Cowboy Tough

by Stacy Finz

  She gazed outside again. As far as she could tell, her CR-V wasn’t out there and she needed to get going. Meredith had warned that it was never wise to stay in one place too long, especially this close to San Francisco. What was it? Three hours away maybe. Even less.

  It seemed like she’d just passed Sacramento when the cramping had started. She’d gotten off Interstate 80 looking for a restaurant, and the next thing she knew she was on a backcountry road and had had to pull over to the shoulder.

  The little boy sat on the edge of the bed. Looking at him, her heart hurt. She could actually feel the muscle aching, like a constant throbbing. It made her want to roll up in a ball and go back to sleep.

  Davis. She’d secretly named her baby after her mother’s maiden name. Davis.

  Can’t think about that now.

  “Do you like video games?” the boy asked.

  “Uh, Pac-Man maybe. Does that count?”

  She scanned the room, looking for her boots, and spotted her clothes and underwear neatly folded on a trunk at the foot of the bed. Someone had laundered them. The sheriff’s wife, she hoped.

  She interrupted the boy, who was going into great detail about something called Dragon Quest, which she assumed was a video game. “Where’s your mom?”

  “She moved away when I was a little kid.” He hitched his shoulders and looked away.

  Okay, there was obviously something more to that story. “Who’s watching you?” The boy couldn’t be more than nine years old.

  “My brother, Travis. He’s feeding the horses. I’m in charge of Sherpa and Scout, they’re our dogs.”

  “How old is Travis?” Maybe he could take her to her car.

  Hadn’t the sheriff mentioned their ages? Probably. But now she couldn’t remember.

  “Fourteen. His birthday was two weeks ago. My dad took us to see the PBR at the Cow Palace. Travis wants to be a professional bull rider when he grows up but my dad says he’ll get his brains knocked out. I kinda agree.”

  Somewhere, a phone started ringing and the little boy bolted down the hallway, only to return a few minutes later.

  “My dad wants to talk to you.” He handed her a cordless phone and took off back down the corridor.

  “Hello,” Charlotte said.

  “I tried to call you a couple times today on my landline. It’s been a crazy day…a shooting outside Chesterville.”

  “Oh my.” She couldn’t imagine having that kind of crime in such a bucolic area but supposed it could happen anywhere. “Were people hurt?”

  “Nah, it was just a pellet gun. But these two yahoos have been going at it all week over a damned fence and things got out of hand. In any event, I’ve been short on deputies to get your car over to the ranch. I’ll drive it over myself as soon as I can, no more than an hour. Promise.”

  “Okay.” It would give her time to take a quick shower, which she desperately needed, and to call Meredith. “Thank you, Sheriff. For letting me stay…for everything.”

  “Not a problem. Have you thought any more about what I said…about pressing charges?”

  She paused, trying to compose herself. “There’s nothing to press charges for. Whatever the doctor told you is wrong…”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone, then, “It’s up to you, Mrs. Rogers. See you in about an hour.” He hung up and she let out a heavy sigh.

  She should’ve left Corbin months ago, when she’d first found out she was pregnant. Charlotte sat on the edge of the bed and rested her face in her hands. God, what had she done?

  You don’t have time to beat yourself up, she told herself, got to her feet, and checked her phone for a signal. She locked the bedroom door and went inside the bathroom to call Meredith.

  “Where have you been?”

  Charlotte put the lid down on the toilet seat and sat down. “I lost the baby, Meredith.”

  “Oh boy.” Meredith expelled a long breath and Charlotte could hear her thinking. She wasn’t prone to strong emotions. It was probably why she was so good at her job. Calm, cool, and so damned collected that sometimes Charlotte wondered if the woman even had a pulse. “Where are you now? Please tell me not in San Francisco.”

  “No, not San Francisco.” The truth was Charlotte only had a vague idea of where she was. After everything that had happened, the details were fuzzy. All she remembered was exiting off the interstate to find a restaurant with a clean bathroom because something hadn’t felt right, and winding up on a county road. “Near Auburn, I think. That’s where I went to the emergency room.”

  “Oh God, you didn’t give them your real name, did you? And what about payment? Don’t tell me you used a credit card or gave them your insurance information.”

  “I paid cash and used Charlie Rogers. But Meredith, the doctor saw the bruises and took X-rays and pictures. He told the sheriff who brought me in.”

  “He had to,” Meredith said. “He’s required by law. What did you tell the deputy?”

  “Nothing. I told him the doctor was mistaken. But, Meredith, this is where it gets complicated. I’m at the sheriff’s house now. I was in no shape to drive last night, the local hotels were all booked, and I had nowhere to go.”

  “He took you home? Oh, Charlotte.” Meredith was moving around now, Charlotte could practically hear her pacing. “Let me think about this for a minute. First of all, do you feel safe?”

  “Yes, I think so. The sheriff—I think he’s the actual sheriff—seems decent. He has two children. But he’s pushing me about my home life…about the possibility of pressing charges.”

  “Don’t tell him anything. At this point we can’t trust anyone, even a cop. And especially not an elected official. If indeed he’s a sheriff, he’s an elected official. What’s his name? I’ll do some research.”

  Charlotte squeezed the bridge of her nose, trying to remember. The realization that she didn’t even know his full name hammered home the insanity of the situation. She was running from one man only to go home with another, whom she knew absolutely nothing about. “Dalton, I think. I believe the hospital staff called him Sheriff Dalton. He told me his first name, but I can’t remember it now.”

  “Okay, let me see what I can do with that. When did you leave, Charlotte, and why didn’t I hear from you on Monday?”

  “Hold on a sec.” Charlotte got up, turned on the faucet, and splashed water on her face. “I’m back. Corbin stayed home from work on Monday and didn’t leave the house until late Tuesday morning.” He did what he always did, ingratiated himself by making her breakfast in bed and sending obscene amounts of flowers to their apartment, until she forgave him.

  “So you didn’t leave until Tuesday? Oh boy. You never would’ve made it to Boulder on time, even without the extra complication.”

  Charlotte wanted to scream. Complication? “I just lost my baby, Meredith!” But Meredith was only trying to help. Only trying to save Charlotte’s life. After a year of refusing to see the truth, Charlotte had finally grasped the danger she was in. And Meredith knew it too.

  And now, the miscarriage would serve as a constant reminder of the mistakes Charlotte had made.

  “I’ll have to make other arrangements for you,” Meredith said. “The job in Boulder won’t wait. There might be something in Kansas City. Can you hold tight with the sheriff until I get back to you?”

  “I don’t know him, Meredith. I still can’t believe he took me home with him. I’m a complete stranger. For all he knows, I’m a serial killer.”

  Meredith snorted. “Anyone looking at you would know you’re not a serial killer.”

  It was the truth, but Meredith didn’t mean it in a good way. What she was really saying was that Charlotte was so beaten down that anyone looking would only see weakness. Someone to pity, not fear.

  “Just one more night,” Meredith said. “Just enough time for me to
find you another job and another host. A hotel will leave you vulnerable. Staying with a cop…well, for right now, while you’re still so close to San Francisco, is better. Just don’t tell him anything.”

  “How do I know he’s not a psycho?”

  Meredith didn’t answer right away, then said, “You don’t. But my gut tells me he’s less of a psycho than Corbin.”

  “What if he won’t let me?”

  “If he asks you to leave, call me and we’ll figure something out. In the meantime, whatever you do, don’t use your real name or your credit cards. Cash only, until we can set up something under Charlie Rogers. You hear?”

  Meredith had already been able to work wonders with getting Charlotte the Honda and a phone. Neither could be traced, not even by Corbin, who had tentacles all over the state.

  “I won’t. Call me as soon as you have something.”

  “I will.” Meredith signed off.

  Charlotte checked the time again and jumped in the shower, letting a glorious spray of hot water sluice over her. For a guest bathroom it was large and luxurious. Under different circumstances she would’ve taken the time to really appreciate the hammered copper fixtures and vintage clawfoot tub.

  The house turned her thoughts to her host. She’d been in no condition for him to make an impression, yet he had. The cowboy hat, the boots, the stunning blue eyes, and his gentle kindness. They’d all left a mark.

  She hurriedly dressed in her clean clothes while a pack of dogs barked outside. Drawing the blinds open, she saw that it wasn’t a pack but two dogs, circling her CR-V while the cowboy sheriff got out of the driver’s seat. Charlotte watched as he alighted from her car and crouched down to scratch one of the hounds behind its ear. The dog licked his face and he wrapped it in a hug, nearly knocking his cowboy hat off in the process.

  Nope, the sheriff wasn’t likely a psycho or a serial killer.

  She found her way to the kitchen, taking in more of what she hadn’t been able to see the night before. The place was huge, with endless windows and sweeping views. The kitchen had marble countertops, industrial-sized appliances, and a large center island. But what made the room all the more breathtaking were the tall open-beam ceilings and the enormous hand-crafted deer-antler chandeliers that hung from the iron trusses.

  It looked like something you’d see in Wyoming, and nothing like the densely spaced rows of painted ladies in San Francisco.

  The sheriff came through the mudroom and hung his hat on a hook by the door. She waited by the kitchen island, unsure of what to do. What was the etiquette for asking a man she didn’t know if she could stay another night?

  “Good afternoon.” He bobbed his head at her as soon as he entered the kitchen. “Your car’s in the driveway just the way you left it.”

  “It looks like the storm’s over.”

  “Yep.” He peered out the window and looked up at the sky. “Where you headed, Mrs. Rogers?”

  “Call me Charlie, please. Colorado,” she lied. “I have people there.”

  “Colorado, huh?” He said it like he didn’t believe her, which was ironic because that’s where she’d originally been headed.

  Now, it was wherever Meredith could find her a job and a place to live. The trick was never staying in one place too long. For the women who had, it hadn’t ended well. Meredith had relentlessly drummed that into Charlotte’s head like a hammer on an anvil.

  “Uh-huh.” She was just about to make up a place. Denver, Aspen, Colorado Springs. But the boy she’d met, and another whom Charlotte could only assume was the brother—same beautiful blue eyes—came running into the kitchen.

  “Whoa, slow down, kiddos.” The sheriff wrapped his arm around the older one’s shoulder and Charlotte flinched. It only took her a second to realize that it was an affectionate gesture and she quickly collected herself. But she’d learned the hard way that affection could turn to violence on a dime.

  “Travis won’t let me ride his minibike,” the younger one complained.

  “What’s wrong with yours?”

  “It’s out of gas, remember? You said you would get me some, but you never did.”

  “Been a little busy, buddy. Travis, let Grady ride your minibike.”

  The older one, Travis, bleated, “Daaaaaaad,” like he was in a great deal of pain.

  “I’ll tell you what: Either you share or no one rides.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Whoever said life was fair?” The sheriff tossed her keys on the counter.

  Charlotte noted that, unlike the day before, he wasn’t wearing a uniform, just a pair of jeans and a Western shirt. His badge was on his belt and for some reason he seemed a lot taller and broader today than he did yesterday. When Travis filled out he’d be the spitting image of his father and too good-looking for his own good.

  Travis started to stomp off and the sheriff tugged him back by his T-shirt. “Did you say hello to Mrs. Rogers?”

  Travis turned to her. “Hi. Are you our new babysitter?” He wrinkled his nose.

  “No, she’s our guest,” the sheriff answered. “You have homework?”

  “Math.”

  “Then get to it. You too, Grady, no minibikes or video games until you get it done.”

  “Yes, sir,” both boys said in unison and rushed off, leaving Charlotte alone with the sheriff.

  The sheriff scrubbed his hand through his hair, then turned his attention to Charlotte. “Did you get something to eat?”

  “Uh, no. I’m embarrassed to say that I only woke up a little while ago.” She sat on one of the stools because she was feeling a little shaky. It was either the aftereffects of the medication or the overwhelming toll the last few days had taken on her. And it wasn’t going to get any better. Meredith had drawn her a pretty clear picture of what Charlotte was up against.

  “It’ll be another hour or so before dinner, but there’s plenty of snacks.” He walked inside a pantry the size of a San Francisco bedroom and returned with an armful of choices. Everything from chips to cookies. “Pick your poison.”

  She couldn’t help herself and laughed, then chose a package of peanut butter crackers. “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  “Jace. Just call me Jace.”

  “Okay.” She tore open the plastic and took a nibble of the cracker, trying to remember the last time she ate. “Your sons are lovely.”

  “Lovely?” He raised a brow. “They’ve run off five babysitters in a little over a year. The last one left yesterday, though she stuck it out for eight months.”

  “Why? They’re adorable.” Of course Charlotte had spent all of five minutes with them. For all she knew they were holy terrors. The eldest had seemed to have a skosh of an attitude. But didn’t all kids that age?

  “They’re good boys as long as they’re not home alone together, then they’re liable to kill each other.” He grinned to show he was exaggerating. “You like lasagna, or do you have to hit the road?”

  She cleared her throat. “About that: I was hoping it wouldn’t be an imposition if I stayed another night.” She couldn’t believe she was asking. The whole idea of holing up in a stranger’s house in the middle of nowhere was surreal. Twelve months ago, no one, least of all her, could’ve imagined she’d be in this position. But here she was. Fighting to stay safe and asking a man she didn’t know from Adam to extend his hospitality. “I’m assuming the hotels are still booked and I could use another day to recuperate. I could pay you.”

  Jace didn’t say anything at first, just scrutinized her as if he was trying to read her intentions. The sheriff clearly had a suspicious nature. Either that or she was as transparent as tracing paper. She was leaning toward the later.

  Then again, he was a cop.

  “Daaaaaaad!”

  Jace slipped past her and stood between the kitchen and the great room. “What?”

/>   “Travis ripped my shirt.”

  Jace tipped his head back and seemed to be praying to the ceiling. “Both of you, in here, now!”

  Charlotte shrank back, having a Pavlovian response to the yelling.

  The boys came rushing in, both shouting over each other.

  “Look what he did.” Grady pulled the sleeve of his shirt away from his arm to show a tear in the seam of the shoulder. “It’s my favorite shirt, Dad, and he ruined it.”

  Jace picked up his hand and she held her breath, waiting for it. The slap. The punch. The kick. But it never came. Instead, he appraised the rip with his fingers, testing the fabric to see how bad the damage was.

  “I can fix it,” she blurted, and three pairs of eyes turned to her.

  “You can?” Grady stared, pleading.

  She moved closer to examine the damage. It was a simple repair. Ten, fifteen stitches would do it. But it was knit material and she’d need her serger to do the job properly.

  “Just have to get my machine out of the car.” She scooped her keys off the counter where Jace had dropped them.

  He walked out with her. It was nippy without a jacket, though her oversized sweater would’ve been plenty warm enough for overcast San Francisco days. It was colder here and the air was crisper and cleaner, especially after yesterday’s rain. Everything smelled fresh, like wet pine needles, oak bark, and grass. Cows dotted a distant field and she gazed out over the land to have a look. It was quite a front yard, rolling hills and trees for as far as the eye could see.

  There was also a creek. She’d seen it in the glow of his headlights on their drive in and had heard it from her bedroom during the night. It curved around the back of the house, snaking its way up the side.

  “It’s breathtaking,” she murmured.

  “Yep.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and gazed out over the distance where a split-rail fence listed like a stooped old man.

  To Charlotte it was part of the ranch’s rustic charm. Same with the weathered barn with its chipping red paint and sagging roof. So much inspiration here that she’d almost forgotten why she’d stepped outside in the first place.