by Jodi Thomas
Martha Q laughed. “My lord, boy, it’s after ten. I haven’t gone out that late in years.”
“Marshal?” he said, knowing she’d consider it part of her job to go along. They’d looked for a safe apartment for him today, and she’d probably talked to Alex about watching out for him after she left. He could feel her leaving, even though she hadn’t packed her bag. Her vacation was up. She had no reason to stay except because of his problem, and he had a feeling no one but a Matheson would consider it worth a U.S. Marshal’s time to babysit him.
“Give me five,” she said, heading up the stairs. “If you’re going to get yourself killed, I might as well go along to arrest the son-of-a-bitch who murders you.”
Martha Q waited for the footsteps to reach the top of the stairs before she said, “The girl’s crazy about you.”
“Yeah, I can tell.”
Martha Q leaned toward him. “That woman drinks adrenaline for breakfast. She lives on excitement. Give her passion, wild and full-out, or walk away. Some women you got to court with words and flowers; others, you got to show them what you want.” Martha Q leaned back, crossed her arms over her round little body and added, “Don’t give her time to think. Just act.”
“Thanks for the advice, but her type isn’t going to fall for a small-town lawyer. She’s big city, drug busts and gang wars. She wouldn’t have stayed around for as long as she has if someone wasn’t trying to kill me, and I can’t draw that out forever. Eventually the stalker will get bored or he’ll get me. Either way, I don’t see me ending up with her.”
“What you don’t know about women would fill the Palo Duro canyon to the brim. Men don’t always have to give a woman what she wants; they need to give her what she needs. If you take the time to know her, really know her, you’ll find the one thing she needs more than anything else.”
“That’s just it. We’re out of time.”
He heard footsteps tumbling down the stairs and knew that his time was up in more ways than one.
Trace walked past him, opened the door and said simply, “Let’s get this over with, Matheson.”
Martha Q stood on the porch and waved them good-bye like they were kids on a first date.
They were halfway to the bar when Trace said, “You’re an idiot.”
“I’ve heard that before. Why don’t you get a new line?”
“Why don’t you get a brain? After putting up with that stubborn streak of yours, I’m surprised more than one person isn’t trying to kill you.”
Rick pulled into the packed parking lot. “Don’t act like you care, Marshal.” He pulled into an illegal spot and climbed out of the car. He was around to her side before she opened her door.
“I do care,” she said as she stood inches away. “Your idiotic behavior is starting to rub off on me, I guess.”
He had the feeling she wanted to say more, maybe even something nice, but they were both mad, and for the life of him he couldn’t think what had started this argument. Without warning, he reached for her. He pushed her a few inches until her back bumped against the car and then he leaned into her, full body, full contact. “Kiss me,” he ordered. “If you’re right and I’m going to die tonight, I want the taste of you with me when I fall.”
The kiss was hard and primal. Nothing like he’d ever kissed a woman before. His hands held her shoulders as he leaned her head back and opened his mouth against hers. When she dug her fingers in his hair and took his advance with a hunger of her own, his knees almost buckled. Without breaking the kiss, he shoved her leather jacket aside and felt of her body in long possessive strokes. He wanted her like he’d never wanted any woman or any thing in his life. The leather, the gun, the anger didn’t matter. He wanted Trace. He broke the kiss and moved to her throat, tasting his way down her neck as he unbuttoned her shirt. As his hand spread over her skin, he returned to her mouth for a kiss that was almost violent with need.
Far in the back of his brain, he prepared for the kick or punch she’d deliver at any moment to stop him, but it never came. She didn’t go soft and loving in his arms, but her hunger matched his and he felt her fingers clawing their way down his back as she moved against him.
A group of drunks walked by in the shadows yelling things like “Get a room.” Rick sobered enough to pull his mouth away slowly and allow himself to breathe. Trace remained against him as she gulped for air. The world settled.
“I’m not apologizing,” he whispered against her hair.
“I’m not asking you to,” she answered. “I’ve never felt like—” She didn’t finish.
He pushed his forehead against hers and laughed. “I know, me neither.”
He held her for a while, feeling her body breathe against his, feeling her hands lightly move over him as if she were learning the feel of him. There were no words. No words either could say for what had happened. But they’d both felt it. They both felt it still. This strong beautiful woman was rocking his world and somehow he’d managed to do the same to hers. At some point they’d have to talk about it, but right now they both just wanted to feel pure passion settling, waiting until the time would be right to fire again.
“Come on,” he finally said, taking her hand. “I’ll buy you a drink.”
For once, she didn’t argue, but she turned loose of his hand as they neared the bar, and he knew without looking that she was touching her weapon, making sure all was in place and ready. He could have changed his mind and gone back to the bed-and-breakfast, but right now nowhere was safe.
Chapter 42
BEAU WATCHED THE CROWD AS HE PLAYED. AS ALWAYS, HE looked for his mystery girl, hoping she’d drop by, hoping she’d be waiting when he finished for the night. Once in a while, he thought of what he should talk to her about. Maybe if she came by this week he could tell her about almost being arrested. He could tell her his dream.
As he ended one song and started another, he knew he wouldn’t tell her anything. Just like, if he were honest with himself, he didn’t want to know all the facts about her. If they talked, he might discover she wasn’t as bright as he thought she was or as funny or even as sexy.
He wanted to see her parked in that great old car out in the back parking lot after midnight tonight. If she wasn’t there, she would be in his dreams. He was dying to hit the blacktop on back roads that had never known a stripe other than moonbeams. He wanted to lean back and feel the wind in his hair and the warmth of her next to him. He wanted to reach over and hold her breast, knowing that it would make her smile.
A song began to form in his head about dodging reality and chasing the dream. Words drifted through his mind about how sometimes the dreams he had when he was alone became more real than life and how he’d slipped between one world and another until he didn’t know which was which.
He knew that regardless of whether she showed up tonight, he wouldn’t sleep. The girl or the song would fill his mind till dawn.
Border leaned in his line of vision and pointed with his head toward the back booth nearest the cage Harley called the stage.
Beau watched a couple sit down. It took a few turns of the lights for him to see who they were.
He couldn’t believe Miss Tomlinson, the librarian, had come to listen to him play. Over the years, they’d become friends. She always asked how he was doing. When he was about fourteen, he’d told her that he was playing the guitar. Now and then she’d order a book about country music for the library and hand it to him first. Until he left home, she’d been the only person who’d encouraged him. Though she’d only said a few words now and then, her caring mattered to him.
And now she was sitting in the booth nearest to the band. Some guy Beau had never seen was at her side. He was big, in a strong, powerful kind of way. Big enough to take care of Emily Tomlinson if anyone bothered her in a place like this. Beau figured if someone even tried, he’d come out of the cage to help if necessary.
Another couple walked in and took the seat on the other side of the booth. Beau smiled, s
uddenly impressed with the crowd. His lawyer had come to hear him and he’d brought that good-looking biker chick Border drooled over every time he saw her.
Beau straightened. Maybe Rick Matheson had only been his lawyer for about a minute, but he’d come to offer help and that mattered. He was classing the place up tonight. In a few years, they’d pay a hundred bucks a ticket to see him on a real stage.
He motioned for Border to take a ride as Beau began to play guitar for the crowd. Border set his bass down and just listened. A yell went up, and then everyone settled down knowing they were listening to a master perform. Even the drunks at the bar stilled. No one moved, except Harley, who continued to make drinks, because the minute Beau stopped playing the orders would come in.
When he finished, a roar shook the rafters and Beau smiled at one table, letting them know that he’d played just for them. Miss Tomlinson was smiling as she clapped and Rick stood up to shout with the others.
“Way to go,” Border whispered.
In the stillness between the applause and Beau striking another chord, one shot rang out across the dance floor.
Then there was silence for a fraction of a second while everyone in the room sucked in air at the same time.
The second shot was almost drowned out by the noise as it registered on the crowd that a gun had just been fired. Even Beau knew what gunfire sounded like, but he hesitated, not knowing what to do.
Border pushed him to the floor of the cage. Beau saw Trace Adams fly out of the booth and push Rick backward. He also saw the man with the librarian swing her under his wing like some giant bird of prey.
Another shot pinged off the tin ceiling.
For one heartbeat, all was silent once more, and then people started screaming and running. Beau pulled the plug to the stage lights, and the cage went dark. He and Border lay flat as they watched the place go crazy.
“This is what I call excitement,” Border yelled. “If we don’t get shot, that is. I’ve never been in a gunfight.”
“We’re not in it, we’re witnesses.” Beau figured for once the corner was probably the safest place to be. With the lights out, no one in the room could see them.
“What? We’re witnesses?” Border swore. “You know what they do with witnesses. If the bad guys win, we’re dead.”
“I don’t see anybody shooting and the only one with a gun is Harley standing on the bar.”
Border turned his head and yelled, “Harley, get off the bar. What do you think you are, a target?”
“Shut up, Border,” Harley yelled over all the noise. “You boys stay down. Nobody fires a gun in my place. I won’t stand for it.” He raised his voice and his shotgun. “Come on out, you bastard, so I can shoot you. You want to hear gunfire? Well, it’ll be the last thing you hear.”
Beau looked over at the booth. Rick was still standing, and the woman in leather had pulled a gun and looked like she was on guard. The man with Emily Tomlinson was still covering her with his arm, but blood was spreading out over the sleeve of his shirt just below the elbow. Everyone else in the room seemed to be running around in circles, screaming. Boots on the wooden dance floor sounded like a hundred head of cattle crossing.
About the time the crowd cleared, the sheriff and two deputies came in, guns drawn.
“Man,” Border whispered. “This is the OK Corral. But where are the bad guys?” Whoever had done the shooting must have rushed out with the crowd.
The noise from before made the sudden silence seem deafening. Beau watched as Harley stood, his shotgun on ready as the sheriff and her deputies spread out. They found a woman under one of the tables. She kept crying as she hurried out saying she had to come back for her new purse. One of the deputies woke a drunk up and told him it was closing time. He’d missed the excitement completely.
“All clear here,” one deputy yelled from the hallway leading to the bathrooms.
“All clear here,” echoed the other from the kitchen entrance.
“Flip on all the lights, Harley,” the sheriff ordered.
To Beau’s shock, real light that didn’t twinkle, blink, or rotate came on. He’d always thought the place was a dump, but in the bright light it was worse. Stains from who knew what on the walls. Rips in the booth padding. Dead flies along the back ledges. Walls he’d thought were painted tan now showed themselves as raw boards that must have been nailed together by drunks.
Beau stood, forcing himself not to look too closely at the floor he’d just been lying on.
“All clear,” Alex said. “Did anyone see the shooter?”
No one spoke.
“Beau, you and Border all right?” she asked.
“Yeah, we took cover,” Border answered as if this were a nightly happening and they knew the drill. “Can we come out of this cage?”
“Come on out. The bar’s closed for the night.” She looked at her deputies. “Go see if anyone outside is sober enough to have seen anything like someone holding a gun or maybe from what direction the shots were fired.”
She walked over to the booth. “Everyone all right?”
Beau noticed the big guy still had his arm around Emily. He whispered something to her, then kissed her on the head. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t just some man talking to the librarian. She mattered to him, and obviously from the way she cuddled into him, he mattered to her too.
The biker chick with Matheson was pacing off the room as if looking for clues. She was the only one in the room who had not holstered her weapon. She handled it with the ease of a warrior long used to holding iron.
Alex leaned across the booth and said as calmly as if she were simply passing time, “I hate to tell you this again, Tannon, but you’re bleeding.”
He looked down at his arm. Blood was dripping off his shirt at the elbow. “I was worried about Emily. It’s just a scratch.”
Alex grinned. “It’s evidence. We’re on our way to the hospital.”
Emily looked so white Beau thought she might pass out. If she did, the only injured person in the room would probably be the one who’d insist on carrying her out. He talked softly to her as Alex wrapped his arm with one of the bar towels.
The big guy, someone said his name was Tannon Parker, helped Emily out of the booth. “Breathe, Emily, breathe. It’s all over and I’m not hurt bad. Honest, it doesn’t even hurt.”
She looked up at him with those big eyes Beau had always thought were her best feature. “Your arm was across me. If you hadn’t covered me, the bullet might have hit me. Tannon, you saved my life.”
Her words were so simple, but the meaning flooded the room. Until that moment, it had all been about the excitement. Her words made it real. Someone could have been killed!
Alex faced Rick. “I know you think this is your stalker, but we don’t know that. It might have been an argument between drunks or a husband and wife fighting.”
“He was here, probably waiting for me to come to him. He was here.” Rick studied the room as if the shadow of someone trying to kill him might still be there. “I sensed him. The shooter was trying to kill me and I don’t even know why. Each time he gets a little more determined, his efforts are more dangerous. It won’t take long before one of us runs out of luck.”
Harley yelled, “He could have been after me. I pissed off half the crowd tonight when I ran out of wings. Hell, he could have been after Border Biggs. The kid misses every other note he plays. Maybe there was a true music lover in here tonight who couldn’t take anymore.”
“Me?” Border paled beneath all his tattoos.
Beau shook his head, surprised at how calm he was after his first shoot-out. “Well, at least I know he wasn’t after me. I’m just an innocent bystander in the dangerous midnight crowd where bullets fly and blood spills.”
Harley glared at him. “You’re starting to talk like a country-western song, kid. Why don’t you go back to stuttering?”
Alex motioned Tannon and Emily toward the door. “I’ll want all of you in my office to
morrow morning to give statements. Harley, lock the place up. I’ll send a man to go over everything tomorrow, but I don’t think we’ll discover any clues.” She glanced at Rick’s friend. “You agree, Marshal?”
“I’m afraid you’re right.” The biker girl shook her head. “There are a dozen places he could have hidden and fired from and every one of them will have layers of fingerprints. We’ll be lucky to find a shell casing.”
“We’ll look tomorrow.” Alex took charge. “Right now, get Rick back to the B&B. I’ll call you from the hospital if we dig a bullet out.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Tannon complained as he followed the sheriff toward the door.
Just before everyone left, Border asked, “What do we do?”
Rick smiled. “I’ve had threats and attempts on my life for no reason, and the band looks confused. How about you boys come on home with me? We’ll rob Martha Q’s refrigerator. Nothing works up an appetite like being shot at.”
They didn’t wait to be asked twice. By the time Rick was on the porch, both of them were trailing inches behind. A deputy met them at the steps and walked with them to Rick’s car. Beau couldn’t help but wonder what good he’d be if the shooter were hiding somewhere in the dark parking lot. Phil Gentry seemed nice enough, but he didn’t look like the type who’d take a bullet for a lawyer much less a country-western singer.
As soon as Beau climbed in the backseat, he scrunched down, removing his head from any target line.
Border, on the other hand, leaned forward. If a bullet flew from any direction it had a good chance at hitting him, but Border had questions and he didn’t plan to wait for an answer. “Did I hear the sheriff call you a marshal?” he asked the girl with Rick.
“Deputy U.S. Marshal Trace Adams at your service.”
Border started bouncing on the seat like he weighed fifty, not two hundred and fifty, pounds. “That must be an exciting job. You been shot at before?”
“Yes,” Trace answered as she drove. “A few weeks before I came here.”