(Calahan Cowboys 08) The Cowboy Soldier's Sons (6 page)

He went around to get in the driver’s seat, and she suppressed another shiver until he’d climbed in. She quickly locked the doors, and he acted as if he hadn’t noticed. “I wanted you to know where I came from, Shaman. I knew you’d understand.”

He pulled away from the small, decrepit pile of wooden misery where Tempest had grown up. “I don’t know that there’s anything to understand. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“I haven’t been back here since I left,” she said softly. “And I’ve never told anybody I dated about my family.”

“So this is like a real first date,” Shaman said, trying to unload some of the tension.

Yet the tension wouldn’t leave her. “I just knew I could tell you, because you’re not some rich guy who’s never worked a day in your life. You haven’t had everything handed to you. I mean, I feel like you could understand.”

“Oh, I get it. Because I’m a working stiff.” He laughed. “Cupertino, you got a bad-girl fantasy going on? Rich girl meets bad boy?”

“No,” she said, annoyed. “I just feel like you and I are a lot alike somehow. That maybe we’re from the same place.”

“It’s okay,” Shaman said. “I get what you’re saying. And I don’t care about your skeletons, beautiful. Now tell me where you want me to take you for our date. A beer is sounding real good to me right now.”

“I do not have a bad-girl fantasy, or whatever you said,” Tempest said, still inwardly writhing over the skeletons that had popped out unexpectedly from her closet. “I don’t have any fantasy at all concerning you,” she fibbed.

“We’ll have to work on that. I’ve got plenty of fantasies that have your name on them.”

She sniffed. “Really?”

He reached for her hand, kissing her fingers. “Feed me, and maybe I’ll show you.”

“Turn right at the stoplight. You can get a beer at Shiloh Bill’s.”

“That’s my girl,” Shaman said, and Tempest decided maybe the night was looking up. As long as she didn’t think about the past, everything was fine.

* * *

S
HILOH
B
ILL’S WAS A
cozy mom-and-pop shop with lots of plants sprucing up the place, and a piano player in the background. Shaman felt himself slowly starting to relax. The whole incident with the vagrant had really teed him off—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to remove a guy’s head more.

It was Cupertino. She was driving him mad.

“What are you going to eat?” she asked, looking at him with big, inquiring eyes. He figured most girls wouldn’t have wanted to go out in a cap and wearing no makeup, but she hadn’t mentioned it. Shaman wondered if she knew how sexy she was, and decided Cupertino was too secure to care, whether she was wearing holey jeans or a ball gown.

“I’m going to have a salad and veggie quesadillas,” Shaman said. “Maybe some Oreo pie for dessert.”

“Didn’t you eat today?” she asked, obviously teasing him.

“Bodyguarding makes me hungry.” He reached for the chips in the center of the small table between them in the booth.

“Bodyguarding?” she said, one brow arching.

“Yeah. Do I get extra points for it?”

She laughed. “I can take care of myself, Shaman. And you just like to eat. It has nothing to do with me.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” He sipped his beer, drinking in Cupertino, feeling relaxation stealing over him like a welcoming hug. “So, I have to ask you something.”

She leaned back. “I can’t promise to answer.”

“This is an easy question. My curious, naturally suspicious mind thinks Bobby’s right. Bud Taylor left his money to you.”

She looked at him without blinking. “They teach you puzzle solving in the military, or is it a natural talent?”

“Both. I’m right, aren’t I?”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have the money.”

He heard the hedge in her answer. “But you did have it.”

Her mouth twisted, and he wanted to kiss her soft, sweet lips. “If I did, Phillips, I would have donated it all to charity.”

“Would you now?” he said, knowing she’d just answered the question without answering it. A tall, thin waitress with gray hair and penciled eyebrows came over to take their orders, and when she’d left, Shaman looked at Tempest with a grin. “So which charity is your favorite?”

“You might notice that the library has had a major face-lift,” she said, her tone airy. “The structure was sound, but the outside needed work and the inside needed cosmetic renovation. Also, the book selections required serious updating. I think the money must have been appreciated, because your niece spent her summer devouring several shelves of books, and still likes coming here for reading material. Her nana Moira—Chelsea’s mother—apparently spent the summer dragging Cat to the library, helping her find her footing among the classics. I deem the project a success, if Cat and Moira think that highly of it.”

Shaman whistled. “You’re amazing.”

“Not really. It wasn’t my money, and I didn’t need it. The town of Tempest did. I figure no good civilization grows without excellent resources.”

He dragged a chip through the salsa. “I guess Bobby would have a fit if he knew.”

She shrugged. “That’s his personal problem. Anyway, the way the story went, at least the way I heard it from Shinny and Blanche, is that Bud Taylor couldn’t stand his kids. Said they were like vultures waiting for him to die, and he didn’t understand why they couldn’t just go out and make successes of themselves as he had. He didn’t believe in leaving them money.”

Shaman sighed with appreciation as their orders were placed in front of them. “It’s probably true. Everyone should make their own mark in life. Waiting for a handout is a sign of weakness.”

“I knew you’d understand,” Tempest said. “I admire you for being a self-made man.”

He wasn’t certain how admirable he really was. “So I take it no one knows your deep, dark secret.”

“Not a soul. Well, Bud’s lawyer does. But no one else, not even Shinny and Blanche.” She dug into the fajitas she’d ordered. “There was no point in telling anyone. Bud wouldn’t have wanted anything named after him. I didn’t know him very well, but I figure he wasn’t that kind of man. And anyway, I don’t necessarily believe the rumors are true about him being my dad. I had a father.” She stopped, looking faraway for a moment. “I didn’t really know him, either. Mom didn’t talk about him much.”

The salad was delicious, as were the quesadillas, but Shaman suddenly had another topic on his mind. “So, I heard Cat was hinting around about me marrying you.”

Tempest blinked and put her fajita down. “She didn’t say anything like that to me.”

“Oh, boy.” Shaman shook his head, realizing his niece had pulled yet another fast one on him. “That little devil.”

“Why?” Tempest gazed at him. “Did she tell you she’d talked to me about getting married?”

He nodded, suddenly wishing he’d kept his yap shut. “Cat strikes again.”

Tempest laughed and patted his hand, then took a bite of her fajita, unbothered. “I’m leaving tomorrow for New York,” she said, stunning him. “Cat’s a great girl and I love her, but she isn’t the wily meddler she fancies herself to be.”

Shaman put his fork down, studying the beautiful blonde across from him. “Were you going to tell me?”

“I...” She looked at him. “I think so.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “Cupertino. You make me crazy.”

Her big eyes were round in her face. “I’m not your kind of girl.”

He felt as if his fork was lodged in his throat. “No. You’re really not.”

“You see?” Relief crossed her face. “I was planning to call from New York.”

He knew she wouldn’t have. “Okay,” he said, determined not to make her feel awkward. She had a different life, one that would never include Tempest, New Mexico. “Eat up, since it’s your last hometown meal.”

He ate as if his stomach wasn’t in knots, just to keep the twisting emotions at bay. But the food suddenly tasted like dry crackers and the beer plain water, and he knew he’d fallen a little bit further than he’d meant to.

But he’d always known that in her world, she was the beauty. He was the beast. There really was no bridge between them.

He’d just gotten too caught up in the fantasy.

He was so busy feeling miserable that even though he saw the man exit the booth behind Tempest, his cap tugged low on his face, his gray wool coat pulled up to his neck, Shaman didn’t register that Bobby Taylor had been sitting there. Shaman didn’t think about it until that night, long after he’d dropped Tempest off at home and he lay sleepless in bed. When he did, his eyes snapped open.

That
had
been Bobby Taylor. And Bobby might have overheard her story.

He might not have.

Chills ran up Shaman’s arms.

He should tell her. Then he realized he still didn’t have Tempest’s cell number. “This is ridiculous,” he said, and got up, pulling on his jeans and shoving his feet into his boots. “He probably didn’t hear anything. He’s a thickheaded moose,” Shaman muttered, “and dumb as a rock.”

He was trying to comfort himself. Yet worry stabbed at him. He jumped in his truck, driving over to Tempest’s almost breaking the speed limit. Her house was dark and her car was gone. Fear snaked through him.

“Looking for Tempest?” a voice asked, and Shaman whirled around.

“Hi, Blanche.” He took in a deep, relieved breath, his heartbeat jumping madly. “Yeah, I was.”

“She decided to take a flight out to New York tonight.” The older woman pulled her shawl more tightly around her. “She said she’d probably stayed here too long.”

“Oh.” The revelation was painful, more painful than he could have ever imagined. “Okay. Thanks.”

“No problem. See you around, Shaman.” Blanche unlocked the door to the B and B, going inside.

Shaman drove back to Dark Diablo, his mind whirling with a mad kaleidoscope of images of Cupertino. He replayed their last conversation over and over, trying to make sense of it. Clearly, she’d left because of him. Yet he wondered why. He hadn’t even kissed her good-night, preferring to keep everything on a casual basis, the way he knew she wanted it.

He got out of his truck and walked glumly to the farmhouse, wondering why he was so hurt by her departure. Heck,
crushed
was a better word.

Then something crashed against the back of his head, and everything went dark.

Chapter Five

“Shaman, you goober,” a female said. “I know you and Gage just love living like a bunch of gophers out here in the middle of nowhere, but I do think sleeping outside is taking it a bit rustic, even for you.”

His head pounding, he squinted thinking it was rotten luck that he couldn’t have awakened to an angel. September sunshine bore down on him, and even if he hadn’t recognized the voice, he would have known the pointy-toed high heels—tulip-pink today—parked next to him.

“Manolo Blahnik,” he said.

“What?” His sister bent down next to him. “Get up, Shaman. There is no reason to sleep on the porch. I don’t approve of it.”

“I know.” He groaned, thinking he’d rather continue lying flat-assed on the ground.

“He’s been drinking, Xav. Lift him up and drag him in. The neighbors might see, and if not them, then the help will. And they talk.”

Holy Christmas, there were no neighbors, and the “help” Kendall was referring to had Sundays off. It was Sunday, Shaman knew, because last night had been his first real date with Tempest, and she’d flown off like a frightened bird.

And then someone had tried to bash in his skull.

Bobby Taylor.

“Crap,” Shaman said. “Xav, help me up. Unless you’re afraid you’ll pull a muscle.”

“You’re nothing but deadweight,” their sister protested. “It would take a horse to drag you up off your back.”

“I can take care of him,” Xav said, obviously amused. “I thought the military was supposed to toughen you up, dude.”

He pulled on one arm and Kendall tugged the other. Shaman made it painfully to his feet, wincing when Kendall gasped.

“You’re bleeding!”

“You sure are,” Xav observed. “Flapping open back there like a zipper on a woman’s dress.”

“Thanks,” Shaman said, feeling woozy and grumpy and mad as hell that he’d gotten coldcocked. His normal radar that he relied on to keep him alive had definitely been off. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Who?” Xav and Kendall asked in unison, as they tried to help him inside.

“Never mind.” Shaman didn’t want to get into it. He closed his eyes as Kendall moved his head to inspect his nape, then felt a cold cloth being mashed to his skull.

“Is this a woman problem?” she asked. “I don’t approve of women problems. I brought Xav out here so you could talk some sense into him.”

Shaman sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Hey,” another male voice said, and he opened one eye to see Jonas Callahan coming through the door. “Am I interrupting something? Looked like a puddle of blood on the porch, so I thought Shaman might have shot a bird or a— Why’s his head bleeding like a pumpkin losing guts?”

Not his boss, too. The boss that was currently involved in a lawsuit with the man who’d just cleaned Shaman’s clock. “I fell,” he said, and Kendall said, “Bull-oney.”

“Let’s get him to the quack shack,” Jonas said. “Shaman, I hope this isn’t because of Tempest. I stopped in town and talked to Blanche, and she said Cat told her you’re in love with a movie star. The only movie star we know is Tempest. I can tell you from experience that you shouldn’t be on the bad side of a woman. They use frying pans for more than cooking.”

Shaman sighed. “Let’s get this done, okay?”

“He’s cranky,” Kendall said to Jonas. “You have to understand that he might be older than us, but he always had second child syndrome. He couldn’t keep up with Gage, and Xav and I were smarter and quicker on our feet. He was never a good patient, because he always milked it for all he could get. It was an attention thing.”

“Ha ha,” Shaman said. “Either get me stitched up or buzz off.”

“Come on,” Jonas said. “I’ll drive you.”

“Good,” Kendall said. “We’ll follow.”

“I kind of like it here,” Xav said. “I get why you’re out here playing renegade recluse, Shaman.”

“No,” Kendall said, “I will not lose one more brother to Dark Diablo. Don’t even think about it.”