Tempted by a Texan

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Tempted by a Texan Page 17

by Mindy Neff


  “Right.” He shoved over a shelf of books, then another.

  Becca froze, wanting to scream but unable to find her voice. The man was insane. She leaped back, looking around wildly for an escape, hoping someone would hear and come investigate. As soon as she thought it, she changed her mind, hoped no one would show up.

  This maniac had a gun. Luckily, the saddle shop next door closed at three on Fridays, and Donetta’s shop was too far away to hear the noise.

  She made a dash for the back door, but another shelf came crashing down in her way. Trapping her.

  She smelled gasoline, watched in horror as he doused her wood shelves and furniture with liquid from a flask he’d had in his jacket pocket.

  Oh, dear God.

  He opened the front door and flicked a match. “See ya around, toots.”

  The gasoline whooshed into flames, licking all around her. A small pathway, not yet engulfed, led to the back door. She started to climb over the counter, stopped when she heard Tink barking like mad.

  The animals!

  Flames were licking up the walls, reaching the ceiling. She changed course, barreled through the stairwell door and ran, screaming for Tink and Trouble.

  14

  Colby couldn’t concentrate. Something about that pickup truck they’d passed hadn’t set right with him. Steven had wanted to have dinner at Angus Twins outside of town, but Colby had talked them into going to Anna’s Café. It was only a couple of blocks from Becca’s.

  Steven was perfectly comfortable in the vinyl booth, setting his Stetson on the table top beside him. Cassandra didn’t appear too pleased. She kept wiping at the table with a napkin and brushing her behind with her hand, apparently to dislodge the crumbs she believed were stuck to her skirt.

  Why hadn’t he ever noticed that air of snobbery about her?

  “So,” Steven said, “you estimated you’d be moved in three weeks, but it’s been four and a half now. Cassandra and I thought we’d better come make sure you hadn’t changed your mind.”

  “Did you notice that silver pickup we passed? Rusted-out tailpipes. Old guy driving?”

  Cassandra arched one perfect blond eyebrow.

  Steven chuckled. “Can’t say as I did. I’m not really in the habit of looking at folks’ tailpipes—”

  “That’s it!” Colby stood, threw his napkin on the table. “The loud muffler. That’s what I heard.” Within seconds he was out of the booth and running down the street.

  His lungs burned as he leaped the curb, sprinted across Maple and back onto the sidewalk.

  He saw the silver pickup, saw the tires smoke, heard the sound of rubber gripping the asphalt as it peeled away from the curb.

  He hit the street again, legs pumping. Millicent Lloyd, driving her 1965 Bonneville, nearly mowed him down as she sped around the corner, her boat of a car right on the tailgate of the speeding pickup.

  He was two doors away, in front of Donetta’s beauty salon, when he saw the flames leaping in Becca’s store.

  “Fire!” He yelled the word as loud as he could. Hell, the fire department was just up the street. They’d probably hear him. He already had his cell phone out, pressing the button that would connect him to emergency services.

  Donetta raced out the door of her salon.

  “Get out,” Colby yelled. “Get everybody out and stay back.”

  A vague part of his mind noted her dash back inside, hopefully to obey his directive. If Becca’s store went up, this whole block was likely to go.

  Margo came on the line since both the fire department and sheriff’s department were handled by the same dispatch. “Get the fire department to Becca’s. It’s burning.”

  He was running, fumbling with his phone. It slipped out of his hand and tumbled into the gutter. He didn’t bother to stop. The only thing on his mind was Becca.

  He reached the glass door of her shop, yelling her name.

  Damn it, he wasn’t going to lose her now that he’d found her again!

  Tires squealed behind him. The sheriff’s car. “Check the door for heat,” Storm shouted in warning just as Colby was about to yank open the door.

  Colby touched the glass, found it warm but not hot—he’d seen movies where opening the door fed the fire, even caused a blast.

  “Hold on, man,” Storm said, grabbing his shoulder.

  Colby jerked away. “Becca’s in there. Becca!” He opened the door and yelled her name, took a step farther inside.

  The store was impassable. Shelving was knocked over, flames eating at the wood and licking the walls. He’d never get to her this way. There was too much blocking his path. He ran back out, sprinted around to the alleyway door in back.

  He was reaching for the knob when he looked up. Becca had one leg out the window at the top of the fire escape, both animals clutched in her arms.

  “Thank God.” Colby took the metal stairs three at a time and reached the landing just as she cleared the window. “Come on, sweetheart.”

  With his adrenaline pumping he felt as though he could leap ten feet to the ground, if necessary. He snatched Becca, still holding the animals, into his arms and took the stairs instead, the smell of smoke burning his nostrils.

  Trouble was squirming to get down, fear and instincts ruling. They both got scratched trying to hold the cat. Tink shivered and stayed quiet.

  At the bottom of the fire escape, Colby set Becca on her feet, took the cat from her, then grabbed her left hand, pulling her with him along the alley. They cut through Donetta’s beauty salon, coming out onto Main Street.

  A crowd had gathered in the middle of the street between the salon and Becca’s store. Donetta, clutching her baby, stood next to Storm. Firefighters were already hosing the interior and exterior.

  Colby turned to Becca, took a good look at her and hugged her to him. Hard. The cat yowled and tried again to leap down. Tink still shivered.

  “Are you okay?” Colby asked, setting her slightly away. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine. He came in right after you left. I was in the bathroom—” She stopped, remembered why she’d been in there. “What are you doing back here? I thought you went out to dinner.”

  “I passed a silver pickup. I didn’t recognize the truck. The guy driving it wasn’t a local—”

  “He was in the shop last week, looking at the bracelets—”

  “I know.” They were talking over each other. “I recognized him. It bothered me for some reason. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Then I remembered that I’d heard a loud muffler the night you were attacked. This truck had rusted tailpipes—it had the same sound.”

  “So you turned around and came back?”

  “We were already at Anna’s.”

  “Sorry I ruined your dinner.”

  He pulled her hard against him again. “Don’t be stupid.” He noted that Steven and Cassandra were standing across the street, farther down. He’d have to go talk to them soon.

  The firefighters were doing a good job of stopping the flames. But Colby still had a feeling there wouldn’t be much left of her store.

  God, he felt bad. That store was her life. Her touchstone to her family.

  Donetta finally looked around and spied Becca. She gave a glad cry, passed the baby to her mother-in-law and ran toward them. It was a wonder she didn’t break her neck in those platform shoes.

  “My gosh, Becca! I thought you were inside!” Colby stepped back as Donetta, tears streaming down her face, hugged Becca tight. The other women who’d been in the beauty salon gathered around. Cars were showing up—Sunny and Jack, Tracy Lynn and Linc.

  Storm had left in pursuit of Miz Lloyd’s Bonneville and the pickup truck—presumably driven by Buster Derkin. Colby figured that ought to be one hell of a chase, and lamented that he wouldn’t be there to see the takedown—to get a crack at the guy himself.

  He’d hear about it soon enough, though.

  The circle of support around Becca grew larger, and Colby allowed himself to b
e squeezed out. He figured he’d better go ease Steven and Cassandra’s minds, let them know what he’d decided.

  Sunny had taken Tink and Trouble over to the veterinarian’s office to keep them out of harm’s way. The fire department had left, and though they’d cleaned up, Becca was still wading through a pool of watery ash just inside the doorway. She felt a lump of emotion gather in her throat.

  She’d sent Donetta and Tracy Lynn home, promising to check in later. All three of her friends had offered her a room to herself and a cool bed to sleep in, and it was only a matter of choosing which one to stay with. She said she’d decide later.

  Becca imagined Colby was going to have house-guests of his own out at the farmhouse. She’d seen him cross the street to talk with the Wellses a while ago and now wasn’t sure where they’d gone.

  Fine. What did she care? A lot.

  “I’m sorry, Becca Sue.”

  She jumped. She hadn’t heard Colby come up behind her. “Nothing for you to be sorry about. I carry fire insurance, so the building will get repaired. I can buy more merchandise.” But she couldn’t replace the photographs that had burned, or the wonderful journals. All those were lost.

  The lump in her throat grew larger, ached. She wanted to sit right down in the middle of this mess and bawl. But she simply didn’t have the strength for that kind of hysteria.

  “I feel responsible,” Colby said. “It was my family heirloom that inadvertently caused all this.”

  Becca couldn’t say why that particular comment tipped her over the edge, but it did. She’d finally reached her emotional limit. She was devastated, and now she was mad as hell.

  “I don’t want your misplaced guilt or your sympathy, got that?” she said, poking him in the chest. “And furthermore, I don’t want a mere sperm donor. I want the whole damned package. Love. Marriage. Commitment. The ups and downs of daily life. The good with the bad. So what if we argue? Everybody argues.”

  Her voice was rising, but she didn’t care. Nor did she care that it was still several hours until twilight, and should anyone choose to stand outside and eavesdrop, he or she would have no problem hearing or seeing them. Bring ’em on, she thought.

  “Just because your parents didn’t care enough to work through the rough spots doesn’t mean that all marriages end up on the rocks, and if you can’t see that, then you’re an idiot and you deserve to close yourself off in some stuffy office in Dallas!” She swiped at the tear that trickled down her cheek, even more annoyed at herself for crying.

  To her absolute consternation, Colby stood there smiling at her.

  She thought she might slug him.

  He kissed her before she could make up her mind.

  And then she really did start crying.

  “Oh, sugar. No. Don’t cry.” He brushed his thumbs beneath her eyes.

  “Colby, I thought I could do this, but I just can’t anymore. I want strings attached between us. Really, really strong ones—”

  “So do I.”

  “And I know I said... What did you just say?”

  “I said, I want those strings, too. I love you, Becca Sue. I never stopped loving you. I don’t need some partnership in a big city law firm. Who the hell am I trying to impress, anyway? My parents? They don’t give a damn. I haven’t even see them in twenty years. I’m happy in my private practice here in Hope Valley. I’ve got money and success...and the love of my life standing right in front of me. I don’t need anything more.”

  “Oh, Colby, are you sure?” Even as she said the words, she knew they were dumb. Of course he was sure. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch, his kiss.

  “Sugar pie, if the drama in your life lately is any indication, I figure you’re bound to need legal representation sometime in the future. And I’m your man. If you’ll have me, I want to be your man forever.”

  “That’s good because...” She pulled the stick from the pocket of her capris and glanced down at it.

  She screamed and leaped into Colby’s arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck.

  “We’re going to have a baby!”

  He was speechless for a moment. “No kidding?”

  “No kidding.”

  He kissed her. “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t sell the farmhouse. Looks like we’ll be putting more of those rooms to good use.”

  “Rooms, plural?” she asked.

  “Yeah. You liked having brothers. I always hated being an only child. Seems we should make sure this baby has siblings to grow up with.”

  “Mmm. Three or four at least,” she said.

  “Man. I’ll have to add on to the house.”

  She smiled. “We have time.”

  “Yes. All our lives. I love you, Becca Sue. I wish I hadn’t been so stupid before—”

  She put a finger over his lips. “We were awfully young then, Colby. Besides, now you’re a full-fledged lawyer and can afford to keep me in the style to which I’d like to become accustomed.”

  He laughed, long and hard. This woman was the least money-hungry person he’d ever met.

  “Well,” he said. “I’ve already given up the lease on my office across the street. I suppose we could get your place spruced up, scour the antique sales for a bunch of junk to put back in it. And we could turn the apartment into my office.”

  “I don’t sell junk.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Sorry. Merchandise,” he corrected. “One rule, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “No more overtime for either of us. We go home together at the end of each day. For the rest of our living days.”

  “Colby Flynn, that’s an offer too tempting to refuse. I accept.”

  She sank into his kiss, right there in broad daylight on Main Street, and thought dreamily of the lifetime of temptations this sexy Texan would present.

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  Love Cowboys? You might also like Mindy’s

  Bachelors of Shotgun Ridge series

  Keep reading for an excerpt of Book #1

  THE RANCHER’S MAIL ORDER BRIDE

  PROLOGUE

  Well, it’s about to begin, and I’ve gotta hope there won’t be no shootin’ to go along with it.

  Ozzie Peyton tapped his pen against his journal and gazed at the photo of his late wife that held center stage over the fireplace mantel where most ranchers hung animal heads and prize antlers.

  I’m the one that done the writin’ seeing as I’m the romantic in the bunch. Plus, my sweet wife, Vanessa—God rest her soul—was a schoolteacher. I didn’t spend all them years helping her grade English papers and not learn a thing or two. Besides, Vanessa taught nearly every boy and man in this town. She’d approve of the plan; she’d want to see these fine young fellows get hitched and have babies.

  But left to their own devices, those boys would just go on about their merry lives and before you know it, Shotgun Ridge would die out from lack of procreating! It’s not right. The Good Lord started us out with a dang good plan and by dog, the citizens of Shotgun Ridge have abused the whole thing! We’ve all grown old and our offspring have moved on.

  And here we find ourselves in a town full of men.

  And those men seem to have forgotten that they have a God-given responsibility to the future of mankind.

  Well, me and Lloyd and Henry and Vern have cooked up just the thing to set these cowboys to rights. We all agreed that what we need are women and babies. The gettin’ part was just a little tricky.

  Especially when it comes to makin’ decisions. Like I said, I done the writin’—and I don’t for a minute consider any of it lies—but we all, me and Lloyd and Vern and Henry, did the deciding. (And Vanessa had a say in it too, but I don’t like to go on to folks about how Vanessa and me still talk. They’d think I was touched in the head or something).

  Anyway, what we decided was to put a pic
ture in the magazines and run a couple of ads in the big-city papers to let the women know that we got an unbalanced situation here.

  Now, I imagine young Wyatt Malone might be a bit surprised to find that his good-lookin’ mug was flashed in the fancy magazines, but the boys and me, we figured he’ll get over it. Why it’s plain as the nose on a man’s face that Wyatt’s got a hole in his heart the size of a canyon and it needs healin’.

  The thing is, I gotta wonder if we made the right decision when we picked out our candidate from the mail we got. Course it’s a little late for second thoughts seeing as how she’s due to show up tonight.

  Ozzie paused and flexed his hand, working the kinks out of his old joints. He gazed at Vanessa’s portrait, gaining strength from her beautiful, soft eyes. Nodding, he licked the tip of his ballpoint pen.

  I’ve known Wyatt Malone all his life, and the boy’s as fair-minded as they come. And that’s a pretty good thing seeing as how Miss Hannah might be a bit of a surprise….

  CHAPTER ONE

  Hannah Richmond touched the crystal pendant at her neck. The necklace had been a gift from her Aunt Shirley. Hannah had visited her aunt’s farm often as a young girl, visits that had created powerful, poignant memories that were etched for a lifetime.

  To Hannah, the necklace was a symbol of what she desperately wanted for herself and her children—life on a ranch, a slower pace, love that was genuine. It was an ideal that had grown in her mind to near obsession, an ideal that had compelled her to drive from California to Shotgun Ridge, Montana to start a new life.

  To be Wyatt Malone’s mail-order bride.

  She still went into near hyperventilation about every fifteen minutes—each time she allowed herself to think about her nerve and the enormity of the step she’d actually taken.

  She put her hand on Ian’s shoulder, gave a reassuring squeeze, both for herself and her son. Just four years old and too often he felt like he had to be a little man. Having a father abandon you tended to do that. And it wasn’t fair.

 

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