Cowboys Last All Night

by Jennifer Ashley

  Her beaded kitten heels rubbed a blister on her little toe, her shoulder ached from lugging her overstuffed jute handbag, and her wheeled suitcase bumped and jerked over every crack in the cement as she dragged it behind her. The bus ride from Chicago had been a nightmare of men with body odor, screaming small children and pimply faced teenagers dressed all in black, and the cabbie who brought her most of the way from the bus station had dropped her off unceremoniously four blocks from her destination when she informed him that smoking in a taxi was against the law.

  But those were minor irritants compared to the events of the last month. She had already brushed them off.

  This was the first day of her new life—a life without Greg Albright—and nothing could stop her from showing him she didn’t need him or his award-winning organic restaurant. No longer was she the kind of naïve young woman who invested all her savings into her boyfriend’s bistro, only to find out he was sleeping with one of the waitresses. From now on she was the kind of woman who went her own way and owned her own business, thank you very much.

  Thank God Aunt Cecily had left her a property in downtown Chance Creek as an inheritance or she would be sleeping on the streets of Chicago right now. Her parents would always take her in, of course, but there was no way she was returning to Lake Forest to face a chorus of I told you so’s from them.

  Chance Creek was a steep step down from Chicago, but she refused to dwell on that. She wouldn’t be here long, anyway. She had a plan. She would start with a small vegan cafe in the building Cecily had left her. Within the year, she would sell the business and graduate to a larger restaurant—perhaps in Billings. Five years from now, when she had taken Montana by storm with her cutting-edge vegan creations, she would make the leap back to Chicago and show Greg just what a phony wanna-be he was compared to her own brilliance as a chef and restaurateur.

  Not that she was looking for payback. Bad karma and all that. Sunshine sighed and picked up her pace. What she really wanted was smoking hot sex with a man who could make her forget Greg ever existed. Unfortunately, she doubted she’d find such a man within a hundred miles of sleepy little Chance Creek.

  She navigated her way around a particularly nasty crack in the sidewalk. Four blocks ago, when she’d exited the cab, she’d been pleased to find herself in a well-kept-up neighborhood of small homes and shops. She’d even passed a bookstore and a cute little diner she immediately took note of as a potential rival for her customers. After two blocks of walking, the shops were gone but the neighborhood seemed solid enough. Two more brought a distinct drop in quality of both the curb appeal of the homes and their inhabitants. Sunshine had pointedly ignored the stares and comments from a group of men loitering around a truck up on blocks in front of one of the more run-down houses. The few shops here showed a serious level of decay. She bit her lip and noted how a little elbow grease and some money... well, a lot of money... could really spiff things up. The wheels of her suitcase got stuck in another crack and she stopped and fished her cell phone out of her bag. Balancing the slim phone on one shoulder against her cheek, she took hold of her things and teetered onward. “Hi Kate, it’s me,” she said when her friend picked up. “I’m almost there. Just another block.”

  “Why are you panting?” Kate’s cultured voice made Sunshine long for her company. She could use a friend by her side right now.

  “I asked the cabbie to stop smoking and he, in turn, asked me to get out of his car a few blocks early.”

  Kate chuckled. “When are you going to learn to let sleeping dogs lie?”

  Sunshine could picture her friend at her desk at the law firm of Simons and Schiller back in Chicago, where she’d already worked her way into a junior partnership. Kate was always cool and collected, always knew exactly what she wanted and got it. Her fiancé, if she ever decided she wanted one, wouldn’t steal her money and kick her to the curb. And despite what she’d just said, when Kate told cab drivers to put out their cigarettes, they did.

  “Probably not in this lifetime.”

  There was a pause, in which Kate evidently decided her point had been sufficiently made. “So—what’s the neighborhood like? Overrun with cowboys?”

  “Not exactly. It’s got lots of potential, though. Lots of character.” She tried to believe her own words. If one more thing went wrong she might sit down on the sidewalk and cry.

  “Right.” There came the clicking of fingernails on a keyboard. Kate was multi-tasking, as usual. “Can you see your café yet?”

  That brought a smile to Sunshine’s face. Her café. She liked the sound of that. This time she wouldn’t have a partner. She planned to do everything herself. She couldn’t get screwed if no one was there to do the screwing.

  “Not yet. Any minute.” She crossed a street and found herself on a block that seemed almost abandoned. Several older automobiles sat parked at the curb. A barbershop edged the opposite corner, next to a pawn shop and a corner store. All three storefronts sported iron bars over their windows. On her side of the street, she confronted an empty lot sprouting weeds and cast-off tires. It grew a healthy crop of broken glass and liquor bottles, too. She tottered past it uncertainly.

  “Well?” Kate asked. “I’m breathless from the suspense. What does it look like?” From the tapping sounds carrying across the phone line, Sunshine deduced her friend wasn’t too breathless to work.

  Sunshine approached the building whose street address matched the one on the letter she’d received from Aunt Cecily’s solicitor. It was large, square, and sided with blue metal. A wide shop window framed what looked to be an expansive waiting room of some sort. Sunshine shaded her eyes to see inside better. A shoddy wooden counter separated the seating area—done in cracked brown tile and plastic chairs—from whatever went on in the rest of the building. A gap to the right of the counter led to a door to the back.

  “Well?”

  “It’s...” Sunshine’s gaze slid upward to take in the large painted sign over the entrance to this monstrosity. “It’s… a rifle range.”

  “What?” The incessant clicking of her friend’s fingers on the keyboard stopped and Sunshine knew she had Kate’s full attention now. “Your aunt left you a rifle range?”

  “That’s what the sign says. An indoor rifle range. Is that even possible?”

  “Send me a picture. Now.”

  Sunshine did as she was told and snapped a picture that would show Kate everything. No sense trying to hide this latest disaster. Not from her best friend. When she got back on the line, Kate whistled.

  “I think I’ve heard of indoor rifle ranges, but there must be some mistake. I thought your aunt left you a restaurant.”

  “She did. I think. There’s some sort of space up front, and...” Sunshine craned her neck and made out the unmistakable shape of a refrigerator behind the counter, along with a stove. A sinking feeling in her stomach told her that maybe she was the one who had made the mistake. Had Aunt Cecily left her part of a building? Or a building already rented to someone else? Would she be able to evict the tenant anytime soon? Where was the apartment Cecily had promised her?

  “Is the rifle range occupied? Can you hear shots?” Kate’s voice brought her back to the present.

  “No... wait.” Now that she was paying attention, she heard muffled thumps that could be shots fired inside the building. Her blood pressure ratcheted up another notch. “Yes—someone’s shooting in there. In my building! What do I do?” Her voice squeaked on her last sentence and she willed herself to calm down.

  “Is the solicitor there?”

  Trust Kate to be practical. “No. Wait... maybe.” A man in a suit stood up from one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room and made his way to the door. He pushed it open and stuck his head out. “Miss Patterson?”

  “Yes,” she called and then spoke into the phone. “He’s here. I’ve got to go.”

  “Call me the minute you find out what’s going on.”

  “I will.” Her throat was dry and he
r hands slippery with perspiration as she slipped her phone into her purse and waited for the man in the suit. She noticed through the dirty plate glass window that the other occupants of the waiting room were taking a distinct interest in this meeting. All in their late twenties or early thirties, except for an older gentleman who could have been one of their fathers, to a man they wore jeans, work shirts, and cowboy hats. She couldn’t see their feet, but she’d bet they’d all have boots on. At least they weren’t as bad as the men down the block. She didn’t peg them as troublemakers—just not the kind of men who favored vegetarian restaurants. One of them turned toward the back of the building and gave a shout. Was he calling the rifle range’s owner?

  She turned her attention to the man who had come outside to meet her. He was balding, in his fifties, she estimated, exuding an air of distraction which didn’t inspire confidence. How she wished for someone like Kate beside her. Someone who would cut through all the baloney and lay things on the line.

  “Miss Patterson, I’m Abe Moffat. We spoke on the phone.”

  “Hi, Abe. Call me Sunshine, please.”

  “Sunshine. Lovely name.” He seemed at a loss for what to say next. They surveyed the building in front of them uncertainly. “So. Here it is.”

  “Yes. I… uh… didn’t realize there was a tenant in it.”

  “Well, yes. I believe I mentioned that there was an irregularity in your inheritance, Miss... Sunshine.”

  “No, I don’t think you did, actually.” She tried to channel Kate. Kate wouldn’t put up with any of this.

  “Well, it is a little peculiar.” Abe reached into a pocket, brought out a cloth handkerchief, and mopped his face with it. Sunshine wasn’t sure she’d ever seen anyone actually use a cloth handkerchief. “I decided to check into it a bit with one of my colleagues from Billings before bringing it to your attention. Maybe we should go somewhere else to talk,” he said, glancing at the audience in the rifle range’s waiting room.

  She followed his gaze and nearly stopped breathing as a man walked out of the back to stand at the counter. He was tall, broad-shouldered and suntanned, with hawk-like features and a stare that pinned her in place from thirty feet away. As much as she wanted to escape his eagle-eyed gaze, she had an equal and opposite urge to preen under it. Now that was a man, and Greg... Greg could have his sordid waitress fling, because Greg wasn’t fit to tie this guy’s shoelaces.

  “No, Mr. Moffat. I’d like to stay right here while you explain what the irregularity with my inheritance is.” She found it hard not to stare right back at the man at the inside counter. How tall was he? Six foot one? What would it feel like to rest her cheek on one of those broad shoulders?

  Abe swallowed hard. “All right. I’ll try to explain. Your aunt found herself in a bit of a predicament when she wrote her will. Perhaps you should read her own words on the subject.”

  Sunshine tore her gaze away from the window and waited for the lawyer to fish a faded envelope from the folder in his hands and give it to her. Drawing out a sheet of paper filled with Aunt Cecilia’s looping scrawl, she held it up and squinted to make out her aunt’s words. The letter was dated some three months ago, two months before Aunt Cecily passed away.

  Dear Sunshine,

  I’m afraid I’ve done it again. I know I promised you a restaurant when you graduated from the culinary institute, but then you and Greg joined forces and were doing so well for yourselves with Chez Rosetta, that when a friend hit a rough patch I thought you’d never miss the old thing. However, from what you’ve let slip during your recent visit, I predict tough times ahead for you, honey. And now I’m in a real pickle. I’ve promised my building twice over, to two young people I really care for. All I can do is give you both a fair shake at it. After all, it is large and should contain enough room for each of you to pursue your dreams.

  Abe will explain everything and I know it will all turn out for the best. It always does, doesn’t it?

  Love,

  Aunt Cecily

  Her aunt’s words splashed over her like a bucket of ice water. “I have to share the building?”

  “It’s kind of a contest.”

  She blinked. “A contest? What does that mean?” She had banked everything on having a place to live and a café to run. This couldn’t be happening.

  The lawyer was clearly uncomfortable. “Cecily has stipulated that each of you must occupy the building continually for four months. You must run a business—a restaurant in your case, the rifle range in his—and live on the premises. If you abandon the premises, and she defines abandonment as spending more than one single night away from the building, Cole Linden immediately has the right to purchase it outright from you for a sum set by Cecily.”

  Sunshine couldn’t believe her ears. This was ludicrous. “How much?”

  “How much…?” he echoed.

  “What’s the sum set by Cecily?” Maybe it would be enough for her to start over somewhere else. Somewhere more appropriate.

  Abe licked his lips. “Sixty.”

  “Sixty thousand dollars?” That was outrageous for a building this large—it must be worth five times as much.

  “Sixty dollars, actually.”

  Sunshine’s mouth dropped open. Sixty dollars wouldn’t cover a bus ticket back to Chicago. Why would Aunt Cecily do this to her? She glanced through the plate glass window at the man who leaned against the counter, his hands braced against it as he took her measure. “Is that Cole Linden?”

  Abe nodded.

  She met the man’s gaze, pressing her lips together in a thin line. Who cared how hot he was? The bastard had weaseled his way into Cecily’s good graces and stolen her inheritance out from under her.

  “Is this his business? His... rifle range?”

  “Yes.” Abe took a step back, as if afraid she might lash out. Well, he should be afraid. They all should. This was her building. Her restaurant. And that man—Cole—was using it to promote violence and murder. Those cowboys in the waiting room were nothing more than thugs.

  Cole Linden stared right back at her. He probably sensed she was a card-carrying member of PETA from where he stood. “What if he spends more than one night away?” She could arrange for that—just break both his legs and dump him near the Canadian border. Unless he shot her first.

  “Then you immediately inherit the building free and clear. But...” He held up a finger. “In either case, the absence may not be caused by the person who stands to inherit from it.”

  Damn.

  “What happens at the end of four months?”

  “If neither of you abandon the building, then it comes down to earnings. The person with the more successful business wins.”

  Well. At least that was something. Crazy Aunt Cecily must have known she’d take the challenge and succeed without a problem. Cole Linden and his stupid rifle range would be out of here in no time.

  “Fine. But where exactly am I supposed to run my restaurant?”

  “There.” Abe gestured to the waiting room and counter. Sunshine squinted against the glare on the plate glass window. The stove behind the counter did have six burners. She thought she saw a sink, as well. The waiting room, while large, was no restaurant, however. She stifled an urge to shake the man. She’d have to bust her ass to transform the place into anything a respectable person would want to visit. “Where’s my apartment?”

  Abe seemed to have something caught in his throat. “There’s an entrance at the side of the building. It’s... cozy. And... it’s not exactly your apartment.” The lawyer’s face went somewhat pink. His paisley tie seemed about to choke him.

  She shut her eyes and counted to ten. “Spill it.”

  Abe shuffled the papers he clutched in his hands. “You’ll have to share it with Mr. Linden.”

  “Cole, come here—you’ve got to see this!”

  Cole Linden carefully locked up the ammunition cabinet, exited the storeroom his father had converted to a safe room, and made his way to the front of t
he building where five men watched Abe Moffat confront a young woman who was decidedly angry. Cole didn’t recognize the woman. The men in the waiting room he’d known all his life.

  Ethan Cruz headed up one of the oldest ranches around now that his father had just passed away. He was engaged to the pretty but petulant Lacey Taylor, a girl Cole had known since she wore her hair in pigtails. Jamie Lassiter was a hired hand on Ethan’s ranch, and his best friend. He had a way with horses that would keep him in demand no matter where he went, but he was loyal to Ethan. Cab Johnson, a large but quiet man, was the local sheriff. He’d ended up with the post when his father could no longer do the job. Cab was young to be an elected official, but he was well respected around town. Rob Matheson was a jokester, but a hard worker. One of four sons, he lived on the Double-Bar-K, the spread next to the Cruz ranch, which his father, Holt Matheson—currently occupying the seat beside him—ruled with an iron fist.

  Cole had known every one of them for most of his life and appreciated their patronage—especially when they could have ridden out on their own spreads and tested any weapon they wanted without bothering anyone.

  The only man to enter the range today that he didn’t know well was the lawyer who’d brought him the news a week ago of Cecily Silverton’s arrangement. News that left him shell-shocked in a way he hadn’t thought possible. Sure, he’d known there was a chance that Cecily’s death meant an end to the sweet deal that allowed him to keep the rifle range his father had opened twenty years ago, but she had always hinted she meant to leave the building to him, and she hadn’t seemed like the type to lie to a man.

  But Cecily hadn’t left the building to him, at least not outright. She’d left it jointly to him and some silver-spoon niece of hers who probably spent all her time shopping and talking on the phone. He still had a chance to get the building—for the bizarre price of sixty dollars—if the interloper bailed within four months. But if she didn’t, said niece would be his new landlord. If she allowed him to stay. Meanwhile, he had to share not only the building with whatever cockamamie business the debutante came up with, he’d have to share his apartment, too. His one bedroom, one bath, eight-hundred-square-foot apartment.