The Junkyard Cowboy (Tall, Hot & Texan Book 3)

by Christie Craig

  Clay and the old man waited on the porch. She and Jake stayed in the car. The silence hung heavy. Jake looked at her. “Seriously, I could—”

  “No.” She reached for the door handle.

  Slipping her purse over her shoulder, she got out of the car. Her feet landed on the graveled drive. Just standing up had her muscles screaming. She still couldn’t remember being thrown as Clay had said, but her aches were witness.

  The old man, moving quicker than she could, barreled down the stairs. He smiled, and his tanned face became a map of wrinkles. He stopped a few feet in front of her.

  “Howdy, Ma’am. Name’s Pete Grimes. And don’t you worry none. Clay and I, we’ll keep you safe.”

  “Thank you,” Jennifer said.

  The dog ambled up, moving one slow paw in front of the other. The thing was bigger than she’d first thought. The top of the animal’s head almost came to her shoulders. Jennifer froze. She wasn’t afraid of dogs, but she respected big ones. “Is he friendly?”

  “As a teddy bear,” Pete said.

  She extended her hand. The animal the size of a small horse lowered his head and sniffed her palm, then before she knew it’s intent, he came up on his hind legs and put a paw on each of her shoulders. Amazingly, she’d never had a dog jump up on her so gently.

  “Get him down,” Clay said.

  “It’s okay,” Jennifer said, feeling almost hugged when the dog buried his snout in her neck and took another long sniff. She gave the animal a stroke down his side.

  “Sorry, he’s a flirt.” Pete pulled the dog down. “Loves females. Especially the pretty ones.”

  Frowning, Clay stayed on the porch, but his gaze stayed on her. Thankfully, the nurses had given her a pair of scrubs, so she wouldn’t have to wear her bloodstained clothes.

  Jake walked up beside her carrying the small suitcase Macy and Savanna had packed with some things they thought would fit Jennifer. The men exchanged hellos.

  As she moved up the steps, Clay studied her as if afraid she might bolt. He opened the front door. “It’s not the Ritz. But it’s clean. I can guarantee that.”

  The smell of Lysol and lemon Pledge and other cleaning products that clung to the man told her he wasn’t lying. She stepped inside where the cleaning scents were even stronger. Her gaze shifted around. The place was filled with some well-used antiques, old furniture, bare walls, but she’d bet there wasn’t a speck of dust to be found. Even the scarred wood floors shined.

  “We gave you the nicest room in the house,” Pete said.

  Jennifer looked at the old man and the horse of a dog standing beside him. “Oh, no. I said I’d sleep on the sofa.” Her gaze landed on the piece of furniture pushed against the far wall that was covered in a sheet. A faded lazy boy took up space beside the sofa. “I’ll be fine right—”

  “House rules,” Clay said. “Guests never sleep on the sofa.”

  “Yes, but I insist.” She took her bag from Jake, dropped it on the sofa to claim it, lifted her chin and shoulders and met his gaze with every ounce of feminine wiles she owned.

  Clay stared at her, then back at Jake as if he expected him to help out. She shot Jake a look, and the smart man remained silent. Confident that was settled, Jennifer sent Clay a little victory smile. One he didn’t return.

  “No,” Clay said matter-of-factly.

  “But I can’t kick anyone—”

  “My house! My rules!” He picked up the bag and shot down the small hall, leaving a wake of tension that had her questioning her feminine wiles.

  She looked at Jake for support, but he was smiling, which he quickly tried to hide by wiping a hand over his face.

  Pete moved in. “Ignore Clay. He skipped lunch, and we’re even late eating dinner. He’s just like his grandpa. Hunger makes him grumpy. But he’s right. You need to be in the bedroom. The sofa was . . . well the only piece of furniture we couldn’t get Devil’s smell off of. Though the disinfectant said it could take two or three treatments.”

  The dog heard his name and the word “sofa” and crawled up on the lopsided piece of furniture, taking up almost the whole dang thing.

  The old man chuckled then gazed around the room with a sense of pride. “Don’t think this place has looked this good in ten years. And wait until you slip in between those new sheets Clay bought. Smooth as a baby’s butt. He paid a fortune for them, too.”

  Jennifer stood there, remembering Clay trying to back out of taking her in. She hadn’t realized what an inconvenience her staying here would put on him. She forced herself to smile and gave the room another glance, searching for design inspiration, determined to make sure Clay Connor got his money’s worth.

  • • •

  Clay dropped the bag on the bed, frowning when he re-heard his angry words in his head, but no way was he letting her sleep on that sofa. And frankly, he didn’t know her well enough to guess the right approach, so he’d gone in on the defensive. Too strong, probably.

  But hell, neither did he know her well enough to have her staying here. Yet here she was.

  All of this wouldn’t be happening if he’d just said no. And yet . . . ?

  He inhaled the clean scents that reminded him of how a real home should smell. He noted the shine on the floors and furniture, then his gaze settled on a clearance-rack vase of flowers, blue bonnets, centering the dresser. He still didn’t know why he’d tossed the knickknack in the cart. Or maybe he did. Women liked shit like that. And true the splash of color looked good. It also reminded him of the color of her eyes. A vibrant blue with almost a purple hue.

  This, with the exception of the flowers, needed to be done. He hadn’t noticed how bad the place was until he considered someone with a smile like hers coming here. Other than a quick pass of a broom, and doing the dishes weekly, he couldn’t remember cleaning the apartment he’d lived in for a year.

  And just as coming here had felt like a change in the right direction, cleaning this house gave him the same feeling. As if he was leaving the dark place he’d been in for the last two years.

  Oh, he was sure it still wasn’t up to Jennifer’s standards, but damn if he didn’t like the place better himself. Yeah, he’d dropped almost three hundred dollars at Walmart in towels, sheets, and cleaning supplies, but it was money well spent.

  He gave the room another glance, searching for anything else to make it more suitable. Finding nothing, he gave his shoulders a complete rotation and moved back into the living room to face the mess he’d probably caused.

  He’d only stepped into the hall when he heard a phone ring. Jake pulled his cell phone out.

  “Baldwin,” he answered, then went straight to frowning. “How could he have gotten away?”

  “What? Who?” Jennifer asked.

  Jake held out his hand. “I told you it was best, anyway.” Pause. “She can’t. I know. I’m leaving here now.” He hung up.

  “What?” Jennifer asked.

  Jake’s expression said he debated offering up the information.

  “Spill it. If it’s about me, I deserve to know.”

  Jake’s shoulders dropped in resolve. “A black Chevy Cruise was spotted parked outside Mark’s house. Mark had someone watching their house, but the guy spotted him and drove off.”

  “No!” Color drained out of Jennifer’s face. “Is Savanna okay? He didn’t touch her, did he? Please tell me—”

  “She’s fine,” Jake said. “He barely stepped out of the car. Mark’s with her now.”

  “What about Bethany? Oh, crap. I went to your house last week. If he knows—”

  “We got this, Jennifer.” Jake’s arm went around her shoulders, ending in a soft hug. Clay noted the friendship between them.

  He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to note all the facets of her personality. Or maybe he did. For the next few days, possibly a week, he would be spending his waking hours with her. Knowing who he was dealing with would make it easier.

  “We’re moving everyone to Nan’s, Macy’s gr
andmother’s, house,” Jake said. “She’s gone on a yoga cruise. We’ve got someone talking to the DA right now. And we’ve set up a meeting with Mr. Mitchell.”

  “Do you have proof he’s behind this?” Clay asked.

  “Not yet.” Jake looked at Clay.

  “Have you checked to see if any car rentals leased—”

  “We’ve checked the three closest towns. Got nothing. We’ve got someone venturing out to the surrounding car rental places now. But there were a lot of fingerprints on the gun. They’re being run through the system now. Hopefully, we’ll get this guy’s name and be able to connect him to Mitchell.”

  “And if you don’t?” Jennifer asked.

  “Trust us, okay? We’re going to get this guy.”

  Clay wished that instead of playing bodyguard he was investigating the case. Oddly, it was the first time he really missed being a cop.

  “Bethany’s not going to want to stop working,” Jennifer said. “She’ll fight you on this. And this guy might know where she works. He could—”

  “Don’t worry!” Jake tightened his arm around Jennifer. “Mark and I have dealt with difficult women. We each married one. We’ll deal with Bethany. Like it or not, she’s going to take some time off.”

  “I should call her,” Jennifer said. She opened her purse, pulled out a cell phone, and stepped a few feet away.

  Clay’s frown dipped all the way down to his gut. Her phone could be a problem. He motioned for Jake to follow him outside. “Have you explained to her that she can’t tell anyone where she is?”

  “Yeah. She knows.”

  “But will she do it?” Clay asked. “Every woman I’ve met in the last two years can’t live without telling the world on social media what they had for lunch and where. You both admitted that her friends are stubborn. And from my experience, the difficult ones travel in packs.”

  Jake chuckled. “She’s stubborn, but not stupid. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with her. And hey, you already showed her who’s boss concerning the sofa.”

  Clay frowned. “I don’t want to be her boss. I just need to know she’s not going to do something that will jeopardize her safety.”

  “Like I said, I don’t think she’ll give you a hard time.” He smiled again. “And considering you aren’t a funeral director, I think you’re safe.”

  “What?”

  The door swung open, and Jennifer walked out. “Bethany’s agreed to take off the rest of the week. If you don’t catch this guy by Monday, you’ll be needing a pair of handcuffs.”

  Clay just hoped he didn’t find himself in need of a pair.

  • • •

  Perhaps it was just Clay’s hunger, but the eggs, toast and bacon he’d made for dinner tasted damn good. But his houseguest only picked at her food.

  “There’s bread and lunchmeat if you prefer a sandwich,” he said, noting that Jennifer had placed her phone on the table as if waiting for a call or text.

  “Oh, no. This is good.” She picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite as if to prove it. “I’m just . . . I haven’t really been hungry since . . . last night.”

  Clay could understand that. He’d just gained back the last of the thirty pounds he’d lost those six months after the shooting.

  “Well, you can stop worrying,” Pete piped up. Then the old timer helped himself to the last of eggs. But damn, Clay was almost certain the old man had a tapeworm. He ate twice as much as Clay. “Ain’t no one gonna touch a pretty little hair on your head now. Between my shotgun and this guy’s two pistols, you couldn’t be safer.”

  She smiled at the same time her phone dinged and looked down and tapped the screen.

  “Hopefully we won’t even have to bring out the guns.” Clay tried not to frown. “What’s important is that no one knows you’re here.”

  “Yeah.” She pulled her phone over to continue reading.

  “And by that, I mean you don’t mention it in any text, Twitter, Facebook, Snapchat, or that picture one.”

  She looked up. “What about Google Play?”

  “No,” he snapped.

  Right then he felt a kick against his shin, delivered by Pete. The message was clear. He was coming off as an ass.

  She flinched then halfway gave a smile, but it wasn’t a real one. “I was joking.”

  He dropped his fork, wishing he could drop his attitude. “But I’m not. And I really need to know you understand that.”

  She looked chastised, and he felt like shit. What was it about her that put him on edge? Besides the blue eyes that were hard not to stare at, and the lips that occupied every guy’s wet dreams. Her waist. So little, he’d bet he could wrap his hands around. Oh, and that genuine smile she’d offered to Pete twice, but not him.

  “I understand,” she said.

  “Good.” The second he heard his frustrated tone, he felt worse.

  Pete obviously hadn’t liked the tone, either, because Clay got another shin kick. But damn, he thought only wives knew how to do that.

  “What he means to say,” Pete offered in a soft voice, “is he’s sorry for coming off like a jackass with a spur stuck to his hindquarters.”

  Clay frowned. “I didn’t mean to sound angry, I just—”

  “It’s okay.” She set the half-eaten piece of bacon down on her plate. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “I think this is the best meal you’ve cooked since you’ve been here.” Pete sounded extra cheery. “The only thing we’re lacking is dessert. What I wouldn’t do for a good slice of pie. You like pie, Missy?”

  Jennifer wiped the bacon grease from her fingers. “Yes, I do.”

  “You know how to cook one?”

  Pete’s question had Clay clearing his throat. He might be coming off grumpy, but at least he wasn’t attempting to sign her up for kitchen duty.

  “I’m just asking,” Pete said. “We have some pecans.”

  Clay kicked Pete under the table this time.

  Pete flinched. “I mean, if she had a hankering to cook one.”

  “She’s not here to cook for us,” Clay said.

  “It’s okay,” Jennifer said. “I do know how to bake a pecan pie. Won a ribbon. It’s my mom’s recipe.”

  “My mouth’s a-watering already,” Pete said. “Want me to set the pecans out?”

  “No.” Clay’s tone deepened. “She’s had a rough night. Let her rest.”

  Jennifer’s expression turned uncomfortable. He wouldn’t be surprised if she snatched up the phone and called Jake to come get her.

  “How about I do that tomorrow?” She leaned over and rested her hand on Pete’s.

  “Tomorrow sounds sweet,” the old man answered.

  Jennifer shifted her gaze back to Clay. “And since you cooked, I’ll clean.”

  “No.” He tried to softened the word, but failed.

  She lifted her right brow, and her eyes turned a stubborn hue.

  “Not tonight,” he spoke up fast. “Tomorrow we can divide up the chores. Tonight, you should just rest.”

  “I don’t mind,” she went to argue.

  “You look exhausted. You’ve got purple circles under your eyes.” The words no sooner tripped off his tongue when he remembered telling a woman she looked bad came with the Surgeon General’s warning. “I mean you look great. I barely noticed them. I just . . .”

  Pete intervened. “Why don’t you and I go watch Family Feud. Clay enjoys washing dishes.”

  That was a complete lie. He and Pete regularly argued over who’s turn it was to have kitchen duty, but considering he needed to digest the foot he’d already stuck in his mouth before he stuck the other one in, he went with it.

  “Come on.” Pete stood and waited until Jennifer did the same. As they walked out, Pete looked back and shot him a “what-the-hell?” glare.

  If only Clay knew. He’d done okay last night—with the exception of running around naked—and this morning at the hospital he didn’t remember screwing up. Why was now different?

>   He leaned over the sink and silently muttered every four-letter word he knew.

  Bottling his frustration, he got busy cleaning the kitchen. As he put the butter back in the fridge he spotted the wine and beer he’d splurged on.

  Hearing Jennifer and Pete laughing, he felt something akin to jealousy. He pulled out a beer for himself. While he wiped down the counters, he sipped on it and tried to figure out the reasons he was in such a pissy mood. Was it her? Him? Was it because she hadn’t smiled at him?

  Running a hand over his face, he decided he didn’t like thinking deep. Psychoanalyzing was for chickens. And look where it landed them. Decapitated, de-feathered, and dinner.

  Moving to the door of the living room, he saw Pete had taken up residence in the La-Z-Boy. Jennifer shared the lumpy sofa with Devil. With his head resting on Jennifer’s lap, the big dog looked like he’d died and gone to heaven.

  For one second he mentally traded places with the canine. His head in her lap, her soft hand brushing through his hair. Lucky damn Devil.

  Was that what was wrong with him? She made him want things? Things he told himself he couldn’t have yet. Things, he didn’t know if he deserved?

  Clay waited until a commercial came on. “I bought a six pack and some wine if you’d like a drink.”

  She looked over. “I’d love a glass of wine.” She went to stand up.

  “Relax. I got it.”

  Her gaze softened and slipped into a smile. Still not the sweet kind, but close. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Wow. Had he spoken more than three words to her and not come off like a pompous jackass? This was progress.

  Chapter Six

  Bundy couldn’t sleep. He’d almost been caught. But friggin’ hell, why had the cops put a lookout in front of the pregnant woman’s house? In the past, he’d learned they simply didn’t have the manpower to do shit like that, and he never once complained because it made his job easier.

  Knowing they’d seen his car, he’d driven it to the airport. He’d parked it in C terminal metered parking, walked into the airport and back out, then rented another one. A silver Honda.