Who's the Boss

Home > Romance > Who's the Boss > Page 21
Who's the Boss Page 21

by Linda Turner


  Tempted to call him just to hear the sound of his voice, she almost didn't hear the knock at her back door. It came again, this time more insistent, snapping her back to the present. Frowning, she hurried into the kitchen and flipped on the porch light, only to gasp at the sight of a very pale and obviously agitated Lucille staring in at her through the parted window in the door.

  "Lucille! My God, what's wrong?" she demanded, throwing back the dead bolt and jerking open the door.

  "You look like you've seen a ghost."

  "It's Riley," she said, panting for breath.

  "I just heard it on the radio. There was a riot at the Crossroads and some idiot pulled a gun."

  The blood drained from Becca's face.

  "Oh, God! Riley? He's not" — ?

  "He's been shot, honey," she said gently.

  "I rushed over here as soon as I heard. The announcer on the radio didn't say how bad it was, just that he was being treated at the Rawlings Clinic. I knew you'd want to know."

  Her heart in her throat, Becca whirled, looking blindly around for her purse and keys.

  "I've got to go to him?"

  Suddenly remembering her daughter, she stopped abruptly.

  "Oh God, I can't leave Chloe?

  "I'll stay with her," Lucille assured her quickly.

  "You go on, and don't worry about rushing back. If I get sleepy, I'll crawl into one of the beds upstairs." Tears stinging her eyes, Becca gave the older woman a fierce hug.

  "Bless you, Lucy. You'll never know how much I appreciate this."

  "Of course I do," Lucille blustered, returning her hug.

  "When my Tony was sick and in the hospital, nothing could keep me away from him. Now, go on. That young man of yours needs you."

  She handed Becca the purse and keys that had been sitting right under her nose, then pushed her toward the door. Though her hair was uncombed, her jeans and blouse old and faded, Becca didn't stop to change. More afraid than she'd ever been in her life, she went.

  "Stupid idiots. Waving guns around like this was the Old West," Tate grumbled as she bandaged the flesh wound on Riley's upper arm.

  "You're lucky you didn't get your hair parted for you. I hope you arrested the jackass who did this to you."

  "You're damn right I did," he said through his teeth, grunting as she secured the gauze in place.

  "And if I have my way, Billy Owens is going to be cooling his heels in my jail till the turn of the century. And even then I might not let him out. He could have killed me!"

  "A little to the right, and we wouldn't be having this conversation right now," Tate informed him, her expression somber.

  "Next time you rush into a damn fight, make sure the only thing you're liable to run into is somebody's fist."

  "Don't worry," he said tersely.

  "Next time I'm going in with weapons drawn and every deputy I've got right behind me. Then we'll see how quick these damn cowboys are to draw a gun"

  A sudden, strangled sound from the doorway cut him off, and he looked up to find Becca standing at the entrance to the small cubicle that served as one of the clinic's six examining rooms. As white as a sheet, her eyes dark pools of anguish as they met his, she hovered on the threshold as if she didn't know whether to come in or run away.

  Tate, glancing up at the sudden tense silence, bit back a smile and quickly put away her supplies.

  "I'll be back in a minute with some pain pills for you," she said, heading for the door.

  "Go on in," she told Becca, smiling.

  "It'll take me a few minute to find those pills." Becca hardly heard her. Her feet as heavy as two chunks of cement, she just stood there, unable to take her eyes from him, the acrid taste of panic still on her tongue.

  "I'm all right," he said in a voice as rough as sandpaper.

  "Lucille heard on the radio that you'd been shot." Her gaze moving to the bandage Tate had neatly applied, she swallowed thickly.

  "Your arm" —It's just a scratch. "

  "Tate said..." She couldn't finish. Tears swamped her, burning her eyes, filling her throat.

  "Oh, Riley..."

  They both moved at the same time, she from the doorway and he from the examining table where he sat. Gathering her against him, he pleaded,

  "Don't cry, sweetheart.

  It's no big deal—just a flesh wound. It hardly even bled. If you don't believe me, ask Tate."

  "I can't help it," she sniffed.

  "Dammit, you could have been killed?

  His mouth curled in a crooked grin.

  "Nah, there's no way' I'd let a loser like Billy Owens take me out.

  Anyway, I have it on good authority that I'm going to live to be a very old man. "

  "Oh? And who told you that?"

  "Clara. And the cards don't lie."

  Laughing, she rolled her eyes.

  "Tell me about it. She knew before I did that I loved you."

  The words just seemed to slip out, as natural and easy as a sigh. His hands tightening on her, Riley stood as if turned to stone, only then realizing how long he had been waiting for her to say them.

  "Do you mean it?"

  Realizing too late what she'd said, Becca clapped her hand to her mouth, but the words had already escaped.

  She hadn't meant to tell him this way, but she could no more deny loving him than she could make herself drop dead beautiful. Her heart in her eyes, she nodded.

  "Yes. But I didn't mean to just blurt it out. At least not yet. I realize you could have a problem with this"

  Laughing, he snatched her back into his arms.

  "Honey, the only problem I have with it is that it took you so long to say it. Don't you know I love you, too?"

  He didn't give her time to answer, dragging her close for a hard, fiery kiss that was frustratingly short.

  "Where's Chloe? We've got to tell her. Do you think she'll be okay with us getting married?"

  "M-married?"

  'At her shocked stutter, he grinned.

  "You don't think I'm going to let you get away from me now after it took me all these years to find you, do you? Sweetheart, I want a home with you and Chloe. And more kids.

  "Cradling her cheek in his palm, he ran his thumb slowly back and forth across her bottom lip.

  "How do you feel about being a full-time wife and more? It's been awhile since you had Chloe. Do you think you'd mind diapers and bottles and three-o'clock feedings again?"

  Stunned, Becca could only stare at him, not hearing anything past "full-time wife and more." Suddenly, the past was racing back at her with frightening speed, and it was Tom's voice that rang in her ears, not Riley's.

  You're my wife, sweetheart, and I won't have people thinking can't support you. You don't need to work. That's what you've got me for— to take care of you.

  With cold fear invading her heart, she asked faintly, "What about the election? What if I win?" Caught by surprise, he said, "Well, I guess I assumed you'd drop out of the race. After all, it's not as if you'll need to work, honey. My place is paid for and I make more than enough to take care of you and Chloe."

  "No." With pain squeezing her heart, Becca hadn't realized she'd spoken until she saw his gaze sharpen suddenly. Then she was backing out of his arms, her hands held up to ward him off when he would have reached for her again.

  "No," she said more firmly.

  "I was in a dependent marriage before, and I swore then that I'd never do it again. I'm not pulling out of the race."

  Hurt that she would even equate her marriage to Tom with what they could build together, Riley stiffened as if she'd slapped him.

  "Are you saying that you think I would treat you like Tom did? That I'd try to keep you under my thumb the way he did?" .

  "You can't deny that you like to be in charge," she retorted, lifting her chin.

  "Hell, yes, I take charge. I'm the sheriff. That's what I get paid to do."

  She wanted to believe him—God knew she did. But deep inside her, a sma
ll voice reminded her that Tom had had a reasonable explanation for his domineering attitude at first, too. He'd made her feel loved and secure and treasured until after they married.

  Then he'd gradually started to treat her like a possession instead of an equal, until it got so bad that he demanded a minute-by- minute accounting of her time whenever she dared to steal a few minutes for herself out of his sight.

  Her jaw set stubbornly, she said again, "I'm fnot dropping out of the race."

  "Because you don't trust me."

  "I didn't say that."

  "Oh, yes, you did," Riley said grimly.

  "You said it every way you could without actually saying the words.

  Believe me, honey, I know what you're doing—I've been there, remember? but it's not going to work. After Sybil stabbed me and Danny in the back, I protected myself by playing it smart and not taking chances. But that's not living. If you don't trust someone enough to take a chance with them, then you haven't really got anything."

  Hoping, praying that he'd gotten through to her, he searched her face for some sign that she was at least listening to him. But her face was closed, the set of her jaw as stubborn as ever. Hurt stabbing him in the heart, he turned away and reached for his shirt.

  "I guess that's what we've got, then," he said flatly.

  "Nothing. And a whole lot of nothing is still nothing."

  Becca winced, each word striking her like a blow.

  "That's not true," she whispered.

  "You can't mean that.

  Not after tonight."

  He didn't pretend to misunderstand her.’We're good in bed, honey.

  Better than good. But there's got to be more to it than that. So you think about it," he advised, settling his hat on his head.

  "And decide if you love me enough to trust me. If you do, you know where to find me. If you don't, well, then, I guess I'll see you around town.

  "He left the room without looking back, as if he didn't care one way or the other which decision she made.

  Tears welling in her tight throat, Becca swallowed a sob.

  Damn him, he was asking too much! She'd lost her independence once and only then realized how precious it was. She couldn't give it up again. If he loved her, really loved her, he wouldn't ask that of her.

  Lost in her pain, she didn't notice that Tate had stepped into the open doorway until she asked quietly, "Are you okay?"

  Hurting too badly to hide her pain, Becca hugged herself and blinked back hot tears.

  "No. Riley and I seem to have had a difference of opinion. Again."

  Having unwittingly overheard enough of the conversation to get the gist of what was going on, Tate hesitated, reminding herself that she was there to hand out medicine, not advice. But didn't bruised hearts come under a doctor's care, too?

  "I heard." Throwing caution to the wind, she took the only chair in the room and motioned for Becea to take a seat on the examining table.

  "I know what it's like to be a single mother afraid of being hurt again," she said quietly.

  "I went through the same thing and swore that I was never going to let a man get near me again. I had my future with my daughter all mapped out. Then I met Flynn."

  "What happened" Tate grinned ruefully.

  "My heart knew before my head did that I could trust him not to hurt me. And if you love Riley the way I think you do, then your heart already knows you can trust him. You just have to get the message through to your head."

  "He doesn't know what he's asking of me, Tate. I'm afraid."

  "You?" scoffed Tate.

  "I don't think so. No woman who could pack a gun and arrest criminals in a city like Dallas could possibly be afraid of anything. Just trust your heart.

  It won't lead you astray."

  Becca desperately wanted to believe her. But she'd trusted her heart once before and had lived to regret it.

  Tom must have given her a sign, a clue as to the type of man he was.

  But she'd been too much in love to see it.

  Was she being just as blind with Riley? Was he capable of the kind of fanatical possessiveness that would strangle her love faster than a bullet to the heart?

  "Instinctively, she rejected the idea. But deep inside where no one could see, doubts stirred by the past still lingered, haunting her.

  For the next two days, she couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't concentrate on anything but Riley and his absence from her life. She lost track of the number of times she found herself looking for him in town, hoping she would run into him, wondering what she would say to him if she did.

  Then, before she was ready for it, the day of the shoot-off and the community race arrived.

  The minute she saw him in the crowd that had gathered at the temporary shooting range set up on the edge of town, she knew they couldn't go on the way they had been.

  Dressed in his sweats for the cross-country run, he looked grim and tired, like he hadn't slept in a week. He smiled at his supporters as they gathered around him, encouraging him, but it was a half-hearted effort that never reached his eyes. Then he looked up and spied her across the sea of people that separated them, and his expression turned positively harsh. Sparing her no more than a curt nod, he turned back to his supporters.

  The pain that squeezed her heart was sharp and immediate and brought a blur of tears to her eyes, horrifying her. What was she doing? She couldn't cry now! The competition was scheduled to start any second, and if she didn't get herself together, she'd never be able to see clearly enough to shoot straight.

  "Are you all right, dear?"

  Stiffening her spine, she turned to Clara, who hovered behind her with the other grannies and Chloe, and forced a grimace of a smile.

  "I'm fine. Just a little nervous."

  "You're going to win, Mom," Chloe bragged proudly' "You always hit the cans in practice."

  Becca laughed.

  "Thanks, honey. I'll try to remember that. Wish me luck."

  "Good luck! You're going to do t."

  "We're pulling for you.”.

  "Get out there and shoot the lights out of the place, dear." With words of encouragement coming from all sides, Becca drew in a bracing breath, stiffened her spine and moved to the firing line at the same time Riley did. The crowd, anticipating fireworks, hushed in expectation.

  Taking the offensive, Beeca flashed her dimples for the crowd.

  "Well, Sheriff, it looks like it's put-up or shut-up time for both of us. Would you care to concede defeat now or later?

  The mob pushing in on them laughed, but Riley only gave her a steady look that told her she might fool the others, but not him. He knew she was just as miserable as he was.

  "We've come this far," he retorted.

  "Let's play it out, winner take all."

  Her eyes locked with his and Becca felt her heart skip a beat. So he hadn't given up on her. Relief flooded her, almost weakening her knees. Until that moment, she hadn't realized how afraid she'd been that she'd lost him completely.

  Suddenly wanting to smile, she arched a brow at him.

  "And if it's a draw?

  "It won't be," he promised quietly. And in his eyes was the unshakable resolve of a man who knew what he wanted and intended to get it come hell or high water.

  With a throng of thousands listening, Beeca couldn't say the words crowding her heart. Facing the firing range and the bull's eye set up thirty feet away, she reached for her .38, which, along with Riley's, had been set out earlier. Taking aim, she let her breath out slowly and fired.

  And had the satisfaction of seeing the bullet hit dead center.

  Grinning at Riley, she stepped back.

  "You were saying?"

  "It ain't over till the fat lady sings," he reminded her, and took aim himself.

  To the delight of her supporters, he just missed dead center.

  Unable to hold back a laugh, she teased, "I think I hear her warming up."

  "Stuff it, Prescott." Laughing
, she fired again.

  With the same results. And a few minutes later, when the smoke cleared, there was no question who was the better marksman. Riley didn't even have the excuse that his wound was bothering him. He was right-handed and Billy Owens's bullet had grazed his left.

  Trying not to gloat, Becca dared to pat him on the shoulder.

  "Don't feel bad. I'm sure you have other talents.

  Guns just aren't your thing."

  She was pushing him, the little minx, and it would serve her right if he jerked her into his arms. But he didn't.

  "Don't let it go to your head. There's no way in hell' you're going to outrun me."

  She didn't, of course. His legs were too long, hers too short. From the firing of the gun that started the community-wide race, it was evident that she was going to have to eat his dust from start to finish.

  Early on, she fell back in the pack of runners and never caught up. But when she crossed the finish line, she was considerably ahead of two of his deputies. And under the terms of their agreement, that made her a winner.

  Winded and sweaty, Riley didn't hesitate to concede that he'd misjudged her. A man of ethics right down to his toenails, he said in a strong voice that carried all the way to the back of the crowd, "You were right and I was wrong. I didn't think you had what it took to be a deputy, let alone a sheriff, but you've proven you've got the skills for the job. Congratulations."

  Weeks ago, Becca would have been glowing from that admission, but now all she could think of was how much she loved him. She wanted to tell him, to just walk into his ' arms and beg him not to ever let her go. But nothing had changed, nothing that counted.

  Her supporters, sensing victory at the polls the following day, surrounded her and carried her off, their cheers ringing in her ears, and no one seemed to notice that she wasn't smiling.

  The last morning, Riley was up at dawn, too miserable to get up, too distracted to do anything constructive.

  For the first time since he'd entered public office, he didn't give a damn about the outcome of an election, and it was Becca's fault. She hadn't come to him as he'd expected yesterday after the race, and the knowledge that there was really good possibility that he was losing her tore him apart.

 

‹ Prev