling away from the service plaza, but after that she drove the vehicle like she'd been born to it. He hoped she was. He liked the idea of her being a part of his destiny. He'd drive with her anywhere. Live with her anywhere.

  Miles later she broke the silence. “The Louisiana line.” Gripping the wheel with both hands, she glanced over at him.

  "Pull over, and I'll take it from here.” He pointed to a place where the berm along the roadway was the widest.

  He lifted her by the waist to help her out of the truck. She felt so light and supple as she slipped away and around to the passenger door. His heart ached along with his dick for want of her. He sucked in a deep breath and hopped into the driver's seat, gunning the engine toward Port Lou and the address Google had given them.

  Once they hit in town, a station attendant gave them directions to the street. She scouted the street signs and directed while he steered.

  "We're here,” she said, thumbing toward a brick home bordered by a high green hedge, with large, visible house numbers staggered down the side of the door in a horizontal line.

  "Place looks locked up tighter than a bull chute before the bell,” Spence said, parking alongside the street. “Let's knock and see if we can stir up any action."

  He got out of the truck and stretched the kinks out of his neck before hoofing around to open the door for Mercy. She stumbled out but with a jerk, snapped to attention.

  Spence eyed the long walkway and the inset door. Now that he was here with his two-year journey at an end, he felt hesitant. Not scared, apprehensive. A lot hinged on the outcome of this meeting with her uncle and his friend.

  Mercy grabbed hold of his hand, and they strode up the cemented sidewalk together.

  It was a cool, quiet predawn. The sun had just started to rise in a hazy, mellow light. They rang the bell. Waited. Rang again. Nothing. Spence hammered with his knuckles a few times in a wasted effort. The place felt deserted. The shades were drawn. The porch bare of chairs or a doormat. Everything was still. Not even a blade of grass stirred.

  As they walked back toward the truck, he felt defeated, and by the slump of her shoulders, he could tell she felt the same. Their gloom was interrupted by the brr-ing, brr-ing of a bell. A newspaper deliveryman with a bulging, canvas sack attached to the handlebars of his bicycle came pedaling toward them, tossing a paper into the driveway of a nearby house before waving to them.

  "Morning,” the man of about forty with a gap-toothed smile said. He stopped next to them, hopped down from his seat, and straddled the red bike to keep it upright.

  "Howdy,” Spence said. “This your regular route?” If it was, the man probably knew more about the neighbors than what edition of the paper they read.

  "I've been the carrier in this neighborhood for the last five years. Are you looking for Grant?” He jerked his chin toward the walkway they'd just abandoned.

  "Yes, we are,” Mercy chimed in. “Do you know him?"

  "Are you a close friend or relative?” he asked, repositioning his feet to keep the bike's front wheel from wobbling beneath the weight of his newspaper sack.

  "A friend of a friend,” Spence half-fibbed.

  Mercy was friendly with her uncle.

  "So I can speak freely without upsetting anyone's sympathies."

  Spence and Mercy both nodded.

  "If you've come to pay your respects to the deceased, you're too late. He's down in the Gulf."

  Spence felt Mercy's intake of breath. He missed a beat himself.

  "Grant's dead then.” Spence closed his eyes, briefly, to gain control of his emotions. Damn. He was too late. He'd have killed to hear what Grant had to say for himself. He'd come so far, been so close, and now what?

  He didn't have a clue. He looked at Mercy. Her eyes were soft and understanding.

  "Grant passed away several days ago,” the paper carrier said. “They scattered his ashes at sea. Somewhere out in the Gulf. A favorite fishing spot, I think."

  Spence couldn't say anything. He felt burned out like the dying embers of a campfire.

  "My Uncle Parker was a fishing crony of Grant's.” Mercy kept the chat going. “I'm visiting from the East and trying to catch up with my uncle. I keep missing him."

  "He's probably onboard.” The man scratched his head. “Let me think on it for a moment.” Then he flashed a grin. “I remember now. The boat's supposed to dock in Corpus Christi around noon for a wharf-side memorial service. That's what Mrs. Miller, the next-door neighbor, told me yesterday when she was up early with an attack of indigestion.” He thumbed behind him to the driveway where he'd tossed a newspaper. “Nobody from this neck of
the woods is attending the service except for the Bartons. They have family down that way."

  "You've been a great help.” Mercy climbed back into the truck with Spence close on her heels.

  "We can make it in time,” he assured Mercy with a pat to her knee.

  He wished he could guarantee her properly. But the cab of the truck was tight, and the bed of the truck was dirty, and they didn't have a moment to spare. Even for a quickie.

  Somewhere in his gut, a knot tightened. His fear wasn't over not catching Parker but over not having Mercy much longer. Suppose he'd already made love to her for the last time.

  On the road again, he said, “Let's talk about something other than this crummy situation.” For nearly two years, he'd dwelled on Parker and his friend. Now the whole thing had snowballed with Mercy's involvement. He needed to get his mind around something positive.

  "What would you like to talk about?"

  He looked across the seat at her beautiful face and decided to take the future on. Her bright future, possibly without him.

  "Colleges. Where are the most prestigious ones for finance?"

  "I did a search on Cindy's computer one morning. Depends on what you want to pursue, banking, business finance, investment management, insurance, Wall Street."

  "I see. And what's important to you?"

  "I'm still undecided."

  He nodded, smiled. He was glad. If her plans were up in the air, he still had a chance.

  The rest of the ride to Corpus Christi was loud with music, quiet with talk, and heavy with monotony, after having just traveled part of the same route previously. When Mercy insisted on taking another turn at the wheel, Spence dosed off.

  She woke him outside of the city. “I'm not sure where the marina is."

  The motor idled in a soft hum along with the sound of her voice. The muscles in his legs felt cramped from sleeping in a seated position. He stretched as much as the cab permitted before scrubbing his hand over his face to shake off his grogginess and adjust to the sunlight.

  "Is it noon?” His voice sounded scratchy from sleep.

  "Yes.” Mercy nodded, slowly. She looked pretty but tired. Her blue eyes were red-rimmed, and her usually rosy lips pale.

  "The memorial service has probably started. We'd better get moving."

  When they arrived at the wharf, the service was in full swing, solemn music and all.

  Spence spied the over-bleached blonde and her long-toothed friend from the bar that night. They were dressed in black. One dabbed her eyes with a hankie, grief-stricken, while the other consoled her.

  Mercy spotted her uncle first, before Spence did. Pointing, she took his hand and pulled him along. Despite all his promises to her, Spence was hard-pressed not to grab the man by his collar. As they got closer to the group, he heard someone call the sobbing blonde Mrs. Morrey.

  That put a whole new light on the incident.

  Spence slowed down. “Mercy, regardless how this turns out, I want you in my life. But not at the expense of the future and career you planned for yourself. If your loyalty to me jeopardizes the chance of your uncle lending you the money, I'll walk way."

  "It won't,” she said, her reply naïve in his eyes.

  As they closed in on the mourners, she broke into a run, eager to see her uncle at last.

  True to his word, Spence didn't stand in her way. He let go of her hand and slipped away as she disappeared among the people and flowers and music.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Thirty-three

  "Uncle Parker.” Mercy threw herself into her uncle's hug. “Mom and I have been so worried."

  "Wha—at are you doing here?” Before she could reply he squeezed her tighter. “I'm so glad to see you. There's nothing for you or your mother to worry over. Nothing anybody could do for Grant.” He wiped at his crinkled, gray-browed eyes. “It's difficult watching an old friend die."

  "I'm sorry for your loss,” she said, snuggling even closer to his warm, round chest, trying to comfort him.

  "Grant was like a brother to me. Thick and thin, we went through a lot together. We were both career marines. Served together in Vietnam,” he said proudly. “Watched each others’ backs from time to time after that.” He broke down and sobbed.

  "I know it hurts.” At a loss as to what to say to console him, Mercy held him at the waist and stroked his back. After a few moments, when the funeral guitarist stopped playing and the minister asked everyone to gather, her uncle heaved his chest and dried his eyes with a white handkerchief he took from his khaki suit jacket.

  "How did you get here?” He chucked her under the chin.

  "Spence brought me.” She looked around to pull Spence and his predicament into the conversation, but he was gone. Her heart thudded. Where was he? “I—I guess he didn't want to intrude."

  A sad, lost feeling weighed her down as she searched each face. Why had Spence deserted her? They had important things to discuss after meeting with her uncle. Love things. She hadn't wanted to pin him down about their loving emotions until after his turmoil with her uncle was satisfied.

  She chewed her bottom lip. Before she'd lost contact with him in her zeal to reach her uncle, he'd said, “I want you in my life but not at the expense of your future."

  He'd been mistaken in his belief that loving him would cause her uncle to reject her loan. Even if it had, she wouldn't have chosen a life without him in it. Her heart jarred as her sadness was replaced with a warm flood of love. He'd walked away because he loved her.

  Spence loved her that much.

  "How well do you know this man?” her uncle asked.

  "More to the question,” she said to her uncle, “how well do you?"

  He took her elbow and moved closer toward the gathering. “Now's not the time. After the memorial service."

  The salty, fishy smell of the wharf mingled with the overwhelming bouquet of the floral sprays the mourners tossed upon the water while the minister eulogized Grant Morrey.

  If he was the man who was responsible for running Mark down, it was a shame Spence hadn't stayed until the end. As closure.

  After the ceremony, Mercy and her uncle called her mother to tell her the good news about Parker and the bad news about his friend, Grant, who her mother had never met but heard about sporadically over the years and had seen in snapshots.

  On the long ride home in the infamous red Cadillac, Mercy and her uncle caught up on family news, discussed her career opportunities, and danced around the subject of Spence.

  "I see no reason not to invest in your future. You look like an up-and-comer to me.” Uncle Parker flashed a pleased smile at her. “San Antonio has several excellent universities, and Baylor's right nearby in Waco. If you remain in the San Antonio area you can stay at the house and work at the club for extra spending money. The tips are good.” He winked.

  "Or only work at the club,” she said, quirking her eyebrow. “After living with my mother this long, I was hoping to step out on my own again."

  "Understandable.” He nodded, loosening his tie.

  "Thank you for your generosity. That's a huge weight lifted from my mind.” And an appropriate Doriasm. She wished Spence were here to hear and appreciate it.

  "That's what family's for.” Her uncle reached out and patted her shoulder. “Taking care of each other in a pinch."

  She remained silent for a few miles, but with her plane taking off this evening, she didn't have time to ease into the subject of Spence. “Spence seems to think there was a misunderstanding with your testimony at his trial."

  Her uncle slumped his shoulders, seeming to shrink in his seat. “I'm going to make it up to the boy."

  Mercy's stomach flinched. Her nerves were frazzled from days spent defending her uncle to Spence only to hear that her uncle did have something to make up for. “Why?"

  He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. “I lied under oath."

  She gasped. Poor Spence.
>
  Trying to remain calm, she kept her voice even when she said, “He lost two years of his life and his best friend. You said good-bye to your friend today so I'm sure you know the depth of his grief."

  Her uncle heaved a sigh.

  "What am I going to tell Spence?” The blood chilled in her veins. “What am I going to tell my mother?"

  "I intended to handle the situation discretely. I didn't want to tell either you or your mother. When my accountant mentioned you had been seen in Spence's company, I was afraid he'd involve you so I sent the police out to his ranch to warn him away."

  "He never mentioned it,” she said with a shake of her head, glad he'd ignored the police's warning.

  "I don't plan on telling your mother about this.” He glanced at her, and Mercy nodded back. It wasn't her secret to tell. “Although, if she finds out, she's family, and she'll stand by me.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in a nervous gesture. “Spence will be informed of the truth and recompense will be made by both Grant and me. Grant provided for it in his last will and testament."

  Hope warmed her veins. Money wouldn't make up for Spence's losses, but an admission of guilt from her Uncle Parker and Grant Morrey would go a long way toward healing his raw emotions.

  She pursued more details. “Why would Grant pay for your crime?"

  "Grant and Iris, his much younger wife, had a fight that fateful day. They'd all been drinking, Grant, Iris, and her sister, Rose. When Iris hooked up with the good-looking rodeo rider, Grant became enraged. He was afraid she'd leave him for the young stud. He took my car and chased after them."

  "You weren't there?"

  "I followed minutes later on foot. The confrontation happened two blocks from the club. Grant and the women were drunk and hell-bent on leaving the scene of the incident. He told me the two drunken men had been fighting and knocked each other down. I was the only sober person in the group so I stayed while they fled. I called 911. When the police and medics arrived, I repeated the story Grant told me. Only I said I had witnessed the scene. The rest you know."