Night Watch (Texas Cowboys Book 6)
Page 8
She’d forgotten about the low-water crossing until she saw the yellow warning sign. With only a moment to make a decision, she kept her foot on the accelerator, hoping the water wasn’t too deep, that momentum would propel her through if it was, and held tight to the steering wheel.
The road dipped, her car hit the water, jerking her against her seatbelt, spray coating the windshield, too thick for the wipers to clear. Then she felt the subtle shift beneath her as her car was lifted and floated sideways, off the low bridge, tilting as it slid into the swiftly moving water.
* * *
Colt Triplehorn pushed back his cowboy hat and wiped away the sweat gathering above his brow with his shirtsleeve. The blue sky was clear of clouds, the sun rising hot and fast and turning the moisture soaked in the ground into steam. The air was thick, humid, hard to breathe.
Even his dog Scout felt the aftereffects of the previous night’s storm. His gray and white Australian Shepherd kept pace with his horse. But the dog’s tongue lolled from one side of his mouth, and he wasn’t as quick to dart toward the herd and nip at the heels of the cows who wandered too far from the main body.
They’d been moving cattle since dawn—shifting them from a parched and overgrazed pasture to this one. Here the buffalo grass was longer and greening up fast after the downpour. Maybe they’d even be able to put off buying another load of hay for a week or so, if the sun didn’t scorch the grass too quickly.
Colt’s gaze lifted to the tall elm trees lining the banks of the creek that bordered the pasture, and he stifled a grimace. Past the tall trees stood the ramshackle hunting cabin he hadn’t had the heart to enter in years. His brothers kept it stocked, heading there each fall during the short deer-hunting season. Maybe this year, he’d join them.
Maybe this year, he’d get past the memories the little cedar-log cabin evoked. Twelve years was a long time to hold onto a dream.
There in that little cabin, he’d secretly met with his girl, Zuri. There, they’d cuddled after school and explored each other’s bodies. There, he’d taken her virginity. It was also there that he’d planned to propose.
The ring had burned a hole in his pocket for weeks, waiting for graduation day. He’d bought new bedding for the twin mattresses of the two bunk beds, replaced the yellowed curtains in the windows with pretty white lace. A white linen tablecloth had covered the plank table, and he’d smuggled china and crystal from the house for the meal he’d planned. Everything had been perfect. Waiting for her.
But she’d never known, because as soon as the graduation ceremony ended, she’d walked over to him as everyone else headed to the parking lot outside the high school gym, given him a kiss, and told him goodbye.
He’d stood there like a stump, not saying a word. Every warning his brothers had given him about not trusting her, about her being bad news, searing his mind.
“What were you gonna tell me?” she’d asked, gazing up at him with her deceptively soft brown eyes.
“Never mind,” he’d mumbled, pulling himself together for his own pride’s sake and walking her to her car. It had been the last time he’d seen or talked to her. Not that he’d expected to. Once she’d passed the city-limit sign, he’d been history.
He hoped like hell she’d found what she’d been looking for, because he’d been lost after she left.
Sure, he’d gone through the motions—even did a stint in the Army, enlisting that summer because he had to get away. When he’d come back, he wasn’t the same person he’d been. He’d worked on the ranch between semesters at Texas A&M and entered the police academy in San Antonio afterward, before heading home to work in the small town’s sheriff’s department. But he hadn’t felt as connected to Destiny, Texas as he had before. He’d stayed because he had a job and a duty to help maintain the family ranch. He certainly hadn’t stayed because he’d found everything he ever wanted here.
More selective than his horn-dog brothers, he’d kept his affairs few and far between. Perhaps he needed a little of what the younger Triplehorn brothers were famous for. He needed to let loose, have a couple of drinks, and find a willing woman.
She didn’t have to be pretty or slim. Didn’t have to be young. Or nice. He wouldn’t be choosy. After all, his goal wasn’t a relationship.
He needed the kind of arrangement he’d had with Maggie Pounders…until the day she’d up and got married. Last time he’d showed up at her door, she’d lifted her left hand to show him the ring. He hadn’t known she’d been seeing anyone else, or that she was even interested in marriage. Not that they’d ever done a whole lot of talking.
One thing was certain, Colt needed some relief to get rid of the edgy, restless energy that had made him a bear to be around lately—more likely to snap than smile. He needed release from the pressure of all the responsibilities he’d taken on in the last year. Hell, he just needed release. Plain and simple.
This morning, as he’d eaten dust churned up by five hundred sets of hooves, Colt had made up his mind. Tonight, he’d take off the badge, head into Destiny, find a willing partner, and get laid. For his brothers’ sake.
They’d been tip-toeing around him for days, making sly comments about the source of his bad temper. They’d even offered to hook him up, but the last thing Colt wanted was those two finding him a woman. Gabe’s and Tommy’s idea of the perfect playmate didn’t square with his. Never had.
They’d both warned him about Zuri Prescott when he’d seemed hell-bent to marry her into the family. Zuri was a different sort of trouble from the kind they wanted for their big brother. And in the end, they’d been right. Still, their preferences for big-chested blondes with easy smiles and easier morals didn’t stir his interest. He’d find his own playmate, thank you very much.
Scout’s sharp bark pulled him from his thoughts. The dog ran ahead of him, his ears pricking forward, and he peeled away and headed toward the creek. Maybe Scout had found Old Mule, the ornery bull who was always one step away from being hamburger due to his contentious nature and independent streak.
Colt lifted his hand to send a signal to his brother, Gabe, and laid his reins over the neck of his horse to turn him toward the trees and the creek. He looked for a firm, gentle slope for his horse to maneuver.
From the corner of his eye, something white floating on the surface of the water caught his attention. He pulled back on the reins. A woman’s bra.
Finding odd items floating on a river after a storm wasn’t all that unusual, and the station hadn’t gotten any calls for missing persons. Still, he had to check it out.
Colt clucked at his horse, his curiosity and professional instinct kicking into gear. The creek had risen fast the previous night, but had just as quickly receded, leaving the banks muddy and soft. His horse’s hind legs slipped, but the old paint caught himself and scrambled down to the graveled bank.
Colt dismounted, dropped his reins and followed the edge of the water.
“Shoo, cow! Shoo!” came a breathy, feminine shout from just beyond the bend of the river, accompanied by Scout’s excited barks.
Rounding the bend, he spotted a twelve-hundred-pound bull, the Triplehorn brand standing in stark relief against the animal’s dun-colored rump. Scout stood next to him, barking ferociously, but the bull’s attention seemed glued to something on the other side of him.
Colt slipped closer and a flash of pale, creamy legs was visible beneath the creature’s belly. He crept along the edge of the water, taking cover behind a tree to get a better look. His eyes widened at the sight in front of him.
A naked woman stood in the center of the creek, waving her arms at the bull.
Colt paused, taking in the long, sleek curves and pale skin. Her chin-length hair was slicked back. His cock stirred instantly. His heart hammered fast, stricken by the resemblance…but it couldn’t be…
Then Old Mule ambled toward the edge of the water, his head down, snorting. Not a good sign.
“Lady,” he said, stepping out from behind the tree,
“you need to hold real still.”
The woman whipped her head toward him, her brown eyes rounding.
Her shock wasn’t any greater than his. For a long moment, they both stood stock still.
But Old Mule snorted again, pawing his hooves into a pile of folded fabric on the ground beneath him, which Scout was tugging to free.
“Scout, heel!” he shouted and waited until his dog raced to his side. “Don’t move,” he repeated softly to the woman, reluctantly pulling his gaze from her and turning to the bull.
Old Mule lowered his head, scraping a horn into the dirt at his feet. When he lifted his head, something shiny and pink came up, snagged on the tip of one horn. The bull snorted again, a moist huff, his gaze on the woman standing frozen in front of him.
The woman’s gaze darted to the right, toward a rocky ledge overhanging the water.
The bull huffed and stomped his front legs.
Cursing, Colt took off his hat and strode forward, waving the straw hat at the bull. “Get on back. Ha! Ha!”
The bull gave a plaintive moo, all his bluster gone. He headed up the creek, pink panties stuck to the tip of his horn, but taking his time to stop and pluck at grass on the creek bank.
“Get on!” Colt shouted, slapping the bull on the rear to get him moving faster, funneling him up an arroyo and toward the herd, Scout right behind him.
After the bull and the dog clambered up the side, Colt dropped his hat back on his head and turned slowly toward Zuri.
She dropped into the water, crossing her arms over her chest.
Colt stalked toward the bank, whistling softly—but finding it hard because his lips were beginning to stretch into a smile, anger and lust swirling into a heady mixture of revenge. “Well, well, well,” he said quietly. “Mind telling me what you’re doin’ skinny-dippin’ on my property?”
Also by Delilah Devlin
Wearing His Brand
The Cowboy and the Widow
Soldier Boy
Bound & Determined
Slow Rider
Night Watch