Cowboy Trouble

by Joanne Kennedy

  He was going to put her in the car.

  Every nightmare she'd ever had about being buried alive ran through her head as Cash stuffed her through the sunroof and sat her in the passenger seat.

  She heard a hard click as he cocked the gun. Carefully, she cracked one eye open. All she could see was the dash board of Della's car, the graduation tassel swaying gently.

  She willed her body limp and collapsed sideways, letting her head loll to one side so she could peek up at Cash looming above her, the black hole of the gun barrel staring straight at her like a flat, lifeless eye. She tensed, weighing her options.

  She didn't have any.

  She was trapped like a gopher in a hole.

  "Shit," Cash said. He lowered the gun, then slid it back into the holster.

  "Sorry, Libby," he muttered as he turned away.

  She figured that was about all she was going to see of Cash's good side.

  Next thing Libby knew, it was raining compost. She concentrated hard on lying still as the stinking dirt show ered down on her. He was going to bury her in cow manure. Could anything be worse? She started hoping he'd change his mind and shoot her after all.

  "This isn't going to work," Cash mumbled, and tossed the shovel aside. She heard him walk away, and used the opportunity to shift her position. Where was he going? Did she have time to run? She bent her legs and crouched, ready to spring. In the distance, she heard an engine start. He really was crazy. Or stupid. Or maybe he thought she was dead.

  In any case, he was leaving.

  Libby moved over to the center console, pulling her self up so she could peek out of her intended grave. She must have looked like a prairie dog, poking her head out of the ground and swiveling in all directions. Just when she thought the coast was clear, just as she was getting ready to climb out, the engine noise got louder and Cash careened around the side of the barn in the Bobcat. Heading for the dung heap, he lowered the scoop and charged.

  Strategy be damned. Libby was getting out of there.

  She sprang upward, banging her knee on the sunroof as she vaulted out of the car. Stumbling, she ran across the barnyard. Cash and the Bobcat were between her and the truck, so she headed for the barn. Maybe he wouldn't see her. Maybe she could get out the other side.

  She yanked the door shut behind her, but she slammed it too hard. It bounced open as Cash spun the Bobcat, raised the scoop, and sped inside. The machine raked against the side wall, yanking the bottom of the tack room door off its hinges. Great. If Cash didn't kill her, Skydancer would.

  The stallion bounded out the door, screaming in fear as the Bobcat ground to a halt. The engine groaned and roared, struggling to climb the wreckage of the tack room door as the big horse skittered and slid on the brick floor, desperate for a way out.

  Libby was trapped. One way was the Bobcat, with Cash swearing and red-faced at the wheel. The other way was Skydancer, his eyes rolling crazily. It wasn't much of a choice. She turned and grabbed the horse's mane, swinging herself against his side, struggling to scramble on board. He was slick with sweat, but she managed to hang on, half-sitting, half-lying on the stal lion's back.

  The big horse reared and spun, heading for the center pole. Libby tried to flatten herself against his flanks, but it was no use. The opening was just too small. As Skydancer bolted for freedom, she hit the pole hard and slid to the ground.

  The roar of an angry engine filled the barn as Cash freed the Bobcat from the rubble of the tack room door and floored it, careening down the alley straight toward her. Ten seconds and he'd be on her. She wasn't sure what he planned to do, but she wasn't about to lie there and find out.

  She grabbed a rung of the hayloft ladder and hauled herself to her feet. The barn seemed to revolve around her with the pole as its axis, spinning until she couldn't see straight. All she could do was stagger around the pole to the other side. She couldn't escape—but at least she wouldn't be crushed to death by the Bobcat.

  Cash would have to kill her some other way.

  The pole shuddered as the machine slammed into it at top speed. She heard Cash curse as he jumped out of the cockpit and ran to her side.

  She braced herself for the shot.

  Chapter 46

  LIBBY WOKE UP WITH HER HEAD IN CASH'S LAP. SHE didn't even try to move.

  She'd given up. She didn't care what happened to her anymore. Her vision was foggy, her ankle hurt, she was scraped and bruised all over, and she knew it was just a matter of time before Cash put her out of her misery.

  Good. The sooner the better.

  "Wake up, Libby," Cash was saying. "Wake up." He was slapping her cheek with one hand while the other supported her head. She thought about faking uncon sciousness again, but it was too much work.

  "I'm awake. Stop it." She swiped at him, trying to make him stop smacking her.

  "Sorry." He started stroking her hair as he rocked from side to side. "Sorry about everything, Libby. I was hoping we could be together, you know? I was hoping you'd help me forget."

  "Yeah, right." She tried to laugh, but it came out more of a groan. "I thought you were one of the good guys, Cash." Everything got blurry again, but this time it was tears.

  "I am," he said, rubbing her arm and looking her in the eyes. He obviously believed what he was saying. "I am. She was the bad one, Libby. You don't know what she was like."

  Now she had to laugh. "Who, Della?" she asked incredulously. "A seventeen-year-old girl was the bad one? No, Cash. It was you."

  "You have to understand, Libby. She was evil."

  His voice seemed to fade into the distance, and dark ness was closing in on her. She let her head drop, but he slapped her awake. Hard.

  "Listen to me, Libby," he said, and slapped her again. She struggled to open her eyes and focus. "She was evil, but I didn't kill her."

  "You didn't?"

  He shook his head. "No. We were just playing a game. I thought I'd teach her a lesson. Make her miss me, you know—so she'd want me more. I only left her for a little while. I was going to come back."

  "You were playing a game?" Libby wished she could take the question back as soon as it left her lips. She didn't want to know what kind of games Cash had played with his teenaged victim.

  Because whatever Cash believed, a seventeen-year old girl was not evil. A seventeen-year-old girl sleeping with a man like Cash was a victim.

  "You saw the handcuffs," he said. "She liked me to…"

  "No." Libby's voice was weirdly loud in the quiet barn. "Don't tell me about it."

  "But I have to, Libby. So you understand. So you know I didn't kill her. I just left her there, just for a little while."

  Libby closed her eyes tight against the image of Della handcuffed and helpless, alone in that room.

  "Crazy Mike found her, Libby. It was terrible."

  "Crazy—no," Libby said. "No."

  "He found her, and he broke her neck. Kind of like that little dog he had. It was terrible."

  "No," she said again. It was all she could manage.

  "See, she'd made him mad once before. He'd tried to hug her or something, and she pushed him away."

  Libby remembered Mike with his grisly jackrab bit puppets and nodded. The motion made her head ache, as if parts of her brain had broken off and were bashing around inside her skull, but she waited for the pain to stop and thought about what he'd said. It didn't make sense.

  "But why didn't you arrest him, then? Why didn't you report it?"

  "Because then they'd know," he said. "They'd know about me. About Della. So I hid her. And I scared him so he'd never tell and he'd never do it again."

  Things were getting hazy again.

  "Him? Who?" she asked.

  She couldn't remember what they were talking about.

  Smack. Cash hit her again, harder this time. "Wake up, Libby," he said. "I'm trying to tell you. It wasn't me. It was Mike."

  "I'm awake. I am," she mumbled. "Tell me." She tried to nod, but it made everything go bl
ack again. She knew he'd hit her again if she passed out, but she just wanted to rest, to sink into darkness. Just for a minute.

  "You're not listening, Libby," he said. His tone was darker now. "I'm going to have to end this."

  "No." She tried to lift her head, but he pushed her off into the straw and stood up.

  "I thought I could explain this to you, but you won't listen," he said sternly. He stood over her, drawing the gun from its leather sheath and pointing it at her head. "It's over, Libby."

  "No," she said again, but she really didn't care. Everything was fading out again. She heard a soft click as he cocked the gun. There was a loud bang, unbeliev ably loud, like the world exploding all around her, but no pain.

  No bullet.

  How could he miss? She'd fallen back into the straw when the gun went off, and she laid there, trying to fig ure out why she wasn't dead. Maybe she could fake it again, she thought. She wanted to open her eyes, to see what he was doing, but she kept them shut. Maybe he'd think he'd killed her. Maybe he'd go away. Maybe she was going to live after all.

  But she heard the click of the pistol and knew there was no hope. Everything went black as the gun roared again.

  Chapter 47

  LIBBY WOKE TO SOMETHING WET ON HER FACE AND A horrible smell like dead fish. Someone was slapping her face again, with something damp this time, and she groaned. Not Cash. Not again. She opened her eyes, and Rotgut was standing over her, licking her face and breathing his horrible doggy breath into her face.

  "Rotgut?" Maybe Cash had killed her dog, too, and they were in heaven. She'd always wondered if you got to see your pets again in the next world. Surely dogs would have better breath in heaven, though. She tried to sit up, and a sharp ache pierced her temple.

  Nope. This definitely was not heaven.

  "Libby!" She turned her head and saw someone standing over her in the dim light.

  "Cash?"

  "No, Libby, it's me. Mike. Mike Cresswell."

  She tried to turn over and realized Cash was beside her, lying on his back. His eyes were wide and unseeing, and a thin rivulet of blood trailed from his ear, staining the straw.

  "Mike?" Libby stared up at him through the haze, remembering Cash's story. Mike had killed Della. That was why he'd been so angry when she was asking ques tions. That's why he'd gotten so upset in the bar. He'd killed Della, and now he was going to kill her.

  "I found you," Mike said. "I found your dogs. Well,

  kind of they found me. All but that one." He nodded toward Rotgut and she shuddered, wondering if he'd killed the rest of them yet.

  As her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, she saw he had a gun—a shotgun, like the one Luke kept in his truck. He was holding it loosely under one arm, his finger on the trigger, his other hand supporting the barrel and aiming it directly at her. She closed her eyes against the weird fairy fireworks dancing in the air and waited for the blast that would kill her.

  Her life didn't flash before her eyes, like all the old stories say. Instead, an endless parade of regrets marched through her mind. She remembered that first night in Lackaduck, when she'd looked out at the deso late prairie and realized nobody would miss her if she were lifted out of the world, murdered or abducted. That had changed now. Mrs. McCarthy would miss her. And Crystal, and Josie. David would miss her too. And Luke.

  Luke would definitely miss her.

  She'd miss them too. Because of them, she was starting to feel like she'd found the place where she belonged. But she'd never told any of them what they meant to her.

  She kept her eyes closed, feeling tears hot against her eyelids, but she still sensed it when the room suddenly darkened even more. Something was cutting off the light that angled through the open door. She opened her eyes and saw another silhouette looming behind Mike.

  It was Luke—unmistakably Luke, with his long legs and battered hat. He didn't stand in that doorway long. He couldn't have. It was a minute, maybe even less. But in that short time, Libby's whole world rearranged itself around a single fact.

  She loved him.

  Loved him.

  She'd wanted men before, even needed them—but Luke, she loved. She'd said it, and she'd meant it, but she hadn't realized what it meant until now.

  And when Crazy Mike turned, swinging the barrel of the gun toward the doorway, she realized she wasn't ready to give up after all.

  She clenched her teeth against the pain of the bright light shimmering around her field of vision and struggled to hold on to consciousness. Bracing one foot against the post, she gathered every ounce of strength she had and kicked out hard, grabbing for Mike's boot with both hands. She clutched it and twisted, clenching her teeth, and an arrow of pain shot through her head and exploded as Mike fell to the floor and a final gunshot shattered the twilight.

  ***

  "Libby! Libby! You awake?"

  Would people ever stop hitting her? She'd had about all she could take. She flapped her hand in the direc tion of the voice, trying to slap it away, and somebody grabbed her hand. She cracked her eyes open, then closed them again. The light was too bright.

  "Libby?"

  Why couldn't everybody just leave her alone? She thought death would be lonesome and dark, but appar ently not. Apparently dead people were subject to all the same aggravations as live people. Cautiously, she turned her head and cracked her eyes open again.

  Luke. It was Luke. He was sitting beside her, hold ing her hand. She opened her eyes a little wider. Things were coming into focus. He was smiling. He looked beautiful. Sensationally beautiful. Like an angel. A halo of flickering light surrounded his head.

  Crazy Mike must have killed them both.

  "Are we dead?" she asked.

  He laughed. "No. Not quite. Cash is, though, and you hit your head pretty hard. You really should wear a helmet when you ride a crazed Paso Fino into a support post."

  She tried to sit up. "I can't move my legs," she said, panicked.

  "You're covered with dogs," Luke said.

  She looked down and saw the puppies draped over her legs and feet. She was on her own sofa, safe at home. The dogs were on the sofa and all was right with the world. Mostly.

  "They look all fuzzy," she said. "I mean, more than usual. And they all have halos. That can't possibly be right."

  "That's the concussion," he said. "You're going to be okay, though. How do you feel?"

  She looked up at him and the flood of feelings that had washed over her when he'd walked into the barn swept through her again. Judging from the look on his face, he was feeling the same way. She squeezed his hand and sighed.

  "Are you okay?" he asked gently.

  She nodded. Everything hurt, but she was alive. That was way more than she'd expected earlier in the afternoon.

  "How 'bout you?"

  "I'm fine," he said. "It's you I'm worried about."

  "You should be," she said. "You need me."

  "You're right. I do," he said. "What made you see the light?"

  Libby leaned back against the pillows, struggling to focus her eyes and trying to figure out where her gun shot wounds were. She must have hit her head really hard. She couldn't even tell where she'd been shot.

  "You need me to look out for you," she said. "Like back at the barn." She dredged up a grin from some where deep inside. "I saved your butt."

  He gave her a blank look, and she wondered if she'd let his good looks distract her from a less-than-stellar brain.

  "Mike was going to shoot you, Luke," she explained.

  "Oh," Luke said. He looked down at his hands with a tight little smile, as if he was suppressing laughter. "Yeah. Uh, thanks."

  She nodded graciously, but her moment was cut short when the door swung open. Two of the puppies sat up and barked.

  "Oh, and look," Luke said. "Here he is now."

  Crazy Mike stood in the doorway, all two-hundred odd pounds of him, blushing like a May queen behind a bouquet of daisies.

  Chapter 48


  "IT'S OKAY, LIBBY." LUKE PULLED AWAY THE PILLOW she'd clapped over her face at the sight of Mike in the doorway. "He's on our side. He was there with me," he said. "He's my backup."

  "Your wingman," Mike said.

  "Right." Mike laid the flowers on the end table and went through his complicated handshake with Luke as Libby looked from one to the other, her eyes wide, her mouth opening and closing like a gasping goldfish. She finally managed to croak out a few words.