Getting Lucky (A Nugget Romance Book 5)

by Stacy Finz

  “Lucky’s cracking the whip. According to Maddy, he’s way behind schedule. He and the inn have a couple of joint events booked for spring. At this rate he won’t make it.” Rhys put the binoculars down, rubbed his hands together, and shoved them in his jacket pockets. “It’s cold.”

  Neither one of them wanted to go inside the Airstream.

  “You do a lot of these stakeouts in LA?” Rhys asked.

  “A fair amount. Did quite a bit during Desert Storm.”

  “You were a marine, right?”

  “Semper fi.” Jake sat next to a redwood, knowing that the tree trunk and his jacket would obscure him from sight. “How ’bout in Houston? You do a lot?”

  Rhys grabbed the ground next to him. “I did so much surveillance when I started in narcotics, I pissed coffee for a year. Speaking of, there’s a thermos in the truck.”

  Jake did another sweep with the binoculars, landing on a couple of shapes near Lucky’s Ram Laramie. Two men, one getting out of a white Ford Escort. “You see that?”

  “Yep.” Rhys got up to find a better lookout. A couple of trees hampered his view. “I can’t make out the plates from here. But it looks like Lucky, from the black cowboy hat.”

  “A lot of black cowboy hats in these parts,” Jake said, and got the camera out of the truck to snap a few pictures.

  Rhys tried to zoom his binos in better. “I can’t get a clear line of sight. But they are definitely making an exchange of some sort. They’re going inside the trailer now.”

  Jake continued snapping shots of them until they disappeared inside the single-wide.

  Rhys scurried down the hill, hugging a line of trees, getting as close as he could to the Escort without flagging anyone’s attention. When he came back up he had a number, which he called in to Connie to run through the DMV. With his cell held to his ear, Rhys scanned the area one-handed with his binoculars.

  “You’re sure the Escort isn’t one of our guys?” Jake asked. The car seemed kind of obvious for an undercover vehicle—police departments typically used American models, mostly Fords. Although he’d heard that San Francisco PD was using Priuses. Embarrassing, if you asked him. In this case, the Plumas County Sheriff’s Office was running the undercover show. Jake had no idea what vehicles they were using.

  “No Escort on the roster,” Rhys said. “Connie says it’s a rental out of Reno. She’s calling to see who rented it.”

  Rhys held, waiting for Connie to come back on the line. A short time later, he wrote something on his hand and asked Jake, “The name Noah Lansing ring a bell with you?” When Jake shook his head, Rhys said, “Connie’s searching on Google. Who knows, maybe we’ll get a hit.”

  Jake put down the camera and tried the binos again, aiming for the southern side of the property where the crew worked. “Looks like the fellows have company. A Toyota Tundra. That one of ours?”

  “Hang on, Connie.” Rhys shoved the phone in his pocket and looked through his lenses. “No Toyotas listed. The truck must’ve used the fire road.” They would’ve seen it come up the driveway.

  Jake grabbed up the camera again and shot a few pictures. “No way are we getting the license plate number from this distance. But it looks like something’s going down.”

  Rhys retrieved his phone. “Connie, you there?” Pause. “No kidding.”

  “What?” Jake asked, and switched out the camera for the binoculars.

  “Noah Lansing is a Sports Illustrated reporter.”

  But Jake’s attention had already been pulled in another direction. “You see what I see?” He pointed over the horizon where four sheriff’s rigs came rocketing across the fire road, lights flashing. Another two roared up Lucky’s driveway with their sirens blaring.

  “Cavalry’s here.” Rhys dashed for his truck with Jake on his heels. “Looks like our drug bust is about to make national sports news.”

  Chapter 17

  “I can’t freaking believe this.” Lucky continued to pace across Tawny’s kitchen floor. “He’s there all of fifteen minutes when the place blows up with cops.”

  Tawny wanted so badly to say something that would make it better, but she had to admit that as far as first impressions go, Lucky’s cowboy camp had failed miserably. Eight members of his construction crew had been arrested, hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of methamphetamine had been seized, and the county’s drug task force wasn’t done yet. According to Harlee’s story in the Nugget Tribune, search warrants were being served across the county in connection with what was being hailed as the largest drug bust in recent area history. The criminal activity at Lucky’s ranch was apparently only a tiny piece of the operation, but had been the impetus—in no small part due to Jake and Rhys—that brought the whole enterprise down. All in front of Lucky’s Sports Illustrated reporter.

  “Where is he now?” Tawny asked.

  “He went back to the Lumber Baron.” Lucky threw his head back. “Can this get any worse?”

  “Did you try to explain to him that—”

  “That in less than a week a man was shot to death on my property. . . and then this?”

  “Please don’t bite my head off. I’m only trying to help.”

  Lucky gently clasped her shoulders. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Kiss me.”

  “What?” She looked at him like he was crazy.

  “I just want to see if I imagined what it felt like yesterday. Come on, give me something good to hang on to.”

  “Fine.” She gave him a friendly, you’ll-get-through-this peck on the lips.

  “Ah, that was bullshit.” He pulled her in, held her face in both hands, and covered her mouth with his. Kissing and kissing and kissing her until she felt the floor tilt.

  He lifted her off the linoleum and kept right on kissing her, exploring her mouth with his tongue as he palmed her bottom, pushing her into the great big bulge in his pants. “Since Katie’s with my mom, can we go to bed?”

  “No.” She pulled away. “Are you insane?”

  “I thought I was, but now I know this”—he gestured between them—“isn’t my imagination. We’ve got serious chemistry, Tawny.”

  “Butch must still be in town.” Tawny lifted her head heavenward like she was praying for patience. The man really thought she was daft. She tried to turn away, but Lucky caught her by the arm.

  “I don’t know where Butch is. I don’t care where Butch is. This isn’t about Raylene. She and I are no longer together.”

  Tawny looked at him. Really looked. The man was everything she’d ever wanted. Hot as all get-out. Gorgeous brown eyes, square jaw, chiseled face, broad and strong. Honorable and kind. Funny and arrogant—God, was he arrogant. Smart and responsible. And caring. For all his swagger and machismo, Lucky Rodriguez was turning out to be one of the most thoughtful men she’d ever known. A man who, under trying circumstances, had stepped up to the plate when it came to Katie.

  Tawny could count on one hand the gifts life had handed her, and even those had come with a cost. A teen pregnancy, a child sick with cancer, a father who’d loved and left her too young. So why not take what Lucky was offering? Even if it was a one-time deal, which they both knew it was, she’d have the man she’d always wanted. If only for a short time.

  “I don’t have protection,” she said.

  He blinked, clearly stunned. “I’ve got us covered.”

  She walked into the bedroom and started removing her clothes.

  “Whoa,” he said. “Slow down. You sure you want to do this?”

  She stopped to glower at him. The man was sure dense. “Obviously I do. I’m just a little nervous. It’s been a while.” Would he be thinking about Raylene the whole time?

  “Nothing to be nervous about.” He finished unbuttoning her blouse and kissed her. “Let’s just fool around for a little while.”

  He kissed her neck, collarbone, and brushed the sides of her blouse away from her arms and kissed her shoulders. “You smell nice.”

  She’d put on perfume
before he’d come over. Nothing expensive, just something she’d picked up at the drugstore while filling Katie’s prescription.

  He traced the lace of her bra. “This is pretty. New?”

  “Mm-hmm.” She’d splurged online at Victoria’s Secret.

  “For me?” he asked, and pulled down the straps.

  “No.” Raylene probably had one in every color.

  “Liar.” He tugged down the cups. “You’ve been feeling this between us as much as I have. God, you’re beautiful.”

  Compared to Raylene’s double D’s, she must’ve seemed flat chested. She tried to pull the bra back up, but Lucky wouldn’t let her.

  “What’s wrong, Tawny?”

  “I don’t think I’m good at this.” The truth was she felt horribly insecure, like she wouldn’t stack up against Lucky’s other women.

  “You were good at it yesterday,” he said. “You just need to relax. Trust me.”

  Yeah, that was the problem. She trusted him about as far as she could throw him. Probably even less. “I’ll try.”

  He chuckled. “We can stop anytime you want.” Lucky took her blouse and bra all the way off and sucked her breasts.

  It felt so good that she let out a moan.

  “Mm,” he whispered. “You taste good.”

  Tawny wanted his shirt off. Under his T-shirt he had on a long-sleeved thermal. She rucked both up until they were under his chin. Lucky tugged them over his head and tossed them somewhere on the floor. His chest and abs were rippled with muscle and scarred from where he’d been gored by bulls.

  She kissed a scar above his right pec. “Did this hurt?”

  “Can’t remember,” he said. “But you should probably kiss them all, just in case. I have some down here too.” He undid the button fly of his jeans, exposing a pair of black boxer briefs and an impressive bulge.

  She touched him there and heard him hiss in a breath. He lifted her hand off his erection and kissed the side of her neck. “Slow.” He nibbled the lobe of her ear. “Katie’s staying over at Grandma’s, right? So we’ve got all night.”

  The thought of an entire night with Lucky Rodriguez sent a shiver up her spine. He tugged on her skirt, pulling it down past her knees, and she walked out of it.

  He stared down at her panties and touched her over the lace. “You’re wet for me.”

  He pushed her backwards onto the bed and came down on top of her, supporting his weight with his elbows. Ever so gently he brushed a few strands of hair away from her face and looked at her for what seemed like forever. First her eyes, then her lips, letting his gaze fall to her breasts and lower. Tawny felt hot liquid pool between her legs. When he was done looking, he kissed his way down her body, practically bringing her off the bed.

  The man made her burn for him. “Lucky?”

  “Hmm?” He slid her underwear down and worked her with his fingers, making her cry out while he showered her with more kisses. “This good?”

  “Oh God, yes . . . What about you?”

  His lips traveled up her throat. The stubble on his face felt rough against her skin, but oh so good. Next to her ear he said, “We’ll get to me. First you.”

  He brought her to the apex not once, but twice, then rolled on a condom before thrusting into her. He leaned his head back, his eyes dark with desire, his neck taut with control, and pounded into her again and again until they both shouted out and let go. He lay there on top of her and she could feel his heart beating fast and hard, and thought for sure that he could hear hers, loud as a marching-band drum.

  He muttered something about being heavy and rolled over to the side, taking her with him. Together they just lay there, staring into each other’s eyes.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She nodded, afraid that if she spoke she might cry. Because other than giving birth to Katie, she’d never experienced anything so intimate, so earth shattering, in her life.

  “Better than the first time?” When she looked at him quizzically, he said, “At the park.”

  She gave him a small smile. “No comparison.”

  “I’ll always be sorry that I didn’t make your first time better,” he said, and she was sure that if he looked close enough he could see that her eyes had filled. “But we got Katie.”

  “I couldn’t ask for better than that,” Tawny said, and Lucky wiped her tear away with his knuckle.

  “We’ll get her well, Tawny. I promise.”

  Something suddenly chirped and Lucky leaned over her to grab his phone off the floor. He hung over the side of the bed for a second, giving Tawny an excellent rear view, reading what looked like a text. Then he dropped the phone on the nightstand and headed off to the bathroom.

  Going against every moral code she believed in, Tawny quickly lifted the phone and read the message Lucky had left on the screen.

  Where are you? Heard about the bust today and am worried sick. Hopefully by now you’re over your petty jealously about Butch. Call me. I love you. Raylene.

  By the time Lucky came back into the room, Tawny had dressed. He stood in front of her in all his naked glory, a confused expression on his face. “I thought”—he nudged his head at the bed—“we could hang out a while.”

  “I have boots to make and I’m sure you have . . . things to do.”

  “It’s nine o’clock at night, Tawny. You looked at my text, didn’t you?”

  She didn’t say anything and she supposed that was confirmation enough.

  “Do you see me texting her back?”

  “You will, eventually. For right now you think it’s over between the two of you.” Clearly from Raylene’s text she didn’t, but that was another story. “But this thing with you guys . . . it’ll never end. You’ll take her back, you always do. And this thing with me and you . . . we were just scratching an itch. So go to her if you want. No hard feelings.”

  She somehow managed to make it to her studio with her dignity still intact. If there was any mercy in the world, Lucky would just leave. But no such luck. He followed her into the workshop.

  “I’m not seeing her and I’m not sleeping with her,” Lucky said while Tawny pretended to be too busy to meet his gaze. “I wouldn’t do that to either of you.”

  He started to say more, but became distracted by a stack of drawings and measurements on her desk. Brady’s name scrawled in big bold letters across the top of the pages.

  “You’re making him a pair of boots?” Lucky asked, and what could she do? Lie? So she nodded. “I thought you had a two-year waiting list. He’s only lived here a couple of months.”

  Tawny didn’t say anything.

  “Ah,” he said. “I see how this is. You scratching an itch with Brady too?”

  “No. Of course not,” she said, chasing after him. “Lucky, come back here and listen to me.”

  But he got in his truck and drove away.

  Lucky should’ve gone home, but he figured the cops had taken over his place, searching all the outbuildings for any contraband they had missed. Besides, it had been a shit day and he wanted a drink.

  Even with the big crowd at the Ponderosa, Lucky managed to slip in at the bar.

  He ordered his usual—Jack neat—and tried to lose himself in the car race playing on the flat-screen above the back bar. Not much of a NASCAR fan, he found it difficult to get absorbed. He could’ve asked one of the bartenders to change the channel, but why bother?

  His mind kept going back to him and Tawny and their lovemaking, which had been beyond anything he could’ve imagined. The two of them were so in sync it was scary. Except for when they weren’t. Raylene. Brady. More drama than he could handle, especially with a sick daughter, his cowboy camp falling apart, and a reporter who wanted to document it all.

  Boy, had Noah gotten his eyes full today. Police lights flashing and guns being drawn. Half his crew had been taken into custody and Lucky had fired the rest. What would he do for an encore?

  The world finals were less than two months away and he’d ha
rdly trained. The PBR took the summer off, and Lucky had used the time to recuperate from his wreck in Billings. At least he’d scored high enough early on to qualify and didn’t have to travel to other events before Vegas. The whole point of staying home was to get his business off the ground. So far that had proven to be a giant joke.

  His phone vibrated and he fished it out of his pocket. Another message from Raylene. He didn’t have the wherewithal to deal with her now, so he stuffed the phone back in his jacket.

  “You mind if I take this seat?” Noah grabbed the stool next to Lucky. Clearly, he didn’t really care how Lucky felt about it.

  Lucky motioned the bartender over. “Another and whatever he wants.” Noah ordered a beer.

  “According to your local news site, today’s bust was the largest in recent county history,” the reporter said, vibrating with excitement.

  “Yep. Go big or go home,” Lucky muttered.

  “You didn’t know people were dealing drugs off your property?”

  Lucky debated getting up and walking out, but he knew it would just make matters worse. His agent wanted to hire him one of those crisis-manager types to fix this, but Lucky didn’t really see how anyone could. “The police have asked me not to talk about it. I don’t want to do anything that’ll hurt their case.”

  Noah nodded. “This can’t be good for your business . . . first the murder and now this.”

  So he knew about that too. Not that Lucky was surprised. It was just a matter of time. Someone played the Big & Rich song, “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)” and a group of women sitting at one of the corner booths starting chanting the chorus.

  “What are you planning to do?” Noah continued.

  “Hire a new crew.”

  “I meant publicity-wise.” He pulled out his notebook. “The fact is, Luiz Silva or Tuff Johnson are this year’s favorites for the finals. After you took that bad fall from Bushwacker in Billings, people have been predicting this would be your last year. It seems to me that you’ve got a lot riding on this cowboy camp of yours. Are you panicking?”