Holding Out For A Hero

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  They’d ridden to the Golden Spur in silence, and now they sat across from each other at a small table right next to the tiny, deserted dance floor. A couple of cowboys sat at the bar a distance away from them, but otherwise the place was empty. Two draft beers sat sweating on two small napkins in front of Tanner and Dori. She hadn’t touched hers.

  Whatever was bothering her, she wasn’t having much success broaching the subject. Tanner really hated to ask, because it seemed to be the equivalent of poking in a hollow tree with a stick to find out what the buzzing sound was all about. But finally he couldn’t stand the tension any longer.

  “Will you tell me about it?”

  To his surprise her eyes filled with tears. She swiped at them with angry motions of both hands.

  “Dori, for goodness’ sake, what’s wrong?”

  She shoved away his hand as he reached for her. “I suppose you think it’s real funny that somebody uses a lucky number to guide their actions.”

  “No, no I don’t. I might not believe in it myself, but I respect—”

  “The hell you do.” Her voice was low and tight. “You used the information to hornswoggle me, though.” She glared at him, unsuccessfully trying to hide her hurt behind a facade of anger. “Room nine. What a coincidence. And all the time you were laughing at me.”

  The bottom seemed to drop out of his stomach. The truth was his only defense. “I wasn’t laughing. I thought I was going to lose you.”

  “So you made a mockery of my little superstition. How charming.”

  “No, I grabbed at the first thing I could think of to keep you around. Desperation makes people do all sorts of things.” He captured her gaze with his and willed her to understand.

  “Like lie?”

  “I would have told you the truth about the room eventually. Sure, I manipulated the situation to my advantage, and I’d do it again, just to spend a morning like we shared, just to hold you in my arms one more time. I’ll never forget the pleasure of touching you, Dori.”

  She glanced away, and color rose in her cheeks. “You’re getting away from the subject.”

  “Am I? You told me yourself that you’d thought of sending me back to Dallas before you found out what room I had at the motel. I bought myself more time with you. I bought us more time.”

  Her eyes were large and shining with the vulnerability that had tugged at him when he’d first seen her picture. “And I suppose that makes it all right.”

  “For me it does. You’ll have to answer for yourself.”

  She stared at him wordlessly, looking like a waxen image except for the gentle motion of her throat as she swallowed.

  “Think about it for a minute,” he said softly. “I’ll be right back.” He walked over to the silent jukebox and put coins in the slot. Then he picked out every damn song next to a number with a nine in it. He didn’t even look at the selections. Maybe it was time to trust this mystical connection she had with a number. After all, it had gotten him this far. Maybe it would pull him out of this hole he was in.

  He walked back to the table just as the opening chords of an Alan Jackson song surged from the jukebox. He gazed down at her. “Care to dance?”

  She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. Then slowly she stood and moved into his arms. He gathered her close with an unspoken prayer of gratitude. She wouldn’t disappear from his life yet. Maybe in a few moments, when the song ended, she’d collect herself and order him to leave. But for now she wound one arm around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. He held her hand cupped against his chest as they swayed, barely moving their feet.

  Tanner rested his cheek against her silky hair and breathed in the fragrance as if he needed her scent to live. And maybe he did. Alan Jackson crooned about lovers being able to walk through fire without blinking, and Tanner understood completely. For the first time since he’d met Dori, his primary concern wasn’t how soon he’d be able to make love to her. She could probably change his focus with a kiss, but for the moment he cherished the simple act of holding her. A desire for her body had been replaced by a desire for her trust.

  He thought of all she didn’t know about him and decided the time had come to tell her about his financial situation. Dori wasn’t a gold digger. It wasn’t in her nature to be greedy. But she valued the truth, and she deserved to have it. After this dance.

  Gradually, she relaxed against him, and as the song ended she was snuggled so close, he hated to move and break the mood. The next song slipped into place on the jukebox, and it was another love ballad, this time by George Strait.

  With a sigh Dori lifted her head and looked into Tanner’s eyes as she swayed to the gentle rhythm. “I like your taste in songs.”

  “I didn’t pick them.”

  “Of course you did. I watched you do it.”

  “I put in the money. Then I let your lucky number do the picking.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you making fun of me again?”

  “I never was making fun of you.” He held her close and moved to the music. This subject wouldn’t come between them again if he could help it. “And as you well know, changing to room nine saved me from that stink bomb. Without your belief in number nine, you wouldn’t have bought the September issue of Texas Men or picked me out as the ninth bachelor. I owe that number a lot, so I decided to find out what happened if I abandoned myself to its power.”

  “You are making fun of me.”

  “Absolutely not.” Her body was so warm, so supple, against his. “I’m more convinced than ever that you’re on to something. You just said you liked the songs.”

  The suspicion gradually disappeared, leaving her eyes soft as a doe’s. “They’re so…romantic.”

  He caressed the small of her back. “And exactly what we needed.”

  “Promise to tell me the truth from now on, Tanner.”

  “I will,” he vowed. Right after this dance. Sure, he could have led her back immediately to the table and resolutely presented the news of his healthy investment portfolio. Maybe there was a man somewhere with the strength to resist the petal-soft feel of her cheek against his, her gentle fragrance wafting from the tender spot behind her ear where women dabbed their cologne, her ripe woman’s body undulating in time to the music. Tanner wasn’t that man.

  Somebody tapped him on the shoulder. He edged slowly out of his daze and turned, wondering if one of the idiots who’d been sitting at the bar really expected to cut in.

  A young buck in a formfitting T-shirt that showed off his pecs stood behind Tanner. He adjusted his black Stetson. “You the ol’ boy who owns that Chevy pickup out front?” he asked.

  Technically, it belonged to one of his electricians. “Why?”

  “Excuse me, ma’am.” The cowboy tipped his hat toward Dori before facing Tanner again. “Your bucket of bolts just rolled into my truck, that’s why, sucker. Don’t they know about emergency brakes in East Texas?”

  Tanner knew the guy was lying about the accident, if there even was one. He could be part of an insurance scam or he could be connected to Jimmy Jr. The East Texas crack indicated he knew who Tanner was, so Devaney could be behind it. Tanner would rather have it be about insurance. That would only take money to fix. He released Dori. “Why don’t you go have some of that draft we ordered while I take care of this?”

  She started to protest.

  “Please.”

  She looked doubtful but made her way back to the table, where she glanced back at him, a worried expression on her face.

  “Let’s go take a look,” Tanner said to the muscleman, whose sculpted body was probably more the result of constant contact with a weight machine than hours spent in honest labor.

  The guy headed toward the front door of the bar. “Just got my truck painted, a primo job, too. I don’t appreciate having some screwup like you ruin it just because he can’t pull a damn handle.”

  Tanner remembered leaving the truck in gear, setting the emergency and locking both doors. But
there was no alarm system, no security club for the wheel. Anybody with a slim-jim bar could have opened it, put it in neutral and released the brake.

  Outside, the parking lot lights illuminated his electrician’s old truck, the tailgate wedged against the dented passenger door of a cherry red pickup. It looked like a setup, but that wasn’t what worried him. Three more bulked-up cowboys stood around the wreck, beer cans in hand, voices loud as they discussed the accident. When Tanner walked out they all looked up with a decidedly predatory expression.

  “This the one?” asked a guy with a droopy mustache.

  “Yeah,” said the cowboy who had come into the bar. He swung back to Tanner. “See what you did to my truck? Somebody’s gonna pay for that, and it sure as hell ain’t gonna be me.”

  Tanner evaluated his chances against the four men. Not good. “I distinctly remember putting the car in gear and setting the brake,” he said. “Besides that, I locked it.”

  “Did you now?” The truck owner sneered at him. “I don’t think so, sucker. My friends here saw it all happen. We pulled in, figuring to grab us a beer at the Golden Spur, and just as we cruised by, your truck started rollin’. Couldn’t get out of the way.”

  “You’re lying, mister,” Tanner said easily.

  The truck owner glanced back at his pals. “You hear that? This ol’ boy from East Texas called me a liar.”

  “Don’t be lettin’ him get away with that, Billy Joe.”

  There was an inevitable quality about the exchange. Tanner had pretty much known what to expect from the minute he walked out the door of the bar and saw the other guys. “We’ll see what the insurance adjusters have to say about it,” he said, reaching for his wallet to give the guy a card he didn’t expect him to accept. This wasn’t about vehicle repair.

  “That usually takes a long time, don’t it?” the truck owner said.

  Tanner met his mocking gaze. “Depends on whether you have a legitimate claim.”

  “I don’t think I want to wait for no insurance adjuster. I want satisfaction now.”

  “Too bad.” Tanner watched the other three move closer. He flexed his shoulders and shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. “I don’t carry much cash.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to take it out of your hide.”

  Tanner’s knuckles smashed against the truck owner’s jaw. It was the only punch he was able to throw before the others closed in.

  DORI SIPPED HER BEER, but she kept a constant watch on the front door of the bar. Tanner’s selections kept playing on the jukebox, and she loved all of them. She’d be sure and tell him as soon as he got back, which should be any minute. He and the cowboy would exchange insurance information and be done with it. She hoped Tanner carried good insurance. The way he was about money, he might have skimped on his coverage.

  Interspersed with her thoughts was a remembered sound. She kept hearing the sound in her mind and wondered why. Finally, she identified it—the rasp of an emergency brake. She’d been preoccupied by her feelings of betrayal when they’d turned into the parking lot, and if the cowboy had asked her, she wouldn’t have been able to swear whether Tanner had pulled on the brake. Except that he had. As she replayed their arrival in her mind, she heard him shut off the engine and set the brake.

  She bolted from her chair and ran for the door. As she flung it open a red truck peeled out of the lot. Tanner lay crumpled on the ground.

  With a cry she ran over and dropped to her knees beside him. His right eye was already swelling shut and he was bleeding from his nose. He looked blearily up at her with his one good eye. “Coulda taken him, ’cept for his three friends,” he mumbled through a mouth cut and bleeding. Then he passed out.

  9

  THE NEXT COUPLE of hours were a scrambled nightmare for Dori. She instructed the bartender to call 9-1-1, which brought Deputy Holt in a squad car and Los Lobos’s single licensed paramedic, Ned Fickett, in the volunteer fire department’s truck. Tanner regained consciousness just as they arrived and protested all the attention for what he insisted were minor injuries. Nevertheless, the paramedic applied first aid and the deputy took a report. Dori wasn’t able to identify the man who had entered the bar, and neither she nor Tanner could remember the license number of the truck.

  On Ned Fickett’s advice, Dori drove Tanner to the small emergency clinic for a more thorough examination. He was diagnosed with two cracked ribs, which were taped, a broken nose, which was splinted, and numerous gashes, which were bandaged. He wanted to drive when they left the clinic, but Dori refused to give him the keys to the truck.

  When he allowed her to keep them, she knew how whipped he really was. She drove straight to her house, parked the truck defiantly in her driveway and helped him inside. She’d love Jimmy Jr. to make a big deal out of it. At this moment she felt that if he showed up she could do at least as much damage to him as his hired punks had done to Tanner. Every time Tanner winced, or she looked at the bruise darkening around his swollen eye, her rage grew.

  With a supportive arm around his waist, she guided him down the hall toward her bedroom.

  “Bad idea, coming here,” he mumbled through swollen lips. “I can’t promise I won’t—”

  “I can. You’re a mess. And you’re too big and too injured to cram yourself on the couch or Little Jim’s bed. I’ll sleep in my son’s room tonight.”

  “Okay.” He stumbled. “Sorry. Guess I’m a bit dizzy.”

  “No kidding.” She pulled back the covers, sat him on the bed and started unbuttoning his shirt.

  He allowed her to take that off, but when she reached for his belt buckle he caught her hand. “Don’t test me,” he muttered.

  “You can do it?”

  “You might be surprised what I can do.” His smile ended in a groan as his split lip began bleeding again. “Got a washcloth?”

  “Coming up.” She hurried into the bathroom, dampened a red washcloth and brought it back. She dabbed at his lip.

  “Can’t see the blood,” he said.

  She glanced down at the washcloth. She’d automatically grabbed the one she used to clean up Little Jim’s scratches. “On purpose. It keeps people from getting scared by seeing their own blood all over the place.”

  “Good idea.” He sounded incredibly weary.

  “The bleeding’s stopped.” She set the washcloth on the night table and helped him to his feet. “Let’s get you into bed.”

  “Nicest offer I’ve had all night.”

  But she could tell, despite his lighthearted comments, that he felt as bad as he looked. “Are you sure you can get your jeans off by yourself?”

  He nodded.

  She stayed in the room just to make sure he didn’t fall and hurt himself even worse. At least, she told herself that was the reason. He’d just been beaten up, for heaven’s sake, so now wasn’t an appropriate time to admire his strong-looking thighs or the substantial bulk contained in the crotch of his white briefs.

  “You don’t have to sleep in Little Jim’s bed.”

  She glanced into his face with a guilty start. “Yes, I do. Goodness, Tanner, you have two cracked ribs. How can you even be thinking—”

  “Weren’t you?”

  “I—” She could feel the blush spreading. “Never mind. Get under the covers. And I’ll bet you could use a glass of water. And a fresh ice pack for your eye. I’ll get them.” She started toward the door.

  “Sleep with me, Dori.”

  She paused, her back to him.

  “We don’t have to make love.”

  She shook her head.

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “I trust you just fine. It’s me I don’t trust.”

  “Oh.” Even through his weariness and pain, male satisfaction was obvious in that single syllable.

  Dori left the room quickly.

  By the time she returned with a soft-gel ice pack and a glass of water, Tanner had climbed into her bed and thrown a sheet over himself. His eyes were closed, an
d she thought he might have already gone to sleep. She crept to his bedside, set the glass of water down carefully and switched off the bedside lamp. Then she started to walk away.

  “Don’t go.”

  She turned back to him. “I thought you were asleep. Do you want the ice pack for your eye?”

  “I’d rather have you lie down beside me.”

  “Tanner—”

  “Outside the covers, if you want.” He sighed. “I don’t have any devious plans, unfortunately. I think the adrenaline rush is about gone, and I feel like hell.”

  “You need another pain pill.” She reached for the bottle on the bedside table.

  “I hate those damn things. They make me disoriented. Please, Dori. Just lie beside me. That’s better than any painkiller they could prescribe.”

  “Okay.” She walked around to the other side of the bed, took off her shoes and eased down on top of the bedspread, not wanting to jiggle him and cause him more discomfort. She laid her head on the pillow and gazed up at the shadowy ceiling above them.

  In the darkness, his hand found hers and held it loosely as they lay together, their breathing the only sound in the room. Dori gradually relaxed as a floating, peaceful feeling traveled from their joined hands and spread throughout her tense body.

  “The worst part of it was feeling so helpless,” he said.

  The peaceful feeling evaporated, and she didn’t trust herself to speak. Thinking about him being beaten up by four men made her stomach churn.

  “I haven’t felt that much loss of control since I had my tonsils out when I was fifteen, and they put me under the anesthetic. I tried to fight back, but those guys operated like a trained machine.”

  She finally voiced a thought she’d had some time ago. “You knew it could turn out like that when you left the bar, didn’t you?”