Champagne and Cowboys

by Donna Michaels

  “The fucking picture you drew in Church’s. I want my picture, now.”

  His fingers bit into my arm and he shook me like a ragdoll. Then he shoved me away from him and returned to point his gun at Gable’s head. “The tablet, the fucking paper with my picture on it, get it for me now or I blow out the boyfriend’s brains.”

  His interrogation style sucked. I decided that just as soon as I found a safe zone, I’d lodge a police complaint.

  “Stop,” I yelled at him. “My portfolio, my work—if that’s what you’re looking for—it’s in the workshop.” Gable didn’t have a workshop but telling him the pictures were in the bathroom didn’t seem credible.

  As soon as I nodded toward the closed door at the end of the room, he came after me again and hauled me in that direction so fast I couldn’t get purchase with my feet to offer resistance.

  Frantically, I looked around the bare expanse. There was nothing, nothing to grab to defend myself with. He had one hand on my arm, with the other he held the gun and push/pulled me along.

  Dad always said the best defense is the unexpected. I turned my head, looking for a vulnerable spot. His jacket covered his arms and chest; gloves covered his hands. In desperation, I twisted and lunged upward, teeth closing on the flesh under his chin.

  He swore and pounded his fist into my chest until I released my death lock on his throat. “You goddamned miserable bitch. You’ve screwed this up since the first night.” His final blow sent me sprawling across the floor.

  “So be it.” He grabbed my arms and twisted them behind me, shoving me roughly down so my cheek hit wood.

  Damn. He’d come prepared. I heard the zip of duct tape unrolling as he bound my wrists. My ankles were next.

  He stood and nudged me over onto my back with his shoe.

  “Want to tell me where my picture is now?”

  “Go to hell,” I snarled.

  “You’ll be there first.”

  He left me lying and stomped across the floor, kicking stuff in front of him and cursing. When he got to Gable’s motorcycle, he grabbed the can of bolts stewing in kerosene to clean them of grease.

  “Always find something handy to help. Won’t be hard to sell the accidental fire since the dumbass has a motorcycle in here, working on it.” He carried the can toward the pellet burner, kicked the glass shields until they flew apart, toppled the embers on the wooden floor, and threw the accelerant on the mess.

  “Keep the goddamned picture. You can fry with it.”

  As soon as he slammed out the door, I scooched along, as best I could. Gable had done a nice job refinishing his floor, but there were splinters I’d tell him about later.

  The wood was already warm under my cheek and smoke curled in the room. I had to reach Gable. If we could dig our way out to the fire escape, we’d be okay.

  I tried to reassure myself that we were going to live and have our babies someday as I inched painfully across the floor.

  I reached him and started shoving and rocking him as best I could with both my hands behind my back. “Gable. Wake up, Cowboy. Wake up.”

  The fire licked around us and it wasn’t pretty. We had to get out of here. I kept nudging and coaxing and yelling.

  Finally, he blinked blurry eyes and stared up at me. “What the hell just happened?”

  “We’re going to die if you don’t wake up right now. That’s all you need to know. I’ll fill you in on the rest later.”

  His hands were free. He fumbled with the duct tape but managed to get me loose. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “These first.” I grabbed my portfolio, stuffed all the pictures back inside, and ducked out the door with Gable.

  Going down wasn’t an option. Smoke drifted in the air from below and flames blazed up through the stairwell.

  “Shit. The asshole torched the lower part of the building. Follow me.”

  We climbed thirteen floors. It wasn’t easy in my knock-off boots and my torn-up knees, but hey, the fire crackling below inspired me. Even so, Gable started out leaning on me, and I ended up relying on him to pull me up the last two flights.

  When we got to the top, I thought we’d wait on the roof for someone to rescue us. Gable said he’d parachute us down.

  We discussed it.

  I disagreed with the necessity. I might have convinced him to wait on rescue if the building hadn’t suddenly shaken all over, and parts of the stairwell collapsed down below.

  “There goes the furnace. We’re going now.” The decision to stay or jump off the building changed to jump off the building.

  “Planned on showin’ off for you some day. Hadn’t figured on doin’ it quite so soon.”

  He opened one of the lockers lining the room, pulled out and opened a packed parachute, strapped it on, then hooked an arm around my waist, anchoring me to him. “Trust me, sweetheart. We’ll be fine.”

  I didn’t have my phone, having left it behind in Gable’s space. But he had his. Before he crossed the open roof to reach the five-foot wall for our jump, he called Marty Jones.

  “Son of a bitch that killed the cop tried to kill Harley-Jane. Torched the building. We’re gonna jump from the roof. Keep the bystanders back. I don’t want to land us on some fool.”

  Well damn. I suppose we were a spectacle. But Church was correct. Gable navigating the chute down to the street was a sight to behold. The wind whipped up the skirt of Maxine’s little black dress, displaying the fabulous lacy panties in the Post-Gazette’s picture the next day.

  Chapter Ten

  I woke up slowly. Every twitch of my body brought pulsing pain. Even my eyelids hurt when I tried to open them. When I frowned, that hurt too.

  It confused me even more to hear the deep rumble of a male voice close to where I lay.

  “Janie,” the voice ordered. “Open your eyes and let me know you’re going to be all right.”

  If anything, that order made me want to scurry deeper into the shadows of my mind. Domineering, officious man.

  “Come on baby, I can see you’re thinking about coming back. Open your eyes sweetheart.”

  “You are the bossiest man,” I groaned.

  He lifted my hand and stroked my fingers. I kept my eyes shut. The bed dipped under his weight. I decided to open my eyes. I had an IV stuck in my right arm and a line attached to the stand next to the bed.

  “What happened?” My voice came out a croak. “Who was that awful man?”

  But then I was distracted by the hospital equipment beeping. “I need to get out of here.” I gripped Gable’s hand, willing him to do my bidding.

  I half-sat. That was a mistake. A thousand hammers beat a percussion symphony in my head.

  “Best ease on back there, Janie. You’ve got a nasty cut on your forehead, among other assorted damage done.” I looked up at him through one half-closed eye. Yeah, ferret man had hammered me there more than once.

  I lifted my left hand; my fingers investigated a line of stitches on my forehead. My swollen jaw reminded me of the first blow he’d landed.

  I moved my arms. They worked. I winced when I bent my knees.

  “You need to sand your floors better,” I told him. I peeked at my legs. They moved, my toes moved, my knees were wrapped in gauze, but they moved too.

  I hurt. But I could hurt at home. “Get me out of here.”

  “You need to stay put until you feel better. That’s what hospitals are for.”

  “Wrong,” I corrected him. “Hospitals are expensive places where sick people die. I’m not sick. I have a headache.” I tried to strip the IV from my arm, but Gable put a stop to that.

  “Little girl, you’ll stay right here until the doc says you’re okay.” At my growl, he growled back. “Janie, on top of having cracked ribs, assorted cuts and bruises, your knees torn all to shit, and a black eye, you sucked in smoke.”

  I prepared to explain to him who was in charge of me when a nurse pushed through the door.

  “We’re awake.” After a quick look a
t me, the nurse seemed more interested in Gable. She bustled over to the bed, ready to do her professional best to look pretty while she fiddled with the IV.

  “This should fix you right up.”

  “I don’t want fixed up. I want out.” I focused on the nurse and avoided the man who’d slouched in a chair in the corner. I wasn’t sharing a room, alarm bell number one. Instead of an un-cushioned, hard as sun-dried shit piece of plastic, Gable sat in an overstuffed armchair. Oh no. I had to get out of here.

  “I don’t need a hospital,” I told the nurse. “Just give me an aspirin and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Doctor will have to make that call. I’ll relay your request.” She professionally brushed me off, sent Gable a dimpled smile, and left the room.

  I immediately sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Yes, I was dizzy. I had to steady myself.

  “Now just a minute, Janie.”

  “Really, Gable. I am not staying here. If it takes a doctor saying I can go, find a doctor. I want to go home.” I paused to glare at him. “My home.”

  He folded his arms and stepped closer. His thighs brushed my legs. I had to crank my head back to look up at him and my neck hurt. Pain hit fast and hard. I gagged, in real danger of barfing.

  “I told you to lie down.”

  And then a beautiful, lovely, surcease of pain flooded me. The drug in the IV kicked in. No resistance left, I caved, muttering one final truth.

  “I can’t afford to stay here. Hospitals are expensive and I don’t have insurance. Now let me up. If you don’t want to help, at least get out of the way.”

  “Everything’s covered for you, Janie. City’s kissin’ your ass, and the mayor’s being nice to minimize the size of the check he has to write you.”

  I was more than confused. He smoothed the sheet, scooted the chair closer, and sat down as if that closed the discussion.

  “I have chores to do. My animals haven’t been fed. I have to get home.” It was the last plea before my eyes drifted shut.

  “Kenny’s on it.” I could feel Gable’s presence, even after he turned the light down and the darkness settled around us.

  I slept.

  Once, when I woke in the night, I must have mumbled something because he was there, too large to be a nurse, but ready to take care of me.

  “Thirsty,” was all I had to say before he filled a glass and held the straw steady for me to sip the water.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, and then because it was easier, I slid back into oblivion.

  I saw Gable first thing in the morning. He woke me with his snoring. And I’d been worried about mine. I grinned. I felt pretty good.

  Now that I was alert enough to understand what I saw, Gable appeared kind of banged up. Tape on the forehead, knuckles bandaged, lip cut. His legs sprawled out in front of the chair that was too small for his length, and his head lolled sideways. I mentally predicted he’d have a heck of a neck ache when he woke up.

  I eased from the bed, disconnected the IV, made a quick trip to the bathroom on legs that were wobbly but functioning, and then looked around for my clothes.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you.” I glanced over my shoulder and confirmed what I’d sensed. He was standing behind me, close enough to touch. I reached around to close the hospital gown more securely.

  “Seen your ass. Claimed your ass. Now put your ass back in that bed.”

  “No.” I pulled my clothes from the closet and stared at Maxine’s little black dress. It would never be the same.

  I stepped into it and pulled it up, but a rip coincided with the large bruise on my hip. Before I could continue dressing, he lifted me back into the bed.

  “Got the company doctor coming. Promised me he’d visit early. Now you need to eat your breakfast and behave.”

  “Do you know how much breakfast costs in this place?” I hissed.

  “Ah. I see you’re feeling better.” Dr. Garret Wilson, M.D., looking about eighteen and unreasonably cheerful, entered the room.

  While he certified me damaged but capable of mending at home, and signed his name to dismiss me, Cowboy held an overcoat ready for me to slip on. I covered Maxine’s tattered dress as soon as the doctor left. I was beat up, bandaged, and the worse for wear. But, my boots kind of finally matched my outfit.

  “Sit in the wheelchair and I’ll roll you home free.”

  “I’m good.” I walked toward the door.

  “Sit your ass down. It’s a rule.”

  “I don’t like bossy men,” I told him.

  “Tough,” he answered. And then he added, “Trucks warmed up and waiting to drive us back to your place.”

  Well, all right. That was good news. I sat in the wheelchair as directed and quietly appreciated him. He was a sexy stud, a talented mechanic, a fearless firefighter, and apparently mine. He collected my prescription for pain meds along the way and wheeled me outside where the F-150 idled in the drop-off/pickup lane.

  “Quit worrying and let me take care of you.” He lifted me into the truck, slid me to the center, belted me in, and tucked a blanket around me.

  At first, I leaned against him and napped. Moving from the hospital bed to the truck had taken more energy than I’d expected. I rested with my eyes closed. But I kept thinking of questions to ask.

  Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Who was the taxi thief? Why did he kill Detective Parks? Was he really a policeman or just pretending to be a cop?”

  “Real cop. Detective Leonard. He was Parks’ partner. Killed his partner of twelve years because Parks figured out he was dirty and planned to turn him in.”

  “Did they catch him? Arrest him?”

  “Damned if he wasn’t standing on the ground waving a gun when we landed.”

  “Did he get away?” I really didn’t want to ever see him again. Thoughts of him stalking me the rest of my life made me shiver.

  “Hell no. Marty Jones detained him until I could get you into the ambulance. Then I had a quick word with him before I came to the hospital with you.”

  I gazed at his knuckles. He’d left his gloves off. His fingers were swollen and no doubt painful. “That happen when you had your quick word with him?”

  He flexed his hand and grinned.

  “I guess my portfolio’s gone.” I groaned. I’d have to re-create the Carson birthday party group sketch from memory.

  “Brought it down right alongside you. D.A. needs it for a spell. I suspect he won’t put up a fuss if you fetch home the pictures you need for your business.”

  “Whew.” I leaned against soft leather and closed my eyes. “That was good news.” Then I remembered the raging fire. Selfishly, I’d only been thinking of myself.

  “How bad is your building? Is the furnace a total loss? Any chance insurance will cover it? I feel like I lured the cretin into the building. Well, not literally bringing him in. But, I caused him to be there. I kind of feel guilty.”

  Gable patted my knee. “You want the good news or the bad news first?”

  I reached up to touch Gable’s forehead. He’d taken the bandage off, revealing a burned patch.

  “What’s the good news?” I asked, feathering my stroke down his cheek to his jaw. I never wanted to stop touching him.

  “I’ve rounded up help to get your new roof on.”

  “Did I miss something? I thought we were talking about the taxi thief and the fire at your building.”

  “Trust me. It’s all connected.”

  “Did the Inferno burn down?”

  “Yep.” He didn’t seem upset.

  “Is that the bad news?”

  “Nope, that’s more good news. The insurance boys are having a field day since it was arson set by a city cop.”

  “Will Marty rebuild?” I rubbed my cheek against his chest and dropped a kiss there for good measure.

  “Good God, I wish he would. Noah March is already dragging him around town, try
ing to broker another real estate deal.”

  I was feeling unexpectedly amorous at the idea of having Gable alone at my place. I stopped touching him long enough for polite interest. “That’s nice. Meanwhile, where is everyone staying?”

  “Well,” he cleared his throat. “That’s part of the bad news. The crew needed a place to camp for a few…”

  He looked so guilty, I sat up straight on the seat and poked him. “What?”

  “Well.” He patted my knee again, and I winced. “Sorry, baby.” He slid his arm around my shoulders.

  “It just seemed obvious that you’d need some help for a while, so,” he hesitated and then finished in a rush, “we’re pretty much all staying at the farm with you.”

  It was a lot to take in. I mentally tallied the bedrooms. It was an old house. A big house. They might have to share, but there was room. I could cook and include that with the cost.

  I ran figures in my head. Calculated the cost. Decided how much I could charge each man and then laughed out loud.

  “Happy New Year!” I leaned close enough to kiss his cheek.

  “Sure is,” he agreed as he drove us home.

  Gable rested his hand on my thigh possessively. I liked that. I liked him. I wasn’t ready to say the other “L-word” yet, but I already knew it wasn’t luck I’d found while stranded in a snowstorm. I’d careened down a treacherous road and landed in the arms of love.

  The End

  Taboo Frequency, Smoke, Inc. Book 1:

  When ultimate impulse collides with maximum control…

  It’s all about taking charge. Luke Danvers has his future planned to the nth degree—until he steps on an IED in Afghanistan. Bitter, angry, and emotionally adrift, he returns to the States, ready to spend the rest of his life pissed off at the world.

  Kiley Endicott has never been a poster child for moderation. Married and widowed young, she’s raising twins on her own. Since impulse has always ruled her life, it’s not easy being a sedate parent under the critically watchful eye of her family.

  A Friday night moment of insanity, leads Kiley to a hook up with Luke Danvers. Even in the cab of a truck, he’s an awesome lover. She wants more. But she’s got to be circumspect, nobody can know.