by Lori Wilde
Truman
Texas Rascals, Volume 7
Lori Wilde
Published by Epiphany Orchards Press, 2019.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
TRUMAN
First edition. May 12, 2019.
Copyright © 2019 Lori Wilde.
ISBN: 978-1386999508
Written by Lori Wilde.
Truman
Texas Rascals Book Seven
Lori Wilde
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Excerpt: Brodie
About the Author
Also by Lori Wilde
Acknowledgments
1
Katie Prentiss was running up the lush pathway of the Rascal Botanical Garden, her ankle-length taffeta bridesmaid dress swishing between her legs, when a man leaped from behind a maze of shrubbery and lunged for the silk purse clutched loosely in her hands.
Recognizing a mugging in the making, Katie swerved to the right but stumbled in her four-inch heels over a bed of pink geraniums lining the sidewalk.
The predator jumped in front of her, barring her way. He wore a ski mask, which struck her as incongruous in the sticky heat. Growling, he snatched for her purse.
Run, cried Katie’s instincts.
But another part of herself, the part she thought of as Tess Dupree, the heroine of her favorite mystery series and ultimate role model, hollered, fight!
Tess wouldn’t surrender without a fight, and neither would she.
Throwing off years for her own shy, timid identity, Katie channeled Tess, gritted her teeth, and kept a firm grip on the beaded handle. For one curious moment, she and the mugger stood in an odd tug-of-war, her delicate, peach-colored purse the coveted prize.
“Give it up, sister,” the mugger growled. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Help!” Katie yelled. “Robbery! Purse thief!”
The designer handbag cost her more than her monthly electric bill, and Katie refused to let go. They tussled. The mugger twisting one way, Katie the other.
“Let go,” the mugger growled.
“No.” By golly, she wouldn’t let this petty thug make off with her purse.
A whistle blasted, followed by the echoing ring of metal horseshoes striking pavers. A mounted policeman galloped toward them. “Police! Stop!”
The thief gave a mighty tug, and the purse popped from Katie’s hands.
The force knocked her backward into the flower bed, her palms stinging from the impact.
Tucking his prize in the crook of his arm, the mugger sprinted for the dense shrubbery like a Super Bowl running back headed for the end zone.
The officer urged his mount faster. Moving as one, horse and rider whizzed past Katie in pursuit.
From the ground, she gaped.
The thief hit the thicket inches ahead of the horseman. He wriggled into the underbrush and disappeared from sight. The policeman reined in his horse and changed direction, forced by thick foliage to go around.
Katie struggled to her feet and glanced down. Grass stains and smears of moist black earth dirtied her bridesmaid dress.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. She was running late, and she should already be at the Rascal Arboretum, half a mile farther up the road, preparing to walk down the aisle in front of her little sister, Jenny.
Instead, she stood grimy, purseless, and guilty.
Futilely, she brushed at the stains. How could she have been so thoughtless? If she’d been on time, she wouldn’t have had to park in the farthest lot.
When will you ever learn?
She had a bad habit of perpetually running five to ten minutes late. Her father, the psychologist, claimed it was an unconscious act of rebellion and a power play.
Her mother, the socialite, insisted it was just plain rude. Tess Dupree, the rule-breaking, fictional role model from an out-of-print mystery series Katie adored as a teen, gave her a thumbs-up and whispered, Carve your own path.
The sound of returning horse hooves drew her attention. Katie raised her head. The sun, filtering through the park’s massive oak and pecan trees, silhouetted the rider in a rosy glow so mystical Katie wondered if the heavens had opened and deposited the mysterious horseman to rescue recalcitrant maids of honor.
She caught her breath and placed a hand to her heart. Goodness!
This guy was sexier than Tess’s husband, Zack. If Tess was the perfect woman, brave, intelligent, with moxie to spare, then Zack Dupree was the perfect male—handsome and witty, with a killer grin that busted down walls. Private detectives by trade, Zack and Tess made the ultimate crime-fighting team.
And this cowboy cop, sitting astride the tall Appaloosa, reminded Katie of Zack. Then she saw he was empty-handed, and her heart dipped to her feet.
“Where’s my purse?” she asked him.
He reined the horse in beside her and shook his head. “Got away. On a motorcycle parked behind the hedges.”
“Oh, dear.” Her cell phone, keys, credit cards, and driver’s license were in that purse.
The cowboy swung down from his mount and sauntered closer. Dressed in black jeans, boots, and a black shirt that had Police stenciled in white block letters across both front and back, he made her heart skip a beat.
The silver whistle around his neck glinted in the dappled sunlight. A holstered gun hung at his hip. Thick, straight hair the color of raw honey was visible beneath a white Stetson. His piercing hazel-eyed stare captured her gaze and held her steady.
Katie’s lungs flailed, sucking in desperate air, and her stomach fluttered. Something about the man struck her as familiar.
“You hurt?” he asked, his voice professional and soothing.
“No.” She shook her head. “Just disgusted with myself and humanity.”
“We’ve had purse snatchers and pickpockets in the park this summer.”
“Oh.”
“You shouldn’t have resisted. He could have hurt you. In the future, let the purse go.”
“I don’t intend on being mugged in the future.” She notched her chin up. “I’m signing up for self-defense classes.”
One corner of his mouth quirked up, amused.
“I hate being a victim,” Katie muttered. “I’ve had enough of being picked on.”
“Better to lose a purse than your life. What if the perp had a history of violence? You never know.” He swept off his Stetson, giving her full view of his face.
Recognition dawned. She blinked, unable to believe her eyes. Here stood the object of her teenage unrequited love. “Truman West?”
“Yes?” He squinted. “Do I know you?”
He didn’t remember her, but why would he? He had no reason to recall the fumbling fifteen-year-old desperately infatuated with him back in high school. As senior class president and championship rodeo bronc rider, he’d never given a second glance to the awkward freshman girl next door.
Katie cringed. She’d been such a pathetic dork.
Long ago and far away, she heard Tess in her ear. You’re different now, and you’ve got me.
Putting on her best Tess poise, she extended her hand. “It’s me—Katie Prentiss. My family lived next door to yours on Lee Street for two years.”
“Katie?” An incredulous look crossed his face. “Little Katie Prentiss?”
“That’s me.” Shyness overwhelmed her
for a second, and she lowered her gaze.
“My.” He raked his gaze over the length of her body and smiled, a gleam in his eyes. “You used to be so...”
“Fat.” Katie finished the sentence for him. She might as well. She knew what he was thinking. As a teenager, she’d been fifty pounds overweight, worn braces and glasses, and spent her life between the pages of a book. Nobody had looked at her twice, except to snicker behind her back. Even to this day, ten years later, the taunts still smarted.
“I was going to say shy.” Truman continued staring at her. “You look great. Talk about reinventing yourself. I would never have known you.”
Katie nodded. She’d worked hard to change, exercising two hours a day, watching her diet, getting corrective eye surgery, dressing in the latest fashions, spending far more money than she should for stylish haircuts. Her diligence paid off. She enjoyed stupefying people from the old days; it took the sting out of her ugly-duckling years.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Katie Prentiss.” He repeated, still shaking his head. “Amazing.”
Delight skipped down her spine, and she shivered in the heat. Outwardly, while she had dramatically altered her appearance, inside she was still that nervous fifteen-year-old who’d found all her friends on library shelves. If it hadn’t been for learning to emulate self-confident Tess Dupree, she probably couldn’t have a normal conversation with him.
Truman was virtually unchanged. He was still the stuff of romantic fantasies. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, muscled biceps—any woman’s dream lover.
“What should I do about my purse?”
“I’ll file a report. I need your account of the attack.”
“Actually”—Katie swept a hand at her dress—”I’m sort of late for Jenny’s wedding.”
“Jenny? Your baby sister’s getting married? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I know. Hard to believe. But she’s twenty-three and her fiancé, Mark Barrington, is a wonderful guy.”
“Any kin to the Barrington oil dynasty?”
“Yes. Mark came to open a branch in Rascal, and Jenny worked as his secretary. It was a fairy-tale romance. Mark’s transferring back to the main office in Houston once they’re married.”
“You and Jenny were close. Must be tough having her so far away.”
“It’s not about me. They are so happy together. I’ll miss her, sure, but she’s got a grand life ahead of her.” Katie glanced at her watch. “Yikes! I’m fifteen minutes late and holding up the ceremony. They must be frantic wondering where I am.”
“It’s her wedding they’re having at the arboretum?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s a twenty-minute walk from here, in the heat. You’ll wilt. Let me give you a ride.”
Katie glanced dubiously at the horse. Ten years ago, she would have given up her beloved books to ride double with Truman, but now that the opportunity was staring her in the face… Her stomach flip-flopped at the prospect of folding her arms around that flat, firm abdomen. Hop on! Sounded good, but she balked at the thought of straddling a horse in an ankle-length bridesmaid gown.
“Tuck your skirt around your thighs,” he said, reading her thoughts.
Thighs. Truman West was talking about her thighs.
Katie heated from the inside out.
Do it, Tess urged.
Truman stood there with his arm gallantly extended.
“Mmm…” She would make one heck of an entrance, and the sooner she got there the better.
Katie sucked in her breath and placed her hand in his.
At the contact, a rush of sensations swamped her. The memory of her old crush rose to a high flush in her cheeks, reminding her of how she had lain on her bed for countless hours staring at the ceiling and pining for his affections.
“Ever been on a horse?” Truman led her to the left side of the horse.
“Just pony rides when I was a kid.”
“Stick your left foot here in the stirrup.” Truman demonstrated as he placed a restraining hand on the horse’s neck. “Grab hold of the saddle horn and swing your right leg over. Don’t look so dubious. You can do this.”
Katie bunched the skirt of her dress in a fist. Add wrinkles to the dirt and grass stains. Her mother would pitch a fit, but hopefully, no one else would notice. All eyes should be on Jenny.
Tentatively, she raised her left foot and slipped it into the metal stirrup. With her free hand she grasped the saddle horn but couldn’t swing aboard.
The horse stepped forward.
Katie lost her grip. Alas, her foot stayed firmly wedged in the stirrup.
“Whoa! Whoa!” she said in a panicked rush. She could see herself being dragged through the park.
Truman grabbed the reins and pulled the animal up short. “Calm down. Max senses your nervousness.”
“Max, that’s his name?”
“Maximilian.”
“That helps. Knowing his name. Easy, Max,” she cooed to the horse. “Easy, boy.”
Truman chuckled.
“Don’t laugh; this is hard,” Katie groused. “You make it look so easy.”
“Well.” Truman quirked a smile. “That dress gets in your way. How about I give you a hand?”
Oh, no! He would touch her again? Before she knew what was happening, Truman bent his knees, positioned his hands around her waist, and lifted her into the saddle as if she weighed no more than a feather.
“Up you go.”
Truman’s voice echoed in her ears, and she found herself astride the large horse. Katie felt disoriented and completely out of place, her taffeta dress hiked up to her thighs, the excess material billowing around her backside while she clutched the saddle horn with both hands.
She turned her head, looked down into Truman’s craggy yet handsome face, and the world tilted on its axis. Her breath came in quick gasps.
“Scoot forward,” he said.
Katie leaned forward in the saddle, and Truman swung up behind her. His strong arms reached around her, his biceps brushing lightly against her breasts as he collected the reins between his weather-roughened fingers and tugged them. He clicked his tongue.
The horse tossed his head and following Truman’s command, turned toward the arboretum, located deeper inside the gardens. His chest rocked into her back as they rode.
Katie gulped. How many nights had she gone to bed hugging her pillow and pretending it was Truman? How many Saturday mornings had she peered from her bedroom window, watching a bare-chested Truman mow his parents’ front lawn or wash his four-wheel-drive pickup? Thinking about those long-ago lonely days caused her cheeks to flame. Good thing Truman couldn’t see her telltale blush. She’d made a fool of herself over him once; she wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
“How are your folks?” she asked, desperate to get her mind off the feel of his body against hers. “We lost track of your family after your parents got divorced and you moved off to El Paso with your father.”
“Dad died seven years ago.”
“Oh, Truman,” She turned her head but couldn’t see his face. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”
“Shot in the line of duty during a drug bust.”
“How awful.” Katie sucked in her breath. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”
“It was a rough time.” His tone of voice told her he didn’t want to discuss it further.
Okay, she’d let that go. “And your mother?”
“Mom moved to Florida to live with her sister after the divorce. She’s remarried. We don’t get to see each other that often.”
Um, all right. That sounded like another landmine. She dropped her gaze to his hands clinging loosely to the reins. The ring finger of his left hand was bare, and her heart gave a strange hop. But no wedding band didn’t really mean anything. Plenty of married guys didn’t wear rings because of their jobs.
“Did you and Rhonda McKnight ever get married?” she asked about his
high school sweetheart. He and Rhonda had been crowned prom king and queen their senior year.
“Rhonda broke our engagement when I entered the police academy. She didn’t want to be a cop’s wife. Guess that adage about following in your father’s footsteps was true for me. I couldn’t imagine myself becoming anything but a cop. Especially after Dad died. How better to honor his memory than to put away bad guys?”
Katie shouldn’t be happy but darn it if she didn’t feel pleased that he and Rhonda had never married. As if she had a chance with him. Pipe dreamer. “That’s a shame. About you and Rhonda I mean.”
“Nah, Rhonda and I weren’t right for each other. My work means everything to me,” Truman said. “If she couldn’t let me be me, there was no hope for us.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” The question popped from her mouth. Oh, dear heavens, why had she asked that? Truman was so fetching in those tight pants and knee-length boots; he probably had to fend off the females with pepper spray.
Pepper spray wouldn’t stop the likes of Tess Dupree. Whatever that woman wanted she went after full throttle. Hadn’t Zack been a confirmed bachelor before Tess won him over?
“No girlfriend.” His voice was light, but she felt his body tense. “I don’t have time for a social life.”
That was an excuse if she ever heard one. If he wanted a social life, he could make time for one. “Then you’ve moved back to Rascal?”
“I’m renting an apartment over on First Street.”
“No kidding? Alpine Villas?”
“How did you know?”
“That’s where I live. I’m way at the back in the shadow of Bush Mountain.”
“Small world.”
“Yes.” She didn’t know what else to say.
“What about you?” he asked.