The Last Cowboy Standing

by Barbara Dunlop

  The man stepped away, opening a back door to shout outside. “Micky. Can you do thirty-five for Friday afternoon?”

  The response was muffled.

  “Well, call the parts store. Get them to overnight freight.”

  Another muffled response.

  Travis glanced at Corey, who made a show of crossing his fingers. “We don’t want to go with the river boat tour.”

  “Not unless they can guarantee models in bikinis.”

  “And that zip line seemed pretty lame.”

  Travis agreed. Though it sounded exciting to soar suspended hundreds of feet above the ground, in reality, it had been more like an amusement park ride. You had no control over anything that happened. You just hung there and watched the scenery go by.

  The dune buggy man turned back to them. “We can cover you.” He made a notation on his clipboard. “If this is a corporate event, you better check your insurance.” He handed Travis a written brochure.

  Travis glanced at it without reading. “If it’s a private event?”

  The man gave a gap-toothed grin. “Better buy yourself some event insurance. This ain’t covered under your regular homeowner’s policy.”

  “Then I guess it’s a corporate event,” said Travis. “Can we bring a credit card with us Friday?”

  “Sure thing.” The man glanced at today’s rental agreement. “Mr. Jacobs.”

  Travis reached out to shake the man’s hand. “Thanks for your help.”

  With a nod, Corey slid his helmet across the counter, and they turned to step off the low porch.

  “There’s a place called South Rim, partway back on the highway,” said Corey as they crossed the asphalt parking lot under the scorching sun. “It’s pretty laid-back, burgers and steaks. About a dozen beers on tap. Might work for lunch on Friday. You want to check it out?”

  “Sure,” Travis agreed, pressing the unlock button on his rented SUV. “I could absolutely go for a beer.”

  It was nearly five o’clock, and his other option was going back to the hotel. If he went back to the hotel, he was sure he’d go against his better judgment and start hunting around for Danielle.

  It had been a mistake to kiss her last night. He knew it then, and he knew it now. But a man could only take so much. And being alone in the dark with a beautiful, desirable woman, who scoffed at the right moments, laughed at the right moments and gazed up at him with huge, dark bedroom eyes, well, kissing her had been inevitable.

  He levered into the driver’s seat and started the engine, peeling out of the parking lot and onto the road.

  He’d relived the kiss about a thousand times already. Then he’d thought about doing it again, thought about doing even more, then he’d pulled himself ruthlessly back. Danielle was Danielle, the same woman he’d fought with for months. She had a professional relationship with his brother-in-law Caleb, another one with his sister Katrina for the Sasha Terrell Fund.

  Nothing had changed between them. He’d found Danielle sexy as soon as he’d met her. She found him coarse and unrefined. She didn’t like his sense of humor, thought his perspective was limited, thought he was and always would be a hick cowboy from backwater Colorado.

  It was all true, and no amount of sexual attraction was going to change any of that. Which meant nothing more could happen between them.

  He smacked a hand down on the steering wheel in frustration.

  “What?” Corey turned to look.

  “Nothing.”

  “You don’t want to go to the South Rim?”

  “The South Rim is fine. I’m hungry, and I’m damn sure thirsty.”

  “Well, okay, then.”

  Brimming with pent-up energy, Travis ignored the double line on the highway, pulling out to pass a semi as they wound up a hill. A pickup suddenly crested the rise, and he slammed the brakes, dumping his speed and pulling back behind the tractor trailer. Both the semi and the pickup driver leaned on their horns.

  Corey gripped the handrail on the ceiling of the SUV. “Well. That was exciting.”

  “They need more passing lanes,” Travis grumbled.

  “We should have let you take another lap on the dune buggy.” Corey sat back. “Work whatever the heck it is out of your system.”

  Travis knew what he needed to work this out of his system, and no motor vehicle could help him. He found his mouth flexing in a wry smirk. What he needed, he couldn’t have.

  “What?” Corey asked again.

  The double lines ended, replaced by a single, broken line, and he ducked out to check for oncoming traffic. This time he could definitely make it. He stepped on the accelerator.

  “I think whiskey’s my best bet,” he called to Corey as the engine revved higher.

  “That sounds like girl trouble to me,” Corey called back, hand gripping the handle again.

  “It is girl trouble,” Travis admitted.

  “Back home?”

  “In Vegas.” He pulled back into the right lane, backing off and letting his speed drop down again.

  “You’ve only been here two days.”

  “I work fast.”

  “Parking lot’s coming up on your right. Past the motel and the park. The green sign.”

  Travis slowed, flipping on his signal light, and pulling to the shoulder so he wouldn’t slow the semi down as it built up speed on the downhill grade.

  The South Rim was a long, low brown building, perched on the side of a canyon. The floorboards on the deck squeaked under their boots as they made their way to an oversized, red door. Travis opened it to reveal a dim room with a polished, red wood bar, heavy tables and comfortable looking leather chairs, all surrounding three well-kept pool tables.

  On the far side, glass doors led out to a deck that overlooked the canyon. The deck was dotted with low, planked tables and Adirondack chairs, turned toward the view. Vintage rock music gave a muted backdrop from overhead speakers, while the smell of grilling burgers hung in the air.

  “Go ahead and grab a table,” called a thirty-something woman from behind the bar. She was wearing a white blouse over a pair of black slacks, with her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail.

  A dozen of the thirty or so tables were occupied, and a few people sat out on the deck. Two men shot a game at one of the pool tables. It was obviously an adult crowd, and conversation seemed cheerful and relaxed.

  “You want to shoot a game?” asked Corey as he ambled toward a table.

  “Sure.” Travis dropped his hat on a chair and rolled up the sleeves of his white-and-gray checked shirt.

  Realizing how much sand and dust had clung to him from the dune buggy ride, he headed for the men’s room to take off a layer. Looking at himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help but be impressed that none of the staff had turned their noses up as he and Corey walked in.

  By the time he got back to the table, the waitress had produced glasses of ice water and a couple of menus. Travis ordered a beer and selected a pool cue.

  “Hi there,” came a soft female voice as a blond woman sauntered over to him. At a nearby table, a brunette closely watched the exchange.

  “I’m Sandy,” she introduced.

  “Travis,” he returned. “Nice to meet you.”

  The men’s room door banged shut behind Corey. Then a smile lit his face as he approached the pool table.

  “Corey,” he introduced himself to the woman, holding out his broad hand.

  “Sandy,” she repeated. Then she turned to look at the brunette. “My friend is Linda.”

  “You gals from around here?” asked Corey.

  She grinned. “We ‘gals’ are from California. San Diego. You?”

  “I’m a bullfighter on the pro bull riding circuit.”

  “You’re one of those guys with
a red cape and a tight, gold-tassel-covered jacket?”

  Travis coughed out a laugh at the image.

  “That’s in Spain, not in Nevada. I’m the guy in blue jeans who saves the cowboy’s ass when the rangy brahma bull bucks him off and threatens to gore him or trample him.” He gestured to Travis. “Guys like him. I saved his life on Saturday night.”

  Sandy looked to Travis. “That true?”

  “It’s true,” Travis affirmed as he racked up the balls.

  Linda rose from the table and wandered over. “You’re a bull rider?” she asked Travis.

  “I’m a rancher. Eight ball?” he asked Corey.

  The waitress returned with Travis’s beer, and Corey ordered one for himself. “Eight ball it is,” he said to Travis. “So, what do you women do in San Diego?”

  “We’re caterers, mostly weddings, but corporate parties, too.”

  “Isn’t that a coincidence.” Corey took the break, hitting the racked balls hard and sending them shooting across the table. None went into a pocket. “We’re planning a party right now.”

  “What kind of a party?” she asked.

  “Bachelor party,” said Corey.

  “So, you’ll be down on the Strip?”

  “Part of the time,” said Corey.

  Travis called solids and took his first shot, putting away the six ball.

  Corey gave a groan at the nice shot. “We’re also doing paintball and dune buggy racing.”

  Travis couldn’t help but hope Corey didn’t mention their plans for lunch here. The women seemed nice enough, but this party wasn’t going to be about pickups.

  “Is one of you the groom?” asked Linda.

  Corey grinned as he shook his head. “We’re the party planners.”

  “The groom is a friend,” said Travis. This time he sank the four.

  “Am I being hustled?” asked Corey with obvious good humor.

  “Does the groom live in Vegas?” asked Sandy.

  “Colorado,” answered Corey.

  Travis missed the three, and Corey chalked his cue.

  Sandy moved away from Corey, bringing her closer to Travis.

  “So, Mr. Bull Riding Rancher, are you—”

  “Would you like to order lunch?” The waitress’s question interrupted.

  Relieved, Travis turned his attention to the woman. “I’ll take a cheeseburger.”

  “Same here,” called Corey as he lined up on the ten ball. He pulled back his cue and made a perfect shot.

  “Who’s hustling who?” Travis joked, moving from the pool table to their dining table to take a drink of his beer.

  He hadn’t wanted Sandy to finish her purring question. He wasn’t in the mood to flirt. His mind kept slipping to Danielle, wondering where she was, if Randal was with her, if he’d made a move on her.

  Corey sank two balls in rapid succession. Then he missed, leaving a promising-looking table for Travis.

  Conversation between Corey and the two women swirled around him, with the occasional burst of laughter. Travis worked his way through the rest of the solids, earning cheers from the women as he made a particularly tricky bank shot to sink the seven.

  He easily finished up the eight ball to take the game.

  “I guess you’re buying lunch,” he said to Corey as the waitress arrived with their burgers.

  “You’re the one with the good payday,” Corey countered. “And I did—”

  “I know. I know,” Travis cut in. “You saved my life.”

  Travis returned his pool cue to the rack.

  “Nice meeting you,” he said to Sandy and Linda as he headed to sit down.

  Corey obviously picked up on Travis’s thinking. He also said goodbye, rather than asking the women to join them.

  They hesitated slightly, but then returned to their own table.

  “What the hell?” asked Corey as he swung into his chair across from Travis.

  “I just want to eat.” Travis stuffed a fry into his mouth then took another swallow of beer.

  Corey frowned as he lifted his high-stacked burger. “After I did such a great job of chatting them up for you.”

  “They weren’t really my type.”

  “Beautiful, friendly and built isn’t your type?”

  It was Travis’s turn to frown. “Charming,” he mocked.

  “I think you’d better tell me a little more about this Vegas woman trouble. It’s obviously cramping your style. Which wouldn’t bother me much, except that it’s blowing back on me.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Uh-huh.” Corey’s tone was clearly skeptical.

  “She’s hot, but she’s off-limits.”

  “She’s married?”

  “Not married. There’s a professional relationship to maneuver around. Two of them, actually.”

  “Can you fix them?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then my advice to you is move on.”

  “That’s what I’m doing.”

  Well, he’d move on as soon as he opened Danielle’s eyes about Randal’s motives. Travis losing didn’t mean Randal got to win.

  * * *

  The conference’s windup golf tournament had finished, with Randal taking fourth place. Danielle suspected he could have done better, but he’d once confided in her that winning outright was a bad strategy for a young lawyer. In his estimation, it was better to be strongly competitive, but to let the senior people prevail, at least for a while.

  The final dinner was in full swing, a gourmet buffet set up in the gardens of the hotel, the aromas of sage and rosemary from the steamer trays mingling with vanilla and cinnamon at the dessert display. White linen covered tables were illuminated by floodlights and torches.

  At one of the many bars set up around the perimeter of the lawn, Danielle accepted another “superior court” drink. It was a special recipe invented by the hotel’s chief bartender for the conference. It was a surprisingly delicious concoction of fruit juices, crushed ice, tequila and liquors. It was the final night of the conference. She planned to take advantage of the pool deck in the morning while her colleagues all flew home, so a little indulgence in liquor tonight suited her just fine.

  “Thank you, Caleb,” she muttered under her breath, toasting him in absentia. If he hadn’t requested a meeting on Thursday, she wouldn’t be in line for an impromptu mini vacation tomorrow.

  Randal separated himself from the crowd, coming up beside her. “You didn’t golf?” he opened.

  He’d changed into suit and tie since the tournament ended, and now looked urbane and confident with a three-olive martini in one hand.

  “That’s because my golfing is not going to impress anyone.”

  “Nobody cares how well you golf at these things.”

  “Also,” she elaborated, “I don’t particularly like golf.”

  She sipped the frozen drink through a straw, while her lightweight dress rustled against her thighs in the night breeze.

  “It’s a great way to build relationships. Everybody who is anybody is out on the links at something like this.”

  “I was happier chatting with Astra.”

  Randal polished off the martini, exchanging the empty glass for a fresh drink as a waiter passed, taking an immediate sip. “Astra won’t get you a partnership. Besides, you can chat with Astra any old time.”

  “She lives in New York.” It wasn’t very often the two women got the chance to see each other in person.

  Randal frowned. “That’s not what these things are for.”

  “You do realize that you care more about schmoozing and corporate climbing than most people.”

  “I care more than you do,” Randal acknowledged. “But I don’t care more th
an most people. Honestly, Dani, sometimes you are so naive.”

  “Naive? Are you serious?” She’d been called a lot of things in her lifetime, but never naive.

  He took another sip of his drink, prompting her to do the same. The superior courts tasted best when they were ice-cold.

  “You seem content to stand by and let people blow past you.”

  “What people?” she challenged.

  He made an expansive gesture with one arm. “These people. All people. Well, all lawyers.” He moved forward, dramatically lowering his voice, and she realized he must have had a few martinis before he got here. “You have a brilliant mind, Dani.” His gaze focused on the neckline of her black-and-blue dress. “You have the whole package.” He looked her in the eyes again. “But you seem singularly intent on wasting it.”

  She was starting to get annoyed. “I’m not wasting anything.” She’d spent five years developing her knowledge of international law.

  “When you hesitate. When Nester and Hedley make you a sweetheart of an offer, and you hesitate, do you know how that looks?”

  “Like I’m prudent and conscientious?”

  “Like you’re indecisive and ungrateful.”

  “Ungrateful? Excuse me?”

  His voice rose a little. “They’re the top law firm in D.C., probably the most prestigious in the country.”

  “It’s still a big decision,” Danielle found herself feeling defensive. This time, she took a calming sip of her drink. Taste had nothing to do with it.

  “What’s to decide?” he demanded.

  She listed off on her fingers. “To leave my firm. To leave my city. To leave my friends.”

  “You’ll make new friends.”

  “I have some very good friends.”

  “Male friends?”

  She frowned. “Some. What difference does it make?”

  Randal shrugged and polished off his drink. “That sounds like it might be a boyfriend.”

  She pressed her lips together, thinking it was probably time to end the conversation.

  “Is that what it is, Dani? You won’t come to D.C. because of some guy you’re sleeping with?”

  “That’s none of your business,” Travis’s voice interrupted as he loomed up next to Randal.