by Kim Redford
“A green-and-white towel like we found at the Perkins house?” Sheriff Calhoun asked.
“Yes,” Dune agreed. “Plus, he was a nondescript guy wearing nondescript clothes, and he didn’t fit into Wildcat Bluff then or now.”
“Circumstantial, at best,” Sheriff Calhoun said. “But helpful.”
“Shut up, all of you,” the guy ordered. “You don’t know a thing, but I’m happy to tell you everything.”
“If you want to unload your conscience, we can go right down to the station where you can make and sign a statement,” Sheriff Calhoun said in a clipped, official tone.
“Stuff it. I’m talking now.” He glanced around the group. “My name is Edgar Perkins. Ring a bell?”
“Perkins,” Bert said. “Any relation to Hollis Perkins?”
“Son.”
“And you burned down your family’s farmhouse?” Bert Two asked, sounding puzzled as well as outraged.
“Revenge,” Edgar said. “I got plenty of it, so I don’t care what you do to me now.”
“But we helped your dad,” Bert explained. “He was going to lose his farm to back taxes, so we bought the place from him. We made the deal big enough so he could invest and live on the income.”
“Lies!” Edgar shouted. “You paid him peanuts, or I’d have gotten my inheritance and I’d be living like a king in Austin instead of skulking around this deadbeat county setting fires. I’m sick of the whole lot of you!”
“I hate to be the one to tell you, if you don’t know,” Bert said in a gentle voice, “but your dad had a drinking and gambling problem. That’s where the money went, and that’s why he crashed his car and died.”
“More lies!”
“I realize the truth hurts,” Bert continued, “but when there’s nothing else but the truth, sometimes you have to accept it.”
“Never!”
“Mr. Perkins, let’s just take it easy,” Sheriff Calhoun said in a calm voice. “You’ve done a lot of damage to Holloway property, and now you’ve had your say. It’s time to go on down to the station.”
Edgar glared around the group, then spit toward Bert’s boots again. “Yeah, I did what I wanted to do. And I’ve had a gut full of cowboys. Get me out of here.”
“If you’ll leave your hands behind your back, I’ll put on handcuffs,” Sheriff Calhoun said.
“Whatever,” Edgar growled. “I’ll get a lawyer on my case and be out of this county in no time.”
“Good luck,” Bert said. “We don’t cotton to breaking the law around here.”
“That’s right,” Bert Two agreed. “We’re a law-and-order county.”
“And we still live by the Code of the West.” Sheriff Calhoun tugged handcuffs off his belt, removed the hoodie, and restrained Edgar’s hands behind his back. He held the hoodie in one hand while he glanced around the group. “Thanks for the help. I’m glad to finally catch our arsonist. I’ll take him down to the station and book him.”
“Just a minute.” Dune walked over, grabbed Edgar by his collar, jerked him up on his tiptoes, and leaned down in his face. “You’ve been playing by your rules. If you ever cause trouble in Wildcat Bluff County again, you’ll be playing by our rules. And we play for keeps.” He set Edgar down, dusted off the front of his shirt, and stepped back. “Sheriff, get him out of here. He’s stinking up the place.”
Edgar didn’t say a word, but he backed up close to the sheriff, as if for protection.
Sheriff Calhoun took hold of Edgar’s arm and led him around the side of the snack shed.
Nobody moved or said a word until they heard the sheriff slam doors, start his vehicle, and drive away.
“All I’ve got to say,” Bert filled the silence, “is that you two have free movie tickets here for the rest of your lives.”
“Dad, that’s not near enough,” Bert Two insisted. “They get free snacks, too.”
“Thanks. I won’t argue with you—at least not tonight,” Sydney said. “I never did get much of my lemonade.”
“Coming right up.” Bert Two headed for the door, then looked back. “Sit down. Enjoy the movies.”
“That’s right,” Bert agreed as he followed his son. “You two deserve all that and more. I can hardly wait to tell Hedy the good news. She’ll be so relieved to know the arsonist is finally behind bars.”
“Why don’t you go over and tell her in person?” Sydney suggested with a smile. “I think we’re all pretty much on autopilot from now till dawn.”
“Good idea,” Bert Two said. “I can handle things from here.”
“Are you sure?” Bert asked, appearing hesitant but eager to be gone.
“You bet.” Bert Two motioned toward Bert’s pickup. “Get out of here.”
Bert pulled his key ring out of his pocket, gave them all a big grin, and headed for his truck.
“Don’t move a muscle. I’ll have those lemonades out to you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” Bert Two pulled open the snack shed door and disappeared inside.
“If you don’t mind,” Sydney said, stifling a yawn, “I want to go sit in Celeste. Somehow, the snack shed has lost some of its charm.”
“No wonder.” Dune reached over and pulled her close. “But it’ll get its mojo back.”
“I’m just glad it’s all over.”
“It is for us. But Edgar Perkins has to live with himself, and no amount of revenge can ever fix a life built on a lie.”
“I hope he never darkens our door again.” Sydney leaned into Dune’s strength and warmth, feeling safe and secure and happy.
“He won’t,” Dune said with conviction.
“Here you go.” Bert Two stepped out the door and handed Dune a box holding two big lemonades. “Enjoy.”
“Thanks,” Sydney said. “We’re going to take our popcorn and drinks to Celeste and enjoy movies the old-fashioned way.”
“Sounds great. See you later.” And Bert Two quickly disappeared back into the snack shed.
Sydney picked up her purse, tucked the handle over the crook of her arm, and grabbed two boxes of popcorn with one hand. She was more than ready to get away and finally relax with Dune.
She held his hand, just as if they were teenagers, as they walked across the patio and over to the side lane. They passed row after row of vehicles and finally came to the back corner where he’d parked Celeste at the end of the aisle in a dark and secluded spot.
He opened the passenger door, and she sat down on the bench seat. As he walked around to the driver’s side, she set the popcorn and her purse on the floorboard out of the way but still within easy reach.
After he slid in behind the steering wheel, he handed her the lemonade container. She set it on the floorboard, too. One thing for sure, she missed the convenience of center cup holders. On the other hand, there was nothing separating her from Dune on a long bench seat.
“This isn’t the night I’d planned for us,” he said quietly as he turned to face her.
She looked at him in the light of the flickering movie screen. “What do you mean?”
“It hasn’t been exactly romantic, has it?”
“I don’t know. You saved the snack shed. You caught the arsonist. You earned us free movies and treats. In my book, that’s about as romantic as it gets.”
“It’s still not what I had in mind.”
“Did you have this in mind?” She slid across the leather seat, put a hand on his broad chest, and placed a soft kiss on his lips.
“That’s getting warm.”
“More?”
“Wait.” He reached into his front pocket, pulled out a small white box, and snapped it open. A ring glittered in the light coming from White Christmas on the big screen. “It’s vintage. Nineteen fifty-five. I think it looks like a rose with the big center diamond, three smaller ones, and a bunch of little diamonds looping
around it.”
“Dune?” She felt her heart beat fast as she looked from the ring to his face and back again. Could he mean what she thought he meant with this ring?
“Anyway, I thought you’d like it, retro and all.” He took the ring out of the box and tossed the container onto the back seat. “I love you. And I love Storm.”
“But it’s so soon, barely a month together.”
“Time doesn’t matter. It’s right or it isn’t. Nothing could be more right than you and me.” He held out the ring to her. “Will you marry me?”
“My home has always been in Wildcat Bluff.”
“I know, and I’m not asking you to move.”
“Yet now, you are my home. I love you, too.”
“And you’ll marry me?”
“Yes.” She felt happiness cascade through her. He was right that time didn’t matter. For them, it was all about love.
He took a deep breath, as if he’d just run a race, and slipped the ring onto the third finger of her left hand.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful. Absolutely perfect.”
“And Sydney, I want to live in Wildcat Bluff. It’s our home now.” He lifted her left hand with the engagement ring on her finger and placed it over his heart.
“My dear Mr. December, I want you to know that you’ve made me a very happy cowgirl.”
“I’m going to make you even happier,” he said with a big grin, “when I show you—in your own pink Cadillac’s back seat—exactly how this drive-in came to be called the Passion Pit.”
For more Smokin' Hot Cowboys
check out book 1 in the series
A Cowboy Firefighter for Christmas
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Can’t get enough Christmas cowboys?
Keep reading for an excerpt from Kim Redford’s
On Wildcat Road, a half-naked man burst out of a pasture and ran onto the two-lane highway. He stopped on the white centerline and waved a bright red shirt back and forth high over his head.
Misty Reynolds slammed on the brakes of her SUV, caught searching for a radio station that wasn’t playing Christmas music.
She gripped the steering wheel with both hands as she screeched to a stop, managing to narrowly avoid hitting the guy. She felt her heart thump hard with the burst of adrenaline and slumped against her seat in relief, grateful she’d been able to stop in time. She forced her breath to a slower, calmer pace.
As the adrenaline rush drained away, and she was able to focus, she got a better look at the stranger and licked her lower lip. This guy was all ripped jeans, cowboy boots, and big belt buckle over buff, bronze, sweaty body. His broad, muscular shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, and his long legs looked as if they belonged straddling a horse. He reminded her of her all-time favorite candy, Texas Millionaires.
It’d been a long time since a man had set her senses on spin cycle. And she’d nearly run him over. She wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or frightened. She felt a little shaky. Here and now was not a good time or place. Life was shaking her up enough already. She didn’t need this problem.
She was headed toward a wide place in the road called Wildcat Bluff. The Dallas and Fort Worth Metroplex—as in big-city civilization—sprawled a couple of hours south. She had gladly left it and all the Christmas hubbub behind her. She was far away from everything now, except cattle, grass, trees. And the tantalizing stranger. But what was going on here?
Everything about the guy looked like trouble. In the 1880s, Wildcat Bluff had been notorious as a Wild West town that catered to cowboys and outlaws. Cowboys drove cattle herds north with dust in their eyes and returned with gold in their pockets. Desperadoes crossed the Red River from Indian Territory to get liquor by the drink and love by the night. Could this be the modern equivalent of a Texas horse thief? A carjacker? She glanced around as the hair on the backs of her arms prickled in alarm. Fortunately, the stranger appeared to be alone.
Still, she wouldn’t take a chance. She hit the buttons on her door and heard the satisfying click of engaged locks and closed windows. She picked up her phone from the center console and checked for coverage. No bars. She couldn’t call for help. She flipped open her glove box and looked for something big enough to use as a weapon. Nothing but a small flashlight. She wasn’t completely without defense. She unclipped the small pepper spray canister off the metal link on her oversized aqua purse. She’d never used the spray before, but how hard could it be? She hoped that, if necessary, all she’d have to do was point and shoot. Still, it looked small and inadequate.
She mostly worked in the city and hadn’t thought she needed to carry anything more than pepper spray. Now she wasn’t so sure. Her BFF Cindi Lou had completed the training and paperwork for a carry permit and toted around at least a small .22 handgun, if not something with more stopping power. Cindi Lou, with her big hair and perfect makeup, was fond of reminding Misty that folks in Texas had a proud heritage of relying on personal self-defense in case of trouble since the days of the Republic of Texas when there was no other option. She’d been alarmed to hear that Misty was going into the countryside without a sidearm. Misty shook her head and felt herself tensing up. If worse came to worst, she would simply put her SUV in reverse or outmaneuver the stranger.
He ran the last few steps to her car, pulled on the door handle, and then hit the window with the flat of his hand.
She jerked back, gripping the pepper spray, as she kept him in sight. His belt was embossed with prancing reindeer, and the big buckle sported a Santa Claus face. If she included the holiday-happy red shirt in his hand, she’d assume Christmas, not carjacking, was on his mind. But he could also mean to disarm her with his fashion statement.
This close, he appeared wild. Hazel eyes flicked back and forth, resting on nothing or on everything. Dust peppered his tousled dark brown hair. His broad bare chest was coated with dirt and sweat. He looked good in the rough and rugged kind of way that set a gal’s thermostat on “too hot to handle.” She quickly flicked her AC to a higher setting and relished the burst of cold air.
“Help me!” he said in a deep voice muted by the closed windows.
“Do you have a medical emergency?” She held up her phone. “No coverage.”
“Look over there!” He pointed toward the pasture.
All she saw was a little dust in the air. No telling what was going on. She’d play it safe. Once she put distance between them and could use her cell, she’d call to get him help.
“Do you have a blanket? Water?”
She felt his voice weave a spell around her like the finest of Texas male singers, an unmistakable quality of deep and sultry with a hot chili back-burn that left you wanting more. Classic singers like Willie Nelson, Roy Orbison, and George Strait came to mind.
She shook her head, breaking his spell. “Are you hungry?” Maybe he was homeless. “I have energy bars.”
He frowned, drawing his dark, straight eyebrows together, as he shook his shirt at her. “There’s a grass fire!”
Too late, she realized his red shirt was blackened and burned in spots. If she hadn’t been so busy ogling his glistening sooty body and comparing him to outlaws, she might have noticed sooner. He’d obviously been using his shirt to beat out a fire.
“Only minutes to stop it.” He glanced at her back seat, and his face lit up with happiness. “You’ve got towels!” He dropped his tattered shirt.
“Always. Just in case.” Even as the words left her mouth, panic started to seize control. Breath caught in her throat. Chills turned her cold. And she felt pressure on her chest as if from a great weight.
She was terrified of fires.
They ranked as even more nightmarish than Christmas, ever since that early morning when she was twelve. She stopped that thought in its tracks. No good ever came from reliving the past. Right now, she had to get out of there before a panic attack overwhel
med her.
She threw her car in reverse.
“Stop! I’m Fire-Rescue.” He hit her window with the flat of his hand again.
She was startled out of backing up and transfixed by his intense gaze, pinning her in place.
“I’m deputizing you as a Wildcat Bluff volunteer firefighter. Open your doors and help me.”
Although his voice was muffled coming through the glass, she heard every word he said in that crystal clarity that precedes a full-on, foot-stomping, heart-stopping crisis.
She tried to focus on the fact that he was one of the good guys. Unfortunately, the knowledge didn’t help her. She didn’t have panic attacks often, but when she did, they were as scary as whatever had set them off. She took a deep breath and worked to stay focused. Breathe and focus, breathe and focus. It wasn’t going to do anybody—least of all herself, and certainly not the stranger banging on her car window—any good for her to lose it now. She could get a grip. She had to get a grip.
She carefully set the pepper spray down beside her phone and wrapped her fingers around the solid surface of the steering wheel to ground her body while she fought her fear with a reassuring repetition of words in her mind. “Be here now. Safe and sound. Be here now.”
“If that fire gets loose, it’ll burn across these pastures and kill cattle, horses, and wild animals. Timber will go up fast and furious. Wildcat Bluff won’t stand a chance,” the stranger shouted, pounding his fist on the roof of her car. Obviously he was close to losing it, too.
She felt his words start to override her panic. She gripped the steering wheel harder. She needed to help him. She wanted to help him. She couldn’t let her weakness stop her from saving others. She was safe in the here and now. She swallowed down her response, took a deep breath, then released the locks and opened her door. The scent of burning grass hit her and she reeled back against the seat. She put one hand across her nose to reduce the smell of smoke and another across her chest as if in protection.
“Thank you!” He jerked open the back door. He grabbed three towels and slammed the door shut. “Name’s Trey.”