Too Sexy for his Stetson

by Olson, Mal

  Attraction? It was so much more. She wasn’t just some fling. She was… Brandy. Someone he cared about. And that thought scared him.

  So he was determined to keep things platonic.

  She peeled away the paper and beamed at him. “Hot damn, how did you know I’m in love with a geezer? Bon Jovi—a four CD set.” She pulled out the song list. “I think I fell for him when I was in my mother’s womb.”

  Blade laughed at the geezer reference, but his stomach twinged at I’m in love. “I took a wild guess because of the T–shirt you had on the other day. My other option was Gretchen Wilson’s Redneck Woman album. But I thought better of it.”

  The grin she shot back tugged at his resolve. Tempting… so tempting. But breaking down her defenses was not what he’d set out to accomplish.

  Platonic.

  “Thank you. This is really thoughtful of you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He slid the other box closer. “Rambo couldn’t make it tonight, but he sends his best.” After all his debating, even though he was stretching it, he’d decided Rambo could get away with giving her a more personal gift, one he shouldn’t.

  Her hands shook as she slowly made a production of unwrapping the second package. When her fingers settled on the box beneath the delicate foil paper, Blade wished he’d brought a camera. Her eyes glistened, and she sat spellbound for a full minute, then a single teardrop rolled down her cheek. Her voice cracked. “Blade… Tendre Amour. You remembered.”

  Shaking her head, she put on a determined look. “I know how much this stuff costs. I can’t—”

  “You’ll have to talk to Rambo. It was totally his idea.”

  “I can’t, Blade.” She rubbed her thumb over the plastic wrap that sealed the box. “I have to confess, I’ve never been able to afford—I mean, I’ve never gotten around to actually purchasing Tendre Amour. But it’s my favorite.”

  He suspected she never splurged on anything expensive for herself no matter how much she wanted it.

  “Happy birthday, Rookie. You deserve it.”

  “But—”

  “Shhh. You have to keep it or Rambo will be heartbroken.”

  She closed her eyes and swallowed. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”

  Blade took in a whiff of oxygen, and a bubble of happiness parked beneath his rib cage.

  “And how am I going to thank Rambo?”

  “A few thousand grooming sessions with his favorite brush would work.”

  She reached across the table and took his hand, slid her index finger over his knuckles, and touched him with her warmth. Tugging his hand, she brought his fingers to her cheek, her damp cheek.

  If that didn’t prick his heart, nothing ever would. Then she uncurled his fingers and placed the softest, most sensual kiss he could imagine against his palm.

  Part of him shouted, hurray for Tendre Amour. But, hell, this was exactly why he’d taken her to a public place for dinner. If they were anywhere more private, he would have been way too tempted to take things further, and the last thing he wanted was to make her feel like she owed him.

  But he could dream. If they lived in another world and his fantasies could come true, he’d want her to make love with him for one reason and one reason only—because she was as burning hot for him as he was for her, not because she felt like she owed him.

  So who was he kidding?

  He knew she wanted what he wanted just as much as he did, even if neither of them could act on it. The heat was there. Blue–fire lust. It hung in the air like nitroglycerin waiting to explode. But they could never light the fuse.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  In the car on the way home, blood pulsed through Brandy’s veins like syncopated reggae drums. When she looked over at Blade, his right hand reached for her. Her breath caught.

  “This was the best birthday I’ve ever had.” She leaned her head against his shoulder.

  She felt his chest heave and heard his breath hitch.

  Oh God, tonight could be the night. Her heart fluttered. Right or wrong, she was ready and willing to fall off the face of the earth with Blade Beringer.

  While Blade drove in determined silence, she focused on how the rest of the evening would play out. He’d walk her to her door. She’d ask him to see her inside to check her apartment for spooks and radical supremacists. And then she’d close and lock the door. And then…

  She glanced down at the packages on her lap and picked up the perfume. The crinkle of cellophane shattered the silence as her fingers worked the box open and she pulled out the bottle. The silky glass container cooled her palm as she touched her index finger to the sprayer. The exotic mist wafted through her senses and onto the pulse point at her neck. A blend of jasmine and bergamot mixed with rose settled in her hair.

  “Ummm, I love this. Thank you so much.”

  Blade took his eyes off the road for a second, and they seemed to burn right through her. A growling noise escaped his throat. “I think it’s French Voodoo.”

  She grinned.

  Lights reflected in the rearview mirror.

  Heavy gears ground. A large rig, judging from the sound that echoed across the valley, had fallen in behind them. Blade’s gaze focused on the mirror. He moved his right hand to the wheel.

  Brandy turned around and looked out the back window. Headlight beams from something huge edged in on them.

  A super–sized engine revved.

  An air horn blasted.

  Brandy nearly jumped out of her skin, her heartbeat picking up speed. “What’s with this guy?”

  Blade jerked his attention back to the rearview mirror. “I think the fool’s trying to pass us.”

  “On this road?”

  “Yeah, he has to be crazy. It’s bad enough for a rig that size to navigate Deadman’s Pass in the daylight.”

  Brandy swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat. The nutcase assessment became obvious seconds later when the sound of metal crunched, and the Tahoe bucked. Holy shit! The maniac had crashed into their rear bumper!

  “Jesus—” Blade hit the accelerator.

  Their wheels squealed as he pressured all eight cylinders, and the Tahoe shot forward. It shimmied along the narrow road that was made of switchbacks, pigtail turns, and blind curves edged by steep drop–offs.

  Even as Blade pushed it, the whine of the rig’s unrelenting gears followed in their wake. Brandy tightened her grip on her packages and stared out the windshield at the winding path. They crested the pass and began descending. Still, the idiot hung on their heels like a bumper sticker. “You’re right. He’s crazy.” Her pulse shifted to high gear.

  Ahead, the Tahoe’s headlights shot daggers of light into the darkness, revealing bits and pieces of landscape zooming by. They gained a couple of yards on the monster rig, and when they shot around a bend, the glare from the truck’s lights disappeared. For a second.

  A switchback. Blade gunned into the leading curve and kept going. Drop–off cliffs switched from the right side to the left and then back again.

  Two glowing lights popped into the mirrors, spotlighting them. A silver–white glow streamed from the rig’s headlamps and washed the wall of pines that bordered the inside lane. Which was where Brandy wished they were, hugging the face of the mountain as opposed to flirting with the outside lane where only a black void hung to the right of the gravel shoulder next to her.

  Crack. Heavy metal jammed the SUV’s rear end again.

  Blade accelerated.

  Crunch. With the next blow, Brandy sensed the power of the rig, its force taking control of the Tahoe.

  “Damn it. He’s hooked onto our bumper!” Blade yanked the steering wheel left then right. The SUV broke loose and careened toward a guardrail. He pumped the brakes, set the Tahoe on course, and then rammed the accelerator, which blasted them into another turn at drag–strip speed.

  Wheels smoking, brakes burning, they skidded around the curve. The rear tires fishtailed. Blade strangled the wheel and cut a hard
left, then right, navigating a hairpin turn. And still the pursuer was breathing down their neck.

  Another thud. This time the rig–from–hell buffeted them to the inside shoulder. They sped toward the tree–scattered ascending wall of the mountain. The Tahoe shimmied, scraping along a row of trees. Skimmed against a boulder. And jammed to a stop.

  “This is good. Let’s stay on the inside,” Brandy wheezed. In her estimation, rocks and trees beat the hell out of the free–fall side of the road.

  “I’m working on it.”

  Except now they sat wedged, literally, between a rock and a hard place, waiting to be broad–sided by a truck that could pulverize them.

  Blade gunned it.

  The Tahoe lurched forward through rocky debris until the tires gripped pavement, and for a moment they flew over a straight stretch of road, which allowed Blade to draw the Glock from his shoulder holster. He turned and fired a shot through the rear window. The bullet left a neat round hole surrounded by a spider web of shattered glass as it pinged off the rig’s steel shell. But the assailant kept coming.

  Blade stomped the accelerator.

  Brandy swiveled around and identified the attacking vehicle. “It’s a logging truck.” And it was bearing down on them for another go at it.

  When she turned forward, another pigtail turn rushed into view. Blade sped into a blind curve. Just then, a vehicle approaching from the opposite direction flew into their path, taking its lane in the middle.

  To miss a head–on crash, Blade swerved. The move landed them in the narrow, heart–attack inducing, outside strip of gravel that bordered the deep ravine. Deadman’s Gulch.

  Like a guided missile, the logger honed in on them once more. Its tank–like steel bumper rammed the back end of the Tahoe, again latching onto them, while the remains of the rear window shattered into the cargo space. This time the bully stuck like elephant glue.

  They bobbled closer to the edge.

  “Holy Christ, I’ve got the brakes through the floor!”

  “Jump!” Brandy shouted. From the driver’s side, he’d land on the road. Not in the gulch.

  A split–second double–take preceded his words. “Not without you.” He reached for her.

  There was no time for Brandy to scramble to the driver’s side—

  Time warped.

  Accelerated.

  Stood still.

  The tires squealed and skidded, the brakes useless against the force of a hundred thousand pounds of machine. The stench of burning rubber poured in. Brandy’s fists curled as Blade’s glance stalled and held hers, his face twisted in angst.

  The Tahoe skipped at an angle across washboard gravel.

  Tilted.

  “We’re going over! Head down! Hands behind your neck!” The last words Brandy heard.

  For a second they were airborne. Blade!

  Her weight hurled against the seatbelt as the strap cinched tightly across her shoulder and stomach. But instead of hurling, or somersaulting off a sheer drop, they shot down an angled embankment, flying through the darkness like a runaway boulder.

  Branches cracked and scraped the side of the car. They bounced, shimmied, thudded over jagged terrain.

  With a sudden crash, the Tahoe jerked to a stop that rattled her bones as the airbag exploded in her face. The headrest slammed against the back of her head.

  Silence cloaked them, as unnerving as the roller coaster dive. Brandy moved her shoulders, and the right one complained.

  “Blade?” Her voice came out a shaky thread of sound.

  No reply.

  The air reeked of fuel. Her heart pounding, her lungs constricting, she tried to gulp air. She tore at the seatbelt. It wouldn’t give. The smell of burnt rubber and antifreeze mingled with the frightening stench of gasoline. Her heartbeat ricocheted against her ribs. They were trapped in a coffin of mangled steel and shattered glass.

  “Blade?”

  “Jesus—Brandy,” he rasped, “are you all right?”

  “I think so. Are you?”

  “I’m okay.” He hissed in a sharp breath.

  She struggled against the seatbelt–harness and whimpered as pain rippled through her shoulder. A breath whooshed out. She quickly gasped for more air.

  The Tahoe jerked forward. Teetered. The sound of rocks sliding down a fast drop went silent, then moments later echoed in the gulch.

  Blade sucked in a long slow breath. “I have a feeling we shouldn’t rock the boat.” His hand found hers. Warm and steady. Something to hold onto in the darkness. Even so, her sprinting pulse forgot how to slow down.

  “Slow and easy,” he said, “Breathe in… breathe out.”

  She wheezed and unclogged the trapped air in her windpipe.

  He kept his fingers locked firmly around hers. And she held tight. At the same time he reached and slid one hand along her seatbelt to find the buckle. He fiddled for a second. “It’s jammed.”

  Unable to let go of him, Brandy knew she should try to help, but the fingers of her right hand were frozen in a fist. Calm down. Assess, deputy.

  “Blade, I think we should get out of here, fast.”

  “I’m working on it.” He yanked at the strap and her seatbelt released. “Can you tell how badly you’re injured?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a wrenched shoulder.” She squinted to bring his face into focus.

  “How about your legs? Can you move them?”

  She flexed her legs and toes, then lifted each foot. The left ankle was a little stiff, but mobility was fine. “Ready for a jog, maybe not a sprint. What about you?”

  She felt him moving beside her before he answered, “Everything seems to be working.”

  The silver light of a thin crescent moon silhouetted Blade’s head and shoulders. She heard him straining, grunting as he shoved against the door.

  The car teetered again as though… She didn’t want to think about it.

  “Jesus.” He shifted positions. “I’m going to have to kick out the window.”

  “God, maybe you shouldn’t with the cradle rocking like this. Wait, let me try my side.”

  “Okay, but don’t get out yet.”

  “Okay.” Her adrenaline–induced tugging on the handle proved futile. “This door’s not budging.”

  Blade turned. His back and shoulders pressed into her left side. He kicked and the crackled glass shattered. The Tahoe bobbed as though it were a cork on stormy waters. When the front–to–back swaying calmed, Blade stuck his head out the window. “Jesus, Brandy, don’t move.”

  Delicately removing his sports jacket, he rolled it up and slowly brushed the broken glass away from the edges of the window frame. Then gradually, he maneuvered and backed his way out. “Take my hand,” he said before he jumped down. “And, um… don’t lean forward. Try not to put any weight toward the front, okay?”

  “Okay,” she answered softly in an effort to keep from disturbing the balance of the universe.

  “Now, move to the driver’s seat… slow and easy… give me your other hand.”

  Brandy swallowed. Concentrated on calming her heartbeat. “What’s our status—”

  “Just hold onto both of my hands, work your head and torso through the window, and on three, jump.”

  Don’t think. Just do.

  The Tahoe rocked. Metal groaned. Rocks skittered, the sound fading and dissolving to nothing.

  Blade held her left hand, and she thrust the other toward him, unable to open her clenched fist.

  “One, two, three!” He yanked. She jumped, propelling her body forward. Her feet snagged on the edge of the window opening, then hit the ground. Sloped ground. She fell to her knees and started skidding backward, Blade sliding along after her as the Tahoe miraculously swayed and stayed balanced on whatever they were on the edge of.

  When she came to a stop on her stomach alongside the Tahoe, her feet were dangling in thin air. She clawed forward, Blade’s grip giving her purchase, until she was able to toe her feet into unstable ear
th and push forward six inches. She slid back, losing half of the hard–earned advance. Eventually, she worked her entire body onto solid but inclining ground. She rolled over and sat up. By the sparse light of a sliver of waxing moon, she found herself staring over a sheer drop–off into the bottom of Deadman’s Gulch.

  She scooted backward, Blade half dragging her, still scrambling for purchase. His arm came around her waist and they pushed to an unstable standing position.

  “Come on, let’s get the hell away from here.” He forged a path through brush and spree along a foot–wide ledge while they struggled to keep from skidding once more toward the edge of the world.

  In the distance, the logging truck groaned as it chugged up the snake path over the mountain.

  From there on, everything was a blur.

  Blade on his cell phone calling 911.

  Chopper blades beating like bat wings in the night.

  A beam of blinding light hovering above them like an alien spaceship. The spotlight from the rescue chopper bathed the scene and turned night into day, revealing the remains of the Tahoe perched eerily on the edge of the drop–off. Brandy found reality more frightening than the image she’d imagined in the dark.

  Gentle hands, Blade’s, helped her into a harness. Blade cupped his fingers around hers until the rescue winch lifted her away from him. By the time she reached the road, the trembles of shock had settled in.

  Then Blade was there, his arm encircling her as the EMTs led her to a gurney.

  “But I can walk, for God sake. I can get into the ambulance under my own steam.”

  Her argument fell on deaf ears.

  Jaw clenched, she said, “You just took the same ride as me, Beringer. You better get your butt in here too.”

  Minutes later, as they rode out of the nightmare, as she listened to the siren screeching to the owls, Blade sat on a matching gurney and held her hand. His fingers stayed clamped around hers all the way into Little Chute valley.

  ****

  Blade relented to an emergency room doctor poking around on him for about ten minutes, then decided he’d had enough. He was still a bit shaky, but he was okay. He knew it even if the doctor didn’t.