He also has wide shoulders, strong arms, and kissable lips. That thought jolted me as I put the finishing touches on his sketch. Hair close to black, but not quite, a cowboy hat sitting in front of him on the bar, next to his drink.
Like his hands, his face showed wear. He had a scar, still pink in its newness, splitting his left eyebrow. Dark eyes, both predatory and shrewd, gazed back.
I watched his very kissable mouth in the mirror and suppressed my grin. The room was too noisy to hear without leaning toward him. I had no intentions of doing that, so I only heard/saw a portion of his conversation as I studied his well-shaped, sensual lips, and pretended to listen.
I was clearly getting dippy from exhaustion. In defense against the pheromones he was releasing into the air, I finished my cartoon character that featured Cowboy Matthews in boots, Levies, hat, and sexy grin, wearing a blonde draped over him.
To show it didn’t bother me at all, which of course it didn’t, I tore the picture from my pad and handed him the sketch, then flipped the page, scanning the room for a new subject.
At the best of times, my socialization skills are weak. After a moment of lust, which I attributed to storm frenzy, I’d resumed my usual reclusive attitude. To demonstrate my disinterest in him even more, I pointedly gazed through the crowd.
Incredible though it seemed, my glance locked on the face of the taxi thief. He looked away, but not before I realized that he’d been staring at me. It was too much of an opportunity. I almost laughed aloud.
If my first subject could have modeled for a calendar featuring roughneck wranglers of the Old West, my next target wore my disgust. Exaggerating the teeth and eyes, I made him a rodent standing on hind feet and leaning against the taxi.
My lecherous friend from earlier in the evening walked around the end of the bar, demanded a look, and then begged for his own likeness. I gave the groper a tail and snout, and handed him his image, ignoring his leer. He managed to pinch my butt before Gable ran him off.
Suddenly, I became part of the evening’s entertainment for people who were bored and exhausted. I sketched face after face, tearing each sheet out with a scribbled corner initial before handing them over with a flourish.
Situated almost under the television the way I was, I listened for “Breaking News” updates—transportation problems, closings, and at one point, a dead body found in an abandoned cab. The hotels and emergency shelters were full, businesses were encouraged to aid stranded city visitors, and I realized I’d have to stay here at Church’s a bit longer. I worked until my hand cramped and my shoulders ached intolerably. A lot of faces later, Gable straightened from his barstool and picked up his hat, pulling it low over his brow. I looked at him, pleased to see he’d retrieved it from Yeehaw Girl.
“I’ve got to go. You want to come with me or stay here?” The gravelly voice interrupted what had now become a sideshow.
Remembering the blonde irked me. I returned my gaze to the sketchpad as I considered his offer.
“Uh, where are you going?” I didn’t want to stay here a moment longer; I wanted to go home. But that didn’t seem likely.
“Damned Inferno furnace is about to go. I’m the mechanic keeping it alive for another year.”
“You have any food at your place?” I asked Gable. Let’s be honest. For a crust of bread and a comforter to curl up in, I could be his.
“What?” Church squawked. “You’re trading this place for a cowboy and crackers?”
I grinned at Church. The bar owner had maintained good-natured control over the crowd all night. I could get a cab to the train station tomorrow. I might as well stay here. I opened my mouth to tell Gable no thanks.
The lights went out.
Nothing short of a straitjacket and rope could have kept me in the room after that. I ripped off the last picture, shoved it blindly onto the counter with one hand, while at the same time I fumbled my satchel open with the other to put away tools and sketchpad.
“I’d like to accept a ride wherever you’re going,” I told Gable breathlessly. Staying in Church’s Bar & Grill was no longer an option. I pulled on my coat, slipped the strap of the tote over my wrist, and said, “Lead on.”
“Hold onto my coattail and follow me, little girl.”
I found his little girl patronizing, but gratefully clutched the edge of material he shoved into my hand anyway. I trailed behind him as he led the way.
I rethought his nickname as he used his larger size to strong-arm his way through the jostling bodies. I happily followed the path he cleared toward transportation, conceding that my five feet and a pinch probably did seem little to him.
I heard his grunt, mumbled warnings, and a thump or two. Tall, and more muscle than bulk though he was, he had no problem moving customers out of his way when we couldn’t get around.
My canvas bag flopped beside me as I struggled to keep up with Gable’s long stride. He tugged me through the crowded room and we moved rapidly until my portfolio caught on something.
“Help,” I gasped, jerking on the tail of his coat.
Gable stopped and fumbled in the dark, sliding his hand down my arm to the portfolio strap around my wrist. He gave a rough jerk and it came free of whatever it had gotten hung up on.
“Stand on my feet,” he growled in my ear.
I was glad enough to switch positions from that point on. He circled my waist, pulled me tight against his length, and carried me on his size thirteens as he bullied his way toward the door, his body protecting mine.
Again, I was assailed by his scent. Only this time, I factored in the man smell of Gable that changed the cologne’s aroma a bit. Even during bedlam, my stomach fluttered a small response.
Outside, the wind and cold hit us with brutal force. The streetlights were on, as were the lights up the block, but behind us, Church’s Bar & Grill remained noisy and dark.
“Will they be all right?”
“There’s over a ton of crazy firefighters to keep the lid on in there. And that’s not counting Church. I’m more worried about us.”
He nodded toward his F-150, parked where he’d left it hours before. Of course, now, it was covered in snow.
“Unless you want to ride over my shoulder again, slide your arms around my neck.”
Startled, I clutched him tighter, wrapping my arms around his waist when his neck seemed out of reach.
“That’ll work,” he grunted, and hugged me tight, one of his arms around my waist and another around my rump, boosting me higher.
I gazed up at him as I rode on his boots. He sheltered me from the wind as best he could and I faced Church’s door behind him as he carried me through the night.
As Gable lifted me into his truck, incongruously, the overhead streetlight highlighted the face of the taxi thief as he peered out the door.
“Shotgun,” I called weakly and strapped myself into the passenger seat, avoiding the center spot where I’d ridden next to him earlier. He didn’t seem to notice. If he did, he didn’t care. That shouldn’t have disappointed me, but of course it did. I was getting sick of Gable Matthews pulling on emotional strings I’d not known existed before today.
“You my navigator now?” His gruff tease brought the smile to my face anyway.
You are so easy. Fascinated and afraid to look at him, I stared at his glove-covered hand on the gearshift as he put the truck in four-wheel drive and we started to move.
“I like to be useful,” I admitted. I shifted my gaze to the street beside and in front of us. Abandoned cars bordered a rough thoroughfare clear enough to suggest that emergency vehicles had carved the passage.
Even so, snow blocked the path in places. More than once, Gable got the vehicle hung up in a drift, then rocked it out before we resumed an icy slide toward our destination.
I leaned back into heated luxury, tried to calm down, and peeked at the clock on the dash. It was two-thirty in the morning and my stomach reminded me again that I was very hungry.
I didn’t
know how far we traveled, not being familiar with the ragged course we followed. Forty-five minutes after we started, Gable said, “Hang on.”
I grabbed the OS bar and strained to see what was ahead. We were headed down a slick incline; a metal gate barred entry into the building, and though he’d jammed his thumb against the remote button, the gate hadn’t responded.
And then it did, lumbering beyond the top of the truck’s reach moments before we arrived.
“Probably need to fix that glide. Seemed to be stickin’ some.” He grinned and gazed at me innocently.
“Uh, yeah.” I swear, my tongue was still stuck to the roof of my mouth and fear had strangled the breath from me.
“You up for furnace fixin’ or does a little bitty girl like you want to go on upstairs?”
I guess I’d telegraphed my dislike for his nickname. I couldn’t tell if he expected me to go upstairs and be fragile, or dive in and get grease on my hands.
“You really have food upstairs?” I asked.
“Not much. We’ll rustle up something.”
It didn’t sound promising so I opted to get my hands dirty.
He didn’t clean up his mouth for me, and I enjoyed a healthy dose of filthy curses as he fiddled with wires, shocked himself twice, started a backup generator, and did lots of other things I didn’t understand at all.
I held his tools.
Eventually, Gable declared the furnace would hold until morning.
“It’s 4:00 a.m. already morning in half the world.” I had no idea why I chirped that bit of conversation. I recovered with a pragmatic hope. “Maybe the train will be running soon.”
“Do you want me to get you back to Church’s to wait, or do you want to test the limits of my kitchen?”
“I choose food.”
He led the way to an alcove with an elevator.
“Nice,” I pointed at the high-tech wizardry of the palm scanner that activated the lift. Likewise, the surveillance cameras in the garage, furnace room, and elevator showed someone had spent money on those upgrades.
“Yep, I’ll sure point that out when the furnace quits and we’re freezing our asses off.”
I thought it best to skate on past that topic, so when the elevator doors opened, I hustled into the heated cube. He stepped inside, punched a number I did not see, and we rode silently upward as the elevator climbed to his floor.
Chapter Five
As I crossed his threshold, Gable closed the door with a defensive snap. He wasn’t nearly as calm as he let on. Good to know. He pressed a panel on the wall and the room’s low lighting morphed into brighter.
My flutter of nerves gave way to curiosity. I walked farther inside, amazed at his…whatever it was. The sound of my boots echoed hollowly in the room.
“Seriously?” A motorcycle with parts scattered around it dominated one quadrant.
“Make yourself at home,” he drawled, calling my attention back to him. He’d hung his hat and coat on a hook by the door and waited expectantly for me to shed mine.
“That’s okay.” Since I could see my breath in the air, no way was I giving up my layers.
“Shit,” he crossed the oak floor to a wood pellet stove he’d installed and squatted in front of it, fiddling for a moment with the controls.
“We’ll be warm as toast in a bit.” He dumped some pellets into the glass firebox, then motioned toward the long-stemmed matches. “You do the honors.”
My hands were so cold, they shook when I scratched the taper along the gritty surface of the matchbox and touched the stick of fire to the stove’s contents. As it ignited, Gable focused on my face instead of the flame. Heat that had nothing to do with the stove flared inside me.
“The antiquated furnace is taxed in regular weather. Keeping it going through this storm could be a real challenge.”
“Hence, you’re here.”
“Yep. Hence, I’m here. And so are you.”
“What is this place?”
“Well, it goes by many names, a few of which are Money Pit, Nightmare on Dumb Street, Inferno. On Noah March’s advice, the company invested in real estate. This real estate. He claimed the neighborhood was a great business office location, moving upward soon, reee-vitalizing, whatever the hell that meant.” Gable paused long enough to snort, then added, “We’d make a killing.”
“And?” I frowned. It didn’t feel like an office building. But, the snow outside had kept me from really seeing our location.
“And… The market tanked, the economy went to shit, municipal contracts for private firefighters got cancelled for lack of public money, things got tight all around, and it was lose it or use it.”
“Whoa. You all live here?” I looked around, seeing no evidence of other occupants.
“I have the twelfth floor.”
He’d gutted it, left one room intact for a bathroom—which I absolutely needed.
“I’d like to visit your bathroom.” I suddenly realized I needed to pee in the worst way. The hours of coffee finally caught up with me, and there was no more waiting.
“Sure enough, Harley-Jane. Make yourself at home.”
I’d thought the outer room cold. The bathroom could have served as a meat locker. But even the frigid temperature didn’t mar the fact I was alone for the first time in almost twenty-four hours. Well, almost private.
“Let the water in the sink trickle in there, Janie. I don’t want the pipes to freeze.” Gable called his order through the bathroom door as I shivered on the icy commode seat.
After I flushed, I washed my hands at the ubiquitous tap that we didn’t want to freeze. Unfortunately, a mirror hung over the sink.
“Oh.” I didn’t know what I’d expected. After all, I’d been up since six in the morning, entertained a bunch of kids, slid down one of Mount Lebanon’s twisty roads, blazed a trail through a blizzard, danced like there was no tomorrow, and helped fix a furnace.
Dark circles underscored my eyes, Medusa’s earlier spin had left my hair in a tangled mess, and I had grease on my chin. I sighed and dealt with the grease, finger-combed my hair, and shrugged off the rest as a lost cause.
Nutmeg, huh? I paused to study the color. Maybe. I didn’t pay much attention to myself. But yeah. Green eyes, pale skin, cheeks still ruddy from the cold right now, and brownish-reddish hair—nutmeg.
I stared at my image with crossed eyes. Jeez, I was tired. I could hear Gable in the bigger room. It would be warmer there. Food had become a mythical goal, nothing more than a dream. But I’d seen a couch by the stove.
I left the faucet dripping, ready to join Gable in the bigger room if it meant a place to rest. Maybe even sleep.
At the far end of the room, he had a door open.
“Jeez, we’ve just been trying to heat this cave.” My feet ached as I crossed the room, the sound of my leather soles clicking against the hardwood floors. Nice floors.
I paused, appreciating the composition of motorcycle sitting on canvas in shadows. Despite exhaustion, my fingers itched to sketch it. Gable called me back to reality.
“Fire escape’ll have to be cleared. Could get messy.”
“But not right now.” I reached his side and closed the door gently before the tower of ice and snow toppled. “Show me the kitchen.”
I had no intentions of sharing Gable’s contemplation of the great outdoors. We’d just waged war out there.
“Yehass, ma’am,” he drawled, making the first word almost three syllables long.
“Where are you from, anyway? Not here, for sure.” Shades of my dead Irish dad rose in me as I set courtesy aside and unleashed nosy.
I’d married outside the fold, so to speak, and when he’d first met David, Dad had said, “I don’t know you. Who are your people?”
David had dutifully supplied his genetic makeup as well as his ancestry. He’d liked my dad, and after Dad got over me hooking up with a scholar instead of one of Bud’s roughneck friends, he liked David back.
“Well, now that’s
a story,” Gable answered my ‘who are your people’ question.
“Beth’s probably told you our dad was an Army man. We started out in Oklahoma, but once he deployed, Mama and kids moved to New Mexico with her people.
“When I was three, he came home and we spent most of our growing-up years in Texas.”
“You’re a long way from home. Bet you miss the warm right now.”
“Nah, anywhere’s home to an Army brat. Though I admit, I’m not partial to the white stuff.”
He told me what I already knew and nothing else as he walked me toward another section of his cave. When I shivered, he slid his arm around my shoulders. I stiffened, not sure I wanted that much familiarity.
Nervously, I turned and faced him. “It’s been a while since a man maneuvered to get me alone. You’re not a serial killer, are you?”
“Nope.” He stopped walking and his one-armed embrace turned into two. He caged me and said, “But now that you mention it, it’s kind of late for you to be wondering if I’m the likes of Ted Bundy.”
I was close enough to the rumble of his scold to feel it reverberate in his chest. It stirred mixed feelings in me. I chose to ignore the ember of heat simmering inside. I focused on his reprimand instead. “Well, are you?”
“Am I what?”
“A predator in disguise?”
“Don’t know about the disguise. You’d be a fool to think I’m not interested in knowing you better.”
So maybe a predator. I wandered from his embrace and toward the center of the room, talking to him over my shoulder. “Where’s the kitchen? I’m starving.” My stomach growled, providing proof I wasn’t exaggerating.
“I didn’t forget I promised you food. Let’s have a look in the cupboards. There’s bound to be something.”
He guided me to a corner, flipped a light switch, and voila, I faced a lovely nook with built-in everything. It also looked brand new.
I grinned and shrugged out of my coat. God willing, he had something to eat behind those pretty cupboard doors.
Champagne and Cowboys Page 36